by Samuel Roen
Jim Larson, who would appear as a witness, was awaiting his summons to the courtroom, in a separate room.
There were also a number of fellow workers of Carla Larson’s, from the Centex Rooney Company at the Disney World building site, who came for the proceedings.
Reporters for the various media, who would relate what happened here, filled many of the seats.
By this time attorney Bob Wesley, just under three hundred pounds, basically bald, blue-eyed and trim bearded, took his place at the defense table along with his co-counsel, Tyrone King.
Wesley looked around the Duval County Courtroom, assessing the battleground in which the life of his client would depend on his expertise.
The opposing attorneys nodded and greeted each other cordially.
All heads in the room turned and watched as the defendant, John Steven Huggins, entered the courtroom, escorted by a guard. The large, burly man made a quick survey of the room, his green eyes noticing all who were there to judge him. For the important occasion, Huggins was clean shaven and dressed in a conservative dark blue suit. His long, normally straggly brown hair was now trimmed and neat. His overall appearance was of a man who could be dressed for his college reunion dinner.
His two lawyers rose to seat him at their table. For the rest of this day and the weeks ahead, he would be the center of all the activities that unfolded here. There was no expression on his face that revealed his thoughts. His attitude was an almost indifference to the gravity of his situation.
At the direction of the bailiff, everyone in the courtroom rose as Chief Circuit Judge Belvin Perry entered and approached his seat at the bench. This highly regarded African-American criminal court judge had been in the legal profession for more than twenty years, as had the two prosecutors for the state. Both Jeff Ashton and Ted Culhan, who knew the judge for many years when they all were part of the state attorney’s staff in Orlando, nodded respectfully to Judge Perry, who in turn politely acknowledged them.
The interrupting gavel sounded throughout the courtroom. “Hear ye, hear ye, this court is now in session: The Honorable Judge Belvin S. Perry presiding.”
For a day and a half, the four opposing attorneys slowly but zealously questioned the men and women called as possible jurors; they ultimately agreed on the selections, which both sides described as balanced.
A wave of quiet satisfaction drifted across the room in anticipation at the start of the upcoming battle.
When the trial opened, prosecutor Culhan addressed the jury, explaining what evidence the state would present to them to prove the guilt of John Steven Huggins. He detailed the case against the defendant, concluding with his assertion that there could be only one verdict: guilty of all charges.
Defense attorney Bob Wesley declined to make an opening statement.
ASA Culhan rose and announced, “The state of Florida will now call its first witness, Mr. James Larson.”
In the witness room, where he was waiting, Jim Larson nervously wiped his palms. This is it, he thought. He entered the courtroom and moved slowly but deliberately toward the witness stand, where he would be sworn in to recount the worst horror of his life. He looked around the room until he saw his mother, Ada, who smiled encouragingly, as did his in-laws, Phyllis and Mert Thomas.
The room grew silent as the husband of the victim, Carla Ann Larson, faced ASA Ted Culhan, who would question him about everything relative to the events that brought him here for this trial.
Culhan walked slowly to the podium and faced Larson.
Standing quietly and assembling his thoughts before he began his interrogation, Ted Culhan, a stocky man with a pleasant, confident smile, usually described by his friends as a teddy bear with gray hair, presented a portrait of quiet power.
After the preliminary questions of Larson’s name, his address, who lived at that address with him and when he was married, the prosecutor asked for the date of daughter Jessica’s birth.
Defense attorney Wesley, who had been sitting quietly, sprang to his feet. “Objection to relevance, Your Honor. State shouldn’t ask questions that evoke an emotional response from the jury.”
Judge Perry straightened in his chair and said, “Overruled at this time.”
Ted Culhan returned to his questioning, asking politely, “When was your daughter born?”
With his mind obviously rattled by the intensity of the situation he was in, Jim Larson answered, “I can’t remember—right now.” He waited, thought a moment and then said, “She is two and a half years old.”
Sensing the pressure that his witness was experiencing, prosecutor Culhan walked over to the prosecution table and exchanged a few words with co-counsel Jeff Ashton, considerately giving Jim Larson a few moments to collect himself and settle down.
Hoping his witness was a little calmer, Culhan returned to simple questions, establishing where Jim worked, where Carla worked, the routine the Larsons had in the mornings for going to work, what time they left for their jobs and who dropped Jessica off at the day-care center.
As the session continued, reporters busily made notes and drawings of the scene.
In his careful questioning the prosecutor provided the surviving husband an open door to show the Larson family’s happy daily life. Jim also could portray his wife, Carla, as an exceptionally talented woman, who was an engineer working with a major company, Centex Rooney, building a fabulous resort hotel at Walt Disney World.
The prosecutor then turned to specifics. “I direct your attention to June 10, 1997. Do you recall that day?”
What a question, Jim Larson thought. How could I ever forget the day my wife vanished? It is emblazoned into my mind. A shadow crossed his face with the memory of that dreadful day.
“Yes,” he answered tensely.
Culhan asked, “Do you recall the last time you saw your wife that day?”
“Yes.”
“When was that?” the prosecutor asked.
