Evidence of Murder (20 page)

Monday, January 25, 1999, was a dreary, sunless, rainy day in Jacksonville, one of the largest cities in Florida. A brisk breeze from the nearby St. Johns River chilled the air outside the downtown Duval County Courthouse, where the murder trial of John Steven Huggins was set to begin.

Jacksonville, a metropolitan city situated on the northeasterly coast of Florida, is unique to the state. The climate is more northerly than the rest of the tropical state. Named for Andrew Jackson, the town sits on the edge of the St. Johns River, the nation’s longest north-flowing waterway.

The city is actively engaged in trade that stretches throughout the world, and huge oceangoing vessels provide a picturesque setting in the downtown area of Jax.

Mayport, a U.S. Navy base, is alive with military operations, and the Jaguars professional football team has established a high place in the sports world. All in all, Jacksonville is a vibrant, energetic city with varied cultural activities that extend in many diverse directions.

In the courthouse ASA Jeff Ashton and ASA Ted Culhan entered the assigned courtroom and headed for the cordoned section where the prosecution would sit during the trial.

Ashton’s eyes swept across the large room in a quick survey of the physical aspects of the playing field, where he and Ted would be using all their know-how and experience to convict the man they viewed as a vicious killer.

Ashton felt the chill of the dimly lit, cheerless courtroom and commented to Culhan, “Not exactly the Great White Way.”

“Maybe it’s an indication of the future that Mr. Huggins has to look forward to,” Culhan answered, smiling.

Ashton told Culhan, “That tall deputy near the entrance told me that they call this courtroom ‘the Dungeon.’ ”

“And rightly so,” Culhan responded. “I’m glad that we’re here only for this trial.”

The two prosecutors continued to survey the courtroom, where they would be spending most of their time for the next few weeks.

Ashton said, “I understand that this building is only about thirty years old. I’d think that the architects would have done a better job of lighting.”

Culhan smiled. “We’re just spoiled by Orlando’s posh new courthouse with its superb lighting.”

“You’re probably right.” Jeff Ashton laughed.

The two prosecutors viewed the spectators who were filing into the room and recognized several individuals from Orlando. Ada Larson, Jim’s smartly dressed mother, entered the shadowy, bleak courtroom, followed by Phyllis and Mert Thomas, Carla’s parents. They walked to the prosecution side of the courtroom, took seats on the hard oak bench and held each other’s hands for comfort. They knew this was going to be a very difficult time for them. They were all aware that some of the testimony that they would hear would be painful for them, and they hoped that they could maintain control.

Fashionably dressed Phyllis Thomas tilted her head, looking around at the others already seated. Her husband, Mert, tall and strong, dressed in his nicely tailored business suit, sat quietly staring straight ahead, patiently waiting for the trial to begin. After so many months of waiting, the three parents were eager finally to see John Huggins answer for killing their beloved child and bringing such misery into all their lives.

Jim Larson, who would appear as a witness, was awaiting his summons to the courtroom, in a separate room.

There were also a number of fellow workers of Carla Larson’s, from the Centex Rooney Company at the Disney World building site, who came for the proceedings.

Reporters for the various media, who would relate what happened here, filled many of the seats.

By this time attorney Bob Wesley, just under three hundred pounds, basically bald, blue-eyed and trim bearded, took his place at the defense table along with his co-counsel, Tyrone King.

Wesley looked around the Duval County Courtroom, assessing the battleground in which the life of his client would depend on his expertise.

The opposing attorneys nodded and greeted each other cordially.

All heads in the room turned and watched as the defendant, John Steven Huggins, entered the courtroom, escorted by a guard. The large, burly man made a quick survey of the room, his green eyes noticing all who were there to judge him. For the important occasion, Huggins was clean shaven and dressed in a conservative dark blue suit. His long, normally straggly brown hair was now trimmed and neat. His overall appearance was of a man who could be dressed for his college reunion dinner.

