A Warrant to Kill: A True Story of Obsession, Lies and a Killer Cop (43 page)

Keel vetoed Cogdell’s objection.

The most touching moments of the trial took place with Jason on the witness stand. Until that day no one had seen him cry. Early in his testimony, as Jason talked about McGowen, Porter asked him to indicate the former deputy in the courtroom. As Jason pointed at McGowen, tears began to flow. He cried so hard, Porter sent for a glass of water and a tissue. Later Porter handed him a photo of his mother. “He sobbed again,” says Porter. “It was like he finally acknowledged her death.”

The biggest defeat for the defense came when Judge Keel barred Lt. Coons from testifying about Jason’s character. “He was ready to testify that Jason ran with a rough crowd and was, on at least two occasions, on the scene when guns were fired,” says Cogdell. That testimony would have, he says, established McGowen had reason to believe the warrant was true. “The warrant was the ballgame,” says Cogdell.

The defense’s other ace was the bowling video, brought to Cogdell by a former co-worker of Susan’s. On a television screen, White indeed bowled with her right hand. When the time came for Porter’s cross-examination, he rose, confident.

“Did you know public bowling alleys only stock balls drilled for the right hand?” he asked the woman.

“No,” she said. “I didn’t know that.”

Then, Porter replayed a section of the video, one where Susan White was keeping score.

“What hand is she using?”

The woman hesitated. “It looks like her left,” she said.

This time around, Kent McGowen did not testify in his own defense. Instead, the defense introduced the audio tape of the walk-through McGowen made with Don Smyth the morning of the killing. On it, McGowen portrayed Susan and Jason as criminals. For Cogdell, the tape had the advantage of not being subject to cross-examination, as McGowen would have been.

The trial took eight days. On Good Thursday, the morning of March 28, closing arguments began. First: Vic Wisner laid out the law, fulfilling Belinda Hill’s role from the first trial. McGowen was a rogue cop, he told the jury, and the warrant wasn’t worth the paper it was written on. It was all a lie. He then detailed the pattern of the shots, the first to Susan White’s face, showing the angle of the bullets. “It doesn’t make sense. For Susan White to have been pointing a gun at him, she’d have to be standing like this,” he said, awkwardly positioning his body with his right arm tight at his side, his lower arm and hand thrust out with the gun, his face turned to the side. “Use your experience, your common sense. She wouldn’t have done that.”

Next Cogdell, with all the determination of a steamroller attempting to level a mountain, used a rapid-fire, brash delivery to attack the prosecution’s case. Kent McGowen was an innocent man, a police officer. He was doing his job. That’s all, nothing more.

As his forty minutes ran out, Cogdeil pleaded, “I’m putting Kent McGowen in your hands. I’m asking you, when this is over, give him back to me.” he concluded.

Quietly, Porter then stood before the jury. He’d taken as a good sign that many jurors had watched Cogdell’s hammered presentation with arms folded across chests.

“Let’s not look at what Kent McGowen said,” he suggested. “Look at what he did.”

On the left side of a large tablet, Porter listed McGowen’s assertions about the vital need to protect Shaffer from White. The right side, reserved for McGowen’s actions to ensure Shaffer’s safety, was blank. “He did nothing to protect Shaffer,” he said. “He wasn’t worried that Susan White was going to kill Mike Shaffer.”

When the jury came back, later that evening, Kent McGowen was judged guilty of murder for a second time. His sentence: 20 years in the Texas Department of Corrections.

The week after Kent McGowen was led away in handcuffs, I went to Resa’s. Alan Jefferies had left for a regular gig across town, and Resa Kelly had sold the place. The new owners, Clayton and Debbie Brazier, were refurbishing the restaurant On this night, Patrick Brennan artfully accompanied Sharon Montgomery on the piano as her strong voice filled the crowded room. I saw none of Susan’s old friends.

“I heard they put that guy in jail,” Kyle Kirkpatrick, the bartender said, as he handed me a glass of cabernet. “What was that woman’s name?”

“Susan White.”

“Yeah, that’s it. Glad they finally got him.”

Another customer called for a drink, and Kyle turned away, back to business.

Off and on, I watched the group at the piano and wondered if, a decade earlier,! had ever, unknowingly, crossed paths with Susan White. Sometimes, 1 thought I recognized her as a woman I’d noticed once, seated at the piano.

“Play that fames Taylor song for me?” she’d asked Jefferies.

When his fingers trilled the keys, she smiled and said dreamily, “Did I tell you, I’m going to be a actress? My teacher says I have real talent. It’s starting over for me. A whole new life.”

As with any project of this scope, there are many to thank. First, all those who shared their experiences with Kent McGowen and Susan White so freely with me. Many of you are mentioned by name in the book; others are not. You know who you are. Second, my able readers who critiqued the original manuscript: Jane Farrell, Andrea Gross, and Ken Hammond; for her support, Claire Cassidy; my agent, Philip Spitzer; my editor at Avon Books, Sarah Durand; my information guru, Jim Loosen, at JAL Data Services in Seattle; Katie Guillory for her secretarial assistance; private investigator Rob Kimmons; reporter Steve McVicker; and the many capable and honorable members of Houston’s law enforcement community I met and interviewed. While this is a book about a bad cop, please remember, such officers are an oddity, not the rule.

I’d also like to thank my editors at
Ladies’ Home Journal:
Myrna Blyth, Susan Crandell, Pamela Guthrie O’Brien, and Shana Aborn. It’s through my long relationship with each of you and the magazine that I’m able to maintain the freedom to take on such projects.

In an attempt to safeguard the privacy of some individuals, the author has changed their names and altered minor, identifying characteristics; such instances include Sherri Brandt, Pete Rodriguez, Sara Williams, Gary Roberts, Maggie, Alan Jefferies, Beetle, Karen, and the hairdresser, Paul.

Susan, wrapped in her worn brown terry cloth robe, peered through the leaded glass panels on the front doors.

“Who’s there?” she called.

“Deputy McGowen,” he shouted. “I’ve got a felony warrant for your arrest. Open the door.”

Susan grabbed the telephone and dialed 9-1-1.

“What’s your emergency?” the operated answered.

“Yes, there’s … at my door,” she said, her voice angry and frightened. “I’ve filed several complaints with him for sexual harassment and I need some help
immediately.”

“Who is at your door?”

“This is a deputy who thinks he owns the world,” Susan answered. “My name is Susan White and he’s threatened …”

Outside, McGowen pounded again on the heavy wood doors. “Open the door or we’ll kick it in,” he threatened.

Back on the telephone the operator said, “We’re going to get someone in route.”

“They just broke in!” Susan screamed to the 9-1-1 operator.

McGowen sprinted into the darkened house, his pistol drawn….