Lobster Boy

by Fred Rosen

  July 19.

  Cathy got out of her wheelchair and lifted herself onto a rear bench. She sat next to Donna and Tyrill. Little Grady pulled his wheelchair up to the railing and made eye contact with Mary Teresa. A trace of a smile crept across his features, and then his sparkling blue eyes focused on the man who came through the courtroom’s rear door.

  “Let me introduce myself,” said the handsome, dark-complected, mustachioed man who took the bench.

  “My name is Bill Fuente,” the judge continued, addressing the jury. “I’ll be the presiding judge. The only follow-up question was to ask if you knew me.”

  None did.

  “I’m going to inconvenience you one more time. My intention is to recess until tomorrow at nine or nine-thirty. We’ll commence with testimony tomorrow at nine-thirty.”

  The jury had no problem coming back and working late. They’d even work on Monday, though they’d only committed their time through Friday. They were a dedicated, hardy group.

  “I sincerely apologize for this inconvenience,” Fuente repeated. And the jury was excused for the day.

  “I’ll entertain arguments in open court in the afternoon with respect to battered wife syndrome. This is my case and I’m gonna make a decision,” Fuente announced to the attorneys. Then he left the bench.

  Levine would get the opportunity to once again argue that his experts be allowed to testify. He told reporters how much he was looking forward to the afternoon’s proceedings.

  It was 2 P.M.

  “Mr. Hanes?”

  “Thank you, Your Honor,” and Hanes rose in his baggy suit to address the court.

  “There is no recognizable defense in this case. There is no case in this country which allows it to be brought. The fact there are no cases speaks volumes. There are several cases where you can make the case for battered wife syndrome, [however].”

  Hanes himself had told the author during the interview back in November that he would have probably declined to prosecute Teresa if she had shot Grady while he was beating her.

  “In conspiracy and contract for hire,” Hanes continued, “self-defense is not admissible. The facts are incontrovertible.”

  Hanes continued his arguments, finishing up by quoting a United States Supreme Court ruling to support his position.

  Levine rose to his full height. He cut a strong, powerful figure.

  “For Mr. Hanes to stand up and say that battered spouse syndrome never comes in [is ridiculous],” he boomed.

  Arnie Levine talked and talked, trying, through the interpretation of law and legal precedent, to justify his client’s actions. Eventually, he acknowledged that while “My client didn’t do it, she should have done it a long time ago,” his voice rising and penetrating to every corner of the courtroom.

  “When you take imminent, it means at some near time,” Arnie explained.

  “It shouldn’t make any difference who committed the crime if the defendant thought she was in imminent danger, and it shouldn’t make any difference that the plot was in place weeks before the murder.

  “I just don’t make a distinction between hiring somebody and doing it yourself,” Arnie continued.

  Arnie proceeded to explain that many of his subsequent witnesses, including family members, would testify to the abuse they suffered under Grady’s claws.

  “I was going to call Tyrill Berry and put on the video,” Arnie added. “That wrestling scene shows things getting out of hand and Grady strangling his son.”

  He urged Fuente to allow the experts, and to give instructions of what self-defense is when the judge charged the jury.

  “I would hope, Your Honor, that you wouldn’t be swayed in your decision by the uniqueness of the decision or [the remote possibility of] opening doors to every wife whose husband raised their voice to them and then they shoot them.”

  They concluded their arguments by walking to the bar. Arnie towered over Hanes.

  “We’ll reconvene on Thursday at eight-thirty, at which time I’ll rule,” and Judge Fuente left the bench.

  Everyone would have a day off tomorrow while the judge considered his ruling.

  July 21.

  “I make my ruling solely on the evidence of the case. I have not concluded that self-defense as a matter of law is not applicable in cases of battered spouse syndrome. This is my ruling and my intention is to resume court at nine-fifteen.”

  Finished, Judge Fuente left the bench.

  One, two, three, and it was done. The judge had allowed in the experts. Almost immediately, Cathy turned up in the media room.

  “I’d like to make a statement.”

  Reporters grabbed for mikes. They thrust them into her face, then froze for the sound bite. Cameramen expertly loaded camcorders on shoulders, turned the image-producing machines on, focused and waited.

  Her face glowing, the pretty, intense-looking young woman with lobster claws for hands looked into the cameras. She paused dramatically.

  “I’m very happy, and thank God above for making the judge make the decision. Now we definitely have a chance. My mom thanks the judge very much. This will help a lot of battered women out there,” Cathy said.

  Off camera, Cathy admitted that Arnie had told her to go in and make the statement.

  Trial testimony began again with Arnie questioning Little Grady on direct. Once again, the bailiff wheeled him in and he sprang from the chair into the witness-box.

  Arnie asked him to tell about a specific incident of abuse. “One week before the killing, he’d come home from Showtown,” Little Grady remembered. “My father and mother went to their bedroom. I heard yelling. Both were arguing. I went to check on her. The door was locked.”

  “Dad, Dad,” he yelled, concerned about his mother’s safety. Finally, he hit the door. The lock shattered. He pushed the door open and witnessed a frightening scene.

