Lobster Boy

by Fred Rosen

  “He drank rather heavily,” said Murray. “As soon as he finished one drink, he’d put his glass down and Teresa would run up to get him another drink.”

  Arnie wanted to know if Grady ever got really blitzed.

  “They’d cut him off before he got to that point,” Murray answered.

  On cross, all Hanes wanted to know was if Murray had ever observed Grady hurt Teresa.

  “No, I never observed Grady hit Mary or verbally abuse her,” he testified, clearly reluctantly.

  “The defense rests,” said Arnie.

  Now the prosecution had one more chance. They could, if they chose, introduce rebuttal witnesses. And Hanes was ready.

  “Prosecution calls Betty Tanner.”

  In earlier testimony, Teresa and Little Grady adamantly claimed that Grady began drinking on the morning of his death at the Showman’s Club.

  Tanner took the stand, and immediately identified herself as the director of the club in question.

  “Did you serve Mr. Stiles a drink on the morning he was killed, November 29th?” Spoto asked loudly.

  “No,” Tanner replied.

  “Why not?”

  “November 29th was a Sunday. By state law, we are not allowed to serve alcohol before 1 P.M.”

  At the defense table, Teresa sat stunned.

  “No further questions.”

  Arnie could not budge her, and Tanner was excused. Her testimony had taken all of five minutes. It was, perhaps, the trial’s most damaging. But Spoto wasn’t through yet.

  “Call Chuck Osak.”

  The owner of Showtown USA took the stand. Teresa and Grady had said that Grady had a few on the morning of the murder at the Showtown as well as the Showman’s Club.

  “Did you serve Grady Stiles alcohol on the morning of November 29th?”

  “No, ma’am, I did not. That was a Sunday. We’re not allowed to open until 1 P.M.”

  “No further questions.”

  Arnie sprang to his feet.

  After establishing that Grady’s regular alcoholic drink was Seagram’s, Arnie asked Osak when he served the first Seagram’s on November 29th.

  Osak, whose cash register recorded the type of drink dispensed, responded, “Eighteen-oh-eight was the first Seagram’s 7.”

  18:08 was military time. Translated into Eastern Standard Time, it was 6:08 P.M. on Sunday, November 29, when Osak served his first Seagram’s. At that time, Grady was home eating dinner.

  The state had hit two home runs in a row.

  “Call Christopher Boden.”

  Boden took the stand and immediately identified himself as a forensic toxicologist who worked for the state. He had done a blood alcohol test on Grady’s blood.

  “Mr. Boden, what was Grady Stiles’s blood alcohol content at the time of his death?”

  “Zero-point-zero-two grams,” Boden replied.

  “No further questions.”

  On cross, Arnie tried to confuse the issue by looking at Grady’s blood alcohol level in different ways, which would make it seem like he had imbibed more than Boden indicated. But Boden clung to his testimony.

  In Florida, .10 is legally intoxicated. According to the state’s expert, at the time of his death, Grady had barely enough alcohol in his blood to indicate that he’d had more than one beer.

  If that was true, and it looked like it was, then the entire Stiles family was clearly lying. They claimed Grady was drinking heavily the day he was murdered.

  But if they lied about Grady’s drinking, what else had they lied about?

  “Call Detective Michael Willette.”

  Hanes questioned Willette about the photos he took of Teresa Stiles the night she was arrested.

  “Were there any marks on her face in those photos?” Hanes asked.

  “No, sir,” Willette answered, and Hanes showed the jury the photos that he then entered into evidence.

  “No further questions. Your Honor, the prosecution rests.”

  “Mr. Levine, any rebuttal witnesses?” Judge Fuente asked.

  “No, Your Honor.”

  “Then we’ll begin closing tomorrow morning. I want to see counsel in chambers regarding jury instructions.”

  July 26.

  That morning, the courtroom was packed. The Stiles family crowded along the front row, throwing kisses and thumbs-up to Teresa, who sat wearing a tan suit and a grim expression as her fate got closer and closer.

  At 9:35 A.M., Ron Hanes stepped up to the lectern and faced the jury.

