by Ann Rule
I could not refute that. It had to be, but it seemed hollow that none of us understood that his ego, our egos and the rituals of the courtroom itself, the jokes and the nervous laughter were veiling the gut reactions that we should all be facing.
We were all on “this railroad train running …”
I looked at the jury, and I knew. Never mind the odds. My God, they, are going to kill Ted.
46
TED HIMSELF had one “last hurrah” before final arguments. He had studied the blowups of his teeth carefully and listened stony-faced as Dr. Souviron testified that there was no question in his mind that it was Ted Bundy—and only Ted Bundy—who had sunk his teeth into Lisa Levy’s buttock. In the nearly emptied courtroom, Ted had even mugged a bit for the cameras, holding a model of his teeth against the picture of the dead girl’s bruised flesh. And he had realized just how damning this forensic dentistry evidence was to his case.
In the absence of the jury, Bundy called his investigator, Joe Aloi, to the stand. Aloi is a hearty, husky man with Latin coloring, given to wearing flamboyant tropical shirts when he is not in the courtroom, a respected investigator who often joked with the press and the attorneys in the lounge of the Holiday Inn. Now Ted was trying, through him, to bring forth physical evidence that would dispute the accuracy of Souviron’s testimony. The chip in one of his front teeth had not been there at the time of the Chi Omega murders, not according to Ted.
Aloi identified some photographs sent to him from Chuck Dowd, the managing editor of the Tacoma News Tribune, Ted’s hometown paper. The pictures represented a chronological sequence since his first arrest in Utah.
Ted asked, “What was the purpose of enlarging certain portions of the photographs that you were attempting to obtain in chronological order?”
“I had received information from Mr. Gene Miller of the Miami Herald concerning a seminar Dr. Souviron had given. I was very concerned about when this characteristic occurred.”
“And what characteristic is that?”
“This is concerning one of two front teeth—I don’t know all the names—and I was concerned about this chip on the inside of the tooth, and whether it was or was not there and whatever specific times we could document some of the photographs in evidence to depict that this particular tooth was in very good condition at certain times. And, of course, at other times when Dr. Souviron had taken his samples from you if the tooth was in a different condition.”
Ted asked what the photo blowups had revealed. An objection was sustained. Judge Cowart coached the defendant defense attorney. “You might ask him if he was able to accomplish [discovery of the teeth in different conditions]. Try it that way and see if I object.”
“The court is always right.”
“No,” Cowart demurred. “Not always.”
“Did you accomplish what you set out to do?”
“No sir, I did not.”
“And why not?”
Aloi responded, “The media, for legal reasons and perhaps for other reasons, would not be very cooperative.”
The investigator explained that various newspapers would not release their negatives to him, negatives of pictures of Ted Bundy flashing his familiar wide smile. Aloi had been unable to lay his hands on photographs taken of Ted before his Pensacola arrest that would indicate positively that there was no chip in his front tooth at that time.
Ted changed places again, and, again, became the witness, questioned by Peggy Good. He testified that his tooth had been chipped in the middle of March 1978, two months after the murders in Tallahassee.
“I recall I was eating dinner in my cell in the Leon County Jail and I bit down hard, just like you bite down on a rock or pebble, and I pulled it out and it was just a white piece of tooth, and it just chipped out of one of my central incisors.”
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 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 and thinks about what he’s going to do and then goes out and 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, ‘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 st
olen 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 eyewitness, 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, the last barrier between Ted and the electric chair, stood now to speak for the defense. She had little to work with—no alibis, 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 and to nibble away at the jury’s consciences. Ms. Good had to overcome the testimony of forty-nine prosecution witnesses and the one hundred exhibits entered by the prosecution. She could fall back on only talk of “reasonable doubt.”
“The defense is not denying there was a great and horrible tragedy that occurred in Tallahassee on January 15. 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 eyewitness 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 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 23 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 seemed to have gone out of the fourth-floor courtroom. It was, for the moment, an empty stage bereft of its players.
The ninth floor, however, had become a beehive 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— 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 killed only another ex-con. This case involved the deaths of innocent young women.
Ted gave a telephon
e 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 any place, 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 and pencils.
4:12 P.M. Watson announced “I’m going to the head. Hold ’em down if they knock.”
5:12 P.M. Watson said 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 returned to the courtroom. The jury had a question. It would be their only inquiry. They wanted to know if the hairs were found in the pantyhose mask. The answer was that they were shaken from the mask.
The jury had stopped its deliberation to eat the sandwiches which were sent in. The feeling was that they would deliberate for a short time longer and then retire for the night. There was such a massive amount of testimony and evidence to be got through.
And then, the word came. Electrifying. It was only 9:20 P.M. The jury had reached a verdict. As they filed in, only Foreman Rudolph Treml glanced at Ted. He silently handed seven slips of paper to Judge Cowart, who passed them to the court clerk.
Shirley Lewis read them aloud. Guilty as charged … guilty as charged … guilty … guilty … guilty … guilty … guilty.
Ted betrayed no emotion. There was a slight raising of his eyebrows, and with his right hand to his chin, he rubbed gently. When it is all over, he sighed.
Again, it his mother who cried.