A Silence of Mockingbirds

by Karen Spears Zacharias

  So Kate was compelled to denounce her father publicly. The appearance of a child being sworn in and grilled by attorneys was wrenching for everyone present. The prosecutor was sensitive to that.

  “Do you know the people sitting in that box?” Demarest began.

  “No,” Kate replied softly. She faced the jurors, eight men and four women. Her dark hair fell forward, giving her some privacy. In her hands, she held two stuffed bunnies.

  “They are called the jury,” Demarest said. “They are here today to hear what you have to tell them.”

  “Okay.”

  “Do you know who that is, sitting in the black robe?”

  “Judge?”

  “Yes. That’s right. She’s the boss of things here,” Demarest replied. “Karly…”

  Oops!

  Demarest made a mistake, referring to Kate as Karly. She quickly corrected her error, but it’s one that would be repeated. It was unsettling, hearing Karly’s name called out like that, as if Karly were playing a game of hide-and-seek with the jurors.

  After moving through a litany of pedestrian questions about pets and teachers, Demarest asked Kate how she was feeling.

  “A little nervous,” Kate admitted.

  Demarest attempted to ease the girl’s anxiety by asking questions Kate could answer without fear. What day of the week was it? What month was it? The sort of questions you’d expect a doctor to ask when determining if your child has a concussion. Then Demarest asked Kate if she understood the seriousness of the trial.

  “When we ask you questions today, do you promise to tell the truth no matter what?”

  “Yes,” Kate said.

  “Have you and I talked before?”

  “Yes.”

  “Have we been in the room before?” Demarest asked.

  “Yes,” Kate said.

  “What did we do?”

  “I talked on this microphone.”

  “Did you sit in the judge’s chair?”

  “Yes.”

  “Did you try to get me to sing in the microphone?”

  “Yes.”

  “Do you remember when you used to go to Hoover school?”

  “Yes.”

  “Where did you live?” Demarest asked.

  “On Aspen Street,” Kate replied.

  “Who lived there with you?”

  “My dad.”

  “Did anyone else live there?”

  “Um,” Kate hesitated. “Uh…”

  There was a long silence.

  “Did you have any people who came and visited?” The attorney restated her question.

  “Yes. Sarah and Karly.”

  “What was Karly like?” Demarest asked. It was the first mention of the slain girl.

  “She was…she was adorable,” Kate said.

  David Sheehan looked at Kate. The little girl’s answer was so frank, so guileless, so accurate, and so very brave. Whatever else anyone had been thinking up until that moment, everyone in the courtroom knew Kate had loved Karly the way big sisters do.

  “Do you remember how old she was?” Demarest continued.

  “Yes. Three.”

  “What did she look like?”

  “She had blonde hair. Blue eyes.”

  “What did you do with her?”

  “We played sometimes.”

  “What sort of things did you play?”

  “Sometimes when she came over, um, I think we played with the cat. Um, I don’t really remember,” Kate said.

  This stumbling over specifics continued throughout Kate’s testimony. That was particularly true whenever Demarest asked Kate a question that involved her father.

  “How did you feel about having Karly around?”

  “Happy,” Kate replied.

  “How did your dad act when Sarah Sheehan was around?”

  “I don’t remember.”

  “Do you remember if he acted the same or differently?”

  “I don’t remember.”

  “Did you ever see Karly throw up when she was staying with you?”

  “I don’t really remember.”

  “Did Karly spend the night?” Demarest skirted the interrogation away from Kate’s father.

  “Yes.”

  “Where would she sleep?”

  “On the bottom bunk.”

  “What about when there wasn’t a mattress there?” Demarest asked. “I don’t remember.”

  Demarest warned Kate she was going to ask her some questions about the week Karly died. Kate began to cry quietly. Several of the jurors looked over at Shawn. Up until Kate’s emotional testimony, the trial had moved along at an excruciatingly tedious pace.

  The prosecutor had started the trial on Monday, October 2, 2006, by questioning 911 Dispatcher Andy Thompson. The 911 tape was played for the jury. The day ended with testimony from Sergeant Evan Fieman, who had performed CPR and tried to save Karly. Fieman, who knew Sarah socially, was distressed that he failed to bring Karly back to life. He felt like he’d let Sarah down.

  Scheduling conflicts put the testimony on hold until the following Monday, October 9, 2006. Demarest called for testimony from Detective Harvey, along with the nurses and EMTs who had responded to the emergency that day. Demarest had painstakingly questioned these witnesses: what was Karly wearing that day, who cut off her pants, who placed them in the paper sack, who verified they’d been placed into the paper sack, on and on.

  One juror, a man in his seventies, was having a difficult time staying awake. Once, he nodded off so soundly the pen and pad slipped from his hand. Out of earshot of the jury, but before the judge, the attorneys discussed whether he ought to be replaced.

  But on that day, ironically, Friday, October 13, 2006, as Kate sat sniffling in the witness chair, jurors noticed that Shawn Field looked visibly pained for the first time. They could see the worry on his face, the anxiety furrowing his brow. Shawn Field had forgotten about himself. He was honed in on his weeping daughter. He was clearly distressed that Kate had been put on the stand to testify against him.

