“Ditto.”
“One other thing.”
“Yes, sir?”
“Nice tie.”
“Thanks.” David ran his hand over it. “You can borrow it sometime.”
The bonding process between the different participants in the trial began in earnest the next morning at 9:00. In stark contrast to the throng of jurors the previous day, the courtroom was empty except for Pete, the lawyers, the jury, a pair of sleepy old bailiffs, Alexander and Sarah Hightower, and two newspaper reporters, one from the Atlanta Journal Constitution and Barbara Williams of the Echota Express. Now that the trial was underway and the jury sequestered, the media blackout was over.
The judge described the unique, two-part procedure in a death penalty case. “Ladies and gentlemen, there are two potential parts to this trial. First, you will decide whether the State proves the guilt of the accused beyond a reasonable doubt. If the State does not meet its burden and you acquit the defendant, there would, of course, be no need to determine any punishment. However, if you find the defendant guilty, each side will have opportunity to present additional evidence related to the punishment to be imposed, and you will deliberate a second time to decide if Peter Thomason should be sentenced to life in prison or put to death.
“The lawyers are going to make opening statements. Neither the opening statements nor the indictment by the grand jury is evidence in this case. Evidence is what you hear from the witness stand and the documents and exhibits which I allow you to consider. Mr. Whetstone will go first, followed by Mr. McClain.”
The lawyers’ first chance to outline the evidence would set the tone for all that followed in the trial. First impressions are lasting, and the brief speeches by each side would be the first beams in a bridge of trust between the attorneys and the individuals in the jury box.
Joe began by reading the formal language of the grand jury indictment charging Peter Thomason with the murder of Angela Hightower “with malice aforethought contrary to the laws of the State of Georgia.” He held the indictment toward Pete before putting it down on the prosecution table. Pete didn’t change expression, but his jaw tightened and he ground his teeth together.
Joe continued, “This trial is necessary because a beautiful, nineteen-year-old woman named Angela Hightower is dead. I wish we weren’t here today. Mr. and Mrs. Alexander Hightower, Angela’s parents, desperately wish they weren’t here today. I’m sure that you, together with Judge Danielson and Mr. McClain, feel the same way. Even the defendant, for different reasons, wishes he was not in this courtroom.”
“Objection, Your Honor.” Mac normally didn’t object during opening statements, but Joe had flagrantly crossed the line into argument at the starting gate.
“Don’t argue your case, Mr. Whetstone,” said the judge. “There’ll be time for that later.”
“Of course, Your Honor.”
Joe proceeded to bring Angela back from the grave to tell her story. “In a murder case, the victim can become depersonalized after repeated references by law enforcement officers, medical personnel, and defense counsel to ‘the deceased,’ ‘the body,’ or ‘the decedent.’ With your help, I am determined not to let that happen to Angela. Until her brutal death, she was a beautiful young woman with a lovely name. Let me speak for Angela and tell you the events that led up to her murder through her eyes.”
After describing Angela’s background and her first contacts with Pete Thomason, Joe moved to the night of the murder.
“The defendant won Angela’s trust and the trust of her parents. On August second, he came by the Hightower home, spoke briefly with Mr. and Mrs. Hightower, and took their daughter to Atlanta in Angela’s yellow Porsche. I don’t know what Angela and the defendant talked about on the way to Atlanta. I don’t know what they ate at a quiet little Italian restaurant on the north side of Atlanta. But I do know that Angela never came home. Sometime after leaving the restaurant, she called from her car phone and left a message on her parents’ answering machine that she would be late getting home. Her last words were, ‘I love you.’”
Mrs. Hightower stifled a sob. Everyone in the courtroom turned and watched as she covered her face with a lace handkerchief and walked quickly out of the room. Joe waited until the door closed behind her.
“At some point, the defendant gave Angela something to drink. It could have been a soft drink. It could have been a cup of coffee. Whatever it was, it was not an ordinary beverage. Inside the glass were a few drops of an odorless, tasteless drug called Rohypnol or, as it’s known in drug circles, ‘roofies.’ How do we know that? A chemist at the state crime lab will testify that he found this drug in Angela’s blood. Could Angela have voluntarily taken this drug? Not likely. Rohypnol is used by sexual predators to render their victims unable to resist unwanted advances. And the defendant is no stranger to roofies. The State will present evidence that he has relied on Rohypnol to take advantage of young women in the past.”
Joe let his words hang in the air. Pete was finding it harder to sit still than he thought and squirmed in his seat. Mac leaned over to him and whispered, “Remember what I told you. Don’t believe what Whetstone says. He has to prove it, and we’ll get our chance.”
Joe continued, “The evidence will also show that the defendant took drugs on August second—amphetamines and barbiturates—that fueled the evil within him and that the marks of violence on Angela’s body are irrefutable witnesses that the defendant cannot silence. For some reason, perhaps because she resisted the defendant’s advances, Angela was strangled. The autopsy report reads ‘death by asphyxiation.’”
Joe brought his hands together tightly. “‘Asphyxiation.’ A big word to describe someone putting his hands around her neck and choking the life out of her.
