I'll Be Watching You (33 page)

I

After a short break, Zagaja showed dozens of photographs the CSP had taken of the Snelgrove property—both inside and out—to the jury, asking Edwin Sr. to describe the inside of his house. For about ten minutes, Edwin outlined it all: the garage, bedrooms, dining room, living room, and kitchen. And then the basement, which Zagaja had Edwin focus on for a moment. The fact that it was in such disorder. Stuff everywhere. That Ned’s “office” and “bedroom” were an utter mess. The guy was a slob. Part of that mess, Edwin admitted, was his own fault. He and Norma had owned a sewing shop. Whatever was left over from the shop after they closed it had been put down in the basement for storage. In fact, inside a toy box to the left of the space Ned called his bedroom, Zagaja suggested, were two of Ned’s sexual toys he had manipulated and painted. They were there among games and children’s plastic dolls. Those two Styrofoam mannequin heads, which looked as if they were props in a horror film. One had been made to look pretty, as pretty as white Styrofoam colored with blue and black markers could be; the other more vile, with graphs and pressure points on the temple, forehead, and throat. Zagaja asked Edwin if he recognized the photo of the items inside the toy box.

“Yeah,” Edwin said, “yes.”

“And you’d seen them before?”

“Yes.”

“Did these items look this way in late 2001 when they were in the toy box?”

“Um,” Edwin said, stumbling with his words, “I don’t remember, to tell you the truth. I don’t…I don’t know. I assume they did. I don’t know.”

“OK. But you don’t have any firsthand knowledge that these were in this condition in late 2001?”

“No.”

“You don’t? OK.”

“Well, just…just the one,” Edwin decided to add at the last minute. “My wife…these were mannequins in her shop and she used to put knitted caps and so forth on them. They were on a shelf in her shop. And I know that she drew the eyes and mouth and so forth on this one. This…thing here, you know, looks to me…I think one of my grandchildren did it. It looks like something a kid would do.”

Listening, Rovella couldn’t believe it. He shook his head, thinking,
We should have him arrested for perjury.

When you looked at the objects, one thing became too obvious to overlook: Whoever had drawn on one had drawn on the other. They were created by the same hand. (“The thing is,” Zagaja said later, “we weren’t even going to make a big deal out of these heads until Mr. and Mrs. Snelgrove said they were responsible.”)

To pin the artwork on a child was a significant stretch. There are not too many kids who can create such an eerie-looking model. It just didn’t make any sense. Kids didn’t think like that. Neither head would look so literal. And the running joke among many in the courtroom in the days that followed was that if a child had indeed painted those heads—which was, of course, a possibility—it was clear that the child in question was in need of some serious psychological help. Quickly.

“You had seen both of those mannequins in your house, however?” Zagaja asked.

“Yes. Yes.”

“I would offer seven through eighteen and twenty and twenty-one as full exhibits, Your Honor,” Zagaja said, referring to photographs of the heads.

“If I might have a moment, Your Honor?” O’Brien queried.

For the jury to see the heads was enough. The value of their presence alone was that they put a scare—a quick jolt—into whoever viewed them. Nothing more. What could Zagaja actually prove in regard to the heads? He hadn’t sent them for DNA analysis, which was something several people suggested (for semen, blood, hairs, and, Lord knows, whatever else). He hadn’t really decided exactly what Ned had used them for, besides practice pieces. Props. So, in effect, the heads were showpieces: two rather bizarre-looking creatures the jury could look at and be revolted by.

Exactly what Zagaja wanted.

II

There was an arrogance about Ned that seemed to thrive on the celebrity he achieved by being in the spotlight during the days of his trial, even if the proceedings were cast under such an immoral umbrella. Ned lapped it up. He’d never admit it, but he adored every moment of seeing his photograph on the front page of the local newspapers and the lengthy stories about his crimes. This was it—the payoff. Every starstruck killer lived for his moment in the spotlight. Ned believed he had total control. Everyone was there, situated and brought together, by his actions.

Convicted serial killer Michael Ross, who had been begging the state of Connecticut through the court to carry out his death sentence, was on the cover of every newspaper in New England lately demanding the state execute him. The guy
wanted
to die. Pundits were debating his sentence on national television as Ross granted the first interviews in decades.

But when Ned’s case began, Ned and his crimes usurped even Michael Ross (who was granted his wish, incidentally, on Friday, May 13, 2005, of all days, when he was executed by lethal injection), and Ned, seeing Ross pushed to the second page of the newspapers, was prouder than a new father, sources inside the jail where he was being held said.

III

As Ned’s father continued answering David Zagaja’s questions, a piece of rope became the focal point of the trial. It had been found on the top of a bookcase in Ned’s room. Investigators had their theories later of what Ned had used it for, but could never pin it down. Erotic asphyxiation fit into the type of psychotic profile investigators had put together on Ned.

Once again, however, just like with those mannequin heads, Edwin claimed responsibility, at least partially, for the rope, saying at one point, “It was just a little piece of clothesline and I…um, one day, you know, I guess I didn’t have anything to do and I was fooling around and I—I decided to see if I could remember how to tie the knots that I was supposed to learn how to tie when I was in the navy and I practiced a couple, and when I got through, I put it up there.”

