In November 2006, I flew down to St. George to face Warren at his pretrial hearing. Ben would meet me there later with Kyle. I had to take a few days off from work, and I entrusted only my boss and two friends with the reason that I had to leave. Ben and I had continued the practice of keeping our past out of our present, and the DA’s office and the Washington County attorneys had promised that my identity would be protected along with Elissa’s. Names, videos, and personal information were to remain confidential and limited to the courtroom alone.
Aboard the plane, I had the eerie realization that this would be the first time I would come face-to-face with Warren since his threat to break me and my subsequent escape. Testifying was the right thing to do, but the fact remained that the people I loved with my whole heart would hate me. I was testifying for them, not against Warren—although they would never know that.
Amelia and I had spent a little time together before the hearing, and on a trip to the mall, we had the same wicked thought: why not dress in red, the very color that Warren had outlawed? (And, ironically, the color of the Escalade in which he’d been arrested!) Amelia bought a flattering gray suit to wear with a maroon blouse, while I bought a black suit jacket and a stunning red camisole. The lawyers and officers wouldn’t see the significance. But Warren would. And more important, we would.
Greg Hoole, Roger’s brother, picked up Amelia and me and took us to the courthouse. I hadn’t read or seen anything on television about the trials, and it was the very first time any substantial charges had been brought against Warren, so I didn’t have any frame of reference. Since the FLDS had such a strong presence nearby, armed SWAT officers in body armor escorted us with large semiautomatic rifles. While it made us feel a little better, it was an intimidating sight.
The prosecutors prepared me that day. “This pretrial is for the judge to determine if there is enough evidence to try Warren. He has hired two lawyers from Salt Lake City to represent him. They are very smooth. Listen to the questions carefully, take your time in responding, and realize they have an agenda for everything. They will try to put words in your mouth.”
I discovered they were right. When it was my turn to testify, Warren’s lawyer, Wally Bugden, got upset with my predilection to clarify yes or no questions. He tried to make it sound as though a woman in the FLDS could just flippantly tell the Prophet she didn’t want to marry a man and life would go on as normal.
“There are women that say no?” asked Bugden.
“Not often.”
“Well—”
“Hardly. Maybe two or three that I know of.”
“Well, bear with me, ma’am. Are there women who say no? Yes or no?”
“Yes. But it is very looked down upon.”
“Okay. So the answer to my question is yes? Is that right?”
“Yes.”
“And you, off the top of your head, as a hostile witness not wanting to answer my questions, off the top of your head, you can say that you know two people that turned down the Prophet?”
He also was attempting to insinuate that I was always in trouble with Warren for immoral deeds, that I had gotten pregnant and had just decided to walk out the door one day because I didn’t want to be there anymore.
I spoke on the stand for a good four hours, doing my best to set the record straight, especially about what I had experienced with Elissa before, during, and after her wedding, and the meanings of certain Priesthood teachings.
At one point they asked me who could have stopped Elissa’s underage marriage, and I pointed a finger decisively at Warren.
“That man, right there!” I said resolutely. He looked at me in surprise, but I didn’t waver. As I left, I was still full of nervous energy, but I felt very good about my testimony. As I had said to my mother: if truth is truth, it will stand up to scrutiny.
When Amelia took the stand after me, I went down the hall to wait in a small room with other witnesses and armed guards. I was told Amelia also gave a strong and succinct testimony about Elissa’s miscarriage and her trip to Canada after she had been raped repeatedly by Allen.
I was in the witness room waiting for Amelia to finish testifying when Sheriff Doran called me from Texas.
“Hey, Miss Becky, are you okay?”
“Yeah, I guess,” I responded. “I’m just tired, and relieved that it’s over. Why do you ask?”
“I just wondered,” he said, “because I just had Fox News on, and I saw you on there. They’ve got a video and everything, and I know how you are about your privacy.”
“What?” I was astounded. “Did they show Elissa?”
“No, just you.”
“Did they blur my face?”
“No, they showed you full on, testifying.”
