Each day, as the hearing recessed, Segal would emerge from the room to regale eager reporters with tales of the latest fiasco. With Army prosecutors under strict orders not to comment in any way, Segal's accounts—which did not tend to minimize the significance of the mistakes—provided the sole basis for news reports on the progress of the hearing.
Thus, as the days passed and the Army was made to appear ever more foolish and incompetent, the original cynicism with which most reporters had viewed MacDonald's account—an attitude that, in the wake of the formal accusation, had hardened into open disbelief—began to give way to a sense that, in light of such gross investigative malfeasance, the handsome Ivy League, Green Beret doctor just might, after all, be telling the truth.
Public belief in the possibility of MacDonald's innocence increased dramatically when, in August, Segal actually began to put on his defense. He called to the stand a military policeman named Kenneth Mica, one of the first to have arrived at the scene. Mica testified that, en route, at an intersection approximately half a mile from Castle Drive, he had observed a young woman standing in shadow. It had seemed to him most unusual for anyone to be standing alone at such an intersection at 3:50 on a cold and rainy February morning, and, had he not been responding to a radio call he would have stopped to question her.
A few minutes later, Mica testified, it had come to seem more than unusual: it had seemed to be of crucial importance. For the woman standing on the corner had been wearing, in addition to a raincoat, a floppy hat.
As soon as Mica had heard MacDonald's description of the female intruder, he had informed the MP lieutenant of what he had just seen. He had urged the lieutenant to dispatch a patrol immediately, to bring the woman into custody for questioning. The lieutenant, however, had failed to respond to the suggestion (at the hearing he testified that he had not heard what Mica said), and the woman on the corner was never found.
Moreover, when Mica eventually had told military prosecutors about the woman in the floppy hat, he was instructed not to mention it in his direct testimony at the hearing. Only after the prosecution phase had been completed, with his conscience continuing to nag at him, had Mica chosen to approach the defense and inform them of what the prosecutors had urged him to suppress.
Having thus introduced not only a further extraordinary example of military police incompetence (and a glaring display of prosecutorial misconduct) but the first independent corroboration— however indirect—of Jeffrey MacDonald's story, Segal next concentrated on constructing a portrait of his client as the sort of man utterly incapable of having committed the crimes with which he had been charged.
Segal called to the stand a series of witnesses who had known Jeffrey and Colette MacDonald at various stages of their lives, and who, without exception, were convinced that MacDonald was a noble and honorable man who had deeply loved his wife and children and had been deeply loved in return.
A doctor from Columbia Presbyterian who had supervised MacDonald's internship spoke of his "stamina and equilibrium," and his extraordinary ability to "stand up under stress."
A classmate from Northwestern described the MacDonald marriage as "ideal" and added that he'd spoken to Colette by phone in early February and she had told him that their months at Fort Bragg had been "the happiest time in their marriage."
A Green Beret colleague described MacDonald as having had a "rare" level of communication with Colette and an "extraordinary" interest in his children.
MacDonald's next-door neighbor on Castie Drive said that as far as he could tell the relationship between Jeff and Colette had been "just great."
MacDonald's former commanding officer at Fort Bragg, Robert Kingston, was contacted in Hawaii where he was enjoying a short respite from his tour of duty in Vietnam. By telephone, - Kingston, who, as a general, would be named in 1981 to head the newly created Rapid Deployment Force of the U.S. armed services, described MacDonald as "one of the finest, most upright, most outstanding young soldiers" he'd ever seen, and said MacDonald had also been, "very close, very devoted, to both his wife and children."
Robert Kingston's wife also spoke. She said she had come to know the MacDonalds unusually well because her own daughter was about their age and would occasionally double-date with Jeff and Colette. She said that MacDonald had been a "very loving father," and that both he and Colette had been looking forward joyously to the expected third child. Once, in fact, she had even said to her own daughter, "I hope you have a marriage like that." She was not asked about the Valentine she had sent, nor did she volunteer information about it.
Perhaps most telling—and certainly most emotional—was the testimony of Freddy Kassab, who said he had known Jeffrey MacDonald from the age of twelve, had watched him grow to manhood, and believed him to be as fine a human being as he'd ever known.
From the first day of their marriage, Kassab said, Jeff and Colette had been as happy as "pigs on ice." MacDonald also had been deeply attached to his daughters. "Every time you turned around," Kassab said, "he had one of the girls, playing with her."
At Fort Bragg, Kassab said, "They were the happiest I'd ever seen them. They had less financial problems, Jeff came home most nights, which he'd never been able to do before. He had more time to be with the children, more time to devote to Colette. She was ecstatic about it." She was also "ecstatic," Kassab said, about the prospect of having a third child.
He then described, in overwhelmingly powerful and evocative detail, the scene Christmas morning when Jeff had taken Colette and the girls to see the pony.
Kassab was weeping openly as he prepared to step down from the witness stand. As an afterthought, he turned to Colonel Rock and asked, "Sir, may I add one thing?"
