My Justice My Revenge

  “Did the two men who are now right upon you ever inquire about the boy, your nephew? Such as, if there was someone was home to watch him?”

  “No.”

  “What happened then?”

  “I noticed one was a policeman I knew. He said you are coming with us. They then led me to their car, handcuffed me and placed me in the back seat. I didn’t know what was happening to me.”

  “Were you free to go?”

  “No. I couldn’t open the door because my hands had been placed in handcuffs plus I had heard the automatic locks lock prior to the car starting.”

  “Did you ask what was going on?”

  “No. I didn’t say a word. I was still trying to figure out what was going on. Why they were doing, whatever it was they were going to be doing to me.”

  “Where did they end up taking you?”

  “To the police station. They opened the car door and told me to head to the front door. I asked what was going on at that time. One of them said you are under arrest. I asked for what? They said I would find out. We walked into the station where the dispatcher had to mechanically open the door to a small room where I was placed.”

  Motter’s voice was on the brink of sounding scared. He had been in that station and that particular room hundreds if not thousands of times when he worked there.

  “What happened next?”

  “They told me I molested Tony Carver. I told them I didn’t. They said Tony said I did. He was having all sorts of psychological problems because of it. So if I admit to it he would probably heal quicker.”

  “So what did you do?”

  “Well, Tony’s a great kid so I said Okay. They said it will help so I said I would.”

  “Now, during this grilling…”

  “Objection, Your Honor, the asking of questions is certainly not a grilling.” Brent

  Clark was quick to his feet with the objection.

  “Council,” the Judge said to Theodore Wilson, “could you use a different term in the question?”

  “Certainly Your Honor, if it would please council. Now, Mr. Motter, during this interrogation,” Wilson looked at Clark as if to say does this word please you, “were you ever asked if you needed to use the washroom?”

  “No.”

  “Ever asked if you needed a glass of water?”

  “No.”

  “A can of pop? Cup of coffee?”

  “No.”

  “Then what happened, Jeffrey?”

  “The detective, Hennesey, put a piece of paper in front of me and said to read and sign it. I asked what it was. He said my rights. I just signed it.”

  “Were you able to read that sheet of paper?” asked Wilson.

  “No.”

  “What? You do read? Correct?”

  “Yes. I didn’t have my reading glasses.”

  “Did you know your rights?”

  “No.”

  “After signing this piece of paper, that you did not know what it said, what occurred next?”

  “They brought in a cassette recorder and taped me asking the questions they just asked me. It seemed to me they wanted to make sure what I would say before they put it on tape.”

  “And it was at this time, this tape, you said you molested Tony?”

  “Yes.”

  “What next?”

  “They said they were going to take my computer from my parent’s house. They said they could take it so I signed another sheet of paper saying they could. They drove me back to the house and I asked if my mother could come out of the house so she would not be afraid of all the police walking through the door. When she was at the car door they lowered the window and I told her they said I molested Tony. They are going to take my computer.”

  Motter then took a long drink of water, waited a short time and continued. “They then went into the house and removed a large number of items. My father arrived home, he had been at work, and told everyone to leave his house”

  “Did anyone leave?”

  “No. Finally they did leave, when they said they were done. They took me back to the police station, booked me and drove me to DuPaca county jail.”

  “Thank you Jeffrey. Your witness.”

  The judge spoke up and requested a short recess. Stephanie and I walk out into the hall to stretch our legs and use the washroom. Since Motter and his family were also in the hall Stephanie asked me to walk with her.

  As we walked back towards the courtroom I saw Motter seated on the benches that lined the hallway. They were wood benches, almost looking like pews from a church. He had his family and attorneys around him. It appeared they were comforting him. Yeah, he just had a very traumatic experience to relive. I felt so sorry for him. So sorry in fact I wanted to beat the guy senseless to forget the tragic occurrence. As I looked their way I saw the sinister eyes of Jeffrey’s mother staring back at me. Keeping with her belief, if eyes could kill, I’d be lying on the floor.

  We sat back down in the courtroom. The hearing started back up with Judge Peterson saying, “Mr. Clark, call your witness.”

  I had waited a long, long time for this. I saw how Motter had lied with his attorney, now I wanted to see the State tear apart his story and rip him up as well.

  States Attorney Clark started slowly. He walked up to a podium with some hand written notes on a legal pad. He stared down at the paper he held in his hand for a short while then shook his head from side to side. Looking up he asked Jeffrey Motter, “You do remember you are under oath, don’t you Mr. Motter?

  “Objection, Your Honor. Mr. Clark does not have to insinuate my client isn’t telling the truth.”

  “Your Honor, I’m not insinuating anything. Just reminding Mr. Motter after a break he is still under oath, that’s all.”

  “This is correct Mr. Motter you are still under oath. Continue council.” The judge did give a glance to Clark signifying not to push any envelopes. But I think Clark was pushing an envelope by referring to all the lies that had already come from Motter’s mouth.

