Mr. Dufresne, describe the confrontation you had with your wife the night she was murdered.
[on the stand]
It was very bitter. She said she was glad I knew, that she hated all the sneaking around. And she said that she wanted a divorce in Reno.
What was your response?
I told her I would not grant one.
"I'll see you in Hell before I see you in Reno", those were the words you used, Mr. Dufresne, according to the testimony of your neighbors.
If they say so. I really don't remember that I was upset.
What happened after you argued with your wife?
She packed a bag...she packed a bag to go and stay with Mr. Quentin.
Glenn Quentin. Golf pro at the Snowden Hills Country Club. The man that you had recently discovered was your wife's lover. Did you follow her?
I went to a few bars first. Later, I drove to his house to confront them, but they weren't home. So I parked in the turnout and waited.
With what intention?
I'm not sure. I was confused...drunk. I think...mostly I wanted to scare them.
When they arrived, you went up to the house and murdered them.
No. I was sobering up. I got back in the car and I drove home to sleep it off. Along the way, I stopped and I threw my gun into the Royal River. I've been very clear on this point.
Well, where I get hazy is when the cleaning woman shows up the following morning, and finds your wife in bed with her lover riddled with 38.caliber bullets. Now, does that strike you as a fantastic coincidence, Mr. Dufresne, or is it just me?
Yes it does.
And yet, you still maintain that you threw your gun into the river before the murders took place. That's very convenient.
It's the truth.
The police dragged that river for 3 days, and nary a gun was found. So, there could be no comparison made between your gun and the bullets taken from the blood-stained corpses of the victims. And that also...is very convenient. Isn't it, Mr. Dufresne?
Since I am innocent of this crime, sir, I find it decidedly inconvenient that the gun was never found.
Ladies and gentlemen, you've heard all the evidence, you know all the facts. We have the accused at the scene of the crime, we have tire tracks, we have bullets strewn on the ground that bear his fingerprints. A broken bourbon bottle, likewise with fingerprints, and most of all, we have a beautiful young woman and her lover, lying dead in each other's arms. They had sinned. But was their crime so great as to merit a death sentence? Now while you think about that, consider this: a revolver holds six bullets, not eight. I submit that this was not a hot-blooded crime of passion; that at least could be understood if not condoned. No. This was revenge of a much more brutal, cold-blooded nature. Consider this: four bullets per victim. Not six shots fired, but eight. That means that he fired the gun empty, and then stopped to reload, so that he could shoot each of them again: an extra bullet per lover, right in the head.
You strike me as a particularly icy and remorseless man, Mr. Dufresne. It chills my blood to look at you. By the power vested in me by the State of Maine, I hereby order you to serve two life sentences back-to-back, one for each of your victims. So be it.
