New to An Act of Justice? Start with part one.
“Heaven has no rage like love to hatred turned.”
William Congreve
They met in April 2017. Online. He moved into her house in August 2018 and proposed shortly after. She said they had issues–just like other couples–but she loved him. He sat to her left, about 15 feet away from the witness stand. She testified for several hours but didn’t look at him once. When the prosecutor asked her to identify him in the courtroom and name a piece of clothing he was wearing, she stared straight ahead, raised her left index finger, and forcefully extended her arm out to the side to point directly at him. “A tan-colored shirt and a striped tie.” For most of the trial, he looked down at a yellow pad, but when she testified, he kept looking at her, trying to catch her gaze.
During cross-examination, the defense attorney regularly moved from the center of the courtroom back to the defense table, so she would have to look at him if she wanted to keep eye contact with the attorney. I admired the technique but felt uneasy about the motive. After one of the breaks, the defense attorney asked her: “Is it okay if I keep questioning you from here?” referring to the defense table. “I would prefer it if you would go back to where you were before,” she said sternly. He did. But then he continued to move back to the defense table. Her eyes always stopped at a safe distance from him, as if she was convinced that a mere glance would prove fatal. I wondered if she thought it would kill him or her.
She had moved to the valley from Texas back in 2013, together with her then-boyfriend and her 4-year-old daughter. The girl’s biological father had never been a steady presence in the girl’s life, and the then-boyfriend became a father figure. She didn’t share much more about the relationship, other than that they broke up in 2016, and that the girl struggled with losing another father.
After the breakup, she and the girl lived with roommates. One of them was the mother of the ex-boyfriend who lived with them from September 2017 until March 2020. The girl called her grandma, and she did all the things grandmas do: She watched the girl, played with her, took her for ice cream, and to church. They were close.
It surprised me that grandma was called as a witness for the defense. She waited outside the courtroom until the attorney called her in and walked swiftly to the witness stand. She stared straight ahead and made no eye contact with the jury, the judge, or anyone else in the courtroom. She was sworn in and sat down with a vacant gaze she maintained throughout her testimony. Her answers were short–yes, no, I don’t know. Her voice was flat, and her impression was cold and detached. She was in and out in 15 minutes, and all she said was that she lived with them, cared for the girl, spent a lot of time with her, and never had any reason to assume that he was touching her inappropriately. I sat up in my chair when the attorney first called her to the stand, expecting a strong witness for the defense, but the questions he asked were sloppy, and her almost hostile demeanor made me wonder whose side she was on.
“Recognize that the legal adversarial system is a flawed way to find the truth.”
Francis P. Karam
Criminal trials are often organized around three core pillars, known as MMO: means, motive, and opportunity. During a trial, the prosecution will generally try to establish these core pillars by presenting evidence that demonstrates the ability of the defendant to commit the crime (means), the reason the defendant committed the crime (motive), and the adequate chance of the defendant to commit the crime (opportunity). The defense, even though not required to, will often try to disprove one or more of these pillars to introduce reasonable doubt.
In his opening statement, the prosecutor directly addressed the defendant’s opportunity to commit the crime: “A relationship led to trust. Trust led to access. Access led to opportunity. Opportunity led to the defendant touching her down there.” He continued to establish opportunity by painstakingly walking through the mom’s work history during her testimony. “Did you have a job in August of 2018?” “Yes.” “What kind of job?”
She was working as a manager for a car rental agency, a demanding job that kept her away from home on weekdays, weekends, early mornings, late evenings, and sometimes nights, if she had to work at the airport. The prosecutor spent a whole afternoon asking her about her work locations and schedules. “Which location were you at?” “When was that?“ “How long did you work there?” What shifts did you work?” “When did you have to leave the house to get there on time?” “When did you come back home?” “Who was looking after her when you were gone at work?” He was. They often worked opposite schedules.
He was strict with the girl. The mom supported it but was clear with him that she was the disciplinarian. He could ask the girl to do her chores. If she didn’t do them, he should text her, and she would address it with the girl. Did he follow those instructions? Yes. Did he ever discipline her? No. What was their relationship like? He set boundaries, asked her to do her homework, clean up her room, and help with the dishes. She didn’t like it. “Before him, she was used to doing whatever she wanted.”
