Beyond Obsession

by Hammer, Richard;

  So the case turned, and it was Joyce Aparo, not Karin, who was now on trial in the public mind—on trial and soon convicted as the tales of abuse, the tales of lies and deceit, the tales of Archbishop Whealon filled a packed and sometimes stunned and certainly appalled courtroom and newspaper columns and the television screens over the next ten days. The stories came from Karin herself, from all those teachers and neighbors and friends and from the psychiatric experts. They were chilling. It was possible to feel the sympathy grow and swing. At the beginning Karin had been an object of scorn. Now she was turning into an object of pity.

  In the corridors outside the courtroom, on the sidewalk outside the courthouse, one could hear voices saying, “She should have killed that woman herself. Then she could have pleaded justifiable homicide and gotten off.” There was, though, an inevitable “but.” “But she didn’t. She got that poor jerk to do it for her, and now he’s in prison for thirty-four years.” No matter the testimony that Santos was managing to enter onto the record, the public perception of Karin’s guilt remained unchanged, though not the views about what punishment she might deserve, which had once been that whatever Dennis got, she should get as much if not more. Punished she should be, people said, but nobody was sure just how.

  When Santos was finished, it remained to be seen how and if Thomas would manage to rebut and deflect the impact. First came his cross-examination of Karin. It was a trying time for both of them.

  “What,” he asked, “were your feelings for Alex Markov from August fifth to August twelfth?”

  “I don’t remember.”

  “Did you ever intend to marry Alex Markov?”

  “Maybe.”

  “Have children with Alex Markov?”

  “Maybe.”

  “Tell people after you met Alex Markov that you and Dennis were just friends?”

  “Yes.”

  “Now you say you loved Dennis?”

  “Yes.”

  “Why did you lie to Dennis?”

  “I didn’t want him to know.”

  “Did you go off with Alex Markov in the Coleman house to Dennis’s room and discuss having him as your guardian?”

  “After what happened, I didn’t know what to do.”

  “What was to be Dennis’s role?”

  “I didn’t know.”

  “Did you love Dennis when you called him from Woodstock and asked him to buy you a ring on July fourteenth and you were sleeping with Alex Markov?”

  “Yes.”

  “Why did you turn Dennis in?”

  “It was seeing my mother’s body for the first time.”

  “That’s all?”

  “It was the pressure. Knowing everything and not knowing what to do with it.”

  “There was no agreement between you to cover up your participation in the murder?”

  “No.”

  “Why did you lie to Dennis then?”

  “I didn’t want him to know I had gone to the police.”

  “Why?”

  “I was afraid he would get mad.”

  “What does that mean to you?”

  “I didn’t know how he would act. Not then, but later, when we were alone. I was not sure what I felt.”

  “Did you see Dennis after he got out of jail?”

  “Yes.”

  “You went and saw Dennis and you say you were afraid of him because he had killed your mother, yet you had sex with him?”

  “Yes. I was afraid. The way he was acting and asking questions.”

  “You felt compelled to have sex?”

  “I didn’t feel in a position to say no. I didn’t want to do anything to upset him.”

  “But you had just turned him into the police. Did you discuss that?”

  “Yes.”

  “What did you say?”

  “I don’t remember.”

  “You saw him once more. Were you afraid of him then?”

  “I think so.”

  “You had sex with him then?”

  “Yes.”

  “And you were afraid of him?”

  “Yes.”

  “Why did you lie to Shannon about how the police got the note Dennis left in your bed?”

  “I don’t know.”

  “What did you mean in your letter to Dennis about crucial papers?”

  “I don’t know what that refers to.”

  “The plot you wrote about, that refers to running away and getting married?”

  “Yes.”

  “That was the extent of the plot?”

  “Yes.”

  “Why did you need a guardian if you were going to run away?”

  “So my mother couldn’t get me back.”

  “About the pills. You say you did that to calm your mother down?”

  “Yes.”

  “Did you tell Dennis this?”

  “Possibly.”

