The Secrets on Chicory Lane

by Raymond Benson

  Mr. Crane made dozens of objections during the examination of the witness, almost all of which were overruled. What was left for the jurors to mull over was whether or not Eddie had “put some kind of spell” on Dora, taking advantage of her mental illness in order to bring her into his fold. On the other hand, Crane could perhaps use this testimony to show that Eddie was indeed sick, too, and therefore not responsible for his actions. That’s what I hoped.

  Next, a Limite patrolman named Sawyer, now a sergeant, testified about an incident that occurred in April of 2001. He and his partner were called to a disturbance at the black house on Chicory Lane around midnight. Several cars and trucks were parked on the street in front of Eddie’s house. The 911 call, no doubt made by one of the neighbors, had been about the sight of “naked people” running around outside. When the police arrived, they heard death metal music coming from inside the house—but not loud enough to be a nuisance. No one answered the door, so they burst inside to find a houseful of revelers—all in the nude. When the prosecutor asked what the officer thought was going on, Sawyer replied, “It was one of them devil worship orgies.”

  Crane objected, of course, and this time it was sustained.

  Sawyer confirmed that Eddie and Dora were among the participants. He counted twelve people in total, all couples. No arrests were made but a warning was issued—no one should be outside in a state of undress. Sawyer claimed that Eddie told him none of his guests had been outdoors.

  Crane cross-examined and established that there were no signs of “devil worshipping” or anything Satanic that could be seen. No pentagrams, no incense, no inverted crosses, no men or women in hooded cloaks, and no creatures with horns or tails. That last bit got a laugh from the jury. “Couldn’t it have been a gathering of swingers? You know, couples that engage in alternative sex practices?”

  Sawyer blushed. “I guess so,” he answered.

  “Is there a law against that if all the participants are consenting adults?”

  “I guess not.”

  Crane also managed to establish that if none of Eddie’s guests went outside, then that might have meant that whoever called 911 must have been a peeping tom. The judge admonished the attorney for the remark, but it nevertheless scored points with the jury and made Sawyer look foolish.

  Despite these minor “wins,” as time went on, I began to realize that this was Limite, and the jury was made up of conservative Christians—good plain folks. They weren’t going to find the concept of a swingers party acceptable, legal or not. They disapproved. I believe they went into the courtroom from the beginning ready to find Eddie guilty, thereby putting a final end to the black mark he had placed on their little town.

  More testimony brought out how Eddie’s neighbors had consistently tried to push him off their block. In 2003, everyone on the street staged a protest and marched up and down Chicory Lane with signs that read, “EVICT EVIL EDDIE,” “EVIL EDDIE WILL GO TO HELL,” “NO DEVIL WORSHIP IN LIMITE,” and “EVIL EDDIE MUST GO!” The purpose of all this, it seemed, was to convince the jury that Eddie was a menace to the peace. He had purposefully antagonized his neighbors by not leaving. The way Shamrock couched everything made it sound as if Eddie was a blight on society, and that, in itself, was a good reason to be persecuted. Never mind that nothing Eddie was doing was criminal. Crane, in the cross-examination of several witnesses, brought out that just because you didn’t like someone who lived on your block didn’t mean you could force him to leave. Otherwise, he was unsuccessful in presenting Eddie as harmless. Every time someone testified that Eddie was performing Satanic rituals at his home, Crane shot it down during cross. Did they actually see the ritual? Did they hear it? What exactly was a Satanic ritual? How would they know it? Unfortunately, the judge appeared to be on the prosecution’s side and limited Crane’s ability to cast aspersions on the witnesses’ statements.

  Then came a witness who revealed a lot of Eddie’s history I’d always wondered about—his time in Vietnam. It seemed this man was the witness the prosecution wanted but the defense didn’t. It looked like the trade had been made. Did that mean Jim Baxter would get to testify?

  “State your name for the record.”

  “Victor Blair.”

  “And how do you know the defendant?”

  “I was his sergeant in the Second Battalion, First Infantry, Americal Division of the United States Armed Forces during the Vietnam War.”

  “Americal Division?”

  “That was the unofficial name for our unit. The 196th Infantry Brigade of the army.”

  “And where were you stationed when you knew the defendant?”

  “Da Nang, Vietnam.”

  “And when did you know him?

  “From December 1971 to June 1972.”

  Blair was in his late fifties, had a buzz cut, and looked as if he had come from Central Casting as an ex-Army man. He was in fine shape and sported the appropriate ruggedness.

  “Was the defendant in your battalion?”

  “Yes, sir, he was a private.”

  Shamrock established that Blair was now retired and had been in the army for twenty years following the Vietnam War. He currently resided in California.

  “How would you describe the defendant as a soldier?” Shamrock asked.

  “He was a problem soldier, sir.”

  “What do you mean by that?”

  “He had an attitude problem. He didn’t want to follow rules, and he disregarded authority. But he was respected in many ways.”

  “Hold on. Go back to ‘attitude problem.’ What do you mean by that?”

  “Private Newcott often went out in the shit—excuse me, Your Honor, I mean he often went out on his own to look for the enemy. It was very dangerous and against protocol.”

