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The way Scott Hornoff remembers it, the seduction began
on a summer's evening by the sea. He stood on the top deck of the Coast Guard
House restaurant in Narragansett, enjoying a cold beer and the salt breeze.
Daylight lingered well into evening on that Friday in July 1989; the waves broke
rhythmically on the rocks below.
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08.18.03
Detective Edward T. Johnson stood near Vickie Cushman's
body, surrounded by evidence of a murder: the dead woman on the living-room
floor, dressed in a pink bath robe, knees slightly bent; beneath her was a blood-soaked
rug; nearby a pair of dishwashing gloves turned inside-out, their fingers a
ghostly white; an arms-length away from Vickie's body lay a heavy, red fire
extinguisher that the killer had used to bash her skull.
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On the last night of Vickie
Cushman's life, she
sounded as happy as she had ever been. Her father phoned her at about
9:30;
to Robinson Cushman, his daughter's voice was "bubbling"
with
happiness.
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Rhonda Hornoff pulled the car door shut and
looked at Scott in the driver's seat. She could see that her husband was
upset. "What is going on?" she asked.
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Scott Hornoff hit the
streets in search of a job. He was candid with his prospective employers:
he told them he was a suspended Warwick police detective under indictment
for the murder of Victoria Cushman.
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In his first three months
at the state prison, Scott Hornoff heard of the birth of his third child,
a son Jacob. Five months in, a bank repossessed the family's car. Soon
after, his wife was forced into bankruptcy...
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A chill rain fell on that
Saturday, Oct.
26, 2002, drumming the ground, gurgling in the gutters, knocking the last
remnants of fall's colors from the hardwoods. Todd Barry was housebound,
too much of a mental mess to go outdoors. His wife, Donna, was out with
their 6-year-old son.
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