A Mother's Trial (43 page)

“I don’t think so. There were a lot of ways she could have done it. She could have brought it in her hand. She could have dissolved it in some water and brought it in a bottle. I know she could have done that because I did a little experiment myself one night: I mixed some baking soda in a glass of water and it dissolved completely. You couldn’t tell it wasn’t pure water.”

Ed paused and gulped as the adrenaline surged. “When did you do that, Mr. Polizzi?” he asked, his voice a careful neutral.

“Oh, I don’t remember exactly. A while ago. I was reminded of it when we started deliberations because one of the exhibits was a box of baking soda, and it was the same brand we have at home. That made me remember the experiment.”

“Listen, could I come talk to you about this—maybe tomorrow?”

“Well, I’m working tomorrow. I’ll be at the firehouse if you want to come out.”

“I’ll be there.” Ed hung up and let out a shout of excitement. Then he explained to Priscilla the significance of Polizzi’s experiment.

“Jurors are not allowed to consider any evidence that has not been presented to them in the courtroom. Burke explained that the first day. They cannot perform experiments on their own.”

“But it’s such a nothing experiment,” Steve said. “Everyone knows baking soda dissolves in water.”

“It doesn’t matter. If the experiment tainted that juror, then Priscilla didn’t have twelve unbiased members on her jury. And if he mentioned the experiment to others, maybe he tainted them all. We might get a new trial out of this—we just might.” He had added juror misconduct to the other grounds for a new trial. Now the moment had arrived to see how the judge would rule.

Judge Burke began the hearing by addressing the motion for a new trial. There were two somewhat conflicting affidavits that had been submitted in the Polizzi matter, one prepared by the defense, one by the prosecution. After meeting with Polizzi, Caldwell had forwarded to him an affidavit that purported to describe what the fireman had done. But the juror refused to sign it without prior consultation with his lawyer, and in the end he did not sign it at all on the basis that it contained information that falsely suggested that he had conducted his experiment during jury deliberations. In fact, he said, he had conducted it earlier. The second affidavit had been prepared by the district attorney, and this Polizzi signed. In it, Polizzi swore that he had indeed conducted the experiment but maintained that he had not discussed it with other jurors. In the courtroom, Burke now asked for and received arguments on the issue. Priscilla watched in silence as Ed Caldwell and Josh Thomas argued and counter argued. Polizzi had clearly passed beyond the scope of a juror's proper activities during trial; that was indisputable. But whether the experiment had been prejudicial, and if so, to what extent, was at question now.

Burke finally ruled that Polizzi's experiment was not prejudicial enough to warrant a new trial. The decision shook Priscilla, and although Steve took her hand and pressed it, she had to grit her teeth against the apprehension that twisted her stomach.

The lawyers moved on to a discussion of the probation report. Josh Thomas brought up the polygraph test Priscilla had taken months before. The polygraph expert was in court and ready to testify, Josh said coyly. Perhaps Mr. Hart could shed some light on sentencing issues by testifying about the results of the test.

It was a dirty trick and Priscilla stared at Josh in fury. Mr. Hart had never even submitted a report to Gary Ragghianti, who had been her lawyer at the time. Her polygraph had not been an issue during the trial; indeed such tests were not admissible even if they exonerated a suspect. Obviously the district attorney already knew that the test results had been inconclusive; she had admitted as much, in fact. But Josh Thomas was not above that sort of tactic: Priscilla had seen him try before. Late in the trial, Josh had attempted to draw an inference from an X ray Priscilla needed following a fall from a ladder, implying that Steve had beaten her. It had disgusted Priscilla then, as did this underhanded trick now.

But the judge saw through the ploy.

“I doubt that at this stage of the proceeding it would serve any purpose to open that matter,” he said firmly. Then he sat back, his small, alert eyes full on Priscilla, ready to pass sentence.

“By reason of the unique nature of the crimes, I believe that the objectives of sentencing could be listed as the following: one, punishing the defendant because of the serious nature of the crimes; two, protecting society; three, encouraging the defendant to lead a law-abiding life and to deter her from future offenses.”