  “Ladies and gentlemen, I want to thank you for your service, which went above and beyond your duty. On behalf of the state, thank you very much.

  “You have heard much about what physically took place on November 29th. And what took place on November 29th, was murder.”

  He paused.

  “Mr. Stiles is in his chair. ‘Hurry and come back,’ he says, and puts the video on pause. And with that, his life is taken. Was there any danger on that day to Teresa Stiles? She didn’t even know when the homicide would take place.

  “What we have is a contract for murder. The terms of the contract are completely open. The killing can take place when you get to it, Mr. Wyant. That is not self-defense.

  “They walk a few feet from their trailer. The fifteen hundred dollars on the dryer? How does that come about? [In case of divorce, you must] give up your lifestyle so you don’t have to go through a divisional situation.

  “Money [for the murder] was made available. Are those signs of helplessness?”

  Teresa Stiles looked down at her feet.

  “There was no imminence,” Hanes continued. “Is there any danger? No. It’s an open-ended contract.”

  Cathy leaned forward on her claws, intently studying the prosecutor.

  “I’ve paid you the fifteen hundred dollars—you haven’t held up your end of the bargain. [I’m] considering reporting the money stolen. Teresa Stiles has access to independent funds. It’s blood money.

  “Blood money,” Hanes said loudly. “Imminent death or great bodily harm? No! Not willing to leave the household, yes!

  “It was very easy to step out of the trailer and give a seventeen-year-old the opportunity to shoot Grady Stiles in the head. As she said, there was no danger. After all [as Teresa pointed out], Grady couldn’t travel anymore. Yet her combination of efforts is to go immediately to what should always be the last resort. For Mary Stiles, killing was the easiest way to continue her lifestyle, not a last resort. There then followed a deliberate cover-up to law enforcement to what has taken place.

  “It doesn’t fit. Mary Stiles knew that night it was murder and she knows today.

  “Doctors [who testified] weren’t given all the facts [by her]. Which of those versions were the doctors given? The night after the murder, she had total recall [when she confessed to the police]. From that point forward, recall was denied. Amnesia? Is that amnesia?” Hanes asked incredulously. “She has a specific recall of the day of the murder and everything else. For her to give the details of the murder [to the doctors] would show you a person who acted and was not helpless.

  “You judge whether you believe that was amnesia. She told Dr. Gonzalez, Christopher Wyant was in the house that night. Are we dealing with dissociation? No, we just aren’t being given details! A thirty-two caliber Colt Automatic that he fired into that man’s head. As Wyant told you, he spent the money and they wanted him to hold up his end of the deal.

  “By entering into an open-ended contract, Mrs. Stiles knew it was murder. That’s not dissociation—it’s deceit. The cover-up itself, we have no idea who took part in it. But there is a consciousness of guilt through the use of a son and a seventeen-year-old.

  “That was murder on November 29th, that is murder today.”

  Hanes sat down. The time was 10:15 A.M. Arnie Levine immediately stood and strode with all the majesty he could muster to the lectern and faced the jury.

  “I am not here to mislead you. Not every battered woman kills but Mary Stiles i
s not every battered woman.”

  The courtroom hushed. All that could be heard was Arnie’s ringing voice, the words and inflection clear as a bell, penetrating to every corner of the courtroom.

  “Mary Stiles is a unique battered woman who suffered every form of violence, physical, emotional and,” voice rising, “sexual, and the threat she’d be killed, not just orally, but acting out, too.

  “The evidence unquestionably establishes that on November 29th and prior, Mary Stiles reasonably [believed] that she and her family members were in imminent danger of either death or great bodily harm.

  “In this case, there are two killers. Grady Stiles, Jr., who killed without justification and got away with it. Grady Stiles, Jr., and Christopher Wyant.

  “It’s almost unfathomable that the state prosecuted Mary Stiles for premeditated murder and conspiracy to commit murder. It doesn’t make sense. Not at all.

  “Back then, in 1988 to 1989, [Grady] drew Mary Stiles into his web and then reverted to what he was and he took his pound of flesh from Mary Stiles and his children. He had killed. Life, soul, and the hope of Mary Stiles and children. Terrorized them, seduced them.