IV

Before letting Edwin go, Zagaja wanted to talk about the mannequin heads again, maybe to see if Edwin wanted to change his mind, or if he was going to answer in the same manner as he had previously. It was an old trial-attorney trick, actually. End on a note of which you feel your witness might be pushing the truth. If he breaks, you can go after him. If he repeats himself, you haven’t really lost much. “And you said, previously,” Zagaja said, “regarding the head depicted on the right, you said you don’t know who drew that, but you think your granddaughter may have?”

“Yeah. I…maybe, yes.”

“Did you make any inquiries to determine who had drawn on that right-hand head?”

“Yeah. We called her the other day and asked. She said she didn’t remember.” Ned dropped his head. O’Brien winced. If a child had constructed something like that, wouldn’t she remember it quite easily?

“Objection, Your Honor,” O’Brien said, standing up.

Edwin said it again. “She didn’t remember doing it.”

Even better,
thought Zagaja, smiling as the judge spoke up: “Wait a minute. There’s an objection. Sustained.”

“All you can say, sir,” Zagaja advised, “is whether you
called
or not.”

“Oh,” Edwin uttered, realizing, perhaps, he shouldn’t have said anything.

“You did call her?”

“Yes.”

“And did you speak with her?”

“Um, my wife spoke to her, I didn’t.”

“OK. And your wife relayed some information to you?”

“Yes.”

V

Public Defender Donald O’Brien didn’t have much for Mr. Snelgrove. All he wanted to do was clear up a few misconceptions he believed the jury might have and get the old man the heck off the stand. My goodness, he had said enough already.

After he was finished, the judge asked Zagaja if he wanted a shot at redirect.

Zagaja declined. Edwin had done a fine job for the prosecution already.

Next witness.

I

Norma Snelgrove was heading into her late eighties—and it showed. Inside a courtroom, sitting in the witness stand, was the last place on earth the old woman wanted to be. This was clear from her demeanor. There was little doubt that Ned was his mother’s son. Most mothers have an inherent need to protect their sons at any cost, no matter what the circumstances (even if it’s for a third time). It is a maternal need, some therapists argue, to shelter.

Zagaja was kind as he walked Norma through the same set of questions he shot at Edwin: Ned’s work, living conditions in the house, college, skills, life. Everyday stuff. But quickly, Zagaja steered Norma into the mannequin heads, asking, “OK, I’m going to now…ask you…do you recognize those?”

Norma didn’t hesitate. “Yes.”

“How do you recognize those items?”

“They’re Styrofoam heads that I used in my yarn shop to display hats and scarves.”

“You owned a yarn shop?”

“Yes.”

Zagaja established the name and that it was located in Ned’s hometown. “And did that close at some time?”

“Yes,” Norma said.

“When did it close?”

“About ten years ago.”

The markings on the heads, however, didn’t appear to be smudged or worn by time. They seemed fairly fresh. “And did you end up taking items from the yarn shop home?”

“Oh, yes, many.”

“And of those items, those two Styrofoam heads were one of them?”

“Yes.”

“Do you see drawings on those two heads?”

“Yes.”

“And do you happen to recognize any of the drawings on the heads that you actually did?”

Norma didn’t flinch: “Yes. I did the one on the left.”
Here we go again,
Jim Rovella thought.

Zagaja couldn’t believe what he was hearing. He asked, “The one on the left. Could you describe what you drew on the one on the left?”

“Oh, I just drew a couple of eyebrows and some eyes with eyelashes. I don’t know if I ever filled in the lips or not.”

“OK. Do you see that there’s markings on the left-hand–side of the head, on the neck area?”

“Here?” Norma asked, pointing.

“Yes. Did you draw those?”

“No.”

“And regarding the right hand, the head on the right-hand side of the photo, do you know if you recognize any of those drawings to be your own?”

“Not to be my own, no.”

“You don’t recognize any of the blue drawings on either of those heads to be yours?”

“No, not mine.”

“OK. Ma’am, did you make any inquiry in the last few days to determine who had drawn on the head depicted in the right-hand side of the photo?”

“I talked to my daughter about—” Norma tried to say as Zagaja interrupted her.

“You talked to your daughter?”

“Right.”

“And did you speak with anyone else?”

“Her daughter.”

“Her…which is your granddaughter?”

“Yes.”

“Um, was that inquiry made at the request of anyone?”

“No. I was just trying to think who, I seemed to recall a time when I told her she could draw a face on the one that wasn’t drawn on.” Anyone looking at the photos could tell that the markings were far from being a “face.”

“My question is, were these photos presented to you at some time over the past week?”

“Yes.”

“And by whom?”

“Well, I believe Mr. O’Brien gave them to my husband.”

“And after seeing them, did you take it upon yourself to call your daughter and granddaughter?”

“Yes.”

“OK. No one had requested of you to determine who had drawn on the heads?”

“No.”

“Thank you, ma’am. Nothing further.”