  “Do you remember the morning, the last time you saw Karly?” Demarest asked.

  “Yes.” Several jurors shifted in their seats, uncomfortable with the interrogation of such a young girl.

  “Do you remember what kind of mood your dad was in that morning?”

  “Yes.”

  “What kind of mood was that?”

  “He seemed mad.”

  “Do you know why he was mad?”

  “Yes. Because I had…he told me to finish my homework ‘cause, well.” Kate was having a difficult time fighting back the tears and talking. “Because it was almost time for me to go to school and I had to finish it.”

  “How could you tell he was mad?” Demarest continued.

  “Um. Because he yelled.”

  “What did he yell?”

  “I don’t remember.”

  “Did he yell any bad words?”

  “Probably a couple.”

  “Do you remember what they were?”

  “No.”

  “Are you afraid to say bad words in front of people?”

  “Yes.”

  “Would you be more comfortable writing them down?”

  “No. I just know there were a couple of bad words but I don’t remember what they were.”

  Some jurors were ready to cuss out Joan Demarest at this point. They could not figure out why the prosecutor insisted upon haranguing the poor child. What difference did it make what bad words were said? They got it—Shawn had been in a bad mood that morning. She’d made her point.

  “How did they make you feel?” Demarest was relentless.

  “Bad.”

  “Who was your dad yelling at?”

  “Me.”

  Like children will often do, Kate took the blame upon herself. If only she had gotten her homework done, maybe her dad wouldn’t have been in such a bad mood.

  Kate told the court that when Karly got up that morning she had a bruise on her eye. She’
d had the bruise the day before. Kate said she’d first seen the bruise when she got home from school on Thursday, and it worried her because it was a bad bruise.

  “Did your dad say anything about the bruise?” Demarest asked.

  “Yes, but I forgot what he said,” Kate answered.

  “Did he tell you about the bruise before you saw it?”

  “Yes.”

  Kate was careful about her answers. She always stopped short of pointing the finger at her dad. When Demarest asked how Karly was acting that afternoon, Kate replied she’d forgotten.

  “Did Karly seem happy or sad, excited or tired?” Demarest prodded the witness.

  “She seemed…” Kate started, but stopped. She wept, then said she really couldn’t remember. But it was clear from the girl’s tears she likely was remembering it all too well.

  “How was she acting or behaving? What was her mood?” Demarest wasn’t about to let up.

  “I think she asked me if she could sit down,” Kate replied.

  Kate said she couldn’t remember if they played that night or not. She didn’t remember having dinner, talking with her dad, or doing her homework. She only remembered what happened at bedtime.

  “What do you remember about that?”

  “I said goodnight to her when she had the bruise. My dad was holding her. I was on the top bunk. I hugged her.”

  “Did Karly go to bed, too?”

  “No. I don’t remember what she did.”

  Clutching a stuffed animal, she testified through tears that she’d heard slapping sounds coming from the kitchen the night before Karly was killed. She did not get out of bed to check on Karly.

  “What happened after you went to bed?”

  “I heard some noises.”

  “What kind of noises?”

  “Banging noises, kind of.”

  “What did they sound like?”

  “Um,” Kate paused, and tugged at the stuffed animal in her hands.

  “Kind of like, I can’t really sound it, but I know what it sounded like.”

  “Have you described those sounds before?” Demarest asked. She knew, of course, that Kate had told the forensic interviewer at the ABC (All Because of Children) House exactly what those sounds had been like.

  “Yes.”

  “Did you use anything to describe those sounds before?”

  “Yes.” Kate was a defense attorney’s star witness, expertly parsing her answers.

  “What did you use?” Demarest was a patient prosecutor who had practiced for this moment.

  “A spoon,” Kate replied.

  “Like a big plastic spoon?”

  “I think it was plastic. I don’t know,” Kate replied honestly.

  “Did you hear any voices?”

  “Yes.”

  “What were those voices doing?”

  “Well, they were,” Kate said. She paused and thought through the question carefully. “What do you mean?”

  “Were they talking, yelling, crying, anything like that?” Demarest seemed annoyed that Kate had come back at her with a question. Did she fault the child for trying to protect her father?

  “Uh. Karly, she said mmmm,” Kate replied, mimicking a quiet, moaning sound. “I think that was the sound.”

  “Did you hear your dad’s voice?”

  “I don’t remember.”

  “What did you do with the spoon to make the sound?”

  “Can you repeat the question?” Kate was stalling.

  “Can you tell us what you did with the spoon to make the sound?”

  “I hit it,” Kate said. “It’s hard to explain.”

  “Would it be helpful if you had a spoon to show the jury?” Demarest asked.

  “No. Not really,” Kate replied.

  Demarest would not be denied. She pulled a large black plastic spoon, the sort used for ladling stews, from a paper sack.

  “Have you ever seen a spoon like this before?”

  “Yes. At my dad’s house. Except it was, mmm….”

  “Was it broken like this?”

  “No.”

  “Kate, what would you do with a spoon like that to make the sound you heard that night?”

