Little Lost Angel (31 page)

The large courtroom was divided evenly in half by a wooden waist-high partition—the judge and attorneys on one side, the gallery on the other. The twelve-foot walls and
ceiling were painted a pale green. Darker green drapes were pulled back, but the blinds were down over the windows. There was room for about 150 people in the two sections of benches divided by a center aisle. Shanda’s family and friends were seated in the front rows on the right side of the aisle. Melinda’s mother, stepfather, and sisters sat on the other side. Behind both families sat reporters and the curious. The benches were about half full, but the room felt stuffy because of the heat being pumped in by an ancient radiator system.

The soft chatter of the crowd increased when Melinda was led into the room by her lawyers and sat at a table to the left of the judge’s bench. Her shackles were off. She looked at her mother and smiled slightly, then cast a quick glance at Shanda’s family, where her gaze was met by hard stares. She looked down at the table, folded her hands in front of her as if in prayer, and waited.

The murmuring among the spectators stopped when Judge Ted Todd walked slowly into the courtroom and took his seat behind the bench. He shuffled some paper, then told the state’s prosecutor, Guy Townsend, to begin his opening statement.

Although Townsend lacked capital-case experience, he was no novice at weaving a story. His background as a writer served him well as he set the scene, beginning with Shanda’s first days at Hazelwood Junior High, her fight with Amanda Heavrin, and then how Shanda and Amanda’s friendship enraged Melinda’s jealousy. The prosecutor paced slowly back and forth in front of the judge as he told of Melinda’s meeting with Laurie Tackett and of the fateful night when Laurie, Hope Rippey, and Toni Lawrence became Melinda’s partners in revenge.

In vivid detail, Townsend described Shanda’s abduction, the trip to the Witches’ Castle, the beating and strangulation of Shanda on the logging road, Shanda’s imprisonment in the trunk, and the beatings with the tire iron. As his statement built to its grisly climax, the mesmerized spectators hung on every dramatic word.

Jacque moaned slightly and hung her head as Townsend
described the final scene of the tragedy at the burn site on Lemon Road. With the image of Shanda’s smoking body lingering in the air, Townsend paused for effect, before adding, “Then the girls drove to Madison and stopped at McDonald’s for a bite to eat.”

Melinda showed little emotion at first as Townsend questioned a string of witnesses—Donn Foley, the hunter who found the body, and police officers Randy Spry, Richard Shipley, and Curtis Wells—but when the prosecutor argued for admitting a closeup photograph showing Shanda’s bloody scalp, Melinda moaned loudly. All eyes in the courtroom shifted to the defendant as she gasped for air, then put her head on the table and sniffled. Attorney Mike Walro placed a comforting hand on her shoulder.

Judge Todd ignored the outburst and allowed most of the photographs into evidence. But a few minutes later, defense attorney Bob Hammerle was on his feet, objecting to admission of the letters Melinda had sent Amanda Heavrin. Hammerle was a slim man in his early forties. His glasses and neatly trimmed beard gave him a mild-mannered appearance, but he had an agile mind, plenty of courtroom savvy, and a sharp tongue.

Hammerle said the defense would allow the admission of the letter in which Melinda wrote “I want Shanda dead” because it did have bearing on the case. He did, however, object strongly to the other letters.

In an indignant tone, Hammerle said, “Every one of these other letters has been selected because of something that has been hinted here but never said. Every one of them has been selected because of sexual overtones between Melinda Loveless and Amanda Heavrin. They are designed to sensationalize that. They have been carefully picked because of certain comments made by Melinda Loveless to Amanda Heavrin. Quite frankly, it’s our position that it injects an element of homophobia into this hearing. They are designed to sensationalize certain issues that have no place in a court of law.”

Townsend responded in a voice tinged with emotion: “The relationship between Amanda Heavrin and Melinda Loveless is at the very heart of this. That is why Shanda
Sharer is dead, because Shanda Sharer dared to become friends with Melinda Loveless’s girlfriend. These letters are relevant to the motive of this crime. They show premeditation, which is an aggravator.”

Townsend continued, his face flushed red with anger: “And I greatly resent the accusation of homophobia being directed at us. The state is not trying to sensationalize or in any other way blow this thing out of proportion. We’re trying to do our job.”

