The Stranger Beside Me (55 page)

Danny McKeever rose to cross-examine.

"You don't know what the Utah dental records look like, do you?"

"I've never seen the dental records themselves."

"Would you be surprised to know that those teeth appear to be chipped from the Utah dental records?" (Which, indeed, they did.)

"Yes, I would."

Now, for the first time, Ted called his friend, Carole Ann Boone, to the witness stand. Carole Ann answered Bundy's

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questions about her visits to him in the Garfield County Jail in late 1977.

"Did you visit me there? How many times?"

"I don't have my records with me, but I believe I visited with you on six or seven consecutive days-both in the morning and the afternoon. On a few afternoons, we visited in the law library in the courthouse and then we would walk back together to the jail, about half a block." Ms. Boone testified that to the best of her memory, Ted had had no chip at all in his front tooth at that time.

Ted argued vehemently for a delay, for subpoenas that would force all newspapers to turn over their negatives of him. "I think you'd understand what I'm getting at. If that chip did not occur until March, 1978, a month or two after the Chi Omega crimes, and if the state's odontologists say that space between the two linear abrasions could only have been made by a tooth with a chip or a gap between the two central incisors then there's obviously something wrong with the observations made by the state's odontologists. Our contention all along, Your Honor, is that they have taken my teeth and twisted them every which way but loose to fit."

It was a vain plea. Cowart ruled that there would be no dash for new evidence on Ted's teeth, no subpoenas. As Ted moved to reopen, Cowart intoned:

"Mr. Bundy, you may jump up and down, hang from the chandelier, do anything you want to, but the court has ruled and the case is closed." Ted muttered some derogatory statements under his breath.

"You impress me not, sir . . ." the judge replied.

"Well, I suppose the feeling is mutual, Your Honor."

"I'm sure it is, bless your heart."

Larry Simpson rose to give the closing arguments for the prosecution, speaking in his usual subdued manner; he talked for forty minutes.

"First degree murder can be committed in the state of Florida in two different ways. It can be done by a person who premeditates %nd thinks about what he's going to do and then goes out anA does it. That's exactly what the evidence showed in this particular case, a premeditated, a brutal murder of two young girls sleeping in their beds. The second way is during the commission of a burglary. The state has proved a burglary in this case.

"I asked Nita Neary the question-on the witness stand-380

'Nita, do you recall the man you saw at the door of the Chi Omega sorority house the morning of January 15, 1978?' Her exact words were, 'Yes, sir. I do.' I asked her 'Nita, is that man in the courtroom today?'

She said, 'Yes sir. He is.' And she pointed him out. That in and of itself is proof of this defendant's guilt, and it is sufficient to support a conviction in this case.

"In Sherrod's, Mary Ann Piccano also saw the man. He scared her so bad she can't even remember what he looked like. He came up to her and asked her to dance. What were the words Mary Ann Piccano used to her friend when she went to dance with the man? She said, 'I think I'm about to dance with an ex-con . . .' Ladies and gentlemen, this man was next door to the Chi Omega sorority house, the morning of the murders . . . and there was something wrong with him!"

Simpson continued to tote up the circumstantial evidence, the testimony of Rusty Gage and Henry Palumbo of the Oak that they had seen "Chris" standing at the front door of the rooming house just after the attacks, seen him looking back toward the campus. "They told you that the defendant in this case said to them that he thought this was a professional job-a professional job-done by somebody who had done it before and was probably long gone.

"Ladies and gentlemen, this man recognized from the morning of these murders that this was a professional job, that no clues had been left. He thought he'd gotten away scot free."

Simpson pointed out the links with the license tag stolen from Randy Ragan's van, the theft of the Volkswagen bug, the escape to Pensacola, the room left wiped clean of prints, empty of all possessions.

"He had loaded up and packed up everything he had and he was getting out of Dodge. That's what it amounts to. The heat was on and he was going."

Simpson spoke of Officer David Lee's arrest of Bundy in Pensacola.

