I'll Be Watching You (34 page)

I

It was easy, especially in the way that Ned was twisting the entire trial to be about him, to overlook the fact that no one would be in the room if a young woman hadn’t been brutally murdered. But it always happens during trials: the victim is forgotten, except in graphic crime scene photographs and evidence and witness testimony. For Luz and Sonia, there in court every day, they had sacrificed so much to sit and watch the man who, they believed, murdered their sister be brought to justice. Both worked third shift. That meant they spent the entire day in the courtroom, went home at around 6:00
P.M
. to eat and nap, and then woke for work near midnight to begin all over again. Zagaja had kept in close contact with the Rodriguez family. He spoke fluent Spanish, which made communication between them quite clear. One day, he came out before the day’s proceedings began and said, “Hey, there’s going to be some graphic photos of your sister today. You might not want to stay for it.” And they appreciated his honesty and warning.

Carmen’s mother, Rosa, had been sitting in on the trial, but she had to leave at certain times. The photos. The talk of Carmen’s corpse. Ned. It was all too much for her. All she did was weep. According to Luz, whenever she sat in the front row in back of Ned’s table, Luz claimed O’Brien made it hard for her to see by blocking her view. There were days when Luz just wanted to stare at Ned. Make him think about the people whose lives he had touched by killing Carmen. On those days, Luz insisted, O’Brien would complain that she stared at him and Ned with “devil eyes.”

II

The jury was still out. As he sat in the witness stand, Ned didn’t seem so comfortable and cocky anymore. O’Brien put him in this position so Ned could, on the record (as opposed to, say, shouting it out in open court), challenge the testimony of Kevin McDonald. Ned was outraged, of course, that he had to explain himself to
anyone.
Better yet the judge.

O’Brien wasted no time getting to the point. “Mr. Snelgrove,” he asked, “were you at home on January 15, 2002?”

Mister…
it sounded so much the polar opposite of who Ned was. So professional. So respectful. Ned didn’t deserve it.

“Only in the morning,” Ned answered firmly.

“OK. Were you there for the execution of a search warrant on your house?”

Ned said, “The first thing they did was, they grabbed me and took me out.”

Zagaja shook his head. Rovella had the reports in front of him. There was no mention of such behavior. Ned had made it sound as if a SWAT team had busted into the house under the direct order of the attorney general. With goggles and rifles and bulletproof vests, they had chased him into a closet and, as if he were Elian Gonzalez, pulled him out, kicking and screaming.

“So you were there at what time in the morning?” O’Brien asked.

“Approximately seven in the morning.”

“And when you say, ‘they,’ who are you referring to?”

“Well, I later found out it was the Connecticut State Police, the Hopkinton [Rhode Island] Police Department, the Rhode Island State Police, members of the Berlin Police Department and Hartford Police Department.”

“Did you hear Detective McDonald?”

Ned became red-faced: “He doesn’t remember a
thing
about that day.”

“Objection,” Zagaja said. “I’d ask that that be stricken.”

“Sustained.”

“Did there come a time…that you went from your house to Troop H?”

Pouting,
“Yes.”

“And how did you get there?”

“I was taken from the house by Arthur Kershaw…and Kevin McDonald…and put in a car. McDonald drove, Kershaw was in the passenger seat.”

Details. Ned was a man of point-to-point facts—at least when he wanted to recall them. It made him sound as though he knew exactly what he was talking about.

“So that was a Rhode Island police car. Do you know, or was it—”

Patronizingly, “I would imagine it was a Rhode Island police car, both of them were from Rhode Island.”

“And did you have any conversations with Kershaw and McDonald in that car on the way to the police station?”

“The only thing I said as I was placed into the car…,” Ned began, and then went into an explanation of the day, saying, “This is harassment,” to McDonald as they drove.

According to Ned, McDonald then turned and looked at him. “You haven’t
seen
harassment yet.”

“And then on the way to the Troop H building, McDonald tried to start a conversation,” Ned added. “He says, ‘Where you been working, Ned?’ I did not answer.”

“Did they or either one of them read you your Miranda warnings?” O’Brien asked.

“Not until we got to the Troop H building.”

“So prior to getting into the car, did they read you your Miranda warnings?”

“No.”

“Did they tell you why you were going to the police station?”

“The first thing Arthur Kershaw said [was] ‘You’re under arrest.’ They wouldn’t even let me put my socks on. Kershaw had me by the left shoulder and McDonald had me by the right as they let me put sneakers on with no socks and they marched me up the stairs onto the main floor right past my parents—my parents witnessed all this!—and
forced
me into the car….”