  “What did you tell him?”

  “I don’t remember.”

  “How could Dennis help you run away?”

  “I don’t remember.”

  “What’s the distinction between running away with help and without help?”

  “I’m not sure.”

  “Did you have the logistics worked out?”

  “I don’t remember now.”

  “In your letter, you mentioned unfulfilled promises. What were the unfulfilled promises?”

  “They were his promise to take me away from my mother and get married.”

  “But what did you mean by the reference to unfulfilled promises?”

  “I don’t remember.”

  “You said you crushed the pills into her sandwich to calm her down. What does calming her down have to do with running away?”

  “I wanted to get away from her because she could be so difficult to be with.”

  “But how could that help you run away?”

  “It couldn’t.”

  “Why did Dennis write to you that he would kill for you?”

  “It was just a general expression of his feelings for me.”

  “This is the same man who was upset by the flicking of the lights?”

  “Yes.”

  “What did he mean by writing that he was giving his soul to something black?”

  “I don’t know.”

  “On the night of July thirtieth, what were your intentions regarding Dennis?”

  “After the trip to Binghamton we would have the rest of the summer together. Really, my intentions were that because Alex was going away, I was not using Dennis.”

  “You were not using him when you were sleeping with others and leading him to believe it was not so?”

  “That was not my intention.”

  “Did you tell Shannon Dubois that you had a role in the murder?”

  “No.”

  “Did you tell her you were supposed to clean up?”

  “No.”

  “Did you tell her about other plans to murder your mother?”

  “I can’t remember. But we did have discussions.”

  “You didn’t tell her about the discussion with Dennis about the flicking lights and that plan to kill your mother?”

  “I don’t specifically remember.”

  “Were you misleading Shannon?”

  “No.”

  “Why did you tell Shannon the same story you told Dennis about the finding of the note?”

  “I don’t remember.”

  “The note you wrote Dennis after he was arrested, where you said, ‘Don’t worry about what others say.’ What were you afraid he would hear?”

  “I don’t remember.”

  “What did you mean by telling him, ‘I forgive you for loving me’?”

  “I was telling him how sorry I was that he thought he did this for me.”

  “What did you mean by the reference that you didn’t want to go to jail?”

  “I thought that would happen if I refused to testify.”

  “For twenty-five years?”

  “That number just
came out.”

  “You still say you had no part in the murder?”

  “Yes.”

  “Why did Dennis lie?”

  “Obviously, he was in jail and he said he didn’t want me to be with other men. That was one of his motives. He told me that one night. He didn’t want me with anyone else. That was it.”

  “You betrayed him?”

  “Yes.”

  “Did you use him?”

  “Yes.”

  “Did you use him to get rid of your mother?”

  “No.”

  Despite what appeared a damaging cross-examination of Karin, Thomas was still faced with somehow dealing with the impact of the total defense and the portrait that emerged of Karin as the victim. What did he do? Did he summon rebuttal witnesses, if he could find any, to restore some of the sheen to Joyce Aparo’s tarnished image, to turn her back into the victim? He did not. Did he call those missing witnesses Christopher Wheatley and Kira Lintner to put the focus back on the crime itself and on Karin as the instigator and the collaborator? He did not. Did he call Shannon Dubois’s parents or Dennis Coleman’s parents to corroborate at least part of their children’s testimony? He did not. Did he call Alex Markov to tell whatever he knew or whatever he was willing to tell, or even Albert Markov? He did not. Did he call others who had what might have been pivotal knowledge of Karin’s role? He did not.

  He did try, though, to refocus the case on the murder and on Karin. To do so, he called two rebuttal witnesses. One was Ann Marie Murray, the partner in Athena, to testify to her walk with Karin on the morning after the murder during which Karin told her how much insurance and how large an estate Joyce had, thus refuting Karin’s claim that she had no knowledge of either.