His two lawyers rose to seat him at their table. For the rest of this day and the weeks ahead, he would be the center of all the activities that unfolded here. There was no expression on his face that revealed his thoughts. His attitude was an almost indifference to the gravity of his situation.

At the direction of the bailiff, everyone in the courtroom rose as Chief Circuit Judge Belvin Perry entered and approached his seat at the bench. This highly regarded African-American criminal court judge had been in the legal profession for more than twenty years, as had the two prosecutors for the state. Both Jeff Ashton and Ted Culhan, who knew the judge for many years when they all were part of the state attorney’s staff in Orlando, nodded respectfully to Judge Perry, who in turn politely acknowledged them.

The interrupting gavel sounded throughout the courtroom. “Hear ye, hear ye, this court is now in session: The Honorable Judge Belvin S. Perry presiding.”

For a day and a half, the four opposing attorneys slowly but zealously questioned the men and women called as possible jurors; they ultimately agreed on the selections, which both sides described as balanced.

A wave of quiet satisfaction drifted across the room in anticipation at the start of the upcoming battle.

When the trial opened, prosecutor Culhan addressed the jury, explaining what evidence the state would present to them to prove the guilt of John Steven Huggins. He detailed the case against the defendant, concluding with his assertion that there could be only one verdict: guilty of all charges.

Defense attorney Bob Wesley declined to make an opening statement.

ASA Culhan rose and announced, “The state of Florida will now call its first witness, Mr. James Larson.”

In the witness room, where he was waiting, Jim Larson nervously wiped his palms.
This is it,
he thought. He entered the courtroom and moved slowly but deliberately toward the witness stand, where he would be sworn in to recount the worst horror of his life. He looked around the room until he saw his mother, Ada, who smiled encouragingly, as did his in-laws, Phyllis and Mert Thomas.

The room grew silent as the husband of the victim, Carla Ann Larson, faced ASA Ted Culhan, who would question him about everything relative to the events that brought him here for this trial.

Culhan walked slowly to the podium and faced Larson.

Standing quietly and assembling his thoughts before he began his interrogation, Ted Culhan, a stocky man with a pleasant, confident smile, usually described by his friends as a teddy bear with gray hair, presented a portrait of quiet power.

After the preliminary questions of Larson’s name, his address, who lived at that address with him and when he was married, the prosecutor asked for the date of daughter Jessica’s birth.

Defense attorney Wesley, who had been sitting quietly, sprang to his feet. “Objection to relevance, Your Honor. State shouldn’t ask questions that evoke an emotional response from the jury.”

Judge Perry straightened in his chair and said, “Overruled at this time.”

Ted Culhan returned to his questioning, asking politely, “When was your daughter born?”

With his mind obviously rattled by the intensity of the situation he was in, Jim Larson answered, “I can’t remember—right now.” He waited, thought a moment and then said, “She is two and a half years old.”

Sensing the pressure that his witness was experiencing, prosecutor Culhan walked over to the prosecution table and exchanged a few words with co-counsel Jeff Ashton, considerately giving Jim Larson a few moments to collect himself and settle down.

Hoping his witness was a little calmer, Culhan returned to simple questions, establishing where Jim worked, where Carla worked, the routine the Larsons had in the mornings for going to work, what time they left for their jobs and who dropped Jessica off at the day-care center.

As the session continued, reporters busily made notes and drawings of the scene.

In his careful questioning the prosecutor provided the surviving husband an open door to show the Larson family’s happy daily life. Jim also could portray his wife, Carla, as an exceptionally talented woman, who was an engineer working with a major company, Centex Rooney, building a fabulous resort hotel at Walt Disney World.

The prosecutor then turned to specifics. “I direct your attention to June 10, 1997. Do you recall that day?”

What a question,
Jim Larson thought.
How could I ever forget the day my wife vanished? It is emblazoned into my mind.
A shadow crossed his face with the memory of that dreadful day.

“Yes,” he answered tensely.

Culhan asked, “Do you recall the last time you saw your wife that day?”

“Yes.”

“When was that?” the prosecutor asked.