"Theodore Robert Bundy said to him, 'I wish you had killed me. If I run now, will you shoot me?' Why did he say those things to Officer Lee? Here is a man that has created, committed, the most horrible and brutal murders known to the Tallahassee area. That's why. He can't live with himself anymore and he wants Officer Lee to kill him right there." Simpson built to a big finish. He had dealt with the eye

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witness, the circumstantial evidence, and now he brought in Patricia Lasko's testimony linking the two, curly-brown hairs in the pantyhose mask beside Cheryl Thomas's bed to their source: Ted Bundy's head. "That pantyhose mask came directly from the man that committed these crimes. The hairs from that pantyhose mask also came from that man." Souviron's testimony was the clincher.

"What was his conclusion? With a reasonable degree of dental certainty, Theodore Robert Bundy made that bite mark in the body of Lisa Levy. Asked in cross-examination about the possibility of someone else in the world having teeth that could have left those marks, what did he say? He said it would be like finding a needle in a haystack. A needle in a haystack.

"When Dr. Levine was asked about the possibility of someone else leaving this bite mark, or someone else having teeth that could leave this bite mark, he told you it was a practical impossibility. A practical impossibility."

Simpson ended by decrying the defense's desperation.

"On cross examination, Dr. DeVore, the defense expert, had to tell you, and did, that the defendant, Theodore Robert Bundy, could have left that bite mark. Ladies and gentlemen, the defense was in a real problem situation. Anytime they've got to put a witness on [who will say] that their man could have committed this crime, they've got real problems. And it was a desperate move-a damned desperate move-that might have succeeded-but did not."

Final arguments, ideally, are filled with the kind of rhetoric that will keep listeners on the very edges of their seats. This is the stuff of which movies and television dramas are made. But the Bundy Miami trial had none of that fire, nothing to grip or compel, from the attorneys not even at the close.

Only the defendant and the judge filled their roles as if they'd been chosen by central casting.

Two jurors drowsed, incredibly, drowsed in their chairs as Ted Bundy's life hung in the balance.

Peggy Good, me last barrier between Ted and the electric chair, stood nowito speak for the defense. She had little to work with-no anbis, no surprise witness to rise from the gallery and shout that there was, indeed, an alibi. She could only attempt to tear down the prosecution's case, to nibble away at the jury's consciences. Ms. Good had to overcome the testimony of forty-nine prosecution witnesses, the one hundred 382

exhibits entered by the prosecution. She could only fall back on talk of "reasonable doubt."

"The defense is not denying there was a great and horrible tragedy that occurred in Tallahassee on January 15th. True, that these four unfortunate women were beaten while sleeping in their beds, injured . . . killed. But I ask you not to compound that tragedy by convicting the wrong man when the state's evidence is insufficient to prove beyond a reasonable doubt that Mr. Bundy. and no one else, is the person that committed these crimes. How tragic it would be if a man's life could be taken from him because twelve people thought he was probably guilty, but they were not sure. You must assure yourself that you will not wake up and doubt your decision and wonder if you convicted the wrong man here two weeks after he is dead and gone."

Ms. Good cast aspersions on the police investigation. "There are basically two ways for the police to investigate a crime. They can go to the crime scene, they can look for the clues, and they can follow the clues to their logical conclusions and find a suspect. Or they can find the suspect, decide on the suspect, and decide to make the evidence fit the suspect and work to make the evidence fit only him." Good listed the areas she considered weak, condemning the introduction of the masses of bloodied sheets, bloody photographs, the lack of fingerprint matching, mishandling of evidence-even the eye-witness identification.

She found Nita Neary's identification faulty. "She wants to help if she can. And she can't let herself believe that the man who committed these crimes is still out on the street."

Good tried feebly to make Ted's retreat from Tallahassee seem reasonable.