“OK. So when you go to Troop H, what happened when you got there?”

“They took me…sat me down in a conference room. They told me who they were. They told me I was under arrest for murder and they read me my rights. I immediately said, ‘I want to exercise my right to remain silent and I didn’t want to talk to them about anything and they should take me downstairs to book me.’ And they said, ‘We don’t take orders from you. We’ll take our time. We’ll book you when [we] want.’”

Ned claimed he spent eleven hours at Troop H. He said as the day progressed, different cops came and went, each trying to break him. Not being able to get him to talk, Ned insisted, infuriated the cops. He said they fed him and allowed him to use the restroom. He was careful not to paint them as all bad. It was part of the con: slip in the points you want to make alongside some truths. Jab them here and there. Never use a broad brush. Pick one cop—McDonald—and focus on him. Continuing, Ned added, “As soon as they read me my rights, I said I didn’t want to discuss it and they should take me downstairs and book me. And, in fact, I got up out of the chair and I said, ‘Come on, let’s go to the basement.’ And Detective McDonald said, ‘No, no, no. Sit down, sit down, sit down.’ And, by the way, this is all my—”

“There’s no question pending,” Zagaja objected. Interestingly enough was that the judge had already ruled on what Ned was now rehashing: she believed McDonald. It didn’t matter what Ned had to say.

“Sustained.”

O’Brien figured he might as well give Ned what he wanted: “Did you have something to add about that—”

But Ned didn’t let him finish, saying, “My version of events is perfectly accurate and it’s backed up by my behavior from two months prior to this in November of 2001 when Detective Mike Sheldon and Luisa St. Pierre came to seize the car…. Before they showed me the search and seizure warrant for the car, they asked me, would I be willing to get in my car and drive to the Hartford Police Department? And I said, ‘No, I will not.’ Just as I would have done on January fifteenth…I would have said no.”

“So they grabbed you, put you in a car, and took you there?”

“Absolutely. We had—my parents witnessed it.”

After a few more questions, O’Brien handed Ned off to Zagaja, who asked, “Mr. Snelgrove, you didn’t want to discuss anything about the investigation, right?”

“Right.”

“And you made that clear to them, right?”

“Very clear. And when I said I didn’t want—”

“There’s no question,” Zagaja reminded Ned.

“I think he’s finishing the answer to the question,” O’Brien piped in.

“I believe he responded, Your Honor,” Zagaja said.

“It called for a yes or no answer,” the judge advised. “Sustained.”

“Now, back in November, with Detective Mike Sheldon, you didn’t want to speak with him, either, correct?”

“Correct,” Ned said. “And he asked me, before he showed me—”

But Zagaja interrupted, “There’s no question pending.”

“Just answer the question,” the judge said.

“Sorry,” Ned said with a bit of a smirk.

“In fact, you had in your mind that you did not wish to discuss the matter…with any police?” Zagaja asked.

“Correct.”

“And you’ve had some police involvement previously, correct?” It was perfect. The ideal way for Zagaja to get Ned to admit on the record that he was a convicted killer. It was the only reason why Zagaja had been so eager to question Ned. Because let’s face it: the judge had already ruled.

“Yes,” Ned answered defeatedly, without extrapolating at all.

“You have submitted to questioning to other police officers in the past, correct?”

“No,” Ned said.

“In fact, you submitted to a deposition before Detective Watson, of the Middlesex County State’s Attorney or District Attorney’s Office?”

“That was with my attorney present in the room.”

“But you did submit to a deposition, correct?”

“With my attorney present.”

“With that said, you
submitted
to questioning with a police officer, correct?”

Merry-go-round. “With my attorney present. I’d never do it without an attorney.”

“And you provided some information to the police, correct?”

“In New Jersey?” Ned asked.

“Yes!” Zagaja said.

“With my attorney present, yes.”

“And you’ve lied to the police in the past, haven’t you?”

There it was: Ned had told lies all his life. To his parents. His lawyers. The court. The women he interacted with. Those patrons at Kenney’s. And the police. Yes, the police. On the record, in fact. But suddenly Ned couldn’t remember. “Um, I don’t recall. It’s possible, but—”

“You don’t? OK.” Ned’s selective memory, in fact, worked to Zagaja’s advantage. “Do you recall telling the police,” Zagaja asked, “back in New Jersey, that you accompanied Karen Osmun, by coincidence, outside of a party? You walked with her—”

O’Brien had heard enough. “I’m going to object to the purpose of this questioning.”

“Credibility,” said Zagaja.