What the hell was this? They had promised—guaranteed—anonymity. This felt like a serious transgression, and I had to wonder if it was a display of ego by one of the agencies that had been looking for Warren for so long with no results. The Fox News video portrayed me talking about Elissa’s marriage and my family’s reaction to it. They quoted me as saying, “She was fourteen. It was just shocking and horrific… She didn’t want to get married.”
I opened the door that was being flanked by armed guards.
“I want to talk to someone from the DA’s office right now,” I said to one of them. “Somebody is in real trouble here.” They quickly brought Jerry Jaeger to the room.
The video played two more times over the next hour before the DA was able to have it pulled. Given Warren’s notoriety, Fox was reticent to take my testimony down. CNN played the same clip with my face blurred; however, you could still tell it was me. Finally, the stations blacked me out on the screen as they’d been ordered, and played just my voice testimony for the rest of the day.
The damage was done. Within minutes, I was inundated with shocked texts and phone calls from many people, most of whom I knew through real estate in Idaho but who had known nothing about my background. Fortunately, I had planned to go directly from the trial to see our friends in Coos Bay and perform in the holiday Opry. The Houghtons and my other very close friends knew about the pretrial and were supportive of us. Luckily the hubbub in Coos Bay died down quickly, but when I returned to Idaho, people were reluctant to let it drop.
A week after my return, I went to show a property to a client.
“Oh my God!” exclaimed the property agent. “Aren’t you the girl that was married to that ninety-something guy?” I brushed it off, but he would not let it go, becoming downright vulgar. My client was so offended at his behavior he asked if we could leave, a request I was happy to oblige, and we never went back.
Before the holidays, Judge James L. Shumate had ruled that Warren would indeed stand trial on two felony charges as an accomplice to rape. Elissa had delivered a baby girl only days before the hearing and wasn’t able to come to the final session. Roger Hoole contacted her as soon as court was dismissed, and he reported that Warren had had no reaction to the ruling. I wondered how he felt about facing consequences for once in his life.
Work on the YFZ ranch was progressing as if Warren had never been caught. I couldn’t believe how much phone time and how many visits he was allowed in jail—enough for him to continue to run the lives of the FLDS. I thought of all of my family members who had left the church or were told to repent from afar, and I asked them all to come for Christmas. Everyone except Cole and Joshua came, even my dad and Irene. Since we’d grown up with so little, I had wanted everyone to feel spoiled. Later I realized I’d gone way over the top: presents for everyone, decorations everywhere, and absolutely no sleep. Within a few weeks the presents and food were forgotten, but I would never forget my family being together.
I no longer felt the animosity for my father and Irene I once had, and that was very healing. I could see that both were striving to live a different life from before. And I recognized that they had taken a big chance to come see us for Christmas, as three of his daughters—Elissa, Amelia, and me�
��would be testifying against their Prophet in the coming year. The fallout of my testimony on Ben’s side of the family, however, was horrendous. They were ugly and nasty, and it created more strain and tension in our marriage.
The FLDS were back to manipulating laws, and the trial was delayed again, again, and again. During this time, the people at my work were paragons of kindness and generosity, but the real estate bubble was beginning to burst. With profits and glamour fading, I witnessed some people give up on life immediately, while others provided great examples of resilience and authenticity.
Warren, on the other hand, was an example of misery and false martyrdom. Caught up in life at home and trying to avoid the topic with Ben, I didn’t watch the pretrials on television. Therefore, I didn’t know until later that Warren had become sickly from self-imposed fasts and that he had been suicidal. He looked terrible on camera when he showed up for a pretrial, and rumors were circulating around Short Creek that Warren had renounced his role as Prophet, telling Nephi he was “the greatest of all sinners,” and admitting indiscretions with a daughter and a sister. It was always difficult to separate truth from rumor, though.