“Around midnight, sheriff ’s department deputies responded to a call on Norton Mountain Road and discovered Angela’s car over the side of a cliff at an overlook point. Climbing down the rocks, they reached the car and found Angela inside, dead. The defendant was taken into custody along the highway near the place where the Porsche went over the edge of the mountain.
“Is that all the evidence? No. A psychiatrist will give you an understanding of the defendant’s mental capacity to commit this horrible crime. A polygraph expert will give you the results of a lie-detector test the defendant failed. Police investigators will help you piece together what happened on August second. And when all the evidence has been presented, I will stand here and ask to do your duty—to find the defendant guilty of murder.”
Joe let his words linger in the air for several moments before turning on his heels and returning to the prosecution table. A couple of jurors appeared ready to send Pete straight from the courtroom to the electric chair at Reidsville State Prison for an afternoon appointment. Joe had pushed the edge of the envelope and in doing so ran the risk of promising too much to the jury. Later, if he didn’t deliver, he would face a counterattack from Mac that “the State didn’t do what it promised.”
Mac didn’t rush. He slowly scooted back his chair and stood up. He was not going to launch a vigorous counterattack. His case was going to have to develop gradually and indirectly. Mac couldn’t accuse Spencer Hightower of the murder in his opening statement or tell the jury that the State’s polygraph test was flawed by a coercive pretest interrogation. He wanted to tell about the presence of GHB in Pete’s blood, but the impact of his statement would have been insignificant to a jury still absorbing the horror of Rohypnol in Angela’s body. He didn’t know whether Harry O’Ryan would be effective in countering the testimony of Walter Monroe, and he wasn’t sure how Anna Wilkes would compare to Dr. Louis Newburn. Mac had to follow a different tack, showing just enough to begin the process of undercutting Joe’s forceful presentation of seemingly incontrovertible facts.
“Ladies and gentlemen, I can’t think of anything more serious than deciding the fate of another human being. When we walked into the courtroom this morning, the clock started ticking on an exper
ience none of us will ever forget. My job is to help you through this process. Not to tell you what to think. Not to bully you. But to treat you with the respect that service on this jury deserves. Will you let me do that?”
Mac released his words like a gentle shower.
As he talked, he made eye contact with every juror.
“First, please remember what Judge Danielson said before Mr. Whetstone spoke to you. Nothing the lawyers say to you is evidence in this case. Oh, we both want you to pay attention to us and give careful consideration to our points of view, but whether the prosecution proves beyond a reasonable doubt that Pete Thomason committed this horrible crime will not depend on a lawyer’s eloquence. It will be the result of what you hear from the witness stand and any other information the judge decides is worth your consideration.
“Second, I agree with everything Mr. Whetstone told you about Angela Hightower. She was cut off from life before she had a chance to live it, and someone should be brought to justice and punished for this crime. However, we believe the evidence will show that the most likely person or persons responsible for the death of Angela Hightower are not in the courtroom today. Not yet.”
Thus, in a calm way Mac dropped his bombshell. He wanted the jurors always looking toward the back door to see who came in next.
“Third, please keep an open mind and listen to all the evidence. The prosecution presents its side of the case first. In the Book of Proverbs it says, ‘The first to present his case seems right, till another comes forward and questions him.’ That is wisdom from the ages, and I would ask you to apply it to your responsibilities today. Thank you very much.”
Mac’s opening statement loosened the spring of inner tension in Pete that had wound to the breaking point during Joe’s remarks. He sat back in his chair and breathed easier.
“The court will be in recess for fifteen minutes,” the judge said.
Celeste had been awake since early in the morning. It was day fourteen of her fast, and she had begun to lose enough weight that friends were complimenting her on a successful diet. She smiled and thanked them. She no longer felt a strong physical hunger, but an occasional ache that was more spiritual than physical let her know that her assignment wasn’t complete.
She began the Tuesday morning meeting of the Mable Ray Circle by reading one of the most important scriptures for the group—Isaiah 62:6–7:
I have posted watchmen on your walls, O Jerusalem; they will never be silent day or night. You who call on the name of the Lord, give your- selves no rest, and give him no rest till he establishes Jerusalem and makes her the praise of the earth.
Dennison Springs was their Jerusalem, and the watchmen on its walls were a small group of faithful women. They became quiet and waited. A heavy stillness settled in the room, a time when heaven held its breath in anticipation.
Then the divine wind came. There were no visible tongues of fire resting on their heads, but the manifestation of the Holy Spirit was immediate and intense. Like ripe stalks of wheat before a coming storm, the women bowed down and began to pray aloud with passion and zeal. Spirit-inspired phrases and Scripture passages rolled out of their hearts and through their lips in a gushing river of intercession. “Expose the deeds of darkness, loose the chains of injustice, break the bands of the oppressor, proclaim freedom to the captives, cast down the accuser, establish truth and integrity, save the perishing, shine forth the light, reveal your glory.” There were ebbs and flows, tears and sighs, but for more than an hour one after another would come to the head of the column and push forward the advance until yielding to the next in line.
When Naomi said, “In the strong name of Jesus Christ, amen,” they sat back in their chairs and looked at one another in amazement.
“That was different,” Kelli said.
