by A. W. Gray
It would be difficult not to notice her under any circumstances, and her role as one of the principal players in the unfolding drama would keep most gazes in her direction during the balance of the trial. She made her debut in Texas v. Lyon wearing a dress of divided color, half black, half orange, the colors split by a line running dead center down her spine and on from there in the direction of the floor. Wave after wave of soft hair the shade of gourmet cornsilk cascaded over her shoulders to a point a good eighteen inches below her waist. As Jerri went down the aisle and through the gate in the direction of the prosecution side, one chic Park Cities lady remarked to another, in an audible stage whisper, “My kingdom for a pair of scissors. God.” Titters rippled through the spectators’ section.
Striking as is her appearance, Jerri’s trial demeanor is elegantly reserved. She questions witnesses in a businesslike alto, her words precise as if chosen like ripe fruit. It is a peculiarity of Texas courts that lawyers question witnesses from seats at their respective tables, and may only rise after asking the court’s permission to approach the witness, and then only to show the witness an admitted piece of evidence. In the Lone Star State there is none of the menacing, close-encounter witness harassment and rail pounding prevalent on LA Law and the like, and Jerri Sims plays to her audience like a virtuoso, her questions brief and to the point, her innuendos unmistakable. In the Lyon trial, she would leave the strutting up to the defense side.
As would be typical of her game plan, Jerri waived her opening statement to the jury, and her silence spoke volumes. We’re going to prove that this guy murdered his wife, folks. Why belabor the issue? Like a containment football defense, Jerri would give ground and wait for the other side to cough up the ball.
Guthrie, resplendent in a navy blue suit and still another Nicole Miller tie, did make a brief opening statement but gave nothing away that hadn’t already been hashed and rehashed in the newspapers for days on end. His statement consisted of a single sentence: “We will show that, number one, there are multiple suspects in the case other than the defendant and, two, this might not have been a murder at all. Thank you.” On the surface at least, the defense strategy hadn’t changed from the outset: Either Bill Jr., David Bagwell, or Lynn Pease murdered Nancy, or, in the alternative, Nancy committed suicide by ingesting the poison on her own. His point made, Guthrie sat down. Jerri then led with a straight hard right. She put Big Daddy on the stand.
Big Daddy keeps a low profile in the business community—though he’s well known by those whose livelihood depends on acquaintances with men of influence—but the newspaper and television stories relating to the case had thrust him into the public eye. As Jerri called William Wooldridge Dillard Sr. to be the first prosecution witness, there was a loud rustling in the courtroom as all heads turned as one to the rear. Big Daddy didn’t disappoint. He entered and strode down the aisle at a brisk clip, pausing only long enough to give his wife, seated on the aisle, an affectionate pat on the shoulder. Sue responded with a sweet-sad smile.
For those having only read newspaper accounts of the case, Big Daddy’s physical appearance was a surprise. The ballyhoo and hoopla practically dictated a larger-than-life character, perhaps wearing a ten-gallon hat, string tie, and diamond-studded stickpin in the shape of an oil well or dollar sign, but a Southfork type Big Daddy isn’t. As he went through the gate wearing a conservative gray business suit and dark red tie, then stood before the court reporter for his swearing-in, Big Daddy’s gaze rested briefly on Richard, then swept contemptuously away. The patriarch of the Dillard clan swore to tell the truth in a strong voice, mounted to the witness stand, and waited for questions like a fighter between rounds. For the most part, his testimony would be anticlimactic to his entry.