The subject of Melinda’s homosexuality had been broached, and reporters scribbled furiously in their notebooks in hurried attempts to record the exchange between Hammerle and Townsend. The entire scene seemed to agitate Judge Todd, who felt that showboating belonged on the river a few blocks away, not in his courtroom. With a silent nod of admonishment to both counsels, Todd allowed the letters to be admitted as evidence.

The day had grown long, and the heat inside the courtroom was stifling. The courthouse radiator system was operating on high to accommodate all the airy county offices on the floors below, but it had turned the closed courtroom into a hothouse. Beads of sweat dotted Townsend’s brow, and he asked Judge Todd for permission to remove his jacket. Todd told him to go ahead; then, looking a bit weary himself, the judge loosened the collar of his robe.

Townsend’s last witness of the day was Steve Henry.

Henry settled himself in the witness chair and in his easy, sure-handed manner gave a detailed account of his investigation and the arrest of the four girls.

In the course of preparing for the sentencing hearing, Melinda’s lead attorney, Russell Johnson, had developed a deep respect for Steve Henry, and he knew that there were no holes in the case the detective had built against Melinda. He also knew that Henry had put together an equally strong case against Laurie Tackett.

“Did you comment to Sheriff Shipley that Laurie Tackett’s statement was a fairy tale or a fantasy land?” asked Johnson in his cross-examination.

Henry leaned forward in his chair to make a point. “I
think those comments dealt mainly with her infatuation with witchcraft and spirits and this type of thing.”

“It also had to do with spontaneous combustion of the body, did it not?” Johnson asked. “When she gave a statement to you concerning how the body caught fire, she told you that it just burst into flames, didn’t she?”

“Yes sir, that’s what she said.”

“And you didn’t believe that?”

“No sir,” Henry answered. “I do not.”

*  *  *

On the second day of the hearing, a crowd that had been bolstered by news accounts of the previous day’s drama packed the third-floor hallway, waiting patiently in a single-file line as deputy sheriffs checked each one with handheld metal detectors. Coat-and-tie reporters, flannel-shirted farmers, housewives, retirees, and high-school students on Christmas break filed past the deputies until all the seats were filled, and dozens of people were standing in the back and along both sides of the courtroom.

The spectators’ wait was a long one. An hour crept by and there was still no sign of Judge Todd, Guy Townsend, or Melinda and her attorneys. Amid the crowd’s murmur, someone cursed the heat and damned the old metal radiator that seemed to be working overtime to make everyone uncomfortable. Every so often, someone would nudge a neighbor and nod toward the front row on the right side of the aisle. “That’s Shanda’s family,” they’d say softly, in a voice full of pity. Others would leer at the left front row, where Melinda’s mother and sisters and stepfather sat with their eyes straight ahead, ignoring the looks of disgust all around them.

Inside Judge Todd’s chamber, he was hearing arguments from Townsend that Hammerle had interfered with one of his witnesses, Jeffrey Stettenbenz, the boy who claimed to have listened into the phone conversation between Melinda and Amanda on the night of the murder. Stettenbenz’s mother had told Townsend that Hammerle called her house the night before, trying to dissuade her son from testifying. While Hammerle acknowledged he spoke to Stettenbenz, he denied trying to dissuade him from testifying. But Todd was
not satisfied with the evidence and denied Townsend’s motion that Hammerle be held in contempt of court.

When court finally convened, Townsend called Toni Lawrence to the stand.

Toni walked slowly into the courtroom with her head turned away from the table where Melinda sat with her lawyers. Thin to begin with, Toni had not yet regained the weight she’d lost after her suicide attempt. Her sweater and slacks hung loosely on her small, fragile frame. Toni looked briefly at the spectators with lonely, haunted eyes, then sat down in the chair facing Judge Todd.

Toni’s whispery responses to Townsend’s first questions were nearly inaudible, and Judge Todd asked her to speak up. Sensing Toni’s nervousness, Townsend left his seat and walked closer to his key witness, smiling softly as he continued his queries in a reassuring tone.

In a quiet voice that had spectators straining to hear, Toni recounted all the horrible details of Shanda’s murder. As she told of Melinda pulling the knife on Shanda, she paused for a second and glanced furtively at Melinda, then quickly looked away. Melinda’s face was passive, but her stiffly held shoulders revealed her tension. An occasional gasp would rise from the audience as Toni described the various atrocities. By the time she came to Shanda’s fiery death, Toni was in tears.

