Fatal Vision
It was four o'clock on Friday afternoon, the last hour of the last day of the fifth week of the trial. Franklin T. Dupree said, "The Court will rule on this motion Monday morning at 10 A.M. Take a recess until that hour, please."
* * *
Helena Stoeckley spent the weekend in Raleigh, Bernie Segal still hoping that he might be able to turn her presence to advantage. Using Jeffrey MacDonald's money, he obtained a room for her and her fiance at a motel called the Journey's End.
On Sunday morning, Segal received a phone call from the manager of the motel. She said that someone had just tried to drown Helena Stoeckley in the swimming pool. Segal immediately dispatched a female assistant—a San Francisco attorney named Wendy Rouder—to the scene.
Rouder was told that it had been Stoeckley's fiance, Ernie Davis, who had been holding her head under water in the pool. In addition to her broken arm, Stoeckley, by Sunday morning, had a swollen and blackened eye where it appeared that someone had punched her. She told Rouder that this had occurred the day before when she had stepped into a hallway to buy a can of soda from a machine and a complete stranger had walked up to her and struck her.
Rouder, concerned that Ernie Davis, perhaps, was not reacting well to recent stresses, and fearing that he might have been the cause of the black eye as well as the "drowning" attempt, persuaded him to step into the motel corridor while she spoke privately to Stoeckley for a moment.
"Helena, do you want him to leave?" Rouder asked.
"Yes," Stoeckley said. "I want him to go." She immediately began placing his clothes and personal belongings in a suitcase, adding, as well, all the motel ashtrays she could find.
Red Underhill had accompanied Rouder to the Journey's End and was prepared to see Davis to the bus terminal and to give him twenty dollars (of Jeffrey MacDonald's money) for a oneway ticket out of town.
"Will you be all right?" Rouder asked. "Or would you like somebody to stay with you?"
Stoeckley said she would prefer to have a companion. "How about you?" she asked Rouder. "Could you stay?"
Rouder agreed to spend at least the afternoon with Helena Stoeckley, but left the room briefly to permit Stoeckley to inform her fiance privately that his presence in Raleigh was no longer desired. Ten minutes later, the door swung open and Davis, bare-chested and carrying the suitcase, ran down the hall.
Re-entering the room, Rouder and Red Underhill found Stoeckley in the bathroom, bleeding profusely from the nose. She said no, Davis had not hit her, she had simply walked into a door.
With Stoeckley holding towels to her nose and tilting her head back in an attempt to get the bleeding to stop, Wendy Rouder spent the afternoon with her in her motel room. As the bleeding gradually subsided, Stoeckley and Rouder began to talk. It was mostly small talk—Stoeckley described to Rouder how she had had, at one time, a magnificent singing voice, and how, had it not been for the stroke she had suffered, she might have had a career in opera.
Eventually, there came a lull in the conversation. Then Stoeckley said, "I"still think I could have been there that night."
"What makes you think so?" Rouder asked.
"I don't know." There was another pause. Then Stoeckley said, "That rocking horse. That rocking horse in Kristen's room." Seeing the toy horse depicted in one of the crime scene photographs had brought back to Stoeckley a flash—of memory? of imagination?—in which she had been sitting on the horse, trying to ride it, but had been unable to, because "the wheels were broken and it wouldn't roll." (The rocking horse, as it happened, had been on runners, not wheels.)
Then, after another pause, Stoeckley added, "You know, Kristen. Kristen Jean. Those pictures. When I looked at those pictures, I knew I had seen her somewhere before."
Rouder kept talking to Stoeckley throughout the afternoon, taking notes on the conversation. At one point, she asked if Stoeckley still felt guilt about her involvement.
"Of course," Stoeckley replied. "What do you think I have taken all these damn drugs for?"
"If MacDonald were convicted," Rouder asked, "do you think you could live with that guilt, too?"
"I don't think so."
