by James Halpin
“Shit,” he muttered under his breath.
Although it had been more than a year, things had not quite returned to normal between Daly and Wojcik. After a brief and awkward meeting at the hospital, Daly hadn’t even seen Wojcik for a few months while he was out of work recovering from the gunshot wound. When he came back, he’d tried to rekindle the relationship, but he could tell Wojcik was cooler than he had been before. He still returned Daly’s calls and fed him the occasional tip, but Daly could tell Wojcik was keeping him at a greater distance than in the past. They had never been drinking buddies, but they had been closer to friends than business associates before. That had changed since the shooting.
“Hey Phil,” Daly said, extending a hand.
Wojcik reached out and clapped it with an athlete’s exaggerated bravado.
“What’s happening, my man?” he said. “You ready for your big day?”
“As ready as I’m going to be,” Daly said.
“You’ll be fine. Just tell the jury what happened and stick to the facts. Piece of cake,” Wojcik said, clapping Daly on the shoulder with a meaty hand. He nodded over Daly’s shoulder as the county’s top prosecutor got off the elevator. “Bob wasn’t too happy with you after what happened with Radcliffe, but he isn’t going to throttle you on the stand. You’re his witness, after all.”
The district attorney, Robert Phillips, had a stout frame perpetually shrouded in immaculate pinstripe suits. He wore Italian leather shoes, gold watches, and red power ties that complimented his slicked salt-and-pepper hair. Over the years, he had built a reputation for being a hard-charging and aggressive prosecutor. He’d been with the office as an assistant district attorney for nearly two decades, during which he’d led the prosecution to victory on some of the most high-profile and heinous cases in county history. When his predecessor retired, Robert Phillips decided to make a run for the office and won a landslide victory with overwhelming support from the legal community.
Phillips was a deeply personable man, despite his excesses and drive for victory. He was the sort who would cross the room to shake hands with anyone and everyone to say hello and ask about the wife and kids. Making his rounds through the courthouse, he would talk sports with the law clerks and weekend plans with the secretaries. His natural charm ensured he had few enemies. Juries found him charming. Journalists found him quotable. Cops found him tough on criminals. Defense attorneys found him unflappable and fair.
Phillips strode briskly toward the heavy wooden courtroom doors without meeting Daly’s gaze, even though he’d given Wojcik a nod. Without breaking stride, Phillips led his entourage of assistant district attorneys, detectives, and trial assistants through the portals into Courtroom Four. Inside, the grand mosaics and white Italian marble that brightened the rotunda gave way to perpetually drawn burgundy silk velour draperies that cast shadows over the dark mahogany furnishings. Two large tables at the front were set up in front of the jury box for the prosecution. Opposite them, on the far wall from the jury, was a single large desk set aside for the defense. Without bothering to acknowledge Radcliffe or his attorney, the prosecution team made a beeline to the front of the room and settled in at their desks. Wojcik excused himself from Daly’s company and followed suit.
Daly entered the courtroom and sat down at the back of the hard wooden pews lining the gallery. He looked toward Radcliffe with interest to get the first glimpse of the man that he’d had in months. Radcliffe looked somewhat slimmer than the last time. The menu at the Luzerne County Correctional Facility sometimes had that effect. Radcliffe’s salty hair looked to have been freshly trimmed, and he was clean-shaven. The time behind bars had not helped with the furrow lines on his forehead, but Radcliffe’s cheeks and nose still had their rosy sheen. He was also wearing a Navy blue jacket with a light blue tie — a marked improvement from the yellow prison jumpsuit and slippers he’d sported the last time Daly laid eyes on him.
Radcliffe was leaning close to the ear of his attorney, Melissa Cooper, and speaking in earnest about something that clearly had him worked up. Cooper was nodding and holding a hand up to placate Radcliffe, signaling that whatever problem he was having would be resolved.
Cooper wore a black dress suit and an ivory-hued blouse that stood in stark contrast to her jet black hair, which was pulled back into a ponytail. A former prosecutor who had switched teams, Cooper had a piercing gaze and firm handshake. She was a short woman, but any defendant who took the stand thinking he could intimidate her had another think coming. Over the years, Cooper had developed a reputation for being a bulldog in the courtroom. She was known for her aggressive cross-examination style and her ability to quickly process new information and adapt.
