Fatal Vision (90 page)

"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 mind 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.

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. Forget 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."

"All right," MacDonald said, standing up. "I appreciate all the advice. And I only have one piece of advice to give you about how to handle the direct examination."

"What's that?" Segal asked.

"Go easy on the pony, Bernie. After all those character witnesses, if they hear about that pony one more time they're gonna puke."

At 10:01
a.m
. on Thursday, August 23, 1979, Jeffrey MacDonald took the witness stand. For nine and a half
years, he had been telling his
story—to the military police at 544 Castle Drive in the early morning hours of February 17, 1970, to ambulance drivers, orderlies, and doctors at Womack Hospital, to Ron Harrison and to the CID and FBI
later that morning, to his own m
other and to Freddy and Mildred Kassab th
at afternoon, to G
rebner, Shaw, and Ivory at CID headquarters on April 6, 1970,
t
o the Philadelphia psychiatrist later that month, to the reporter
f
rom
Newsday
later that summer, to the Army psychiatrists at Walter Reed, to Colonel Rock at the closed Article 32 hearing, o Dick Cavett and a nationwide television audience shortly after lis discharge from the Army, to
Pruett and Kearns in February an
d March of 1971, to the grand jury for a total of six days in August of 1974 and January of 1975, and in a hypnotist's office
i
n Beverly Hills in early July—but
this was the first time he had e
ver told it in public, under oath,
and it was the time that could d
etermine whether he would spend the rest of his life as a free nan, or as a prisoner.