  “The state, through Mr. Hanes, brands Mary Stiles a felon. I suggest the evidence says that she paid for what she did. I suggest he [Hanes] never explained the why and he can not. She is innocent by virtue of self-defense.”

  Even as Arnie continued to argue her case, Teresa Stiles could not raise her eyes and look at the jury of her peers that would judge her.

  “Everybody said [Mary Stiles suffered from] battered wife syndrome. Where is the evidence to the contrary? They [the state] have the obligation to prove it, not me. Listening to Mr. Hanes, you’d think it had been the O.K. Corral.

  “You must judge her by the circumstance by which she was surrounded when the bullet was fired. The judge will say that the danger facing the defendant need not be actual. It has to do with perception, her belief. Is there any evidence to the contrary about violence, dangerousness and alcoholism? They called no witnesses to refute [this] despite the fact they have the burden of proof. Not I.

  “[The videotape] shows the father [holding the son] in a headlock he could not break,” Arnie continued. “It was family fun? Even sober, he lost control. That’s a microcosm of what my client experienced when he was drunk. They’re encouraging him to break it. See the look in Grady’s eyes. He lets his son up and grabs him again. You could hear Grady III choking on the video.

  “How does Mary Stiles face up to that? How could she defend herself against his [strength]? That video is mild and moderate compared to the terror Mary Stiles was living with.”

  As for the prosecution’s contention that Mary Stiles killed Grady to continue her lifestyle, he considered that a joke, considering she lived in Gibsonton.

  “There was no big insurance. [Just] a trailer in Gibsonton [to inherit].”

  “Kill or be killed. The words of Arturo Gonzalez. There are no other alternatives. It’s the circumstances she was in, her frailties, her state of mind. There is only one proper verdict. Not guilty. Not guilty.”

  Arnie finished at 12:15, two hours of summation. Now, one more time, the prosecution had a chance at rebuttal.

  “Ladies and gentlemen, their strategy is to overwhelm you with learned helplessness and dissociation,” said Sandra Spoto.

  “They tried to put alcohol into his system. Alcohol followed by violence.

  “The judge will tell you the defendant must be treated as a principal. If she knew what would happen, and a crime was going to be committed, she was responsible. The State of Florida cares, and you should care.”

  Arnie objected.

  “No, sir,” said Judge Fuente, and Arnie sat down.

  “Mr. Levine spent time talking about penalty. That’s Judge Fuente’s job. Test the evidence. Find out how hard it is to put a square peg into a round hole. Strategy. Setting up defense. Learned helplessness.”

  Spoto reminded the jury to consider Donna Miles’s testimony as to what her mother was capable of doing.

  “If it’s imminent danger, don’t you have a conversation with [the shooter] and say, ‘It has to be done. It has to be done.’

  “Was she in imminent danger when she went over her Christmas list in November 1992?”

  Then she brought up the family’s testimony that Grady had been drinking all day the day of the murder.

  “Alcohol followed by violence. They forgot that November 29th is a Sunday and bars weren’t open and Grady Stiles couldn’t be drinking then.”

  “Relying on the scientific evidence, Grady Stiles, Jr., had a blood alcohol level of point-zero-two. They weren’t being honest with you.

  “Let’s talk about the video.”

  “The video without sound. The video with sound. And all of them laughing. Mr. Levine said that video turned violent. Test the evidence.

  “‘Don’t scream Grady because you’re gonna hurt your throat.’ That’s what you’ll hear on the video. And as for that hole in the closet [that Grady threw Little Grady through] it’s been there since 1991.”

  Then she turned to Teresa’s story that Grady tried to poke her eye out the night before he was murdered, seemingly contradicted by the photos Willette took of her two days later at the time of her arrest.

  “Surely there would be bruises if that event had taken place. Mr. Levine has inferred that these shadows are bruises. Why wouldn’t they show up in a photograph? The answer is the lighting makes her eyes appear she has black circles, like today.”

  I looked over at Teresa Stiles. Her head had sunk down again.