  States Attorney Clark stood at the podium and placed his legal pad down on it. He stared at his legal pad for a minute, which seemed like hours, and for this minute nothing was being said. He smiled a little, gave his head a short shake from side to side then looked up at Jeffrey Motter. “You say you were visiting your parent’s home that you, in fact, did not live there on May 4th 2005. Is that correct?”

  “That is correct. I live in Florida.” Motter replied.

  “Are you employed, Mr. Motter?”

  “Yes. I own my own electric business.”

  “And do you operate this business in Florida?”

  Jeffrey stared straight ahead, not saying a word. Brent Clark asked the question again with the same response.

  “Mr. Motter do you operate your business out of your parent’s home? Isn’t that where your office is? Isn’t it true it is in the upstairs of a garage there? Come Mr. Motter, you must know that.”

  “I object, Your Honor. My client can’t answer a question unless he is given the time to answer. Mr. Clark has just asked five questions in one sentence.” Theodore Wilson was trying to save his client. He wanted to give him some time to regroup. Rethink his answers if that is what he needed.

  “Your Honor, Mr. Motter can choose any question he wishes to answer. He is not answering anything. I would like Your Honor to admonish Mr. Motter that he is required to answer these questions.”

  “That is correct Mr. Motter you must answer the questions. And Mr. Clark… one question at a time.” The Judge was always trying to be fair. Give the state something give the defense something. Seemed to me defense was getting far too much.

  “Okay,” Clark started again, “Is your business run out of your parent’s home?”

  There was still no answer. “Your Honor,” Clark implored.

  Motter stared straight ahead, not looking at the judge, Clark, not at anybody it seemed.

  “Okay. Okay. We will move on to something else. On the day when t
he two police officers arrived at your home you were playing with your nephew, is this correct?”

  “Yes.” Motter answered.

  “At some point you were asked to go to the police station. You asked to take the boy into the house and leave him with your mother or some other adult inside. Is that correct?”

  “Yes, but they would not let me enter the house.”

  “How did they keep you out? Did they grab you on the arm? Step in front of you? How?”

  “They said I couldn’t go in.”

  “They used mere words then to keep you out?”

  “Yes, but I would not use the word mere, they were the police.”

  “And then they took you to the police station?”

  “Yes.”

  “This is the same police station you worked at,” stated Clark. “For how many years did you work there, out of that particular police station?”

  Jeffrey Motter again stared off into some distant place where he would not have to answer questions he didn’t want to answer. It was becoming clear. If the answer could hurt his defense, he would not answer. States Attorney Brent Clark was getting upset and saw what was happening. We could only hope the judge was seeing it too.

  “Okay.” Clark was speaking with the sound of repulsion in his voice. “At some point you were in the police station that you had been in thousands of times while you were employed there, you were arrested and given a copy of your Miranda rights and also someone read them to you. Is this correct?”

  “Yes. But I couldn’t read them because I didn’t have my reading glasses.”

  “But they were read to you?”

  “Yes. But I didn’t understand them.”

  “You worked at two police departments and you say you don’t understand your rights?”

  “I was never a full time police officer.”

  “You do watch television don’t you. Every kid above the age of ten knows his rights because he’s heard them on the television hundreds, if not thousands of times.”

  “I object, Your Honor. Mr. Clark is again talking down to my client trying to provoke him into saying something which is not correct.”

  Theodore Wilson II had just ran off a series of words that lost me after the first part of the sentence. Dazzle them with bullshit I thought. That’s all you got.

  “Both counsels please approach the bench,” Judge Peterson requested.

  “I want it to stop now. Do you both understand me?”

  “Yes, Your Honor,” was the answer that came back in unison.

  Clark continued with Motter, “You didn’t know what your rights were?”

  The response from Motter was a solemn no.

  “Do you know them now?”

  “No.”

  “Did you ever admit to molesting Tony Carver?”

  “No. They told me to say that before they were taping me. They said it would help Tony because he was having some kind of trouble. I did it for Tony. I never admitted to anything. I just said what they told me to say.”

  “Did you consent to the search of your house?”

  “First, it’s not my house. I never consented to anything.”

  “What about the consent to search form you signed?”

  “I don’t remember ever being told I was signing a form like that. Don’t even know what it is. I did sign a paper but they said it was something about being able to go with them when they did search the house. I wanted to be there so I signed it.”

  “Then you were finger printed and transported to jail?”

  “Yes”

  “From the time you were approached at your home, how were you treated by any and all officers?”

  “Fine.”

  “We rest Your Honor.”

  “Anything else Mr. Wilson?” the judge asked.

  “No, Your Honor, we rest.”

  Jeffrey Motter arose from the witness chair and walked slowly back to the table, which his attorneys were seated at.

  It was a bitter end for me. I don’t know what I had expected. Perhaps a Perry Mason style of confession as Motter sat in the witness chair, but that did not happen. He sat there and lied through his teeth. Stephanie called it. He was a monster who for a short time when first arrested lost his calculated cunning. He now however, had it back and was going to fight all the way to correct the truths he told. And change them all to lies.