“It’s impeachment. Overruled.”

“You walked with her past her car and left her at her car. Do you remember?”

Ned became incensed: “No! I told the police that I left at the same
time
as Karen.”

“Yes,” Zagaja cleared up, “and you
walked
with her to her car and then drove—”

“And then,” Ned said, interrupting Zagaja, “she got in her car and then I got in my car and drove, and that’s the truth. I did not lie when I said that.”

“Right. And you never saw her after that point, you told the police also.
Correct?
”

Beaten. “Correct.”

“And that’s a lie, correct?”

“Right.”

“Because you
did
see her?”

“Yes.”

“You killed her later that night, correct?”

“Yes.”

“You didn’t wish to cooperate with the police…in New Jersey, did you?” Zagaja asked.

“I don’t recall.”

“And you said, up front, you told the police you wanted to leave at Troop H?” Zagaja asked.

“Absolutely. I told…I told the—”

“There’s no question pending, sir.” It almost pained Zagaja, it was evident on his face, to call Ned “sir.” But it was more sarcasm than respect.

“After they read me my rights, I said, you should take me—”

“There’s no question pending,
sir,
” Zagaja repeated.

“Just answer the question,” the judge piped in. “If it calls for a yes or no, then it’s a yes or no.”

“You’ve been convicted of three felonies from New Jersey, correct?”

“Correct.”

“You recall speaking with Detective Kershaw and Detective McDonald for about two hours?”

“They tried to get me to talk to them, I did not talk to them.”

“And that was for about two hours you said?”

“Yeah. And then I was—”

“There’s
no
question
pending,
sir.” Zagaja took a breath, perhaps waiting for the judge to chime in again. When she didn’t, he kept it going, asking Ned, “Did you make notes of anything that was said?”

“Did I make notes of anything said on that day?”

“Yes. Or anything done?”

“I remember what was said.”

“You do? You recall everything that took place for those several hours you were at Troop H?”

Sharply, “Much, much better than McDonald, yes.”

“Who transported you back home?”

“Sergeant Patrick Gaffney, of the Connecticut State Police. And in his report, it actually speaks—”

“Objection,” Zagaja said, “there’s nothing pending.” A pause. No one said anything. So Zagaja asked: “Did you speak with Patrick Gaffney from the state police on your way back home?”

“He asked me—”

“Yes or no?” Zagaja said loudly.

“Well, no. He attempted to ask me questions and I didn’t answer.”

“You didn’t say anything?”

“No.”

For the next twenty minutes, Ned and Zagaja sparred on many of the issues that had already been covered. Ned stood his ground, Zagaja fired back. But beyond the fact that Ned was adamant regarding how he was (mis)treated by the police, nothing new came out of the verbal exchange.

I

Barbara Delaney had been through the worst that life could toss her way. No one could kill her sister again. Yet, that wound was open-ended, she said. Seeing Ned arrested for another murder was like hearing a tape of that day when she found out her sister had been murdered. She had been up late watching the news one night and saw a reporter interviewing Mary Ellen Renard, getting her reaction to Ned’s arrest in Connecticut. “Oh, my goodness…that’s Ned,” Barbara said aloud, staring blankly at the television screen.

II

The drive north from New Jersey was tiring. Here was Barbara once again heading into a courtroom as her sister’s killer faced a judge and jury. Barbara had thought she’d seen the last of Ned Snelgrove when she wrote that letter to the parole board more than six years earlier, warning its members that if they let him out of prison, well, they’d all be doing exactly what they were doing: trying to put him back. The guy was a murderer, Barbara knew. Nothing was going to stop him.

Since arriving in Hartford, Barbara had met and bonded with the Rodriguez family. Death could do that: create an instant connection and unite by tragedy.

Sitting in the back of the courtroom, watching Ned, she was sickened by his cocky mannerisms and “I’m in control” attitude. Knowing exactly the type of person Ned Snelgrove was, Barbara wanted to stand up and shout, “I’m here representing Karen. She is here in this room, too.”
Don’t anyone forget about my Karen.

The fact that Karen had been killed by the same maniac who was now trying to convince a different court that he had been rehabilitated, cured, that he wasn’t a menace to society any longer, was unnerving to Barbara as she sat and watched the proceedings. She couldn’t stay for the entire trial, nor could she help the prosecution. But she could make her presence known for the sake of Karen’s memory. Let Ned know that she was never going away. That she would always be in his face.

