Perfect Victim (28 page)

Mcguire also made a point of contacting John Baruth, the man who’d been Marliz Spannhake’s fiance in January of 1976.

Now married and living in Cleveland, he was shocked to hear that Hooker was suspected of murdering the woman he’d loved so many years ago.

Baruth related what he could about the day that Marliz had disappeared. That afternoon the couple had gone to a flea market where they’d had a spat. She’d left — angry and on foot.

He never saw her again.

Police had immediately suspected Baruth, but he was cleared after taking a polygraph test. Baruth said that, over the years, he’d feared that Marliz’s parents still believed he’d killed her. Before hanging up he told Mcguire: “I’ll pray for you.”

Cameron Hooker would be tried in Redwood City, the county seat of San Mateo County, in the superior court of Judge Clarence B. Knight, a man of short stature and wide-ranging humor. On a hot August 16, Judge Knight heard arguments for and against the prior similar act motion.

Mcguire’s motion was granted. But the court also found that the motion was only relevant to the defendant’s intent to kidnap.

If Hooker admitted to kidnapping Colleen, the prior similar act would have no relevance and would be inadmissible.

Disgruntled, Papendick said he needed to discuss the matter with Hooker over the weekend.

On Monday, Papendick indicated that to keep the things regarding Spannhake out, Hooker would admit to kidnapping Colleen Stan. Just before the start of the trial, Judge Knight reversed his ruling on the prior similar act motion, holding that it was more prejudicial than probative.

Downtown Redwood City, the county seat of San Mateo County, is geared for pedestrians, with brick walkways, strategically placed trees, and a few outdoor cafes that take advantage of the long, warm summer. But just a short walk away stands the imposing San Mateo County Courthouse, an eight-story cement structure with all the architectural charm of a jail — which is housed on the fourth floor. The courthouse dominates the skyline, making it easy to spot from the freeway.

Tuesday, September 24, media people milled around in the hallway, waiting for the courtroom doors to open. Though today would only be jury selection, the air buzzed with an opening-day anticipation.

The judge had rejected the Cable News Network (CNN) request to film the trial, ruling that no cameras, tape recorders, or video cameras would be allowed during the proceedings, but all of these were permitted when court was not in session. Now camerapersons maneuvered their bulky equipment into the aisles, hoping to catch a few shots of Hooker when he came in.

One outspoken journalist with the San Francisco Chronicle discoursed loudly on the subject of bondage. “There are lots of bondage societies in San Francisco, and they don’t necessarily have anything to do with S/M. They even have a newsletter and a computer data base,” he said, conferring an air of respectability upon them. His offhand comments set a tone. Throughout the trial, the media, like the jury, would be trying to judge whether Cameron Hooker was guilty of anything more than kinkiness.

Cameron’s mother, looking gray with worry, was already resolutely seated in the audience, just behind the defense table.

She would remain here during jury selection but, as a potential witness, would be barred from observing the proceedings against her firstborn son.

Rolland Papendick, in a light-weight suit and well-shined shoes, hurried in and took a seat at the long, curved defense table.

Mcguire, all-business in a somber suit, entered and took a seat at the adjacent prosecution table, Investigating Officer Al Shamblin ambling in to sit next to her.

Hooker was brought in, and the cameras kicked to life, raising a low, mechanical racket. Dressed in a tweed sports coat, white shirt, tie, and gray slacks, Hooker probably looked better than he had on his wedding day. His hair was carefully combed, parted on the side, and while not handsome, he looked boyish and neat.

The bailiff warned the media people that proceedings would soon commence. Cameras dutifully stopped, the equipment was hustled out the door, and the bailiff called the court to order.

“All Rise.”

Judge Knight, an articulate man with a clear voice and the alert. unflinching gaze of a hawk, entered and stepped up to the judge’s bench.

He explained that this trial might take five or six weeks and asked the prospective jurors a few preliminary questions. He proved to be fairly lenient, excusing several people who said a long trial would cause them hardship.