  “He went out on his own?”

  “Yes, sir.”

  “I don’t understand. Please explain it to the jury.”

  “Sometimes at night, Private Newcott would simply slip out of the base and go out on a patrol alone, without authorization, in search of enemy units.”

  “I see. Was he disciplined for these actions?”

  “Many times.”

  “Why do you think he did that, Mr. Blair?”

  “We all thought he was nuts. Brave, but nuts.”

  Crane didn’t object. Shamrock continued, “Did he put the other men in his unit in jeopardy by disobeying orders?”

  “I wouldn’t say he disobeyed orders, he disobeyed rules. He wasn’t supposed to go into the bush by himself. That was a crazy thing to do.”

  “Tell us, Mr. Blair, what kind of reputation did Private Newcott have among his fellow soldiers?”

  “I’d say he was respected, in a way.”

  “How so?”

  “Like I said, he was uncommonly brave. I mean, to go out into the jungle at night, alone, took some ba—er, some courage. And he got results.”

  “I beg your pardon?”

  “Well, we all called him ‘Snoop.’”

  “Snoop?”

  “He was good at reconnaissance. Private Newcott single-handedly brought back quite a bit of intelligence about the enemy—where they were hiding, how well they were armed. That sort of thing. He was sneaky.”

  “I see. Was there anything else about Private Newcott that bothered you besides his tendency to disobey the rules?”

  “Yes. One day I accompanied Private Newcott’s platoon on patrol. We came upon a village that we suspected of being a Viet Cong supply center. Our orders were to search the village for weapons and other evidence of enemy activity. It appeared that women, children, and elderly men were the only occupants. The kids were inside a hut that was apparently a small school. We stormed the village and rounded everyone up, including the children. The women became distressed, and the younger kids started crying. I put Private Newcott in charge of guarding the civilians while the rest of us commenced with the search. I was inside one of the huts when we heard gunfire outside. We ran out, ready to engage the
enemy—but it turned out it was Private Newcott. He had discharged his weapon at the civilians to ‘scare’ them. He shot up the ground where they were standing. I shouted at him to stop and demanded to know what he thought he was doing.”

  “And what did Private Newcott say?”

  “He told me that we should just kill them all—especially the children—so that they wouldn’t grow up to be enemy ‘gooks.’”

  “How did you respond?”

  “I ordered him to stand down. I replaced him as guard and sent him to help search the village.”

  “What happened after that?”

  “Nothing until that night. We didn’t find weapons, so we left the village and went back to base. However, that night, the village burned down. There were civilian casualties. No one knew how it happened, but I found out the next day that Private Newcott had gone off on his own again the night it occurred. I confronted him about it, but he told me that he was nowhere near the village.”

  “Did you believe him?”

  “Not really. I had no proof, none of us did. But we all thought he did it.”

  Serious objection! The spectators broke out in spontaneous murmuring. The judge banged the gavel and called for order. The attorneys were brought to the bench for a sidebar, and the jury was sent out of the courtroom. The judge continued to speak in hushed but earnest tones. Finally, counsel was released and the jury was brought back. The judge ordered that the witness’s preceding testimony be struck from the record. But the damage had been done. The jury had heard it.

  “Okay, Mr. Blair,” Shamrock resumed. “Let’s skip to June 1972. What happened with the battalion then?”

  “We were deactivated and sent home.”

  “And was Private Newcott with you at that time?”

  “No, sir, he was AWOL.”

  “AWOL?”

  “Absent without leave. He had disappeared.”

  Shamrock put on an act of being very concerned. “Was that unusual?”

  “Yes, sir.”

  “What do you know about the situation?”

  “He simply vanished a few days before the unit was scheduled to depart Vietnam and return to the States.”

  “What was done to locate him?”

  “Military police searched Da Nang from top to bottom. We finally learned that he had a Vietnamese girlfriend.”

  “What was her name?”

  “Phan Mai. Mai. She lived In Country … er, out in the jungle, in a small village with her parents.”

  “And was Private Newcott found there?”

  “Yes, he was.”

  “And was he ordered to leave Vietnam with his battalion?”

  “Yes sir, but he refused. He planned to stay and live with her in Vietnam.”

  “I see. What happened after that?”

  “We went home. Private Newcott didn’t join us.”

  “And what do you know about the defendant’s actions in Vietnam following the battalion’s deactivation?”

  “MPs were sent to arrest him for AWOL, but he and the girl had disappeared. Gone. Vanished. I received reports that no one knew where he was for an entire year. Then he suddenly showed up at the base in the summer of ’73 in a state of dehydration, starvation, and delirium.”

  “What did he say had happened to him?”

  Blair rolled his eyes. “He told investigators that he had acquired amnesia and was lost in the jungle for months.”

  “And you don’t believe him?”

  Crane objected before Blair could answer, saying that since the witness wasn’t there at the time, he had no business testifying to what did or did not happen. The judge overruled, and Shamrock continued.

  “I’ll repeat the question—did you believe what you had heard about Private Newcott?”