  Kate slapped her hands together.

  “How do you know it was a spoon you heard that night?” Demarest asked.

  “Because I know what spoons sound like,” the girl replied.

  “What did you do when you heard the spanking sounds?”

  “I stayed in bed.”

  “Did you think about going outside your bedroom to see what the sound was from?”

  “No,” Kate said, “because I didn’t know it was…” She stopped herself. “Just no.”

  Kate never told the jurors or anyone else how she knew what spanking noises sounded like. If her father had ever abused her in any way, Kate never admitted to it. Her mother, Eileen Field, told the court about how abusive her ex-husband had been. How he’d once dropped-kicked a puppy in front of their young daughter. How, when angered, he’d threaten to harm Kate’s beloved kittens. How he’d constantly berate her, screaming obscenities in front of Kate.

  The defense team decided not to interrogate the young girl. Whether that was because it might further implicate their client or because their client begged them not to question his daughter, the jurors thought it was the right call.

  Despite Demarest’s belief that Kate’s testimony was a critical turning point in the trial, many of the jurors said the young girl’s statements really didn’t change their minds one way or another. Most felt sorry for Kate—sorry that she had to be in the courtroom at all. Some were angry at Joan Demarest for putting Kate on the stand.

  “Kate never made eye contact with her father,” recalled one juror. “Her voice was barely audible and the answers she gave were not clear. She did meekly admit Shawn spanked Karly with a spoon, but not convincingly. It was not clear where, when, or how hard Karly was hit. The defense attorneys, to their credit, did not challenge Kate’s responses, which they easily could have done.”

  This particular juror noted how distraught Shawn was to see his daughter on the stand. He also came away with the distinct impression Kate “knew a lot more than she revealed, but she was torn about having to testify against her father, and/or she was intimidated by the environment.”

  Another juror noted, “Little, if any, of Kate’s testimony was useful for a juror looking at evidence. I felt it was unnecessary to have put her through it.”

  But Demarest remains resolute that putting Kate on the stand was the right thing to do.

  “She heard Karly getting beaten the night before Karly was killed when only Kate, Karly, and Field were home. No one else could have testified to that.”

  Demarest did not like interrogating a child before a jury. “I had to do some very hard things in this trial in order to get an evil man behind bars. I felt badly about putting Kate on the stand then and I feel badly about it now.”

  By the time Kate stepped down from the stand, many of the jurors were growing increasingly agitated. They were bored to tears with tedious, seemingly useless information about Karly’s clothing in an attempt to prove possible sexual abuse.

  Dr. Hochfeld, the doctor who saw Karly in Good Samaritan’s ER the day she died, reported that Karly had “quite a bit of bruising” along with dilation in her privates, something the doctor said “was not inconsistent with some recent sexual assault.” Semen spots were found on the carpet in Karly’s room but none was found in her diaper. Dr. Hochfeld conducted a sexual assault evaluation on Karly, but subsequent postmortem exams ruled the suspected sexual abuse inconclusive. In those early hours after Karly’s death, both Shawn and David had provided semen specimens per investigators’ requests. David asked the coroner outright if his daughter had been sexually abused, and was told that she had not been.

  It had been previously determined in pre-trial hearing that the sexual assault question would not be part of the trial. But when the defense referred to in an an eff
ort to discredit investigators, Demarest was forced to address it, lest it become an unanswered question lingering in some juror’s mind later.

  The tedious testimony about what Karly was wearing the day she was murdered served another purpose.

  “Pounds and inches don’t say much,” Demarest said. “But Karly’s sweatsuit gave the jury a real tangible feel for how tiny and helpless she was against the tall and muscly Field.”

  Demarest also brought in computer geeks to testify about the forensics of Shawn’s computers in an effort to show how he planned to extort money from David, a theory that most of the jurors rejected due to lack of evidence. The jury had been led down so many rabbit trails they were getting frustrated.

  If the state had proof that Shawn Field battered this child to death, they needed to ante it up, quickly. The jury was weary of all the piddling details. They needed concrete evidence, something they didn’t think they had yet.

  Chapter Thirty-Eight

  Fat pumpkins squatted side by side on the doorsteps of clapboard houses throughout town. Felt spiders and cotton webs hung in the windows of bookstores and drugstores. End shelves at the corner market were stacked with bags of candy corn. The University’s colors, black and orange, were even more evident during the month of October when Sarah Brill Sheehan stepped up to the witness stand in the Benton County Courthouse, raised her right hand and swore to tell the truth, the whole truth and nothing but the truth.

  Joan Demarest might not have been aware of the jurors’ unease regarding her decision to put Kate on the stand, but she did fear they might be harboring an increasing disdain for Sarah.

  Sarah had a favorite outfit she wore to the trial: black pants with a black top. She coupled the ensemble with a selection of brightly colored scarves. Jurors wondered if she was purposefully wearing black to evoke the image of a grieving woman, or if her wardrobe was really that limited.

  They didn’t trust Sarah.

  “You could tell she’s used to flirting her way out of a lot of things,” noted one juror.

  Sarah wasn’t the one on trial, but the jurors were forming their own judgments about her.