Deadly Dose

by Amanda Lamb

  SHOULD I STAY OR SHOULD I GO?

  Morgan felt like he was growing old waiting for the North Carolina Supreme Court to make a decision. The case was practically at a standstill, hinging on the legal issue of attorney-client privilege. And Morgan was painfully aware that this one small piece of evidence from Rick Gammon still might or might not crack the case wide open.

  “I can’t arrest her. It became a situation of almost total frustration for me. I’ve never been very good at waiting,” Morgan admits, as if that might not already be obvious.

  While he waited, Morgan began to notice that his colleagues, the guys he had gone through the police academy with, the guys he had patrolled the streets of Raleigh with for years, were starting to retire. In North Carolina cops must put in thirty years before they can retire with full benefits. With stored sick leave and vacation time, Morgan knew he had enough to follow his peers on their journey to a simpler life, but the truth was, he wasn’t ready to go. He had unfinished business. It had always been like this. Every time Morgan even considered retirement, there was always a case that pulled him back.

  “The commitment I made was that Ann Miller was going to be locked up prior to me ever retiring,” Morgan says firmly.

  COLLEGE DAYS

  August 22, 2003, was the one Friday that Morgan had a family commitment. It was the one Friday morning that he would not be able to check the computer the minute the North Carolina Supreme Court handed down its most recent decisions. But the commitment was too important to miss. One of his twin daughters, Laura, was starting her freshman year at East Carolina University in Greenville, North Carolina, and Daddy needed to help her move into her dorm room. Surely, Morgan thought, the Supreme Court wouldn’t pick the last Friday in August to make this momentous decision in the Ann Miller case? But of course, just like the traffic jam that always happens when you’re late for an important meeting, it turned out to be the day.

  While he was on the road to Greenville, Morgan got a call from Verus Miller on his cell phone telling him that a decision had been made. In his heart Morgan felt like he was the one who should have been calling Verus, not the other way around. But life gets in the way of work, and work gets in the way of life. Quickly, Morgan cast off his guilt about not sitting diligently by his computer that morning and he started calling around to get more details about the decision. He found out that the court had handed down a very narrow order compelling Rick Gammon to tell Superior Court judge Donald Stephens what he knew in chambers. Stephens would then decide what part of the information, if any, investigators were entitled to. Under the court’s ruling, anything that Derril Willard told Gammon about a third party (presumably Ann Miller) that did not incriminate him (Willard) was fair game and did not violate attorney-client privilege.

  “It’s almost exclusive to this particular case. Nobody’s rights were ever going to be disturbed, interrupted, lessened by what was written in that decision,” Morgan explains. “They didn’t like the idea of monkeying with attorney-client privilege any more than the law professors did, but they did the right thing for Eric Miller.”

  As soon as the decision came down, the media went on a feeding frenzy, calling Morgan on his cell phone all day long. But he didn’t let it stop him with his most important task of the day—helping his daughter.

  “I’d be moving another footlocker, or box of college-girl stuff, from the parking lot to the dorm, and it would ring again.” Morgan chuckles. He had a pat response for every caller. “ ‘We feel very encouraged by this. We’re still seeking truth and justice for Eric Miller. We’ve come this far and we keep going further and further, it can’t stop now.’ ”

  Morgan knew this was an important legal step toward his goal of seeing Ann Miller locked up forever. For the first time in a long while he felt like he might even live to see it happen.

  He also knew Judge Stephens well enough to be sure that he wouldn’t order Gammon to turn this information over unless he thought it might solve the case. Morgan still didn’t know what Gammon had, but he figured it had to be important. In his wildest dreams he could not have imagined just how important it would turn out to be.

  WEDDING BELLS

  Judge Stephens reviewed Gammon’s affidavit and ordered him to hand over the information to investigators on October 2, 2003. As predicted, Rick Gammon appealed and once again the case came to a grinding halt while Morgan and the Miller family waited for the North Carolina Supreme Court to hear the appeal.