The girl confirmed her mom’s account during her testimony. She said he had a lot of rules, which frustrated her. She also said that her mom didn’t spend that much time with her anymore and that it felt like he was taking her mom away from her.
The mom said the girl struggled in school, was bullied, threw tantrums, had personal hygiene issues, and trouble making friends. He helped her with school, gave her guidance on how to respond to the bullies, and asked her to take daily showers. She was upset. “Who are you to tell me anything? You are not my father.”
One Father’s Day she made him a card and wrote: “Thank you for buying me stuff.” Did he buy her stuff? “Yes.” “A lot of stuff?” “Yes.” So much so that mom had to step in and ask him to not buy her that much. “Did you trust him?” She paused and swallowed hard. “Yes, I did.” “And so you left your daughter in his care when you had to work because you trusted him?” Her eyes welled up. “Yes.” “Did you ever observe anything that seemed off to you?” “No.” “Did you ever see them nap together?” “Yes.” “How many times?” “Two or three.” “Were they clothed?” “Yes.” “Were they cuddling?” “No. They were just napping on the bed, on top of the covers.” “Did you think anything of it back then?” “No.” “When did you learn about what he was doing to your daughter?”
She learned about it late at night, about a month after their first wedding anniversary. A sheriff’s deputy and a child protective services (CPS) officer rang her bell shortly after 10 pm. He was at his parents' house. She was home with the girl and their two dogs. She didn’t say how they introduced themselves or why they said they were there, but they wanted to speak to the girl alone.
The bodycam footage they showed in the courtroom started with the deputy, the CPS officer, and the girl walking into her bedroom. The dogs were barking in the background. As the deputy walked into the girl’s room, the sliding doors of the closet caught his reflection. He wore a tan-colored uniform, a tool belt, a bulletproof vest, a baseball hat, and a gaiter that covered most of his face. He sounded kind and warm but looked eerie among the cartoon posters and stuffed animals. The girl sat down on her bed and turned towards the CPS officer who explained who they were and why they were there. She told the girl that she was not in trouble but that she had to ask her some adult questions and that she needed to answer them honestly. The girl nodded.
The video continued for about 30 minutes. Toward the end of the interview, the CPS officer asked the girl: “What would you like to happen to your stepfather?” The girl looked up and answered quietly: “I’d just like him to stop, 'cause I don’t like it. It makes me really uncomfortable.”
While the deputy and the CPS officer spoke to her mom, the girl texted her best friend: “My mom knows.” The best friend asked how, and the girl texted back that the police and a woman came over to talk to her about it. “They said to tell the truth, so I told them.” The best friend responded: “FINALLY. Good job bestie.” The girl's stepfather was arrested the same night.
“What did you feel that night, when you learned what he was doing to your daughter?” “I was surprised.” “Shocked?” “Yes, I was shocked.” “Is this what ended your relationship with the defendant?” She looked down and whispered: “Yes.”
The night before, the girl had texted someone she called a good friend: “Can we talk via text?” “Sure, what’s up?”
“Please don’t tell anyone or post on social media about this.” “What is it? You are giving me anxiety.” “I’m being touched down there.”
The friend’s mother clarified during her testimony: “I wouldn’t call them friends. They had just met. I would say they were acquaintances.” The friend herself shared that the girl and she had met a week earlier during a virtual class and had exchanged numbers the day before.
At first, the friend promised not to tell anyone, but the next day she decided to tell her mom. Why? “Because I thought it was the right thing to do.” The friend’s mom called the police.
The girl looked a lot like her mother and had similar mannerisms. She walked slowly into the courtroom, made eye contact with some of the jurors, and calmly adjusted the microphone in the witness stand. She was 13 now, but looked older and sounded younger.
After some basic questions, the prosecutor asked the girl if her stepfather was in the courtroom. She looked over her left shoulder and moved her head very slowly to the right while shifting her eyes quickly from one corner to the other. “No,” she said. “I don’t see him.” He was sitting at the defense table, about 15 feet to her left, in clear sight.