"Of course."
"If I ever had another daughter," Freddy Kassab said, "I'd still want the same son-in-law."
Leaving the hearing room, Kassab told the press that, "We know full well that Jeffrey MacDonald is innocent beyond any shadow of a doubt, as does everyone who ever knew him. I charge: that the Army has never made an effort to look for the real murderers and that they know Captain MacDonald is innocent of any crime except trying to serve his country."
He then announced that he and his wife were offering a $5,000 reward for information leading to the arrest of the real killers.
Segal completed the character-witness phase of his defense by calling Robert Sadoff, the Philadelphia psychiatrist who had examined MacDonald in April. "Based on my examination and all the data that I have," Dr. Sadoff said, "I feel that Captain MacDonald does not possess the type of personality or emotional configuration that would be capable of this type of killing with the resultant behavior that we now see.
"In other words," Dr. Sadoff said, "I don't think he could have done this." He then added: "I rarely think about a person personally when they are patients. But if I allow myself that indulgence today—I found working with Captain MacDonald a great deal more pleasurable than working with many of the people I have to. He is a very warm person, and very gracious, and one whom—I must admit—I like."
At this point in the proceedings there occurred one of those dramatic strokes of good fortune which a defense attorney could go through an entire career without experiencing.
Bernie Segal was staying at the Heart of Fayetteville motel. There, one morning in August, he was approached by a delivery-man for the linen service which supplied sheets and towels to the motel. The deliveryman's name was William Posey, he was twenty-two years old, and he lived in the Haymount section of Fayetteville, which had become notorious as the city's hippie district.
Recognizing Segal from his picture in the newspapers—and aware of the fact that Freddy and Mildred Kassab had offered a $5,000 reward for information leading to the arrest and conviction of the killers—Posey told Segal about a former neighbor of his, whom he knew only by her first name, Helena.
In February, Posey said, he had been living on Clark Street, next to Helena. He knew her to be a drug addict, drug deal
er, and member of a witchcraft cult. She was, according to Posey, approximately seventeen years old, and she frequently wore high boots, a blond wig, and a floppy hat.
At approximately 4 o'clock on the morning of February 17, Posey said, he had got up to go to the bathroom. Looking out his bathroom window he had seen a car pull "real fast" into the driveway that separated the house in which his apartment was located from that in which Helena and two female roommates resided.
There had been at least two, possibly three males in the car. They were making a lot of noise, Posey said: laughing and giggling. Then he had seen Helena emerge and walk "faster than she usually walks" into her house, as the car had pulled out of the driveway and had sped away down the street.
Posey had not seen Helena again until the day of the MacDonald funerals. On that day, he said, she had dressed in black and had hung funeral wreaths from the porch of her apartment. Acting as if she were in mourning, she had refused to speak to him when he approached. Subsequent to February 17, Posey said, Helena had ceased to wear her boots, blond wig, and floppy hat.
About two weeks later, Posey said, she had mentioned to him in a casual conversation that she was going to have to leave Fayetteville because the police had been "hassling" her about her possible involvement in the murders. Her problem, she said, was that she had been so stoned on LSD and mescaline that she was unable to remember where she had been, or whom she had been with, throughout that night.
She had left Fayetteville shortly thereafter and Posey had not seen her again until August. At that time, with the Article 32 hearing receiving front-page coverage in the Fayetteville papers, Posey had asked her whether she thought she'd been involved in the murders.
She had told him, he said, "I don't remember what I did that night." But she had also said when he'd asked her how she and her boyfriend were getting along, "Well, we can't get married until we go out and kill some more people."
Following Posey's startling testimony at the hearing, William Ivory located Helena and questioned her. Her full name, he said, was Helena Stoeckley. She was the daughter of a retired lieutenant colonel who had been stationed at Fort Bragg, and she was well known to the Fayetteville police, for whom she had worked as a drug informant. She had, in fact, been questioned about the killings in February, as had many dozens of other Fayetteville hippies.
Stoeckley could provide no useful information whatsoever, Ivory testified. She remembered only that she had been out for a ride that night, alone in a car, but she did not remember where she'd been or what she'd done.
It was obvious, from Ivory's sullen, unresponsive answers to Bernie Segal's questions, that he considered the entire matter of Helena Stoeckley a waste of time at best, and, at worst, a false trail that had the potential of diluting the strength of the case against Jeffrey MacDonald.
No less obvious was the contempt which Bernie Segal had for William Ivory. He considered Helena Stoeckley the key to his case. Here at last, he felt, was undeniable corroboration of the story his client had told; a drug addict who dabbled in witchcraft and who wore clothing that matched the description MacDonald had given and who had been observed in the presence of male companions shortly after the murders, and who could not account for her whereabouts during the time the murders had been committed, and who had dressed in black on the day of the funerals and had hung funeral wreaths outside her apartment, and who had then disappeared from Fayetteville because she feared the police suspected her involvement and who had spoken of the need to kill again!