"There are lots of reasons a person might run from the cops. One reason is that you might be afraid you'd be railroaded. You might be afraid you'd be charged with something you didn't do. It's clear Mr. Bundy left town because he was out of money. He was running out on the rent." Peggy Good was like the little boy with his finger in the dike, but there were too many new freshets erupting to hold back. In dealing with the testimony by Drs. Souviron and Levine, she suggested that the investigators had found Ted Bundy and matched his teeth to the bite, rather than searching for the person who had made the bite. "If you want to convict on the best shell in a confidence game, maybe you'll

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accept what Souviron and Levine have to say. It will be a sad day for our system of justice if a man can be convicted in our courts on the quality of the state's evidence, and you can put a man's life on the line because they say he has crooked teeth, without any proof that such are unique, without any scientific facts or data base to their conclusions."

Simpson came back with rebuttal. It was almost over.

"Ladies and gentlemen, the man who committed this crime was smart. This man premeditated this murder. He knew what he was going to do before he did it, and planned it, and prepared himself for it. If there is any question in your mind about that, just look at the pantyhose mask. That is a weapon that was prepared by the perpetrator of this crime. Now, ladies and gentlemen, somebody took the time to make this weapon right here, this instrument that could be used for both-a mask that could hide identity ... or also for strangulation.

"Anybody who took the time to do that is not going to leave fingerprints at a crime scene. And there was not a single fingerprint in room 12

at the Oak; the room had been wiped clean!

"Ladies and gentlemen, this man is a professional, just as he told Rusty Gage at the Oak back in January, 1978. He's the kind of a man smart enough to stand in the courtroom and move to the end of the bannister and cross-examine witnesses in this case because he thinks he is smart enough to get away with any crime, just like he told Rusty Gage." Ted himself had said nothing. He'd sat quietly at the defense table, sometimes staring at his hands, hands that did not appear particularly powerful, small hands with tapering fingers, knobbed at the joints as if with early arthritis.

It was 2:57 P.M. on July 23rd when the jurors retired to debate his guilt or innocence. Dave Watson, the old bailiff, guarded the door. An hour later, Ted was returned to his cell in the Dade County Jail to await the verdict.

All the life seeded to have gone out of the fourth-floor courtroom; it was, jor the moment, an empty stage bereft of its players. I The ninth floor, however, had become a bee-hive of activity, alive with reporters, all the attorneys, anyone connected with the case-save the victims and the witnesses. The odds were still even. Fifty-fifty. Acquittal or conviction, and bets were being placed. It would surely be a long, long night-384

perhaps days before a verdict could be reached. There might even be a hung jury.

Louise Bundy was in Miami, waiting with Carole Ann Boone and her son-waiting to see if Louise's son would live or die. Although the penalty phase would be separate, no one doubted that, if Ted were convicted, he would also receive the death penalty. Spenkelink had only killed another ex-con; this case involved the deaths of innocent young women.

Ted gave a telephone interview as he waited to hear.

"Is it just being in the wrong place at the wrong time?" the reporter asked.

His voice came through, strong, almost surprised-sounding at finding himself in this predicament. "It's just being Ted Bundy in anyplace, I guess . . . anymore. It started out in Utah and it seemed like one set of circumstances seemed to bootstrap another, to feed on one another, and once you get people thinking in that vein . . . Police officers, they want to solve crimes, and I sometimes don't think they really think things through; they're willing to take the convenient alternative. The convenient alternative is me."

It was 3:50 P.M. The jurors sent out for legal pads, pencils. 4:12 P.M. Watson announces, "I'm going to the head. Hold 'em down if they knock."

5:12 P.M. Watson says the principals are spread out around Miami, that it will take half an hour to return them when the jury reaches a verdict. 6:31 P.M. Judge Cowart returns to the courtroom. The jury has a question. It will be their only inquiry. They want to know if the hairs were found in the panty-hose mask. The answer is that they were shaken from the mask.

The jury has stopped its deliberation to eat the sandwiches which were sent in. The feeling is that they will deliberate for a short time longer, and then retire for the night. There is such a massive amount of testimony and evidence to be got through.

And then, the word came. Electrifying. It is only 9:20 P.M. The jury has reached a verdict. As they file in, only Foreman Rudolph Treml glances at Ted. He silently hands seven slips of paper to Judge Cowart, who passes thein to the court clerk.