Larson looked down, hesitated and, obviously saddened, said, “That was in the morning. I kissed her good-bye and told her I loved her.”
There was a buzz in the court, and Wesley, like a jack-in-the-box, was on his feet again. “Your Honor, I object, basis of relevance. Ask it be struck.”
The defense scored with Judge Perry, who ruled, “Sustained.” He turned to the witness and admonished, “Mr. Larson, listen carefully to the question. Only answer what is asked.”
Jim Larson nodded. “Yes, Your Honor,” he answered in a barely audible voice.
Ted Culhan resumed the questioning, asking about Larson’s work in June, his hours on the job, when he became aware that his wife was missing, when he notified authorities and filed a report.
Culhan continued, asking Larson about the events of June 10 and 11, delving into Larson’s participation in the search for Carla.
The prosecutor then introduced the subject of Carla Larson’s jewelry. With this line the courtroom sat silently as Jim Larson described his wife’s jewelry. Although Larson knew that Carla’s jewelry would take a prime position in this trial and had steeled himself for the ordeal, nonetheless, he winced at its introduction by the attorney.
Larson tugged on his tie as though suddenly it was too tight, then stared down at the floor. He looked as though he would much rather be anywhere than here in this courtroom at this time, forcing his mind back to the happy time when he gave Carla those pieces of jewelry.
Culhan wanted the details of Larson’s purchases of her engagement and wedding rings, so he asked, “Did she customarily wear those, for example, when she went to work?”
“She never took any of them off,” Larson answered.
The prosecutor asked if Larson bought Carla some diamond earrings. He confirmed he did.
“Where did you purchase the diamond earrings?” Culhan pursued.
“In Ohio. At a place—one second.” Larson paused to clarify and to be specific. “It was in Akron, Ohio. That’s where I purchased them.” He waited and apologized. “I
’m trying to think of the name of the place.” He scanned across the courtroom. “It will come to me.”
The jury seemed entranced by the questions and by Jim Larson’s earnest answers.
Culhan continued: “Was your wife wearing that jewelry the last time you saw her?”
“Yes,” he answered somberly.
Culhan asked Larson if he saw the jewelry again in July 1997.
Larson stated that he had, and when asked to specify where, the troubled husband mumbled, “The police department. . . or the . . . I guess it was the police station.” He shifted in his chair and added, “They had them.”
The prosecutor moved away a bit from the lectern and faced Judge Perry. “Your Honor, may I approach the witness?”
“You may.”
Stepping in front of the witness, the prosecutor said, “Mr. Larson, for the record I’ll show you state’s exhibit ‘W’ for identification. Also, for the record, I will now break the seal with this pair of scissors.”
All attention in the courtroom was focused on Ted Culhan as he cut open the sealed evidence package.
Continuing, Culhan said, “Mr. Larson, I’ll hand you this article, one of state’s exhibit ‘W.’ Sir, I ask you if you recognize what’s in that plastic bag?”
With his complexion slowly turning a mild shade of red, Jim Larson managed to answer, “It looks like Carla’s wedding band.”
There was a whispered sigh from the onlookers in the courtroom.
Ada Larson lowered her head when she saw Jim’s emotional distress, which matched her own. Phyllis and Mert Thomas held hands tightly, mentally sharing the agony Jim was facing. Tears welled in their eyes and the women dabbed at them with tissues.
One by one, Culhan took his witness through a series of identifications of the various jewelry pieces that Jim Larson had purchased and given to his wife, including earrings and rings. Finally he offered Larson a last item, asking if he recognized it.
“Yes,” the witness almost whispered, “that’s her chain.”
The prosecutor entered into evidence receipts for the purchases of the jewelry before turning the subject to the Larsons’ vehicle.
Step by step, in carefully phrased questions, Culhan elicited information about the Ford Explorer, where it had been purchased, the model year and its full description.
Culhan then showed Larson a photograph of a vehicle, which was marked as state exhibit “CC” for identification, and asked if he recognized it. Larson said it was an accurate representation of the white Ford Explorer that he and his wife owned in 1995.
The prosecutor placed it into evidence.
Culhan asked further questions about the interior of the automobile, the air-conditioning, the controls, the vents and the leather seats, and Larson gave a full description of each.
The prosecutor asked about the radar detector. Larson paused, took a deep breath and said, “We bought a radar detector for it and I had the dealer hardwire it in for me. I didn’t want to take a chance on messing something up.”
Culhan asked, “Did you go in the store and buy it, or was it mail order?”
Larson stated that it was a mail order purchase.
With a glance to Judge Perry, sitting firmly upright in his black robe, absorbing the examination, Culhan turned to the witness. “For the record I’m going to show you state’s exhibit ‘AA’ for identification. Also for the record, I’m going to break the seal at this time.”
The prosecutor handed the package to the witness. “Sir,” he said, “take a look inside this bag. You can pull it out if you want to. Do you recognize that item, Mr. Larson?”
“Yeah, that looks like it.” Larson nodded.
After his witness identified the radar detector, Culhan asked Larson how it was used and Larson explained. The piece was then moved into evidence.
On cross-examination Bob Wesley asked many detailed questions about the description of the Ford Explorer, comparing it to other SUV models made by other manufacturers, and asking Jim Larson if he was familiar with them. He was not.