"Isn't there anything you could do to get rid of the guilt?" "Maybe sodium pentathol, or hypnosis, or something," Stoeckley said.
The conversation was interrupted by the manager of the Journey's End, who called to say that Stoeckley was no longer welcome at the motel.
A room was obtained for her at a nearby Hilton. Later in the afternoon, as Rouder and Stoeckley sat together in an automobile, en route from one motel to the other, Stoeckley again said, "I still think I was there in that house that night."
"Helena, is that a feeling you are having or a memory?" Rouder asked.
"It's a memory," Stoeckley said. "I remember standing at the couch, holding a candle, only, you know, it wasn't dripping wax. It was dripping blood."
* * *
Punctual as always, Judge Dupree strode quickly into the courtroom Monday morning and immediately asked to see counsel for both sides at the bench.
"Since court adjourned on Friday afternoon," he said, "I have spent a substantial portion of my waking hours researching and deciding the rather interesting evidentiary question which was posed—the question being whether statements by the witness Stoeckley should be admissible through other witnesses— statements made outside of court in far distant times.
"I will rule," he continued, "that these proposed statements do not comply with the trustworthy requisites of 804 (b) (3). In fact, far from being clearly corroborated and trustworthy, they are about as unclearly trustworthy—or, clearly untrustworthy, let me say—as any statements that I have ever seen or heard.
"This witness, in her examination and cross-examination here in court, has been, to use the government counsel's terminology, 'all over the lot.' The statements which she has made out of court were 'all over the lot,' also, so it can't really be said that the hearing of those statements would lead to any different conclusion than what the jurors got while she was here in open court.
"This testimony, I think, has no trustworthiness at all. Here you have a girl who, when she made the statements, was, in most instances heavily drugged, if not hallucinating. And she has told us that herself. She has stated that in person. I think that this evidence would tend to confuse the issues, mislead the jury, cause undue delay, and be a waste of time. She has already told this jury everything that you proposed to show by these witnesses.
"And, Mr. Segal, let me say that I did not reach this decision lightly. I spent roughly seven hours on this thing on Saturday. I spent the entire day Sunday until 11:30 last night wrestling with this thing. And, as I do routinely in criminal cases—I lean over backwards to make sure that no criminal defendant is ever deprived of a defense.
"But I am thoroughly convinced in my own mind that your position is without merit with respect to this particular evidence. I have ruled on it, and as I say, I did not reach that lightly because I am risking a terrible lot of judge time and juror time down the road if I make an error and it has to be retried. But I am confident of my position on this one."
Even in the face of Dupree's decision, Bernie Segal clutched at one final straw: the weekend's events involving Stoeckley and his assistant, Wendy Rouder. Not only had Stoeckley implicated herself in the MacDonald murders the day after they had occurred in 1970, she had done so again within the preceding twenty-four hours. Surely the jury was entitled to hear from Wendy Rouder about Stoeckley's remarks, and, in particular, about her professed fear of testifying truthfully in open court.
"I would ask the court," Segal said, "to consider the circumstances under which these most recent statements were made. There is no indication of hysteria, no indication of drug abuse, no indication of anything other than the fact that these statements were made because they weighed heavily on the mind of this person.
"The statements were made at Ms. Stoeckley's initiative and it seems to me that they so clearly reflect upon her state of min
d that they ought to be heard again now. I think that if this testimony is heard, the jury would be in a far better position to make a determination as to evaluating Ms. Stoeckley's testimony, which we all struggled so hard to get. I think that all the instincts that surround this case cry out—Let us know what Helena Stoeckley has said."
It was Jim Blackburn who responded this time, repeating that, as Murtagh had argued Friday afternoon, "statements by Helena Stoeckley are not trustworthy. They simply are not credible. And I would also say to your honor, in regard to the question of 'reasonableness'—she stated that the candle was dripping not wax but dripping blood. Candles, of course, don't drip blood."