  The other was Jill Smith, with whom Karin lived for a few months in the winter after the murder. She was in court to relate how that winter she had driven Karin back and forth between her home and Santos’s office and how during those rides she and Karin talked about the case. In one of those conversations they discussed the phone calls between Dennis in Glastonbury and Karin in Rowayton the night of the murder, of how upset Dennis was that Karin was not at home and, according to Karin, he told her he was going to kill Joyce.

  “Then you knew he was going to kill your mother,” Jill Smith said.

  “Yes,” Karin answered, “but I really didn’t think he was going to do it, because he had told me before that he would and he didn’t.”

  On another ride they talked about the poisoned sandwich, and according to Smith, Karin told her she had emptied a bottle of sleeping pills into the relish. “Karin,” she said, “you could have killed your mother with that act.”

  And Karin said, “I know. I know.”

  Hubert Santos had a good time with Jill Smith on cross-examination. “While Karin was in your house,” he asked, “did you have someone come in and try to get rid of the evil spirits that Karin was generating?”

  “No.”

  “Do you belong to a charismatic church?”

  Thomas objected, Corrigan sustained, so the witness did not have to answer.

  “Was there another woman staying there?”

  “Yes. Shirley stayed there briefly.”

  “Did you tell Karin that Shirley had supernatural powers?”

  “No.”

  “Did you tell Karin that Shirley was going to perform a service to rid the house of the evil spirits that Karin was generating?”

  “No.”

  “Did you have prayer services in your house?”

  “Yes. We prayed for you.”

  “You prayed for me?”

  “Yes.”

  It had its effect. Santos smiled in bemusement, and the courtroom erupted with laughter.

  33

  A trial is a secular ritual, its forms codified, its manners precisely dictated. It passes from the reading of the indictment through the selection of the jury to the presentation of the evidence and the rebuttal of that evidence. It proceeds then to the closing arguments and the judge’s charge and at last to the jury’s deliberation and verdict. We had come to that moment when prosecutor and defense counsel, reaching for all their oratorical and legal skills, attempt to sway and convince the jury, those ultimate judges of the facts, and so carry the day.

  Jim Thomas had the first word and the last, as the ritual prescribes. “It is not my job,” he began, “to convince you but to lay out the evidence for you. My opinion doesn’t make any difference. It’s not proper for counsel to state his opinions on what the evidence means. That’s for you.”

  The issues of this case, he said, were very limited. “Who’s telling the truth?” Dennis Coleman, Shannon Dubois and the other witnesses for the state, or the defendant? Who has the most to gain? Does Dennis Coleman really have an interest in the outcome? Does he have something to gain? Perhaps he feels used and betrayed. Perhaps he feels anger. But did he really waver until cross-examination? Perhaps there were things he couldn’t remember. But three years have gone by since the event.

  “But the case does not rest on your assessment of him alone. There is all the other evidence and all the other testimony. There is Shannon Dubois. Why did she take the stand? Would she perjure herself against her best friend? Was there any motive for her to come in here and testify? The only way she could get into trouble was to perjure herself. It is the same problem we all face. Her best friend told her she was involved and would return the next morning and clean up. What kind of a burden is that to put on a sixteen-year-old?

  “The defendant was not obliged to take the stand. But she did, and look at what she said about all the letters and about Dennis Coleman’s testimony. Does it ring true? What was her response to the questions about the crucial papers, about all the letters? ‘I don’t know, I don’t recall, I don’t remember.’ Does that ring true? Her case rests on two things. ‘I wasn’t involved, it was just fantasies, and the reason I may have fantasized was because my mother abused me. I didn’t do it, and anything you may think I did wrong was because of what my mother did to me.’”