Wesley had many more questions about the vehicle. “This car has sort of a remote-control configuration that came with the key ring, correct, sir?”
Larson nodded his head. “Yes.”
“And from a distance a person could operate or unlock buttons to the doors, correct?”
Again Jim Larson agreed that was true.
The defense lawyer’s bright blue eyes pierced into Larson, and he asked sharply, “And the panic button, how did that operate? Tell the jury, please.”
“You press the button, the horn and lights flash.”
“Have you ever seen that in action?”
“Oh, yeah.”
The defense lawyer pressed on, asking what kind of noise the Explorer horn made.
Larson stated, “It’s just a beep, beep, beep; the lights flash—”
Wesley interrupted, following through. “All the lights flash on the car?”
“Yes.”
“And that’s a key ring feature of that truck that you had?”
Larson told him that was correct.
Several courtroom viewers were puzzled by Wesley’s questions. Since Carla evidently didn’t press the alarm button, was Wesley implying she left the parking lot voluntarily? This woman who was so safety conscious that she didn’t speak to strangers? Or was the more likely scenario that the man approached Carla as she opened her car door with her arms filled carrying the grocery bag, punched her in the stomach, and when she doubled over helplessly, shoved her inside the vehicle and took off?
Wesley turned to another subject. “Her work as an engineer, Mrs. Larson worked for Centex Rooney, correct?”
“Yes.”
“And more of her coworkers, at least from a professional basis, were men, is that correct?”
“That’s correct,” Larson answered, a puzzled expression on his face.
Bob Wesley pressed on. “And so your information was that she would often go to lunch with men, or had meetings with other men, is that correct?”
“Yes.”
Wesley looked around the courtroom as he formed his next question. “Sometimes”—he paused dramatically—“even after-hours activities that involved coworkers who were male.”
Ted Culhan sprang to his feet. “I object to this, Your Honor, as irrelevant, beyond the scope of direct examination.”
Judge Perry leaned forward at the bench and stated, “Overruled at this point.”
The burly defense counsel proceeded. “Some after-hours functions involved male coworkers, correct?”
“Yes,” Larson answered, perplexed.
Wesley asked the judge for a moment, and after conferring with his co-counsel, Tyrone King, announced, “Nothing further. Thank you.”
James Larson was excused from the witness stand.
Judge Perry announced that there would be a fifteen-minute recess and instructed the jury there was to be no discussion of the case
When court reconvened, Judge Perry nodded to the bailiff to have the next witness brought in. Angel Huggins, estranged wife of the accused John Huggins, would be the final witness on this second day of the trial.
The courtroom filled with whispers as the tall, very pretty, nicely dressed woman came into the courtroom. Her oval face was carefully made up, and her reddish blond hair was arranged attractively. She exuded an air of confidence and a pleasant personality, although she was somewhat hesitant in the unfamiliar and solemn surroundings. Angel Huggins was sworn in and took the witness chair, where she sat quietly, with an inquiring expression on her face.
One of the reporters could be heard whispering to a colleague, “She’s tagged as a key witness.”
His friend shrugged and whispered back, “Why would such a looker fall for such a loser?”
Prosecutor Jeff Ashton asked Angel to tell the jury and the court how she, her estranged husband John Huggins and their collective children shared the day of June 10, 1997, staying near Walt Disney World at
the Days Inn, across the road from the Publix market, where Carla Larson was last seen alive.
In answer to the questions, Angel testified in a clear, sharp voice, bringing out that John Huggins vanished for several hours that day.
Ashton asked Angel Huggins to describe her husband’s appearance when he finally came back to the motel, where they were staying.
“When he returned, he acted strangely. He appeared like he had been running. He was sweating. He was clammy and his T-shirt was clinging to his body.”
In her continuing testimony Angel Huggins stated, “He disappeared again.” She said in her clear, confident voice, “The next time I saw him, he was driving a white Ford Explorer.”
The courtroom viewers stirred and whispered to each other.
Court recessed, concluding the first full day of testimony.
CHAPTER 23
When Wednesday, January 27, 1999, dawned, the Florida sun beamed through curtained windows of the Jacksonville Residence Inn, starting the new day brightly for the Orlando lawyers, who were pleased with the new sunny day replacing the previous dreary weather.
“Hey, Ted,” Jeff Ashton called out to his partner. “Time to rise and shine if we want breakfast before court. You know Perry can be a stickler for punctuality.”
“Ain’t that the truth,” Culhan agreed, appearing in the doorway, knotting his necktie. “At least we’ve got some sunshine today.”
Ashton replied, “Things do appear better. Look out the window and see the beauty of the river. They really get some big ships coming into this port.”
“Yeah, too bad we have to spend the day in that dungeon. I never saw a courtroom so dark and dingy. It’s depressing.”
“You’ve got that right,” Ashton replied.
After a hearty breakfast and several cups of coffee, Ashton leaned back in his chair. “Are you ready for a big day?” he asked.
“Yes, I am. I’m anxious to hear Angel Huggins continue her testimony. She’s doing a good job.”
