It was 7 a.m., on a Tuesday morning and the solitary George Bush Turnpike, in the Dallas-Richardson-Plano corridor, offered a clear shot toward the southbound exit for Highway 75. Mary Beth Jill flew down it at 85 m.p.h., in her man-sized Ford Bronco, with her three children locked down in the back seat when out of nowhere a bumper-to-bumper bottleneck situation manifested itself on the GBT, at the southbound exchange.
She slammed on her brakes hard sending everything not locked down or strapped in toward the SUV’s dashboard.
“Mother f-f-f-f-.” She caught herself before she spat out the rest of the word. As the rapid pace of her speed slowed to an agonizing crawl, Mary Beth Jill’s road rage started to simmer.
Strapped into a car seat and wedged between his seven-year-old sister, Kayla April June, who was born in November, and his five-year-old brother, Brick, who was named after Paul Newman’s character in Cat on a Hot Tin Roof, sat Breck, Mary Beth Jill’s toddler son. As he and his brother continued to fidget, Kayla April June looked out the car’s front windshield, through a pair of pink binoculars, which hung by a cord around her neck, and sang Carly Rae Jepsen’s “Call Me Maybe,” over and over and over.
“Hey!” screamed Mary Beth Jill. “Knock it off! NOW!”
Amongst the turnpike’s parking lot standstill, antsy children and a quest to be first in line at the start of the jail’s visiting hours, Mary Beth Jill’s angst rose. As she expertly navigated the road, she reached for her over-sized purse in the empty passenger seat and commenced her search. She pulled out a pill bottle, looked at the label and shoved it back into her purse. She retrieved a second pill bottle, looked at the label and shoved that one back into her purse, too. She then dove deep and retrieved a third bottle of pills. Eureka!
“Is that food,” asked Kayla April June. “I’m hungry.”
“No, baby. Not food. I’ll get you something to eat in a little bit.”
“Then what is that?” said Kayla.
Kayla April June regarded the pill bottle her mother held, through the pink-hued lenses of her pink binoculars. The label on the pill bottle read Vicodin and Mary Beth Jill popped a few of them like she was popping candy from a Pez dispenser.
Frazzled, Mary Beth Jill responded. “Yes, baby. It’s candy. Candy for mommies.”
Like a pro, Mary Beth Jill removed the pill bottle cap while she steered her mammoth SUV, with her knees. She removed a couple of Vicodin tablets, opened the bottled water resting in the car’s cup holder, gulped the pills and took a swig.
After she reached her destination, she exited her SUV and unlatched her children from their restraints. She held the toddler with one arm as she rushed toward the entry door – her other hand firmly clasped to the wiggly small digits of her older son. Kayla April June who surveyed the new terra firma with her pink-colored binoculars, followed.
Exasperated, Mary Beth Jill made her way to the first corrections officer she saw.
“Excuse me officer, a friend of mine was arrested early this morning on suspicion of hacking up women.” And in a perky tone added, “I’m here to see him. Also, where’s the restaurant, and please tell me it has a Starbucks. I so need a caramel macchiato.”
A half-hour into her visit, Mary Beth Jill was finally able to see and speak with her friend and radio show partner, Kempton, in the jail’s visitor’s room. Separated by a glass partition, Mary Beth Jill sipped her caramel macchiato through a straw and spoke to Kempton through a telephone receiver.
“Oh Kempton. This doesn’t look good.”
“Me? A serial killer? I honestly don’t remember chopping up anyone. And c’mon. Is that something you really see me doing? I’m more of a firearms guy,” said Kempton.
“But they found you naked, incoherent and near a severed head.”
“Naked and incoherent is not that unusual for me. As to the dismembered body parts they found in the trunk of my car…”
Kempton thought long and hard about how a trash bag full of body parts made its way to the trunk of his car, given police were finding trash bags of body parts along the access roads of Dallas highways and bi-ways, for the last seven months.
“I got nothing. You’re right. This doesn’t look good.”
They looked at each for a long time with blank expressions. As she slurped her caramel macchiato through her straw, Mary Beth Jill imagined if her long-time friend and radio show partner could actually be a serial killer. Kempton imagined if Mary Beth Jill thought ‘Oh Jesus God, he’s a serial killer.’“Do you want me to call your mother?” she said.
“My mother? No! Just bail me out. It’s fifteen grand. You’ll get it back.”
As highly paid show hosts of a morning drive-time Top 40 radio show, money should be no object to either of them. But it was. Kempton had a cash-flow issue due to non-payment of child support. A Dallas court ordered him to pay it in full within two months, as he was 72 months in arrears.
“See Kempton, here’s the thing. As you know I live check-to-check and if I had an extra $15,000, well, you know what I’d do with that?” said Mary Beth Jill earnestly.
“Lipo? A butt lift?” he responded.
“God! You know me so-o-o-o well.”
They exchanged ‘oh well’ looks.
“But I will call your lawyer,” she offered brightly.
“You’re a gem!” he said thankfully.
As their visit came to its allotted end, Mary Beth Jill blew Kempton an air kiss. On the other side of the partition, Kempton reached up to catch it, after which, a jail guard tapped Kempton on the shoulder to take him back to his cell.
© 2009, rev. 2017
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