The judge asked O’Brien if he was going to cross-examine Norma. “I have no questions, Your Honor,” O’Brien said. He sounded rather morose. Edwin and Norma may have thought they were helping their Neddy, but they had, in fact, slit his throat.

II

Over the course of the next week, Zagaja brought in his team of law enforcement witnesses to outline the search and seizure of Ned’s car, the search warrant served at Ned’s house, as well as Ned’s arrest. The trial’s most dramatic moment came when Zagaja questioned Detective Kevin McDonald, the Hopkinton PD detective who had helped the CSP and Hartford PD serve the search warrant at Ned’s house. As McDonald testified, describing how Ned was a willing party once they got him down to the barracks and agreed without balking to submit to an interview, Ned showed his aggravation by moving his leg underneath the table a mile a minute. Sources later said Ned was so enraged by what McDonald said on the stand that he couldn’t contain himself or maintain his composure. At one point, as McDonald talked about how neither he nor any of his colleagues ever misled Ned while questioning him, Ned let out a laugh.

The judge shot him a look. As did O’Brien.

But Ned felt McDonald was perjuring himself. Ned had never agreed, he had always said, to speak with police. It was a conspiracy. The judge. The cops. The state’s attorney. They were all in on it. All against Ned.

After a recess, in which the jury was asked to leave the room, the lawyers and judge discussed whether the testimony was relevant. O’Brien argued that Ned was never in custody and McDonald, nor anyone else in law enforcement, had read Ned his rights. Therefore, anything he said to McDonald or anyone else should not be part of the trial.

The judge thought about it momentarily. “All right,” she said, “the court has considered the evidence presented and the arguments of counsel and finds that given the totality of the circumstances, the court finds that the defendant was not in custody at the time he was taken to the—”

But she wasn’t allowed to finish. Ned lashed out as loud as he could: “Can I be tried in absentia?” He wanted out of the courtroom. What a fiasco. A darn lynch mob. They were all ganging up on him and he couldn’t sit and watch it any longer.

“Certainly!” the judge shouted back.

Ned wasn’t finished, however. “If you’re…it’s obvious you’re not going to be neutral,” he said, which was enough to garner a collective gasp from the gallery.
Did he just say that?

“It’s obvious you have no respect for the court,” the judge lectured back, “when the rulings go against you. So if you want to be tried in absentia, we have facilities to do that, yes. But the court will
not
tolerate disrespect or any outbursts.”

Ned ignored the judge and instead focused on his argument. “Detective McDonald said that I was allowed to go home after two hours,” he said in a rage. “He doesn’t remember
anything
about that day.”

Zagaja and Rovella couldn’t believe it. They watched, as if it were some sort of political debate, as Ned and the judge went back and forth. They wondered how long it would be before the judge grew tired of arguing.

“There’s no…,” she started to say and then stopped herself. Zagaja looked up.
Here it comes….
“The hearing is over,” Judge Espinosa said firmly. “And when it’s over, it’s
over.
And when the court rules, the court
rules.
If you don’t like the rulings, then there’s an appellate procedure, if you’re convicted, that you can file.”

“If,”
Ned said with a snicker in his voice.

The judge ignored the remark, saying, “That’s correct. The court is
not
going to tolerate outbursts every time rulings go against you.” And then she read her ruling again, just in case Ned didn’t quite understand it the first time. “The court finds that the defendant was not in custody at the time that he was taken to the police station, he was not handcuffed, and that there is no evidence that at the time…which he admitted he was not handcuffed in the car. There’s no evidence that at the police station he was restrained beyond what would be necessary to maintain security of the police station. He was driven home after the interview. And the court credits the testimony of Detective McDonald that he was free to leave—in fact, he
did
leave. Even if the defendant was in custody at the time…that he went to the police station, the court finds that he was
advised
of his constitutional rights, which he admitted he had the right to remain silent.”

But Espinosa wasn’t finished. As Ned sat and shook his head, rolled his eyes and said things under his breath, she continued. “The court finds that the statements that he made were voluntarily made. There was no evidence of coercion, threats, or promises made to him…. The defendant, in fact, did not make what he thought were incriminating statements about the murder of Carmen Rodriguez. The defendant’s credibility was impeached by his prior felony convictions, his admissions to lying to police in the past…. The court does not credit that testimony because he only mentioned asking for an attorney in response to the court’s questionings. Had he truly asked for an attorney at the time, that would have been an important fact which would have come up on direct examination.”

She took a breath. And then let him have it. “The defendant is a veteran of the criminal justice system, having been convicted of three felonies in the past. The court does not credit his testimony that he was told that he was under arrest or he was presented with a waiver form. For all the foregoing reasons, the defendant’s motion to suppress is
denied.
”

Gavel.

Espinosa looked at Ned, waiting a moment for him to say something so she could toss him out of her courtroom. And then, when Ned silenced himself, she said, “Ready to proceed?”

With a smile, Zagaja answered, “Yes, ma’am.”

“All right. Call the jury in please.”

If anyone thought that this was the last of the verbal sparring between Ned and the judge, they were wrong. The best was yet to come. But no one could have, of course, predicted the shocker that was about to take place.

Ned wanted to go on record.