Priscilla turned in panic and whispered frantically to Steve. “He’s going to send me away! Call my mother—get her to bring the boys here so that I can see them.”

“Pris, you’ve got plenty of time. Ed will get you till Monday if—”

“Steve, just do it! Please!”

“Okay.” He squeezed past her and whispered to a friend to make the call.

The judge meanwhile was in full stride as he laid out his reasoning for the sentence he planned to pass.

“I have given serious thought to the matter of probation in this case but rejected it, although it might be considered an unusual case that in fact permits the court to grant probation. It’s legally possible because of psychological problems not amounting to a defense, and psychiatric treatment could be required as a condition of probation.

“However the court is not convinced that any such treatment would succeed. The defendant has steadfastly maintained her innocence. Her defense was that she did not commit the crime and that she was sane. The expert witnesses all testified that she was normal and not mentally ill.

“Normally, for a person to benefit from therapy, she would have to acknowledge wrongful behavior and attempt to gain an insight into why she committed the acts, so that upon her return to society she would not constitute a danger to others. Here, there is no indication that the defendant has ever admitted, even to herself, that she committed these acts. Perhaps if she were to do so, she would find it very difficult to live with herself. So consequently she continues, perhaps, to block out any responsibility for these crimes.

“Although the probation officer recommends suspending sentencing pending completion of a ninety-day observation, in my opinion, this would accomplish nothing. It would just delay the eventual date because she has been thoroughly examined by her own experts, and those examinations failed to disclose any mental illness. Furthermore, such a referral is usually a prelude to a grant of probation, and I have concluded that I cannot in good conscience grant probation in this case under any conditions. The substantial evidence of her guilt was clear and convincing. I personally believe she was proven guilty beyond all reasonable doubt.

“The defendant is hereby sentenced to state prison on count one for the murder in the second degree of Tia Phillips. Because the crime was committed before the change of law, it is an indeterminate term—specified as five years to life—with the actual term to be fixed later by the Community Release Board. The possible ranges for count two—child endangering—are sixteen months, two years, and three years. I have chosen the median term of two years. And because of the defendant’s good record in the community, her lack of prior violations of the law, and her obvious devotion to her natural children and to her husband, the court orders the sentences to run concurrently.

“The defendant is remanded to the custody of the sheriff for delivery to the state Department of Corrections. Her bail is exonerated.”

Priscilla slumped in her chair, her face waxen in defeat. The worst had happened.

“Your Honor?” Ed Caldwell was a dim figure on his feet at her side. “I have a request to make on behalf of the defendant. As I understand it, the transportation to Frontera will not take place until at least Monday of next week. I would ask that the order of the court be stayed until Mrs. Phillips reports to the sheriff’s office on Monday for transportation to CIW.”

“We would oppose that motion, Your Honor,” Josh Thomas said at once.

“Well, I think under the circumstances that motion should be denied. Ample opportunity will be provided by the jail, and the court will so order, for visitation with the members of her family.”

“Your Honor, in that case I would like to ask the court—and I understand it is discretionary—to allow the release of the defendant on bail pending appeal. She is no danger to the community and the financial hardship is obvious.” Ed was fishing now, but he knew such bail had been granted in other cases.

“The motion for bail on appeal is denied. And parenthetically, I intend to recommend to the Department of Corrections that if the defendant should come to believe she might be aided by psychiatric assistance, the Department of Corrections should see that she gets it. You can’t force it on a person; to do so serves no purpose. But if a person believes that she could be aided in any way by psychiatric or psychological assistance, I believe that this is a case where that assistance is indicated. All right, gentlemen, that concludes the matter.”

The court reporter rose and began to collect her equipment. Priscilla grabbed frantically at Ed’s coat.

“The boys are on their way—please see if the judge will let me see them for a minute before I go. The Visiting Room at the jail has those awful phones and the glass partition—I won’t be able to hug them—” Her voice rose in a hint of hysteria.