  The euphoria of the original Supreme Court decision was starting to wear off when Morgan found out that Ann Miller’s family was “circling the wagons.” First he learned that Dan and Nancy Brier had moved to Wilmington in the spring of 2003 to be closer to Ann and Clare. Then, on November 29, 2003, the Reverend Raymond Shepley married Ann Miller and Paul Kontz at the North Wilmington Community Church, of which they were members. Paul Kontz was the man investigators had seen with Ann during their intense surveillance of her. He was the electrician, the Christian rock musician, the man whose house she had spent eight hours holed up in while Morgan parked his big butt in an oleander bush.

  Morgan also found out that Ann had bought a home in Wilmington where she, Clare, Paul, and Paul’s daughter were living. How had she managed to afford a nice brick house in a quiet suburban neighborhood? Morgan learned that she had been hired by another pharmaceutical company called PPD. It amazed him that while the highest court in the state was determining Ann’s fate, she was dusting off her résumé, investing in real estate, and taking another trip down the aisle. But then again there was one thing Morgan knew for sure about Ann—she was good at denial. Very good.

  SECOND THOUGHTS

  Even a tough guy like Morgan was not immune to pressure. Suddenly things were starting to pile up. Almost every day his friend and colleague Captain Ken Mathias was coming into Morgan’s office and asking when he was going to retire. The truth was Mathias wasn’t asking because he wanted to know; he was asking because Chief Perlov wanted to know. Morgan felt like Perlov was ready to send him out to pasture. Morgan was the kind of employee who simply stirred the pot too much, and he assumed that she saw him as an old-school cop who didn’t embrace her progressive ways. It was very unlikely that this impasse between two strong-willed people was ever going to be bridged.

  Morgan tried not to let it get to him, but it did. According to him, the tension between himself and the chief worsened when she accused his unit of failing to find and arrest a man on an accessory-to-murder charge. Morgan recalls that his colleagues were aghast when he challenged Chief Perlov’s accusations in a meeting in front of everyone. Two detectives were making gestures at him to “stop already.” One had his hand on his throat; the other was covering his mouth with one hand and making a “cut” sign across his neck with the other. But Morgan couldn’t help himself; he was hot and everyone, including the chief, knew it.

  “It ticked me off,” Morgan says.

  And then, in early 2004, as if he was not under enough pressure, Morgan’s eighty-year-old mother came down with kidney cancer. Again, life was throwing him a curve-ball, getting in the way of work, as work had gotten in the way of Morgan’s life so many times before.

  “My mother had been such a definite and great influence to me, as well as my best friend, that it was devastating news to me,” says Morgan, choking back tears.

  The idea of retirement started to surface again, and this time seemed like a logical step. Clearly, the brass wanted Morgan out. And clearly, Morgan had an obligation to be there for his mother as she had been there for him throughout every moment of his life.

  “Thirty years of being a police officer is long enough for almost anybody,” Morgan says. “But up until that point and time, the only thing that had occupied my future was seeing Ann Miller go to jail for killing her husband . . . I hadn’t stayed for the benefit of the Raleigh Police Department. I stayed for the benefit of Verus Miller and the rest of the Miller family.”

  Morgan was torn by his des
ire to stay and solve the case, and his need to move on. He’d always had a hard-to-kick habit of getting closer than he should to the families of murder victims. It had happened with the Millers; it had happened with the Bennetts. He was fully aware of the problem yet powerless to do anything about it. This made it even harder to leave.

  “I got close to them because they needed it, and I needed it,” Morgan admits. “What I think they got from me [was] they always knew who to call.”

  But ultimately, common sense won out. Morgan knew that he had stayed at the party way too long, longer than most people. It was truly time to go. He wasn’t sure what was on the other side of the mountaintop, but he was sure looking forward to finding out. Now that District Attorney Colon Willoughby had won the case in the North Carolina Supreme Court, Morgan was confident that Ann Miller would eventually be brought to justice. This meant he could leave knowing that he had done his job.