  “She testified that she reported the abuse and the police treated their complaints of domestic violence [as a joke]. She didn’t. The State of Florida is not asking you to disregard if Mary Stiles was a battered woman. [But she was involved] in a fifteen-hundred-dollar deal that landed that seventeen-year-old boy twenty-seven years in Florida state prison.”

  Now, Spoto lowered her voice.

  “Grady Stiles was sitting in his home, drinking tea, surrounded by photos of his family. He was sitting in front of the TV, waiting for his family. ‘Hurry up and watch the movie.’ That scene is real. Imminent danger? Battered wife syndrome is not a license to kill.”

  Spoto sat down. And just like that, the trial was over.

  Judge Fuente charged the jury, explaining the law to them and the charges against the defendant. When he was finished, the jury was escorted into the jury room on the left, behind the judge’s bench. The door closed quietly behind them.

  We all settled down to await their verdict. Teresa Stiles left the courtroom. After a while, she and her children left to go to lunch.

  It was 2:57 P.M. The jury had sent a note to the judge. They wanted a clarification on two points:

  “Does self-defense apply to the second count?”

  “We are not clear on the definition of the word principal.”

  The lawyers battled back and forth over how to answer the questions, Hanes favoring a more narrow answer while Levine somewhat more liberal. In the end, Judge Fuente compromised and sent the jury a note to try and help them as best he could, without influencing their judgment.

  By 6 o’clock, the jury had still not made a decision. The judge decided not to sequester them, and sent them home for the day.

  Twenty-one

  Wednesday, July 27, 1994.

  It was a long, slow day.

  Lunchtime came and went. The clock ticked away, minute by minute. By late afternoon, there was still no verdict.

  Then the buzzer rang. The time was 5:11 P.M.

  The jury had been out nearly eleven hours over a period of two days.

  Within a matter of minutes, the courtroom was packed as tight as a sardine can. Inside the media room, TV reporters paused, fingers over record buttons.

  Escorted by her children, Mary Teresa Stiles came in and took her seat at the defense table. A few minutes before, Ron Hanes and Arnie Levine had been sitting there conver
sing like they were the best of friends. Now, with the jury coming back, they had gone back to their respective corners like two fighters waiting for the decision.

  The jury was ushered back in. Absolutely no emotion registered on their faces as they sat down in the box.

  Judge Fuente entered the courtroom and climbed to the bench.

  “Mr. Foreman, I understand you’ve reached a verdict?”

  A man on the far end, closest to the judge, who’d been talking on a cellular phone during breaks, stood up. Earlier, one of the alternates had identified him as an employee of Southwest Bell.

  “Yes, Your Honor, we have.” He handed the sheet of paper to the bailiff, who gave it to the court clerk, who read the verdict. “On the first count, we find the defendant guilty of manslaughter with a firearm.”

  Cathy Berry cried out.

  “On the second count, conspiracy to commit murder in the first-degree, we find the defendant guilty.”

  Teresa didn’t cry, she didn’t laugh, she didn’t say anything. Donna looked shell-shocked. Tyrill and Little Grady looked down, fighting back tears. Arnie put his arms around Teresa and began speaking to her in soft, soothing tones.

  After the court had cleared, Arnie Levine, Teresa Stiles, Ron Hanes, and Sandra Spoto stood before the bar. Arnie was desperately pleading with the judge to allow Teresa Stiles to remain free under house arrest pending appeal.

  “Mr. Levine, I’m certainly sympathetic to Mrs. Stiles, but she has been convicted of felony murder. I order she be taken into custody immediately and bail denied,” Fuente said solemnly.

  Teresa went back to the defendant’s table and Tyrill wheeled Cathy over. The mother took the daughter’s grieving face in her hands and pulled her close, trying to comfort her. The daughter wept. Then the bailiff came over, pulled Cathy gently away from Teresa, and led the convicted murderess back through the bowels of the building to begin serving her sentence.

  “Son of a bitch,” Cathy shouted, screaming and doing a wheelie in her chair. “Killed him,” she screamed, the rest unintelligible gibberish mixed in with the screaming. She crashed through the swinging doors of the railing, headed for the courthouse’s doors.