"I don't know," Judge Dupree said. "With Helena they may. I remain of the opinion," he continued, "that this Stoeckley girl is, I think, one of the most tragic figures that I have ever had appear in court. She is extremely paranoid about this particular thing, and what she tells here in court and what she tells witnesses, or lawyers in a motel room, simply cannot have attached to it any credibility at all in my opinion.
"And, incidentally, Mr. Segal, I'm glad you mentioned it because I had neglected to tell you—just completely overlooked it—but I want you to know that among others called by Helena, she called me twice on Saturday night stating that she was living in mortal dread of physical harm by Bernard Segal, counsel for the defendant, and that she wanted a lawyer to represent her.
"I think the jury has got as clear a picture of this particular witness as they will ever have, even if you brought in not just Friday's six witnesses or your new one today, or even a whole wagonload of people—everybody that you ever talked to about this thing.
‘I will exclude the evidence. Let the jury come in."
And so the trial of Jeffrey MacDonald continued, with the focus now, in the sixth week, shifting directly to the defendant himself.
4
On the evening before he was to testify, Jeffrey MacDonald, as was his custom, ran five miles around the North Carolina State University track. Summer vacation was drawing to a close and the NC State football team had already progressed to that stage of preseason practice in which physical contact had begun. Mac-Donald, joked that if the trial were to drag on much longer, he would have to treat his legal staff to season tickets to NC State football games.
Bernie Segal and Wade Smith were sitting in a small room, waiting for MacDonald. They had sent out for pizza an hour before and the oil was now beginning to seep through the bottom of the cardboard box and to congeal on the tops of the lukewarm slices.
"Close that door," Segal said, once MacDonald had entered the room. "Lock it. Put a DO NOT DISTURB sign on the door." This was, in Segal's mind, the most important night of the summer—the most important night of the past nine years—the night he prepared Jeffrey MacDonald to testify.
With MacDonald already edgy and impatient, Segal began to outline the tactic he intended to employ on direct examination. "Jeff, I know it is going to be extremely painful for you, but tomorrow I really want the jury to meet the victims. Tomorrow, I am going to bring Colette and Kimmy and Kristy into that courtroom as living, breathing human beings. I've got the pictures, Jeff. I've got them from your mother. Pictures of the girls dressed up to go trick-or-treating on Halloween. A picture of Kimmy sitting on your lap while you were studying for a medical exam. A picture of the girls on the pony with you standing
right alongside. A picture of Colette in the backyard, just outside 544 Castle Drive, repainting a piece of furniture.
"I'm going to show you those pictures tomorrow, Jeff. I've got them in slide form and I'm going to show them on a screen so the jury will be able to see them, too. I want the jury to see not only the pictures, but also to see you seeing them.
"And then, Jeff, I'm going to make you look at some of the crime scene photographs. Some of what you saw in those first moments after the murders. Some of what you've been trying to forget for nine years."
"Terrific, Bernie," MacDonald said, sarcastically. "Jesus Christ! Why don't you just hire four people to club me and stab me while you're at it."
"Jeff, listen to me. You are the client. This is your life, not my life, at stake. If you really don't want to do it, I won't do it. But I need those pictures. I want that jury to see your family. I want them to see people, not just a collection of fibers and hairs and bloodstains.
"This case, Jeff, is unique. Normally, you want the jury to forget the victims. You want to ignore them during the defense. Here, our goal is just the opposite. We want them to go into that room to deliberate with one thought and one thought only on their minds: 'This man did that to those people?' "
"Jesus, Bernie, after six weeks of telling me the prosecution case isn't worth shit, now it sounds like you're saying I've got to sit up there and prove my innocence."
"No, no, no," Segal said. "Don't misunderstand. I think we could rest right now and win. There is no case against you. There never was, there never will be. That is just as true now as it was the first day I said it. But I don't want that one holdout juror to make us go through all this again."