III

Jim Rovella was pacing in the state’s attorney’s office, a spacious piece of real estate located in the same building as the courtroom. Rovella was nervous, as was Zagaja. One of their main witnesses, the one person who could describe Ned’s use of the past tense when talking about Carmen, was still missing. No one could find Jackie Garcia.

Jackie had a warrant out for her arrest. She had violated parole. Jackie had strayed since Carmen’s death. She had fallen into an abyss of behaviors that were born out of the tragic loss of a loved one. Murder can have such a ripple effect on families. Now she was set to testify and the prosecution couldn’t find her.

So Rovella called Luz. “I need your help.” He didn’t tell Luz there was a warrant out for Jackie’s arrest. “We cannot find Jackie, Luz, and we need her on the stand.”

Luz had an idea of where she was. “OK.”

“Can you help us?” Rovella asked.

“Yes, of course, of course.”

IV

Dr. Jennifer Swartz, the Rhode Island medical examiner who autopsied Carmen’s remains, testified on January 10. Through Swartz’s testimony, Zagaja showed the jury what were dozens of photographs that O’Brien had objected to—photos that truly depicted the brutality of the final moments of Carmen’s life and the result of her remains decomposing for months inside garbage bags.

The ropes.

The plastic bags.

The bones and skin tissue (what was left, anyway).

Carmen was no longer a fun-loving, roaming spirit, whom family members memorialized as the beautiful woman on the front of their T-shirts; to the jury, she was a bag of bones and decomposed tissue rotting in the woods.

Zagaja called Detective Kevin McDonald, who explained how the body was found, where and what transpired afterward. Zagaja was smart to put up large aerial maps of the region. Through those photos, it was apparent that Carmen’s killer had dumped her body at the first possible wooded area over the Connecticut–Rhode Island border. From this unique bird’s-eye view, jurors could see that if Ned was driving along the road, looking left and right, coming into Rhode Island from Connecticut, there was no other utility road on either side of the main road until this one area near Peter Mareck’s house. Through testimony and photos, it was all clear: Ned had crossed the border, trolled along the main thoroughfare, spotted Grassy Pond Road on the left, turned, driven for a few moments, pulled over, dumped Carmen’s body into an area twenty or so yards into the woods, and driven back home.

V

Luz made a few calls. Asked around. Jackie had seemingly disappeared. But then she ran into Jackie’s boyfriend. “If you see her, or she returns home, call me.”

He said he would.

Heading toward the end of the first week of trial, Luz got that call. She was sitting in the courtroom at the time. “Jackie’s here,” the boyfriend said. “She’s taking a shower.”

During a break—Zagaja had been questioning Ned’s boss at American Frozen Foods—Luz pulled Zagaja aside. “We found her.”

“Great. Where?”

“We’re heading over to her apartment now to go get her.”

Rovella and Zagaja thought for a moment to send a few black-and-whites. After all, there was a warrant out for a parole violation. But then they thought against it. They needed Jackie to testify. They didn’t need her to run. (Luz still had no idea that there was a warrant out for Jackie’s arrest.)

When she got to the apartment, Jackie was in the shower. Luz sat directly outside the bathroom door and waited. Jackie had no idea she was there.

As soon as Jackie opened the door and saw Luz, she quickly closed the door and locked it. “Jackie,” Luz pleaded, “let’s sit down and talk…. This is for your mother.”

Jackie unlocked the door and let her aunt in. She was crying. Luz was gentle, sincere. “I can’t go,” Jackie said.

“This is to make justice for Carmen, honey, they need you.”

“Auntie, Auntie,” Jackie said, “but they’re going to arrest me.”

“You need to tell them about that day you confronted him at Kenney’s and what he said to you.”

“Auntie,” Jackie said through tears. She had just turned twenty. She was a mother herself. She had been running. Not from the law. But from her own demons and feelings about her mother’s murder. She missed Carmen. Missed her tenderness and kind touch. Those mother-daughter times they’d shared.

Luz said, “Jackie,” putting her arm around her shoulder, “they are not going to arrest you. I promise on my kids’ lives.” Luz was speaking the truth from her heart. “It’s hard for me and Sonia to sit there every day…you can help.” Jackie started to get dressed. Luz continued, “It’s going to be all right.”

“You promise?” Jackie asked.

“I promise. Listen, girl, it’s not easy for you, it’s not easy for us being there every day. Now they need you.
We
need you.”

Jackie thought about it.

“Come on, honey,” Luz whispered.

VI

Zagaja finished questioning Ned’s boss and there was a little break in the day’s proceedings. He looked over at Rovella while he was collecting his files and paperwork. “I hope they found Jackie. She’s up next.”