  We waited to speak with Clark as he filed papers with the court. We were told it should move along now. The trial would be set for sometime in June. Stephanie just looked at me and rolled her eyes. “But he’s still free.” She said under her breath as we turned to walk out.

  ***

  We walked to our car, which was parked, on the third floor of the parking garage. I unlocked the doors and we both sat down in the car. Neither of us had spoken as we walked through the courthouse to the garage. Now we sat looking at cars parked next to us, people walking by, or we just looked at the cement wall of the garage.

  I leaned forward and put the key into the ignition but did not turn the key to start the car. I then sat back in the seat. I slowly closed my eyes as I thought what an atrocity this whole process has been. And it wasn’t over yet. Hell the trial hadn’t even started. We were no nearer to a finish than we were on that first night when we learned of this hideous crime. A tear welled up in my eye then found its way to the corner of my mouth where I could taste the salty liquid as my tongue licked it away.

  Finally Stephanie spoke, “How are you doing?”

  I’m not sure if she saw the tear or heard me quickly sucking in breath. Just the thought of what I was thinking took my breath away. “I’m all right. Like you, I just want it over. It is starting to completely consume me. Not just sometimes but all the time. I’m also having dark thoughts of how to make it end. Not just for us but I can only imagine what Tony’s going through.”

  “Stop. I don’t want to hear about dark thoughts. Dark anything. My nerves are at an end. I can’t take anymore. I need you to be there for me. I need to lean on you. I need to hold you.”

  With that she leaned over in the seat placed her arms around my neck and brought her head slowly, tenderly against mine. I turned towards her to give her a warm, soft kiss, which I did. I closed my eyes and let my thoughts go. It was just us. The way we had started.

  As I opened my eyes I looked out the back window. There standing about ten feet behind my car were Jeffrey’s parents. Not only looking right at us but Patricia Motter stood there pointing her finger at our car. I couldn’t even have one moment of peace. “Why don’t you fucking people die?” I said under my breath.

  “What?” Stephanie said as she turned to see what I had been looking at. She then started crying. Her shoulders bounced up and down. Her head moved from side to side, as she said over and over, “No, no, no, no.”

  I held her as close as I could in the front seat of a car. As I brushed the bangs of her hair back over her eyes I looked out the rear window again. There was no one. Were they ever really there or was our imagination running away with us?

  I looked up and down the parking isle. Only a few people I had never seen before. “They’re gone,” I said with a smile on my lips as she looked at me. “We are going to be all right. We are going to make it. We are stronger than the evil itself.”

  I started the car, watching carefully as I backed up. Cognizant of the fact anyone can turn up behind me then say I ran them over. Of course, if that occurrence happened they would not be able to say I ran them over. As Captain Bligh said, “Dead men tell no tales.”

  ***

  When I arrived at work the next day everyone was interested in how it went. In between the radio traffic, phone calls, answering alarms and letting police officers from other counties and their prisoners into the security gates to allow them to get to court, I told them the story. At least I told them what I could. I still became emotional from time to time talking about it.

  We had a variety of out of county prisoners that day, murderers, r
apist, thieves, and the one I truly remember. That one came to the security gate in the plain white, unmarked van. Not the usual van or bus with the words “transporting prisoners” on the back. No, it was just a regular van. Not much different from one your neighbor would be driving except for, of course, the contents.

  As this van pulled up to the gate for the secured area in which prisoners entered, the driver rang the buzzer to notify me someone was at the gate.

  “Can I help you?” I responded to the ring.

  “Yes. We have a resident for court.” These words didn’t really effect me a number of years ago, however now they made my skin crawl. After obtaining which courtroom the “resident” would be going to I opened the gate and waited for them to appear at the dock door where they would enter the courthouse.

  I took the elevator to the lower level where the officers and the “resident” waited. I then brought them to the level we were located on, so that our officers could assist them to the proper courtroom. As they walked off the elevator I knew immediately what his crime had been. Why were they so easy to spot? Was it that look; his hair, the face, that body shape. Yes, there were some exceptions, but not many. Child molesters. Spot them a mile away. How did I miss it? How could I not see it before?

  This one was now a “resident” that was being helped so that he could return to public living. They had done their short time for ruining some child’s life. Now they were becoming part of society again, if the judge allowed. That’s why they were not prisoners, but residents. So fucking politically correct.

  His eyes met mine through the glass window that separated us. "Can you read my mind ass hole? Die just die. I would help you, if you need help. I offer you all the hate I can produce through out my body.”

  “Timmy. Open the door. Let them through.” Corporal Jillian Monroe said to me.

  “Sure, no problem,” I said, “I would not want to inconvenience the piece of shit.

  “Are you able to do your job with what you are going through? If it bothers you we could relocate you until after your son’s trial.” Monroe was really looking out for my best interest. Not wanting something or someone to put me in a position to be reprimanded. I was appreciative for the concern but would not let these maggots against society run or control my life. Not now, not ever.

  “Just day dreaming Jillian, I’m on it.” I opened the doors and they walked through, down the hall to the courtroom.