Asking questions in a clear but soft tone that those near the back had to strain in order to hear, Jerri systematically led the witness through a brief life story, touching momentarily on the births and childhoods of each of his children, then asked a series of questions that, at least to those already familiar with the story, didn’t seem particularly relevant. Yes, Big Daddy had gone to the hospital on the morning of January 9 because he’d learned that Nancy was there. Sometime during the day Mary Helen had told him of Nancy’s suspicions (Big Daddy’s testimony at this point was pure hearsay; Guthrie didn’t object because he knew of Mary Helen Dillard’s presence at the courthouse, and knew that Jerri could put Bill Jr.’s wife on the stand if need be), and Big Daddy had relayed the story to Dr. Bagheri. Big Daddy had also interfered when, on Richard’s instructions, the hospital staff had tried to disconnect Nancy’s life support, and he’d been one of the family members present when, after meeting with doctors, the life support was turned off with the Dillards’ consent. Big Daddy related the entire story deadpan, answering Jerri’s questions clearly but with no outward display of emotion.
The tale of Nancy’s death complete, Jerri took the witness down a different path. Big Daddy now gave his personal viewpoint of Nancy’s marriage to Richard, told of his feeling that at some point Richard had simply tired of Nancy, and related what he knew about Richard’s affair with Denise Woods (whom Big Daddy never called by name, and merely referred to as “that flashy blonde”). When Big Daddy said that he thought Richard spent far too much money, glances were exchanged throughout the courtroom, both between parents who had given similar advice to their own kids, and between the kids who had been the recipients of same. As far as his giving of unsolicited financial advice, Big Daddy seemed no different than any other father-in-law.
Interesting though his testimony had been to this point, Jerri’s motive for putting Nancy’s father on the stand wasn’t clear. It was apparent that Big Daddy thought Richard had murdered Nancy, but so what? Big Daddy knew absolutely nothing that pointed to Richard as the killer other than the tales of the wine and pills and the Coke in the movie, all of which Jerri could have gotten into evidence through other witnesses, and eventually did. Those questioning Jerri’s strategy didn’t have long to wait, however. With a calm movement of manicured hands, a faint rustling of papers as she went through her file, Jerri prepared to deliver her punch line.
She stood holding two photographs, offered both to Guthrie for the defense’s inspection—Richard’s gaze dropped as he glanced at the pictures over his attorney’s shoulder—then handed them to the court reporter. The reporter, a pleasant light-skinned black woman, applied gummed evidence labels to each picture. Jerri, pictures in hand, then faced the judge. “Your honor, we offer what have been marked state’s exhibits one and two.”
Creuzot accepted the pictures over the top of the bench, glanced at them, looked toward Guthrie. “Any objection?”
“None, Your Honor.” Guthrie’s tone said that this was all procedure; an objection to admission of evidence such as the photos is pointless.
“So admitted,” Creuzot said.
Jerri then handed the photos over for passing through the jury box; some jurors’ faces remained impassive while others looked closely at the first picture, then quickly averted their gazes from the second. Jury inspection complete, Jerri said, “Your Honor, may I approach the witness?”
Another formality. “You may,” Creuzot said.
Big Daddy had watched the admitting of evidence impassively. As Jerri walked near and laid one of the photos on the rail in front of the witness, Big Daddy bent forward, still without expression.
Jerri now assumed a sympathetic tone. “Mr. Dillard, I show you what has been marked state’s exhibit number one, and ask if you can identify it.”
“It’s a picture of Nancy.”
“And is there anyone else in the picture?”
“My … granddaughters. Allison and Anna.” Big Daddy’s voice broke slightly.
“And is this picture representative of the way Nancy appeared in life?” Jerri said.
“It’s a good likeness.”
“During the time that she was in
the hospital, did Nancy’s appearance change any?”
Big Daddy removed his glasses. “She became swollen. Bloated.”
Jerri’s tone of respect now became gentle and caring. “Sir, I’ll now show you state’s exhibit number two. Can you identify it, please?”
Big Daddy was able to glance quickly at the second photo. Tearfully he said, “It’s Nancy again.”
“Mr. Dillard, is this Nancy as she appeared in death?”
Big Daddy now broke down completely. “Yes,” he cried. “Yes, that’s Nancy.” Tears ran down his cheeks. He took a handkerchief from his pocket and gently blew his nose.