Court was recessed so potential jurors could be called, one at a time, for questioning in the judge’s chambers. Secluded from the group, they were asked about any pretrial publicity they may have heard about the case and whether they’d already formed an opinion. This was a way of weeding out those who were familiar with the case without tainting the others. For the most part, those who had heard of the “sex slave” case claimed not to have strong feelings about it.

Then the attorneys prepared to begin the voir dire.

Some argue the voir dire is the most important portion of the trial. It’s the sole chance the attorneys have to address the jurors as individuals, question them about their backgrounds and beliefs, and dismiss those who seem less than sympathetic to their side of the case. Although the stated objective is to choose a fair and impartial jury, both attorneys have a shot at slanting the jury in their favor.

The defense went first. One at a time, Papendick asked prospective jurors a list of questions about their jobs, families, educational backgrounds, and hobbies — and whether they read the Bible.

Among prospective jurors were mail couriers, retired architects, engineers, managers, housewives, and maintenance men.

Some had lived in the area all their lives; others had recently moved from out of state. They were of all ages and education levels, with interests ranging from classical music to rollerskating.

It was a smorgasbord of society, as it was meant to be.

With these thumbnail biographies established, Papendick’s questions circled closer to the matter at hand. Shifting from foot to foot, he asked whether any of them disagreed with the California legislature that bondage between consenting adults should be legal.

No one spoke. Saying that people have their own “peculiar needs” and their own reasons for staying in relationships “that some people may find abhorrent,” he asked whether anyone felt they couldn’t give the defendant a fair trial if his sexual preference were bondage. No one believed they would have any problem with this.

Revealing the skeleton of the defense strategy, Papendick took care to explain the statute of limitations, asking if anyone disagreed with the law that a case must be filed within a certain time. And he wanted to know if anyone believed that if someone were kidnapped, it meant that person could not subsequently consent to sex. He asked if they had ever heard of someone “bad-mouthing” a relationship after it had ended, and if any of them had strong feelings about lesbianism.

The prospective jurors sat quietly, taking it all in, nodding on occasion.

Papendick soon concluded his questions and took his seat.

It was the people’s turn.

Before starting, the prosecutor asked the bailiff to set a podium before the jury box, which gave her a place to put her papers, and made her seem more imposing, despite her diminutive stature.

Her approach was more formal, more serious.

Reading from her notes, Mcguire seemed stiff at first. She tried to educate and prepare the jury with her questions, asking if they’d heard the myths that women like to be raped, asking if it would bother them to view graphic slides and pictures or to hear sexually explicit language. She noted that the defendant sat before them looking like “a nice, clean-cut young man,” and cautioned them not to feel that a person charged with serious crimes should look a certain way.

And she tried to prepare the prospective jurors for the testimonies of her main witnesses. Regarding Colleen’s unemotional demeanor: “Do you expect a victim to become hysterical or cry while she is relating what happened to her?” Regarding Janice: “Will you be able to equally accept the testimony of a witness who has been granted immunity?”

She ended her remarks by asking each individual: “Can you think of any reason why you could not be a fair and impartial juror?” Each responded: “No.”

Now each counsel was allowed to dismiss those who they felt wouldn’t be favorable toward their positions. Papendick made sure to excuse those who were close to or had been victims of rape or wife-beating. Mcguire favored those with college educations and avoided men with bluecollar jobs — those whom she felt would be most sympathetic to Hooker.

Prospective jurors were called, questioned, and excused all day, without much let-up or change in the script. But the solemnity was broken when Papendick asked one of the panelists, a middle-aged NASA employee who would later become jury foreman, if he had studied or had a special interest in sadomasochism. Mr. Hogan responded: “I don’t even know what it is.”

“You will after this case,” the judge quipped from the bench.

The court rippled with amusement, Papendick smiled, even Hooker chuckled. But later Papendick would decide this wasn’t so funny.

By late afternoon of the second day, Papendick and Mcguire finally had a jury acceptable to them both.