  “My father was choking my mother. On the bed.”

  “What’d you do?”

  “I pulled my father off of her,” he answered matter-of-factly.

  “What happened on November 29th?”

  “I was with my parents in the morning. We left the house at 10 A.M. On the way to the mall [to go shopping], we stopped at Showtown. He had two drinks there. Doubles. After we left, we stopped at the Showman’s Club. He had two or three doubles.”

  “What time was it?”

  “About 12 or 12:30.”

  Then they went to the mall and went shopping.

  “When we got home at three, my father drank again. Glenn was present, too. He [Grady] had two or three more doubles.”

  All through the trial, Arnie had tried to establish in the jury’s mind that whenever Grady drank, he turned violent. If he could show that Grady was drunk the day of the killing, then the jury might believe that violence would have occurred again, that Teresa Stiles felt she was in imminent danger and the use of deadly force was justified.

  “Would it be fair to say your father was not a morning person?” Spoto began on cross.

  “Yes.”

  Under Spoto’s patient questioning, Little Grady repeated the itinerary of his father’s travels from bar to bar on November 29.

  “When did you make it to the mall?”

  “About 1.”

  “And your dad had more drinks when you got home?”

  “At 3 P.M., he had two or three more drinks. Doubles.”

  “Did you get out early that morning to get to the mall?”

  “Yes.”

  “You testified today to a violent act.”

  “Yes.”

  “Do you remember my asking you [previously] if any violent act stuck out?”

  “I remember my answer.”

  “Was that with Mr. Levine’s assistance?”

  “No.”

  At the defense table, Arnie smiled.

  “Do you remember your deposition in July 1993?”

  “Yes.”

  “You were put under oath. At that time, I asked you,” and no
w she read from the deposition, “‘Around the time of the murder do you recall any incident of violence involving your mother?’

  “Answer: ‘No.’”

  Little Grady could not explain the discrepancy.

  “You never really confronted your father?”

  “Not that often. At times, I had to.”

  “Once again, July 6th, 1993, the same deposition. Line nine, page thirty-six. Were you not asked if you defended your mother from your father, you responded, ‘I didn’t really confront him.’”

  Again, Little Grady could not explain the discrepancy.

  On redirect, Arnie stood tall at the lectern.

  “Ms. Spoto asked you whether or not I prompted you to testify on redirect. Did you bring to my attention [the information you testified to] during the recess?”

  “Yes.”

  “We met yesterday in my office.”

  “[Yes and] I just tried to think about what happened and that’s how I recalled it.”

  “Have you testified to the truth?”

  “Yes.”

  “Is anything you said to the jury untrue?”

  “No.”

  Arnie walked away, smiling.

  It was Tyrill’s turn next.

  Tyrill Berry walked in the courtroom.

  After establishing that Tyrill was six feet tall and weighed 250 pounds, Arnie showed another videotape where Grady runs across an open field and bowls Tyrill over. Once again, the defense was trying to show Grady’s immense physical prowess.

  Before Hanes could cross-examine, the judge decided to adjourn court for the day.

  During the time I spent researching this account of the murder of Grady Stiles, Jr., I’d become familiar with all the major players both in and out of court. Months before the trial began, I’d been in touch with Arnie Levine’s office and received some information about the case, including a copy of the videotape showing Grady brutalizing Little Grady on the floor. When Levine had released it to the media before the start of the trial, it had no sound.

  Only my copy wasn’t silent. Instead of the desperate cries of a child in pain, it had the sounds of a family’s playful banter during the light sparring between a father and his son.

  After the session that day, I was walking out of the courtroom and happened to hear Hanes and Spoto talking about the tape and its lack of sound.

  “Excuse me,” I said, “but my copy does have sound.”

  The prosecutors stopped and looked at each other.

  “That’s interesting. Our tape doesn’t have any sound.”

  When I told them how I’d gotten my copy, their interest intensified.

  “Where’s yours?” Hanes asked.

  “Back home in New York.”

  “That’s great. Well, if he calls Grady again, I’ll ask him if there was any sound on the tape. Meanwhile, why don’t you send for your copy?”

  From that moment on, I was no longer simply an observer of this bizarre trial. I became an active participant.

  Nineteen

  July 22.

  The next morning, Hanes began his cross of Tyrill with this casual question.

  “Did you wrestle from time to time?”

  “Not often. Every once in a while.”

  “You saw the previous [wrestling] videotape. Did it have sound?”

  “The original tape had sound,” Tyrill answered truthfully.

  “Didn’t someone call young Grady a wimp on that tape?”

  “I’m not sure,” Tyrill answered.

  “Do you know if your wife was present, or Mary Stiles?”

  “My wife and I were gone at the time.”

  “Are people talking on the tape?”

  “There … may be some words exchanged.”

  “Is the tape shown in court the original?”

  “I … believe this is the original.”

  “Were there other matters on the tape?”

  “I believe so, sir.”

  Tyrill was sweating, his voice cracking with the strain.

  “And you turned that over to Mr. Levine?”

  “Yes.”

  Arnie came over for his redirect.

  “Did the state ever request the sound on it [the tape]?”