Jerri paused. She looked straight at Richard, then at Guthrie. “Pass the witness,” Jerri said. She then sat down, and a full thirty seconds elapsed while a silent courtroom watched a broken elderly man grieve for his child and strive to regain his composure. It was the only outward emotional display from one of the Dillard clan during the entire ordeal.
There was a lengthy recess before Guthrie’s cross-examination while Creuzot considered a motion. This motion, filed by Dillard attorneys, asked that the court throw out the defense’s subpoena for Big Daddy’s financial statement. Just what Guthrie had intended to show using this statement was never clear; Creuzot eventually granted the motion and allowed Big Daddy’s personal dealings to remain secret.
During the recess, writers milled about and inspected the television camera at the rear of the courtroom, which had previously been the subject of still another motion; early on in the trial, Creuzot spent as much time on the various legal papers filed by parties outside the case as he did on the arguments of the state and the defense. The motion to televise—in this instance filed by Bela Corporation on behalf of its subsidiary, Channel 8—is becoming almost standard procedure in high-profile criminal cases. The question of the presence of television cameras in the courtroom has been a weighty one, First Amendment versus Fifth, the right of the press to tell and the public’s right to know versus the defendant’s right to a fair and impartial trial. In most cases the press wins out and the TV cameras come rolling in. Defendants’ rights proponents argue vehemently against the practice, but, at least to those attending the Lyon trial, the whole furor seemed much ado about nothing.
The camera, mounted on a tall tripod to the left far rear of the spectator section, was never in the way and made no noise whatsoever. Many attending the proceedings were never aware of the camera’s presence, and on seeing themselves on the 10:00 p.m. news wondered where in the world the pictures had come from. The TV setup, in fact, became a boon to writers and spectators alike as, when all courtroom seats were taken, the crowd around the monitor in the hallway became half again as large as the gathering in the spectators’ section. The jury was never sequestered—and exactly how much heed jurors give a judge’s instruction not to watch the case on television or read about it in the newspapers is up for grabs to begin with—but since the television camera recorded nothing that the jurors hadn’t already seen in person, it couldn’t possibly have affected the verdict. Consensus of trial attenders’ opinion: let the cameras in; the practice might keep more spectators out and give us a better seat. Judge Creuzot announced his ruling on Big Daddy’s financial statement. The trial resumed.
Guthrie’s cross-examination methods were every bit as pointed as Jerri’s handling of witnesses was subtle. The defense wasted no time; Guthrie revealed the main thing he wanted from Big Daddy in the defense’s very first question. “Mr. Dillard,” Guthrie said, sitting intently forward, “when were you first aware that there was incest between Nancy and her brother, Bill Dillard, Jr.?”
There was a deathly silence, a pause resembling a collective gasp. The incest issue had already been widely reported after the Lyon vs. Dillard child-custody hearing, and there were few present who didn’t know that Nancy’s relationship with her brother would come up, but the abruptness of Guthrie’s question was shattering. All courtroom attention riveted on William Dillard Sr. How would he hold up to this?
The elder Dillard’s manner was a surprise. Shaken and in tears at the end of Jerri’s direct examination, Big Daddy now regarded Guthrie as he would a pesky door-to-door insurance salesman. “Nineteen-seventy,” he said. “Thereabouts.” It was apparent that the prosecution had spent a great deal of time in preparing Big Daddy to deal with this line of questioning—Yes, Virginia, Perry Mason aside, all witnesses on both sides are rehearsed at length—and as Guthrie’s lengthy cross wore on, many would seriously question Big Daddy’s demeanor. Some, in fact, would wonder if his display of grief on seeing the photo of Nancy in death hadn’t been rehearsed as well. The entire scenario seemed a bit too prearranged. Asked about his children’s incest, Big Daddy hardly batted an eye.
His blow delivered, Guthrie now settled back in his seat. “And how did that come about, sir?”
Big Daddy seemed only slightly irritated. “Their mother caught them. The kids were just playing doctor.”