  But before he could walk out the door, Morgan had to do one more thing. He had to tell the families who depended upon him to solve their loved ones’ murders that he would no longer be their point of contact, their detective.

  Verus Miller was disappointed, but not shocked. Morgan told him that the wheels were in motion now to solve the case, and that it would happen with or without him. Morgan recalled that Verus bravely and graciously accepted the news of his retirement. He expected nothing less from the man whom he had grown to know as a salt-of-the-earth stand-up guy over the years. In short, Morgan considered Verus Miller to be a class act all the way, and he admired the incredible strength that Verus had shown throughout the entire investigation.

  But telling Carmon Bennett, Stephanie Bennett’s father, was another story. Morgan dreaded it, almost as much as he dreaded making a death notification to a family. Unlike the Miller case, there was no suspect in Stephanie Bennett’s murder. Unlike the Miller family, the Bennetts had no expectation of justice in the near future. Morgan felt like he was leaving them empty-handed after he had promised them he would be there until the end.

  Because he knew how devastating the news would be to Carmon Bennett, Morgan decided to tell him about his pending retirement in person. He took a trip to Roanoke, Virginia, the small town where Stephanie grew up, several hours north of Raleigh. He brought along the detectives who were going to take over the case to show Carmon that the investigation would continue.

  “[Carmon Bennett] had reached a point of desperation and was still circling desperation daily,” recalls Morgan, “because we still had absolutely no idea who was responsible for the murder of his daughter. He had tears in both eyes, and I think I did, too, because our relationship, while it would remain a good relationship between good friends . . . it was taking a turn that I don’t think either one of us really wanted.”

  Sergeant Clem Perry and Detective Ken Copeland would be taking over the case when Morgan left. Carmon Bennett welcomed them and accepted Morgan’s glowing review of their skills despite his skepticism. In hindsight Morgan credits himself for picking Copeland to lead the charge. Called the “garbage man,” Copeland was known for picking up every piece of evidence, no matter how trivial it seemed, and examining it thoroughly. Ultimately, years later, Copeland, along with another bright detective, Jackie Taylor, would be able to do what Morgan hadn’t—catch Stephanie Bennett’s killer.

  It was done. Morgan was leaving. The paperwork was in. The retirement parties were under way, one after another. He was roasted. People told stories about “Bump.” He got gifts, cakes, and plaques with his name on them. Finally, he was ready to go.

  When Gammon’s appeal was denied by the North Carolina Supreme Court on May 7, 2004, all Morgan could do was smile. The dominoes were in place. They were falling in the right direction on a smooth path to justice. Now he could sit back in his worn recliner and watch them land from the comfort of his own home.

  “I was waiting for Perlov to ask me to stay and then I could leave with a clear conscience,” Morgan jokes.

  Be careful what you wish for.

  DELIVERANCE

  On May 27, 2004, Rick Gammon delivered a small white envelope to Colon Willoughby. It contained one single sheet of paper. It was the information that Gammon had been ordered to turn over based on the very narrow ruling handed down by the North Carolina Supreme Court.

  Because of the extreme sensitivity of the information, Gammon chose to hand-deliver the envelope to the Wake County District Attorney’s Office. The media created a circuslike atmosphere, following Gammon from his office across the pedestrian mall into the Wake County Courthouse. They piled into the elevator with him and jockeyed to get closer to the white envelope in his hand, as if they might be able to see its contents with their X-ray vision. Gammon, no stranger to media attention, smiled coyly as reporters threw out questions at him that he politely refused to answer.

  After Gammon entered the Wake County District Attorney’s Office, he handed the envelope to Colon Willoughby. Willoughby had assembled his team of prosecutors in his office, as well as investigators, including Morgan, for the big event. Morgan remembers that before Gammon turned to leave, he flashed everyone his trademark wry smile as if to say: “Have at it!”

  Willoughby immediately handed the envelope to Morgan. Morgan then read what would come to be known in the media as “paragraph 12” and in court as “Exhibit A”. It was the one paragraph of Gammon’s long affidavit that Judge Donald Stephens said must be released. In line with the Supreme Court’s order, it indicted Ann Miller in Eric Miller’s death, but it did not incriminate Derril Willard. It fit the very narrow standard the justices had outlined in their ruling.