A jury of five men and seven women were sworn to sit in judgment of Cameron Hooker. Eight of the twelve had at least some college education. Two others, women, were selected as alternates in case someone had to step down during this long trial.

The jurors were mostly middle-class, with white-and bluecollar jobs.

They dressed informally. Mr. DeMarco, an engineer, favored Tshirts that revealed resplendent tatoos on both arms.

(Many were surprised Mcguire kept him on the jury — including DeMarco himself — but she was more impressed by the fact that his wife was expecting than by the ink designs on his skin.)

There was a wide range of ages, from mid-twenties to retirement age. Only two members of the jury were divorced, one was widowed, and one had never married. Two blacks, Mr. Fuqua, a scholarly-looking man who worked with Pacific Bell in marketing, and Mrs. Tamplin, an employee at a mint and the mother of nine, kept it from being an all-white jury.

Most described themselves as “not religious,” and their hobbies were wide-ranging: square dancing, painting, sailing, gardening, and so on. They gave an impression of being an active bunch, well-rooted in their communities and happy with their family ties — with interests far removed from bondage and sadomasochistic sex.

On the third day, the jurors finally learned what they were in for. Judge Knight started off by reading the impressive list of charges against Cameron Hooker, a total of sixteen felony counts: one of kidnapping, with a special allegation of having used a knife; seven of rape; one of forced oral copulation; one of forced penetration with a foreign object; one of forced sodomy; three of false imprisonment; and two of abducting to live in an illicit relationship.

There were a few preliminaries, and then it was time for opening statements.

The prosecution went first. Mcguire posted a list of the charges on the front wall, arranged her papers on the podium, and began to chronicle Colleen Stan’s kidnap and captivity.

Her straightforward, cool presentation contrasted with the bizarre situation she described. She stood before the jury, smartly attired in her navy pin-stripe suit, the very picture of propriety, yet speaking of appalling tortures, describing how Colleen had been hung, whipped, chained, hurt, and humiliated by Cameron Hooker.

Mcguire claimed Hooker had employed mind and behavioral control techniques, such as isolation and terror, designed to rob Colleen not only of her physical autonomy but of her will. Letting a note of anger slip into her voice, she declared that Hooker had kept Colleen “on an invisible leash.”

In relating the principal events of those seven years, Mcguire was careful to describe, count by count, each crime with which Hooker was charged. She also included the weakest portions of the people’s case — the “year out” and the brief trip to Riverside, Colleen’s declarations of love for Cameron, and Janice’s jealousy.

She didn’t want the jurors to feel she was hiding anything.

In the state’s interpretation, Jan’s conscience motivated her to free Colleen and leave Cameron. Fearful of her husband’s plans for taking another slave, guilty over her own role in Colleen’s kidnap and imprisonment, Janice told Colleen the defendant didn’t belong to the Company, there was no Company, it was all a lie.

Mcguire explained Colleen’s failure to contact police as the result of “seven years of attachment conditioning.” She compared Colleen to “an infant who must cry for food, could not talk, and was bound. As Hooker intended, she became extremely dependent, just as an infant is. And just as an infant develops an attachment even to the worst of mothers, so did Colleen.”

While she spoke, two sketch artists deftly rendered Mcguire’s likeness with charcoal pencils, while journalists madly scribbled in notebooks.

Few noticed, however, that in the midst of her opening statement the prosecutor surprised herself. Her voice didn’t waver, but her eyes grew wet, and she came dangerously close to tears.

After all these months of acclimatizing herself to this case, it still affected her.

Mcguire concluded her remarks, rather anticlimactically, by simply listing some of the most convincing evidence. Then a recess was called, and a clutter of television cameras zeroed in on her for brief interviews in the hall.

When the cameras were shut off, a female television reporter commented to Mcguire, “This reminds me of The Story of O. Have you read it?”

“That’s reference material,” Mcguire joked. But the reporter’s question triggered a recollection. She decided to ask Janice about it.

Defense Attorney Papendick presented a very different version of the relationship between the three main characters in this peculiar drama.