Burke had heard. “Yes, that will be all right. There’s a room across the hall. Bailiff, get a matron. Someone needs to be present.”

“Yes, Your Honor.”

“Thank you, Your Honor,” Ed said. He turned to Priscilla. “I’m sorry.”

“You did the best you could.” She was back in control. “But it’s not fair. The judge’s reasoning—” she began bitterly.

“I know. A real Catch-22, isn’t it? The only way you can get leniency is by admitting you did it, showing remorse.”

“It’s just like this whole case, with everything twisted against me. All the things we’ve been taught about truth and justice and honesty turned and used against me. If I’m loving, that means I’m after attention. If I join community activities, I’m crazy. If I protest my innocence, that means I should be punished more severely. It’s not fair!” She was crying now.

Ed took her arm. “I know, damn it. But here are Erik and Jason.” They were running down the hall, Marietta in tears behind them. They all crowded into the little room the jail matron showed them.

“I have to go away,” Priscilla managed to say. “But it won’t be forever. I want you to remember that.”

“Will you be home for my birthday?” Jason asked.

“Oh, son—” Steve threw his arms around the six-year-old.

“No, Jason. But I’ll write you a special letter, with something in it just for you.”

“Pris—”

“Steve, I can’t stand it! I can’t! I’ve already lost two of my children and now they’re taking the rest away—”

“Pris, we’ll see you at the jail, and then we’ll come down to Frontera—you know that.”

“I’m sorry, but she’ll have to go now,” the matron said softly. She put a hand on Priscilla’s arm and firmly guided her from the room. Priscilla, in a blur of tears, did not resist as she was taken down to the elevator and across the narrow strip of roadway to the county jail.

ii

She was given the same cell as before, but this time she was not confined there. In the six days before her transfer, she was allowed to visit the canteen and mix with the other prisoners, and every day she crossed to the exercise yard for a game of volleyball.

Almost at once she found a friend. Judy, a woman she had known slightly from AAUW, had been imprisoned for kidnapping—a woman so withdrawn that she had talked to no one since her arrival. Priscilla spent most of her time with this prisoner, trying to draw her out. She became Priscilla’s special little project, her focus at the jail, and the staff was pleased when the woman began to talk to Priscilla.

The rest of the time Priscilla spent trying, as much as possible, to plan her future. She learned that she would leave on Thursday, July fifth, but she did not know how she would be transported or what possessions she would be allowed. Nor did she know what to expect when she arrived at CIW. It was the only state prison for women, and she had visions of San Quentin, with its cages and tiers and noise. None of the inmates at Marin County jail had been to CIW, so Priscilla finally asked one of the officers for help, and she was able to find an old list of items permitted there.

The list indicated that prisoners could have no jewelry valued over fifty dollars, so Steve bought Priscilla a plain gold wedding band to replace her diamond and gold wedding set. Priscilla drew up her own list, which she gave to Steve. He and Marietta packed a box of supplies for her to take.

The trip to Frontera devastated her. She was terrified, inexperienced, and alone, and everything they subjected her to over the next two days enhanced her fears.

First the sheriff’s officer examined her box of supplies, dumping it on the floor. Then he wrapped chains around her waist and handcuffed her to the chains. It was the first time she had ever been chained and she began to cry. Across the room, a probation officer whom Priscilla knew slightly saw her and turned away in tears as well. This appeared to enrage the officer in charge. He began looking through Priscilla’s box, pawing at her belongings. Then he stared at her.

“Who do you think you are? You can’t take all that stuff—all that jewelry. Take it off.”

“But—”

“Take it off!”

Priscilla removed her ring and chain; the officer stuffed them in an envelope that he put with her box. Then she was hustled to tiny Gnoss Field in Novato, where she was led to the plane.

It was a six-seater, and it contained one other woman-prisoner and four rough, sweating, stinking men. Priscilla was shoved between them. Instantly they looked her over.

“Where ya going, lady? Whatcha in for?”

Terrified and unwilling to answer, she shrugged away from them. If they knew her crime, they might hurt her; she knew that much.