Elissa and I were not allowed to discuss the case; she had been placed in the FBI’s witness protection program, so we didn’t talk much. However, she urgently phoned me when Warren’s next pretrial hit the news. In court, Warren had tried to present a handwritten note to the judge but was not given permission to approach the bench, and his lawyers would not allow the note to go there, either. A Deseret News reporter took a photo of the note, and specialists determined it read: “I have not been a Prophet and am not the Prophet,” that he had “failed to lead the good people of the Fundamentalist Church.” Elissa and I were both floored. Surely now our people would see the truth and free themselves of this dictator? Unfortunately, word was deliberately spread among the loyal about a “government ploy” to hang Warren.
That spring I discovered I was pregnant again. While familiar feelings of uncertainty and joy rode through me, the morning sickness was much milder this time and it felt worth celebrating. I remembered my sisters when they held baby Kyle, and I wondered if they would ever see my new baby.
In June, my sisters were still nowhere to be found. Sheriff Doran and his deputy, George Arispe, came to southern Utah to meet with law enforcement officers from Arizona and Utah and learn from one another about the FLDS. Ben and I met the men for coffee in Hurricane, and Doran told us that his biggest conundrum was that the FLDS seemed like such good, God-fearing people at the mercy of a maniacal leader. Even with Warren behind bars, several FLDS leaders and their families continued to be under his spell, including involvement in illegal activities like money laundering and total disregard for the law.
Now that word was out about our testifying, Amelia and I both faced veiled and overt threats. Certain FLDS “enforcers” seemed to come and go from my little town, while someone cunningly sabotaged Amelia’s car, including cutting her brake lines. Her friend, a mechanic, said she was lucky to be alive.
FLDS leaders exerted pressure on my father and active members of our families to convince us not to testify. The hardest for me was what it was doing to Ben. My husband had come to the courtroom during the preliminary trials, but because of the games the FLDS was playing, the actual trial didn’t start until nearly a year later. The longer it went on, the more uncomfortable he became. It didn’t help that his friends and family called him often to tell him he and our kids would burn in hell with me and my sisters for testifying against the servant of God.
“I didn’t ask for this!” Ben cried more than once.
I understood. I hadn’t, either.
One night I awoke from an intensely vivid dream in which I was fighting a medieval battle side by side with male soldiers and a woman who was dressed like a knight. Though I had read about Joan of Arc only in passing, somehow I knew it had been her. The strongest remembrance was my conviction: If you stop now, this will have all been in vain… keep fighting, and no longer will they be able to take your sons and daughters. I awoke with the smell of smoke still strong in my nostrils. In the real battle I was facing in the courtroom, I could not stop now. I honored Ben’s feelings and his choice, but I felt a sudden, intense conviction. He didn’t have to do this, but I did. Not once did I doubt from that time forward.
Finally, Amelia and I traveled from Idaho to St. George on September 11, 2007, for Warren’s full trial. Elissa had brought Lamont with her, but Amelia and I only had each other, as Ben made it very clear that he wanted nothing more to do with the case. I was six months pregnant, and had grown my hair out. I’d actually gone blonde since the last trial, and as I entered the packed courtroom and they announced my name, several FLDS members gasped at me.
Once again I wore the color red: a beautiful maroon-and-red-patterned maternity dress. Warren stared coldly at me but couldn’t keep his eyes off my belly. Behind him, a veritable army of FLDS men and a few handpicked women gave me menacing looks. Willie Jessop’s behavior was the most egregious. When any of the witnesses was on the stand, he and the others would lean forward in their chairs, trying to make us lose confidence. After each response, he would scribble a note for Warren’s attorneys and make a big show of passing it up to them. During Elissa’s testimony, the prosecution finally intervened by physically placing a large person right in front of Willie, but I couldn’t believe they wouldn’t just remove him from the courtroom.