  “No,” Tyrill quickly answered.

  Hanes was back again at the lectern.

  “You believe there may be sound on it?”

  “Some might have sound.”

  “The camcorder has the ability to record sound?”

  “Yes, it does.”

  “No further questions.”

  “The defense calls Cathy Berry,” Arnie intoned.

  The bailiff wheeled Cathy in and like Little Grady, she popped out of the wheelchair and into the witness-box. Waiting for Arnie’s first question, she looked like she was on the verge of tears. She put a claw to her face.

  “I call your attention to an incident in your home on May 5th, 1990. What happened then?”

  “My father was getting ready to strike my mother. I said [to him], ‘You preferred the bottle to your family.’”

  Then, Cathy said, Grady got angry and struck her.

  “I had just gone into my seventh month [of pregnancy].”

  Cathy was crying now. Apparently, Grady’s blow had brought with it agonizing pain.

  “I didn’t tell anybody the pain I was in. The morning of the sixth, I started hemorrhaging. I woke up at 5 A.M. My mother rushed me to the hospital.”

  When the doctors asked her what had brought on her medical problems, she lied. “I told them [the doctors] I fell out of my chair.”

  “What had happened as a result of your being hit?” Arnie asked.

  “The placenta separated from the cord. My water broke and I needed an emergency C-section.”

  “He was very nice, when he wasn’t drunk. When he was drunk, he was like Satan himself. Sadistic,” Cathy added.

  At the defense table, Teresa clasped her hands tightly in front of her and cried as Cathy continued her testimony.

  “He started drinking more after we’d come off the road in 1992. It was worse. Every day. The abuse was more frequent. He was doing it when he was sober. He constantly threatened to kill us.”

  “What would happen?”

  “He’d jump out of his chair.”

  Cathy tried to protect her mother by putting herself between them.

  “He started beating up on me.”

  Having tried to establish that Teresa was in imminent danger prior to Grady’s death, Arnie asked Cathy questions that, in her responses, established that she hadn’t seen Grady from 1978 to 1988, and that she didn’t want to see him because of his brutality.

  Later on, when the family got together after the second marriage, Cathy testified that she “stayed with my mother to help my mother.”

  “Your whole purpose in being on the road was to help your mother?” Arnie questioned.

  “Yes,” Cathy answered.

  Cathy’s income was derived, she said, from her social security disability checks.

  “Neither yourself or Mr. Berry received any compensation from Mr. Stiles?”

  “No. My SSI was enough to buy food with.”

  “Do you recall having a conversation with your brother Glenn after you came off the road in 1992 about having your father killed?” Hanes asked on cross.

  “No.”

  “Do you know Christopher Wyant?”

  “Just to say hi and bye.”

  She also hadn’t heard the gunshots on the night of the murder.

  “I never heard the shot. I heard a pop. But you hear that around my house constantly.”

  “Do you recall any conversation with any person about having your father killed?”

  “Objection.”

  “That’s a broad question, Mr. Hanes,” interrupted Judge Fuente.

  They wrangled it out. Eventually, the judge ruled that on cross of Cathy, Hanes could not talk about the conspiracy to kill Grady.

  Back at the lectern, Hanes
looked down at his yellow pad. He found the question he wanted and looked up.

  “In whose name were the family shows?”

  “My father put all the shows in my mother’s name.”

  Hanes paused. He wanted the fact to sink in that whenever Grady died, sooner or later, Teresa would inherit the shows.

  Hanes wondered why Cathy would stay at home throughout 1992 with all that abuse going on. Why not just leave so she wasn’t a part of it?

  “I loved my mother and was trying to protect her in the best way I could,” said Cathy.

  During a short morning recess, I sought out Levine. Fair journalistic practice is to give a source a chance at rebuttal. In view of my conversation with Hanes the night before, I felt I owed it to him.

  Levine was walking around the courtroom and I motioned him over to the railing.

  “Is there sound on the videotape?” I asked.

  Instead of looking straight at me, his eyes shifted for a moment.

  “Am I under oath?” he asked. He smiled broadly.

  “I decline to answer.” He turned his back to me and walked back to the defense table.

  On the other side of the courtroom, Hanes and Spoto were hard at work poring over their notes. I strode over and sat down behind them. Hanes saw me and turned around.

  “How’d you know what the audio was on the tape?” I asked.

  Hanes explained that that morning they’d come into the courtroom early and Arnie’s assistant was playing with the videotape on the VCR.

  “I asked,” Hanes continued, “‘Can we look at the tape?’ They said ‘sure.’ We turned it up and it’s got sound all over it.”

  But apparently, that was just a copy. They’d asked to see the original. “He [Arnie] said no, you can’t see the original tape.”

  Hanes paused, then said, “At the time, my principal concern was getting the original sound tape entered into evidence. I want that tape.”

  Spoto turned around. “Did you send for the tape?” Spoto asked.

  “Yes,” I said. “I’ll let you know when I get it.”

  “The defense calls Donna Miles.”

  Without looking at her mother, Donna shuffled into the courtroom and took the stand.

  Arnie began with her earliest recollection of life with father.