  “Not at all.”

  “Why not?”

  “It’s too far-fetched.”

  “What happened to his girlfriend?”

  “We don’t know. Private Newcott claimed that she had left him. Had gone off with another man. No one ever heard from her again.”

  More objections that the testimony was irrelevant. More overruling.

  “So, Mr. Blair, knowing the defendant as you did, do you have an opinion on what might have happened to Private Newcott and his girlfriend?”

  “Newcott was a good soldier, but he was rash and unpredictable. He had a rebellious streak. He bucked authority and thought he knew all the answers. I couldn’t say what happened during that year he was missing. There were rumors that he had been captured and was a POW. At one point, he was suspected of working for the enemy. I know that when he returned, the army put him through the wringer with interrogations. In the end, there was no real evidence for or against him. They had to take him at his word. As for the girl, who knows? Maybe he killed her.”

  Objections. Pandemonium. Gavel banging. Once again, the jury was sent out of the courtroom and the lawyers were summoned to the bench. I wished I could hear what was said up there. Finally, things settled down and the jury returned. The testimony was struck from the record a second time.

  When Shamrock handed over the witness for cross examination, Crane stood and asked, “Mr. Blair, you don’t really know what was going on in Eddie’s head during the several months the two of you worked together in the army, do you?”

  “No, sir.”

  “And isn’t it true that Vietnamese civilians disappeared all the time during the war? They were displaced and moved about?”

  “That’s true.”

  “Mr. Blair, you testified earlier that the defendant was ‘crazy.’”

  “Yes, sir.”

  “You are not a medical expert, are you?”

  “No, sir.”

  “But you are trained to assess the mental states of your men, is that correct?”

  “Yes, sir.”

  “Please tell the court why you thought the defendant was, as you say, ‘crazy.’”

  “Well, sir, he had a morbid outlook. All he talked about was death and the devil and how evil the enemy was. Everyone in his unit tended to ostracize him. That’s not a good thing in the army. He was considered very weird, sir.”

  “Weird, how?”

  “Just some of the things he’d say. He constantly tried to tell the men that there was no God. He once got into an argument with the chaplain at the base in Da Nang. It almost escalated into a fistfight, sir. I believe Private Newcott was a very violent person.”

  “Would you say he was ‘disturbed’?”

  “Absolutely.”

  “Thank you. No further questions.”

  We broke for lunch.

  22

  After lunch, Shamrock called Wade Jones to the stand. I realized he was the young man with the long red hair whom I had met in 1994 when Eddie had given me a tour of his home office. He was obviously over a decade older, but he still had his long locks. He, too, wore a goatee. Frankly, I thought he looked more sinister than Eddie.

  Shamrock established that Jones was a member of The Temple and had known Eddie for seventeen years. His girlfriend of six years was Catherine Carter, who was also a member of the congregation.

  “Were you paid by the defendant to work for him?”

  “Yes, sir.”

  “What were your duties?”

  “I was good with computers and stuff, so I handled the website and social media.”

  “Were you friends with the defendant?”

  “Sure. We were friends.” Jones appeared uncomfortable answering that.

  “Did you ever have any conversations with the defendant regarding his girlfriend, Dora Walton?”

  “Lots. I mean, we talked about all kinds of stuff. We talked about his relationship, we talked about my relationship with Catherine.”

  “And did the defendant ever say anything about Dora Walton that concerned you?”

  “Yes. He had a hard time with her pregnancy. He didn’t want kids. He told me that he begged her to get an abortion, but she wouldn’t do it. As her b
elly grew bigger, his behavior became more erratic. He started doing drugs again.”

  “What kinds of drugs?”

  “Pot, mostly, but usually he just drank. A lot. And he got very belligerent when he drank alcohol. Sometimes he got very scary.”

  “How so?”

  “About a month before the, uh, crime, Dora came over to our house. I believe she was six months pregnant at the time. She had a black eye and a busted lip. She told us that Eddie—uh, the defendant—got drunk and became abusive. He threatened to ‘cut out her baby.’”

  “Those were his exact words?”

  “According to Dora, yes.”

  I expected Crane to stand and object for hearsay reasons, but he didn’t. He seemed to be allowing this testimony to play out.

  “Mr. Jones, what happened on Christmas Eve of last year?”

  “Catherine and I went over to Eddie’s house for a party. It was just the four of us—me, Catherine, Eddie, and Dora. We had food, drank a lot of wine, and—well, Dora didn’t drink because of her pregnancy. The rest of us got pretty intoxicated. And then we … well, we had sex, sir.”

  “All of you? Together.”

  “Yes. We practiced alternative lifestyles.”

  “By that, you mean you were swingers.”

  Jones turned red and averted his eyes. “I guess you can say that.”

  “Can you tell us what kind of mood the defendant was in?”

  Jones shrugged. “Aside from being drunk, he was in a festive mood.”

  “Did you have any idea of what he was planning to do?”

  “None.”

  “How did the evening end for you?”

  “Around twelve thirty a.m., Catherine and I went home. We left Eddie and Dora in their living room.”