During my own testimony, I made sure to answer deliberately and truthfully for the benefit of every person in that courtroom. As part of the cross-examination, Bugden asked me to read quotes on the big screen for the jury from In Light and Truth: Raising Children in the Family Order of Heaven—the same book that had been compiled with many of my notes of sermons given. It was so uncomfortable, because Bugden had cherry-picked phrases for each quote to sound very high and noble as far as the treatment of women, and wouldn’t let me interject. I was greatly relieved and impressed when the prosecution put the entire page up on the screen, and let me read and explain the whole passage the defense attorney had taken completely out of context. I looked at Warren and was surprised to see a small smile at the edge of his mouth. The student had been taught well.
After five grueling hours on the stand with only one short break, sitting that long with my big belly was taking its toll. The defense continued being brutal; Bugden and Tara Isaacson, Warren’s other defense attorney, kept asking leading questions, trying to discredit me with constant insinuations or notes that Willie was writing to them. I looked into my lap and I saw that my hands were clenched into fists.
Please, please, I cried out to God. I need help now.
I have never been kicked so hard in my entire life. Bam! Bam! Bam! The baby girl in my belly kicked with such intensity it jerked my body back and my head upright. With my head lifted, I could see the back of the courtroom windows, where my reflection was lit up. Light seemed to stream through my body, surrounding me. Suddenly, I felt like my shoulders grew broader, like the hands of others were holding me up. I relaxed my fists, and from that point on, I could not be shaken.
The same peace permeated my being when I left the courtroom to wait down the hall for Amelia. I testified twice, I had told the truth, and the rest was up to the jury. The Salt Lake Tribune reported that a jury member had said, “Rebecca Musser, that woman made eye contact and she shot fire.” Amelia’s testimony was exceptional, as was Elissa’s moving story in her own words. I hoped the jury would feel compassion for her—and all the girls inside that religion.
Back in the waiting room, Lamont looked at Roger and winked. “One down, one to go.”
“What?” I cried.
“Arizona. Didn’t you know that Arizona has a couple of cases against Warren? They’ve charged him with eight additional crimes, including sexual misconduct with minors and incest, involving two separate cases.”
There was an awkward silence. I looked directly at Lamont. “Oh, no. Not me. Don’t cou
nt me in for anything more. I’ve served my time.” I had avoided any contact with Arizona unless it had to do with Elissa’s court case. Not only did I not trust that state’s law enforcement, but I couldn’t put any more pressure on my marriage. Plus, if Warren was convicted here, it made absolutely no sense to pursue another conviction. More trials meant more legal fees paid for by the people. Warren certainly had not labored himself to pay his lawyers.
Later I heard that Roger Hoole had filed a civil case on behalf of Elissa and others. I understood that they wanted to strip Warren of his vast and egregious powers, but I refused to get involved. A criminal case was one thing, but in my mind a civil case would surely cause more suffering among the people.
Warren’s Utah trial lasted just fourteen days. On September 25, 2007, after sixteen hours of deliberation, the jury announced its verdict. Warren was found guilty of being an accomplice to two counts of rape of a minor. He would have to wait until November for Judge Shumate to hand down his sentence.
In the meantime, he was facing a federal charge for fleeing prosecution. No longer a ward of Purgatory, Warren was taken to the Utah State Prison to await his sentence. My biggest hope was that Warren and other FLDS leaders would no longer take for granted their control of children and young women. If a girl didn’t ever know she had a choice, she had no choice.
Though I was relieved by the verdict, it made me think of my little sisters, still within the FLDS and still under Warren’s authority. What would become of them now?
CHAPTER 22
The God That Revealed Himself to Me
The next few months went by in a blur. Amelia was fighting hard for custody of her kids, who were still among the FLDS in Bountiful. During Elissa’s trial, Amelia and I had met Mark Shurtleff, the attorney general for the state of Utah. He had been polite and grateful for our testimony and said to give him a call if there was anything he could do. Amelia shared with him the plight of her children, and Shurtleff had assured her that Utah would lend a hand returning her kids to her. However, once the trial was over, his office never returned her messages, and she never heard from Shurtleff again. But Amelia would not give up.
The Witness Wore Red: The 19th Wife Who Brought Polygamous Cult Leaders to Justice Page 26