And what had the CID done with her? They had sent Ivory down to chat with her—after Posey's testimony had made such a. step a necessity—and the agent had returned to say only that she could not shed any light on the matter.
Never before had Bernie Segal cross-examined with such a striking combination of sarcasm and incredulity.
"Mr. Ivory," he said, "I'm not sure I understand. When she said she was alone in this car, did she indicate to you that she was the person who drove it?"
"Yes, she did say that."
"I see. And who did she tell you was the owner of this car?" "She knew the owner by first name only. She did not know the last name. It was an acquaintance of hers." "And what was the first name?" "Bruce."
"Bruce?" Segal paused. Then he asked, "Did you make notes of your interview with Miss Stoeckley?" "No, I did not."
"Is there any reason why you didn't make notes?" "No particular reason, no."
"Isn't it standard operating procedure when you are conducting an interview that's related to an inquiry into a triple homicide to make notes of interviews?"
Ivory remained silent.
"Mr. Ivory, why were no notes taken of the interview with Miss Stoeckley?"
"I did have a notebook with me," Ivory said, "and I started to take notes but she got very nervous so I put my pen and notebook away."
"Did you make any notes at all in your notebook?"
"I believe I wrote her name down at the top of the page."
"And what did she do or say to indicate that she was objecting to your making notes of what she was saying?"
"She said something to the effect of, 'What are you doing? What are you writing?' "
"And what did you say?"
"I said, 'Nothing. I'm not writing anything,' and I just put it down."
"Did you ask her whether she objected to your making notes of the interview?" "No, I did not." "Why not?"
"I was concerned with getting over with the interview, rather than making her so nervous that she would not answer me at all."
"What was so terrible about making her nervous about asking her about her whereabouts on the morning of the 17th of February?"
"I don't know. That's why I put the notebook away. So I could find out."
"Did you find out where she was between the hours of 2 and 4 A.M. on February 17th?"
"No, I did not."
"Did you ask her where she was?" "I did."
"What, if anything, did she say?"
"She said she could not recall, she could not remember."
"Did she indicate any reason why she was unable to recall?"
"Yes sir, she did."
"And what was the reason?"
"She said that she had been out on marijuana."
"On marijuana?"
"Yes, sir."
"Are those her words—that she was 'out on marijuana'?" "That's correct."
"Mr. Ivory, you—was she telling you that she couldn't remember where she was because she'd been using marijuana?" "That's correct."
"Mr. Ivory, you've had occasion to investigate cases in which cannabis saliva has been used, haven't you?"
‘‘Yes, I have."
"To your knowledge, is that a medically recognized result of smoking marijuana—to lose memory?" "Not to my knowledge."
"Not to your knowledge. Were you told by anyone that Mr. Posey had previously said that Miss Stoeckley said that she had been taking—one time she said LSD, another time she said mescaline. No one ever told you that?"
"She told me in the interview she was taking marijuana."
"Well, I want to know, were you armed with the information—"
"No, I was not."
"Now, did you ask Miss Stoeckley why she was not able to recall where she was, since marijuana is not known to have the effect of impairing one's memory?"
"Yes, I did."
‘ ‘And she said what?"
"She said she didn't know. She just couldn't remember." "Did you ask her about a blond wig?" "Yes, I did."
‘ ‘ And did she admit to having owned a blond wig up until about February 17th?"
‘‘She said she had worn one occasionally, but it was not hers—that it belonged to a girlfriend and that she did not have it."
‘ ‘ And did she say when she returned or disposed of that blond wig?"
"No, she did not."
‘ ‘ Did anybody ask her whether it had been shortly after February 17th, 1970?"
"It was subsequent
to that date, but the exact date she couldn't recall."
‘ ‘And did she give you the name of the girl?"
‘‘No, she did not."
‘'Did you ask for the name?"
‘‘Yes, I did."
"Did she refuse to give you that name?" "No, she said she just couldn't recall which of the girls it belonged to."
‘ ‘ Did she tell you where it was that she had effected the return of the wig? The street or the apartment where the other girl lived?"
"No, she did not."
"Did you ask her?"
"No, I did not."
"Did you ask her whether she'd ever owned a large floppy hat?"
"Yes, I did."
"What, if anything, did she say about that?"
"She said yes, she did."
"Did she indicate where that hat is now?"
"She indicated she gave it to someone, but she could not recall the name of the person she gave it to."
"And did she indicate whether that episode of giving the hat away took place shortly after, February 17, 1970?"
"She did not indicate the day, nor did I ask."
"Was there any reason why you didn't ask her when she stopped wearing, or got rid of, the hat?"
"No particular reason."
"Did you ask her whether she owned boots of any sort?"
"Yes, I did."
"And what did she say?"
"She said yes, she did."
"Did she indicate that she had given away or disposed of any pair of boots about the middle of February 1970?" "Yes, she did."
"And what did she say in that regard?"
"She said she threw them away."