The prosecutor seemed confused and asked her if anything was blocking her view, or if there was anyone she couldn’t see clearly. Without answering him, she started looking around again. Her eyes widened abruptly. She moved her head quickly to the right, and stared straight ahead: “I’m sorry, I just need a moment.” She turned away from the courtroom and started weeping quietly. The judge asked her if she needed a break. She wiped her eyes, and said: “Yes, sir.”
After the break, the prosecutor asked her again, if her stepfather was in the courtroom. She turned to her left, pointed, and looked straight at him: “Yes, he is right there.” He didn’t look at her.
She didn’t remember when she first met him, but she did recall visiting him a few times at a house in a gated community, close to his parents. She also didn’t remember when exactly he touched her for the first time, but it was sometime during 4th grade. It happened mostly when they were home alone. He would ask her to take a nap with him. She wasn’t tired but joined him anyway, because she knew he would keep asking. Once he asked her to come watch TV with him in his room. “I can watch TV here,” she said, referring to the living room, but he convinced her. She jumped up on the bed. He never turned on the TV.
“Why didn’t you say something?” the prosecutor asked her. “I was afraid,” she said.” “Afraid of what?” “That people wouldn’t believe me.”
The defense attorney asked her about her biological father. Did she see him? “Not that often.” Did she miss him? “Yes.” Where did he live? “In Texas.” “Alone?” No, with her two stepsisters. Would she like to live with him? “Yes, but he doesn’t have a lot of money, so it’s not possible.” “Once your mom and stepdad broke up, where did you go to live?” “Texas.” “Did you get to spend more time with your mom there?” “Yes.”
The girl was scheduled for a forensic interview and a forensic exam in the days after the sheriff’s deputy and CPS officer spoke to her. The prosecution showed the video recording of the forensic interview in court and presented the interviewer as a witness. She had stellar credentials, seemed highly experienced, and spoke mainly about process and protocol but gave no opinion on the girl’s credibility.
The nurse practitioner who completed the forensic exam reviewed the report she wrote back then on the witness stand–she didn’t remember the girl–and confirmed that she had found no signs of sexual abuse. She also explained that it was common for non-acute forensic exams to come back without any findings.
The prosecution's final witness was an expert in child sexual abuse. She was not familiar with the case or anyone involved in it and had been retained by the prosecution to speak about CSAAS (child sexual abuse accommodation syndrome). Both the expert and the prosecution stated that CSAAS was not a diagnostic tool but a model to describe how sexually abused children might behave. I only learned after the trial that several states prohibit testimony regarding CSAAS because it’s not generally scientifically accepted.
Since the start of the trial, the public gallery had been empty—a stark contrast to what I was used to from movies and TV shows. No family or supporters of either side had come to trial so far, except to testify. There were a handful of people that had come and gone over the past two weeks, but most of them seemed to be there in support of a witness and left once they had testified.
As the prosecution presented its last witnesses, three people took a seat next to each other in the public gallery behind the defense. They came back every day after and were there for the verdict.
The defense attorney waived his opening statement and presented three witnesses in less than half a day. The girl’s grandma, the CPS officer who interviewed the girl, and a friend of the defendant.
The friend was one of the last witnesses. The defendant smiled warmly when he heard his name. It was the only emotional reaction I observed from him during the trial. The friend shared that the two had met at work, before the defendant and the girl’s mother started dating, and became fast friends. They played golf together on weekends and video games online every other night until the defendant was arrested in 2021. The friend shared that he once observed the girl tell the defendant that he was not her father and that he couldn’t tell her what to do.
During cross-examination, the prosecutor asked the friend if he was still friends with the defendant. “Yes.” “So you care about him?” “Yes.” “And you wouldn’t want anything bad to happen to him?” “That’s correct.” The defense attorney rebutted with his final question: “Sure, you like your friend, but would you lie and commit perjury for him?” “No, sir, absolutely not.”
And with that, both sides rested their case.
Join me at the end of August for the final part of An Act of Justice.
Background music in voiceover: Demised To Shield by Ghostrifter Official | https://soundcloud.com/ghostrifter-official Music promoted by https://www.chosic.com/free-music/all/ Creative Commons CC BY-SA 3.0 https://creativecommons.org/licenses/by-sa/3.0/