Guthrie paused to let that answer sink in, then said, “Playing doctor? How old were they?”
Here Big Daddy’s answer was much too quick; he didn’t even pause to think. “Eleven and thirteen.”
“And at eleven and thirteen, they were just playing doctor.” Guthrie’s question was more of a statement.
“That’s what I said,” Big Daddy snapped. Jurors looked incredulously at one another.
“Immediately after Mrs. Dillard caught them … playing doctor, wasn’t Bill Jr. sent away?”
“He went to school up in Dublin, New Hampshire, but not because of that.”
“Because of the incest?” Guthrie said.
“Right. He was dyslexic.”
“Dyslexic.” Guthrie rolled the word; it was clear that the defense attorney didn’t believe dyslexia had anything to do with Bill Jr.’s going away. “Mr. Dillard, was Bill Jr. ever arrested when in college?”
Big Daddy waved a hand as if batting mosquitoes. “A prank or something.”
“A prank. Wasn’t he stealing football equipment? Selling it out the back door when he was student manager?”
“Something like that.”
“And the following year? Was he arrested for drugs?”
Big Daddy nodded, stone-faced. “He was.”
“And was that a prank?”
Jerri objected and Creuzot sustained, all too late to keep the jury from getting the point. Guthrie seemed deep in thought, then said, “Over the past few years, Mr. Dillard, how would you describe Bill Jr.’s financial condition?”
“He’s been broke four or five years.” From the prosecution standpoint, it was pointless to hedge here. The various suits filed against Bill Jr. were a matter of public record.
“And during that time, have you loaned him money?”
“I’ve loaned all my children money at one time or another.”
“One loan in particular, sir,” Guthrie said. “Did Nancy have to cosign for Bill Jr. to get some eighty thousand dollars?”
Here Big Daddy glanced at Jerri; the defense had a great deal more information than the Dillards had realized. “I believe she did,” Big Daddy finally said.
“And, if you know, why was it necessary for her to sign?”
“Collateral for the loan. There were some trust funds involved.”
“Trust funds, funds you’ve established for your children?”
Big Daddy angrily uncrossed and recrossed his legs. “That’s right.”
“How much money is in trust for your children, Mr. Dillard?”
“I’m not sure. Couple of hundred thousand each, I suppose.”
“And in the event of Nancy’s death,” Guthrie said, “what happens to her portion of that money?”
“It goes,” Big Daddy said, “to the other children.”
“That’s Susan, Nancy’s sister, and Bill Jr.?”
“Those are my children, s
ir. My … living children.” Big Daddy now glared pointedly at Richard.
“So in the long run,” Guthrie said, “Bill Jr. profits from Nancy’s death.”
Jerri objected. Her grounds for objecting here are not clear, but it’s apparent that she had to do something—anything—to divert this disastrous line of questioning. Once again Creuzot sustained. Guthrie tossed a knowing look in the direction of the jury box, then prepared to go on; the defense was making points, and Guthrie was only beginning. Before the defense could throw another punch, however, Judge Creuzot interrupted. It was late. Creuzot asked Guthrie how much longer his cross would take, and Guthrie replied that he had several hours planned. Creuzot then recessed the trial for the day. As the jury filed out, there was a general feeling that Big Daddy had, temporarily at any rate, been saved by the bell.
35
The burning desire of the press to inform being somewhat tempered by its knowledge of what the public wants to know, the following morning’s headlines were hardly surprising: TESTIMONY REVEALS INCEST. Both dailies reported Nancy’s adolescent mistakes with Bill Jr. at length; one reporter, having called Bill Jr.’s home for an interview, failed to contact Nancy’s brother but did receive a return call from one of the family friends, relaying Bill Jr.’s statement that there had been only touching between the two, never intercourse. Having broadcast the really important details of the trial, both papers reported the testimony relating to Nancy’s death from arsenic poisoning in single paragraphs at the end of their respective stories. The public’s thirst for knowledge was quenched once more.