"Which one?" MacDonald said. "You mean the former state cop with that pinched mouth and nasty eyes, or that accountant with the purple splotches on his hands who's been looking at me for six weeks like he's a member of the KKK and I'm a nigger he just caught molesting his daughter, or do you mean that weepy woman in the first row who looks at Blackburn like she's praying he'll propose marriage to her every time he turns in her direction."
"Jeff, Jeff," Segal said. "We have wound up with exactly the jury we want. Our system has worked. There is absolutely no question about it. I understand that you're getting antsy. I understand it's been a long six weeks. But please don't start second-guessing our judgment now. It won't do us any good and it will only make the next few days even harder on yourself."
"What do you mean now! I've been telling you this from the start. I said it the very first day. Those weren't jurors you were choosing, they were twelve nails for my coffin."
"Listen, Jeff, we're not here tonight to talk about the jury. We're here to talk about you, and about what you're going to say tomorrow and about the way in which I want you to say it. And it's exactly this attitude you're displaying right now—the sarcasm, the bitterness, the snide remarks—that I want to be sure the jury never gets to see.
"So get it out of your system tonight. That's fine. Sharpshoot us. Only you'd better not do it on the stand when Blackburn starts to cross-examine you. You don't have to be Laurence Olivier. You don't have to sell them a bill of goods. Just be yourself and you'll be fine. But I want you to look past Blackburn—look at the jury. They're the ones you're talking to, not him."
"Blackburn," MacDonald muttered. "He's a chicken shit. He's got no guts at all."
"All right, Jeff, all right," Segal said. "The problem is, at the grand jury you came across as abrupt, cocky, chauvinistic, sarcastic, and callous about women. Here, you have to be a little humble. If the jury sees that you're getting impatient with Blackburn, they might feel that you could also have been impatient with your children, and that is an impression that we certainly don't want them to develop."
"So what happens when he asks me why I went into the Green Berets? You don't want me to tell him it's because I love to strangle people with piano wire?"
"No, Jeff," Segal said patiently. "I don't want you to talk about piano wire."
"And if he asks me if I've got any homosexual leanings, I'll say, 'Well, I have been noticing your nice, tight ass, Mr. Blackburn.' "
"Jeff, will you please listen!" Segal said. "For one last time—for the sake of the rest of your life—you will have to be patient with a prosecutor who has never experienced the loss of his own wife and children. We all know there is a lot of pain here. All we're trying to get across is that it should not come out as anger. As I said to you in the letter I wrote you in June, you want to convey feelings that are appropriate to the occasion. Just focus on the jury. Forget Blackburn. Forget Freddy. Fo
rget how much Murtagh has gotten under your skin."
"Murtagh is a turd. I hate him."
"Yes, Jeff, but letting everybody in the courtroom recognize that is not what you want to do. You can't afford to come across as arrogant."
"Or as a homicidal psychopath, I suppose."
"Jeff, this is exactly what happened at the grand jury. The jury will not be sympathetic with someone who is overtly, and consistently, belligerent. That's how Worheide pissed all over you at the grand jury."
"Worheide! That Nazi."
"All right, Jeff. There's no point in belaboring this any further. I've known you for nine years and I know that you're smarter than you're acting right now. Just remember that you've got people on that jury who like you and who want to help you, and who are charged up to help you. Tomorrow, you've just got to give them the ammunition. On direct exam, I'm warning you, I'm going to go straight for your emotions. I'm going to reduce you to a slobbering mess. I'm going to show you every picture you've never wanted to see, and I'm going to ask you every question that you've never wanted to answer. I'm going to leave you with the jury in the palm of your hand. And all I want to tell you, before you leave here right now so that Wade and I can get to work on specifics, is that we want you to come out of the cross-exam sounding like the same person you were on direct. It's that consistency that will make you believable. You'll score no points with overt bitterness. Once you're acquitted, I don't care what kind of names you call anybody at the press conference on the front steps of the courthouse, but tomorrow, I implore you, for the sake of the rest of your life, don't be snotty."