“Melinda got out and poured more gasoline,” Toni said. “When she got back in the car she was happy. She was laughing. She said she was glad Shanda was dead.”

During Toni’s testimony, Melinda’s mother, Margie, sat quietly on the front bench beside her new husband, Mike Donahue, and her daughters, Michelle and Melissa. Margie would occasionally catch Melinda’s eye and smile faintly, expressing her support. When Toni finished and a recess was called, Margie left her seat and went to the defense table to comfort her by now sobbing daughter. Melinda slipped into her mother’s lap and rocked back and forth, whimpering, “I can’t do it.” She obviously couldn’t bear to listen to any more of Toni’s damaging testimony. “I’m so scared,” she muttered. “I’m so scared.”

When court reconvened, Bob Hammerle left his seat at
the defense table and stood directly in front of Toni, leering at her with all the intimidation that he could muster.

“Miss Lawrence,” he began, “on the night that you went to the police, you told Detective Henry that the girls took you home before they burned Shanda. That was a lie, wasn’t it?”

“Yes.”

“But you’re telling the truth today, is that right?” Hammerle asked, his voice oozing with sarcasm.

“Yep,” Toni said flatly, eyeing the attorney with suspicion.

“Miss Lawrence.” Hammerle moved closer, bearing down on the timid witness. “Who was the first person that evening to mention killing anyone?”

“Laurie.”

“Let me ask you something.” He moved even closer, so close that he could have reached out and touched her. “Laurie Tackett set Shanda on fire, didn’t she?”

“I don’t know. I wasn’t watching.”

Hammerle drew a hand across his beard, then slowly turned his back to the witness. He took a step toward the defense table, then wheeled quickly around. Toni’s back stiffened. “You didn’t tell police that Hope Rippey poured the gas when you gave your first statement, did you?”

“Nope.”

“You lied in that first statement, didn’t you?”

“I suppose,” Toni said smartly.

Hammerle looked at her with disdain. “Do you suppose you’re telling the truth today?”

Toni paused to consider the question, but Hammerle didn’t wait for a response and dismissed her.

Townsend’s next witness, Laurie Tackett, came into the courtroom wearing a gray suit jacket, jeans, and slip-on shoes. Her lips were tight and her eyes squinted. Melinda looked away and trembled as Laurie passed by her and took a seat in the witness chair. While Toni had shied away from elaborating on the gory details of Shanda’s murder, Laurie showed no such aversion.

“I remember Melinda beating her up,” Laurie said calmly.
“I remember Melinda stepping on a knife, trying to force it through the back of her neck. I remember her having a rope and asking me to help her strangle Shanda. She asked me to hold one end of it while she pulled on the other. I pulled on it for about five minutes. She just went unconscious. I let go of it, then Melinda took over and was holding both ends, pulling on it.”

Laurie was in the middle of describing the scene at her house when she went outside to check on Shanda—“I opened the trunk. Shanda was laying in the trunk. She was trying to sit up. Her eyes rolled back in her head”—when her testimony was interrupted by a long, sorrowful moan from Melinda. All eyes in the courtroom quickly shifted to Melinda, who cried loudly, “This is sickening.” Melinda dropped her head and began crying and shaking.

Laurie began to speak again, but Judge Todd stopped her. “We are going to take a five-minute recess,” he said.

As soon as Todd announced the break, Margie left her courtroom seat and rushed to her daughter’s side. She sat in a chair next to the defense table and pulled Melinda’s weeping face to her shoulder and caressed her long hair.

In mock sympathy, a man in the rear of the courtroom yelled, “Poor thing.”

When court resumed, Townsend asked Tackett to pick up her testimony at the point she’d left off, but the courtroom was filled with the chatter of spectators still excited by Melinda’s outburst.

Judge Todd banged his gavel. “Let’s have a little silence please in the back of the room.”

Laurie started again: “I saw Shanda laying there. I tried to talk to her and she couldn’t or she wouldn’t. She had blood everywhere. Her eyes were rolled back in her head. She acted like she couldn’t sit up. She was shivering. After I tried to talk to her, I put the blanket over her, then I closed the trunk. Not all the way but half way, enough to where it would stay, and I went back in the house.”