“That was a prayer meeting,” Naomi responded.
“I couldn’t keep up writing notes,” Kathy said.
“Don’t worry,” Celeste said. “You can do it later. The important record is written in heaven.”
30
Cannon to the right of them, cannon to the left of them.
THE CHARGE OF THE LIGHT BRIGADE
Proceed with the State’s case, Mr. Whetstone,” the judge said. “Officer Bryce Gordon,” Joe said.
Joe called Officer Gordon, then Detective Kenneth Mason to the witness stand. Joe stood behind a podium beside the jury box and asked his questions. The men who found Pete alongside the road near the overlook methodically delivered their testimony without a hitch.
When Joe finished questioning Detective Mason, Mac began, “Detective Mason, how severely impaired was Mr. Thomason at the time of your first contact?”
“Physically or mentally?”
“Both. Start with physical problems.”
“He had been able to walk a couple hundred yards from the overlook to the place where we saw him alongside the road. So I would say his physical capacity was only mildly impaired.”
“Did you see him walk a couple hundred yards?”
Mac began pacing back and forth as he asked questions.
“No, but we measured the distance from the point where we apprehended him to the overlook. It was more than two hundred yards.”
“But how far did you see him walk?”
“We stopped the car next to him. He was at the edge of the woods.”
“How far was it to the edge of the woods?”
“About twenty-five feet.”
“So the only distance you saw Pete walk would have been from the woods to your car, correct?”
“Yes.”
“And he fell down before he could make it to the patrol car?”
“Yes.”
Mac stopped.
“So you’re not telling this jury that you saw Pete Thomason walk from the overlook to the place where you and Officer Gorden first saw him?”
“No.”
“Is it possible Pete never went to the overlook?”
Joe stood. “Objection, Your Honor. That’s speculation.”
“Your Honor,” Mac responded. “I think Detective Mason has already speculated about Mr. Thomason’s activities beyond his ability to observe.”
“He has the witness on cross-examination, Mr. Whetstone. Objection denied.”
“Please answer the question.”
“I don’t know where he was before I saw him.”
“Someone could have put him out of a vehicle at the edge of the road near the spot you found him, couldn’t they?”
“I don’t know.”
“Did Pete try to run away when Officer Gordon stopped the patrol car?”
“No.”
“When you got out of the car, did Mr. Thomason walk away from you or come toward you?”
“He came out of the woods.”
“When you told him to come over to the car, did he cooperate?”
“Not really.”
“Did he try to run away?”
“No, he took a couple of steps and fell down. I almost had to carry him to the car.”
“Did you or Officer Gordon talk with him before putting him in the backseat of the patrol car?”
“No.”
“Why not?”
“He passed out as soon as we put him in the backseat.”
“How long did he stay unconscious?”
“All the way to the hospital.”
“So, from a physical standpoint, he didn’t demonstrate much capability while under your observation and custody, did he?”
“No.”
“What about mental capability?”
Detective Mason obviously did not want to repeat another long line of questioning before admitting the obvious.
“He was impaired.”
“How impaired?”
“Disoriented, confused, pupils dilated. He looked stoned, to put it in street language.”
“He was so impaired you didn’t think it necessary to advise him of his legal rights, did you?”
“I didn
’t read him his rights.”
“That’s all I have.”
Joe called Officers Morris Jefferson and Tim Logan to paint a word picture of the gruesome scene at the overlook. Mac didn’t ask Jefferson any questions. Tim Logan testified about his discovery of the damaged guardrail and described how he climbed down the cliff to the place where the Porsche had come to rest. He identified a picture of the yellow car, its top caved in, and three large pictures of Angela as he first found her.
The photos had the desired effect on the jury. Joe laid them on the jury rail and the jurors in the second row leaned forward to see them. Several men looked grimly at Pete. A couple of women began to cry.
Mac went softly when it was his turn to question Tim Logan. “Were there many cars on Norton Mountain Road that night?”
“No. It’s not heavily traveled.”
“Do you recall seeing any cars on your way down the mountain to the overlook?”
“I’m sure there were several, but only one I remember.”
“Why do you remember it?”
“It was traveling too fast and came over into my lane. I had to swerve to avoid it.”
“Can you describe the car?”
“It was a large dark sedan.”
Joe asked a few questions on redirect examination.
“Did you see any connection that night between the dark sedan and what you found at the overlook?”
“No.”
“Today, do you have any evidence linking this car and Angela Hightower’s murder?”
“No, sir.”
After lunch came the parade of forensic experts. Joe spent quite a bit of time with each witness; Mac only asked a few questions.
The pathologist professionally and graphically described Angela’s injuries and the cause of death. In his opinion, she had been dead for at least two hours before the car went over the edge of the cliff. It was the hardest time yet for Pete. More pictures of Angela’s body lined the rail in front of the jury. The stark reality of the photographs and the doctor’s description of death shocked Pete as much as it did anyone in the courtroom. Even though he was charged with the murder, he’d felt disconnected from the night of the murder because he couldn’t remember it. Now, when he glanced up, he occasionally met the eyes of a juror who looked at him with obvious disgust.
The Trial Page 25