Larson looked down, hesitated and, obviously saddened, said, “That was in the morning. I kissed her good-bye and told her I loved her.”

There was a buzz in the court, and Wesley, like a jack-in-the-box, was on his feet again. “Your Honor, I object, basis of relevance. Ask it be struck.”

The defense scored with Judge Perry, who ruled, “Sustained.” He turned to the witness and admonished, “Mr. Larson, listen carefully to the question. Only answer what is asked.”

Jim Larson nodded. “Yes, Your Honor,” he answered in a barely audible voice.

Ted Culhan resumed the questioning, asking about Larson’s work in June, his hours on the job, when he became aware that his wife was missing, when he notified authorities and filed a report.

Culhan continued, asking Larson about the events of June 10 and 11, delving into Larson’s participation in the search for Carla.

The prosecutor then introduced the subject of Carla Larson’s jewelry. With this line the courtroom sat silently as Jim Larson described his wife’s jewelry. Although Larson knew that Carla’s jewelry would take a prime position in this trial and had steeled himself for the ordeal, nonetheless, he winced at its introduction by the attorney.

Larson tugged on his tie as though suddenly it was too tight, then stared down at the floor. He looked as though he would much rather be anywhere than here in this courtroom at this time, forcing his mind back to the happy time when he gave Carla those pieces of jewelry.

Culhan wanted the details of Larson’s purchases of her engagement and wedding rings, so he asked, “Did she customarily wear those, for example, when she went to work?”

“She never took any of them off,” Larson answered.

The prosecutor asked if Larson bought Carla some diamond earrings. He confirmed he did.

“Where did you purchase the diamond earrings?” Culhan pursued.

“In Ohio. At a place—one second.” Larson paused to clarify and to be specific. “It was in Akron, Ohio. That’s where I purchased them.” He waited and apologized. “I’m trying to think of the name of the place.” He scanned across the courtroom. “It will come to me.”

The jury seemed entranced by the questions and by Jim Larson’s earnest answers.

Culhan continued: “Was your wife wearing that jewelry the last time you saw her?”

“Yes,” he answered somberly.

Culhan asked Larson if he saw the jewelry again in July 1997.

Larson stated that he had, and when asked to specify where, the troubled husband mumbled, “The police department. . . or the . . . I guess it was the police station.” He shifted in his chair and added, “They had them.”

The prosecutor moved away a bit from the lectern and faced Judge Perry. “Your Honor, may I approach the witness?”

“You may.”

Stepping in front of the witness, the prosecutor said, “Mr. Larson, for the record I’ll show you state’s exhibit ‘W’ for identification. Also, for the record, I will now break the seal with this pair of scissors.”

All attention in the courtroom was focused on Ted Culhan as he cut open the sealed evidence package.

Continuing, Culhan said, “Mr. Larson, I’ll hand you this article, one of state’s exhibit ‘W.’ Sir, I ask you if you recognize what’s in that plastic bag?”

With his complexion slowly turning a mild shade of red, Jim Larson managed to answer, “It looks like Carla’s wedding band.”

There was a whispered sigh from the onlookers in the courtroom.

Ada Larson lowered her head when she saw Jim’s emotional distress, which matched her own. Phyllis and Mert Thomas held hands tightly, mentally sharing the agony Jim was facing. Tears welled in their eyes and the women dabbed at them with tissues.

One by one, Culhan took his witness through a series of identifications of the various jewelry pieces that Jim Larson had purchased and given to his wife, including earrings and rings. Finally he offered Larson a last item, asking if he recognized it.

“Yes,” the witness almost whispered, “that’s her chain.”

The prosecutor entered into evidence receipts for the purchases of the jewelry before turning the subject to the Larsons’ vehicle.

Step by step, in carefully phrased questions, Culhan elicited information about the Ford Explorer, where it had been purchased, the model year and its full description.

Culhan then showed Larson a photograph of a vehicle, which was marked as state exhibit “CC” for identification, and asked if he recognized it. Larson said it was an accurate representation of the white Ford Explorer that he and his wife owned in 1995.