  The mother. “Joyce Aparo,” Thomas said, “is not the issue in this case. Am I going to stand here and say Karin was not abused? No. But to what degree was she abused? Sure, some of the stimuli on Karin was [sic] not good. You shouldn’t do to a child what was done to her. You shouldn’t tear a child down constantly. Part of the picture is what she did in response to her mother. I submit that her explanation is not so. The psychiatrists explained her actions after the murder. But ask yourselves how impartial were the psychiatrists? Everything they said was based on what she told them. There is a flaw in the posttraumatic stress syndrome diagnosis, and Dr. Cigalis brought it out. Her conduct was consistent with someone who was involved in a murder. And does the testimony of the psychiatrists really count for anything? To accept it, you have to reject Dennis Coleman and Shannon Dubois and all the letters and all the rest.

  “She manipulated and used Dennis Coleman and then wasn’t quite sure what to do with Dennis Coleman, to keep him on the hook or to turn him in. She decided to make a preemptive strike and go to the police. Dennis said she used him. Others said she used him and others. She wanted the police to misrepresent where she found the letter. She lied to Dennis, and she lied to Shannon about that. If you believe the evidence, you will see that the defendant played on Dennis’s emotions like she played on the violin.

  “This is a sad and tragic case. The woman who was murdered loved her life. She had her problems. She was pleading for help. Look at those letters to Archbishop Whealon. But she loved her life.

  “Dennis Coleman gave up a life of promise. Should you feel sorry for Joyce Aparo and for Dennis? Yes. Should you feel sorry for Karin? Yes. And I do. I wish there was something we could do for her, and for Dennis. If only someone that night had slapped him, and the others, on the side of the head.

  “But they were talking murder, and not stealing apples. Though we feel sorry for the defendant, the law must apply. Abuse does not excuse w
hat Dennis did or what she did. It may explain it and mitigate it, but it doesn’t excuse it. It has no place in this case. Abuse does not impact on your decision. What we all feel in here does not matter. The evidence is what matters. Decide this case on the basis of the evidence.”

  In substance, it was probably an effective argument. But Thomas is not a ringing orator. He spoke dryly and with not much emotion, and perhaps that substance was lost.

  Not so Hubert Santos. He pulled out all the stops, played on all the emotions.

  “Yes,” he said, “there was a conspiracy that ended when Joyce Aparo was murdered. It was a conspiracy between Dennis Coleman, Christopher Wheatley and Kira Lintner. Karin was not part of it. And anything that happened after the murder is not evidence of Karin’s part in a conspiracy. The same is true of the count that she was an accessory. Once the murder was over, she could not be an accessory afterwards. What happened afterwards is not substantive proof. Karin testified that she was guilty of hindering prosecution. But that was after the murder.

  “Think that after you reach your verdict, when you go home and go to sleep, can you be comfortable with what you did? Better that ten guilty persons go free than that one innocent person be convicted. Everyone makes mistakes. Juries make mistakes. They are human beings. There must be proof beyond a reasonable doubt. We are talking here about liberty, not about an accident case.

  “Dennis Coleman is a troubled young man, seriously mentally ill. He sat here for twenty hours and described in detail how he killed Joyce Aparo as calmly as going to McDonald’s and ordering a Big Mac. He was as cold as ice. We said lots about Joyce Aparo, but we never said she deserved to die. Dennis Coleman was not a farmhand hired to do this. He has an IQ of one hundred thirty-seven. Dennis Coleman was prepped to be a witness. Dennis Coleman was charged with murder. The same crime Karin is charged with. He faced a twenty-five-year minimum mandatory sentence, a sentence that cannot be overturned or reduced or suspended by a judge no matter how he feels. And Dennis Coleman knew that. And the maximum sentence in this state for murder is sixty years and twenty years for conspiracy, so Dennis Coleman faced in essence twenty-five to eighty years. He asked himself, ‘How do I get out of this jam?’ Let’s make a deal. Shannon Dubois and Christopher Wheatley and Kira Lintner had already made deals, so who was left to give them to make a deal? The only person who never tried to make a deal. Karin. So Dennis had to make a deal, and he did, and the state recommended that he get forty-two years. But Dennis didn’t like that deal. He wanted to sweeten it up. So he starts to say, ‘I was mentally ill,’ and so he ends up with thirty-four years, only nine years above the minimum mandatory sentence.