  One thing it didn’t fit, however, was anyone’s speculation or expectations about what it would contain. No one, including Morgan, had expected the information to be so direct and so damning to Ann Miller.

  The actual text of paragraph 12 reads as follows:

  Mr. Willard then stated that on one recent occasion he had met Mrs. Miller in a parking lot, and they had a conversation while in an SUV. He stated that during his conversation Mrs. Miller was crying and that she told him she had been to the hospital where Mr. Miller had been admitted. She stated to Mr. Willard that she was by herself in the room with Mr. Miller for a period of time. She then told Mr. Willard that she took a syringe and needle from her purse and injected the contents of the syringe into Mr. Miller’s IV. Upon being questioned as to the contents of the syringe, Mr. Willard either stated that the substance was from work, or that Mrs. Miller told him it was from work. He then stated that he asked Mrs. Miller why she had done this, and she replied, “I don’t know.” Mr. Willard surmised that Mrs. Miller was attempting to end Mr. Miller’s suffering from his illness with these actions. Although Mr. Gammon and Mr. Fitzhugh do not recall specifically whether Mr. Willard or Mrs. Miller used the word “arsenic” with reference to the contents of the syringe, it was clear that the substance contained in the syringe was poisonous. Mr. Willard then stated he knew nothing further of the circumstances surrounding Eric Miller’s death. He also stated that he had not told anyone including his wife, about Mrs. Miller’s statements to him.

  There was no date on the document stating when this gruesome incident took place, but Morgan had one in mind. On the evening of November 19, 2000, during Eric Miller’s first hospital stay at Rex, his condition had started to deteriorate again after he had showed signs of improving. That night the on-call physician wrote in his chart that he didn’t expect Eric to make it through the night because his symptoms had worsened. This was the same day that a heavy-metals test had been ordered on Eric. The results hadn’t come in yet, but Morgan wondered, had Ann known they might be onto her? Did she overhear someone talking about the test? Had she gotten nervous and tried to end Eric’s life once and for all?

  “Something had to happen to send this kid downhill like he went. I think that likely as not that was the night that Ann, as described in paragraph twelve, comes in there and juices him with arsenic one more time, trying to get
this over with,” Morgan says with disgust.

  This theory was one that ultimately gelled and became bedrock of the investigation, although it was almost derailed by a well-meaning nurse. Nurse Charlene Blaine reported seeing a man who looked like Derril Willard enter Eric Miller’s room on the night of November 19. This was a problem, a big problem. This smacked of reasonable doubt, because if Willard had been there, then conceivably he could have given Eric poison in his IV instead of Ann. Yet there was no indication from anyone else, including the hospital’s visitor log, that Willard had ever been there. But Blaine was convinced.

  Then Morgan had an epiphany. He realized that Blaine was identifying Willard from the picture of him that had been widely circulated on television, his high school graduation picture. Willard the grown man looked nothing like his former boyish self. Morgan realized that Nurse Blaine had probably mistaken one of Eric’s sisters’ husbands for Willard. After sharing pictures of the men with her, Blaine positively identified the brother-in-law as the man who had visited Eric’s room that night, not Derril Willard. The train was back on track.

  Paragraph 12 was not what Morgan had expected, but it was exactly what he needed. It was the piece of the puzzle Colon Willoughby needed to convict Ann Miller in front of a jury of her peers. It was the final piece of evidence Morgan needed to allow him to retire with a clear conscience.

  “I realized at that point that Ann Miller was going to go to jail for the murder of her husband,” Morgan says with a smile.

  A NEW SHERIFF IN TOWN

  Morgan heard her coming down the hall before he saw her. He could hear her high heels clicking on the linoleum and her pleasant, even voice as she said hello to people she passed. His heart skipped a beat not because this was the woman of his dreams, but because she was the prosecutor of his dreams.