While Phillips had a reputation for his warmth, Cooper was known for what some saw to be a chilly disposition. She wasn’t the sort to engage in small talk; when she was in court she was all business. To some, she came across as distant. But over the years, Daly had gotten to know her and he knew she was really just intensely focused on her work. And that intensity paid off: she had a talent for making juries find doubt when none should have existed. More than once, talk of the courthouse had been dominated by the stunned whispering of attorneys who couldn’t believe the jury had sat through the same case they did.
That ability came at a steep price. Cooper was one of the most expensive attorneys in the county, but those who could afford her gladly paid what she asked. It wasn’t possible to buy one’s freedom in Luzerne County, but hiring Melissa Cooper was the next best thing.
From the back of the courtroom, Daly craned his neck to try and learn why Radcliffe was upset. In his hands, Radcliffe held a report that he was reading with what seemed to be a growing sense of alarm. One of the thin, flexible pens that the county jail issued to prevent weaponization tapped rhythmically against the desk. Underneath, his right knee was pumping like a piston.
Before Daly was able to get a look at the cover of the report, the tipstaff called out from the front of the room.
“All rise,” the voice echoed through the cavernous courtroom.
Judge Thomas Perry glided across the white-tiled floor and ascended the bench with the black robes of justice flowing in his wake. He set a steaming cup of coffee on the bench next to the gavel and sat back in his plush leather chair, shifting his gaze between the lawyers.
“Good morning, counsel,” Perry said. “Are we ready to proceed?”
Phillips was out of his seat before the words left the judge’s mouth, ready to address the court.
“Good morning, your honor,” he said. “Before we do, there is one matter that has come to our attention.”
“Very well. Will counsel approach?”
Cooper joined the prosecution team and approached the bench so that the parties stood directly in front of the judge to address the court.
“Your honor,” Phillips began, “Over the weekend, a situation was brought to my attention that has great bearing on this case. I learned that late last week the police received a tip about the location of the defendant’s missing electronics. Our investigators conducted a search at the location in a wooded area and recovered a number of items, including a computer, a hard drive and several thumb drives. The items appeared to have been smashed and burned. Obviously, we have not had enough time to conduct a thorough investigation into this information, but our detectives have reason to believe these items could contain evidence of Dr. Radcliffe engaging in illicit sexual activity with minor children.”
Judge Perry’s eyebrows rose up as Phillips paused for dramatic effect, ensuring the reporters in the courtroom had a chance to finish scribbling the quote.
Cooper saw her chance to interject and quickly stepped in, drawing a sideways scowl from Phillips.
“Judge, we picked a jury in this matter last Friday,” Cooper said. “We all showed up here this morning ready to begin the trial. Now, at the moment that the Common
wealth is supposed to be delivering its opening statement, Mr. Phillips comes in saying he’s potentially found photographic evidence of my client committing a crime. This evidence was not included in discovery, and from the sound of things Mr. Phillips hasn’t even seen it yet. As your honor well knows, the defense has the right to inspect any and all evidence presented by the Commonwealth. For them to come in with this now — this isn’t the eve of trial. This isn’t even an eleventh-hour surprise. This is an outright ambush.”
“Your honor, the defense did not receive these materials in discovery because the Commonwealth did not have them,” Phillips retorted. “As soon as this was brought to my attention, I contacted Ms. Cooper to bring her up to speed.”
Judge Perry squinted at Phillips a long moment, seemingly trying to assess whether the prosecutor was in earnest or blowing smoke. The judge had been a defense attorney prior to taking the bench. That had been more than twenty years earlier, but he never seemed to have lost the defense attorney’s underdog spirit. Most courthouse watchers would say he was a fair judge. But he also wasn’t afraid to buck popular opinion and rebuff the prosecution, even in a high-profile case.
Sitting on the bench, Judge Perry pulled at his chin and peered out at the courtroom through thick-rimmed black glasses before speaking.
“The defense has the right to discovery — all of it. There’s no question,” he said.
“Of course, your honor,” Phillips said, trying to sound agreeable.
“If I let this come in now, the defense will be highly prejudiced. How can Ms. Cooper effectively defend against something she knew nothing about before the morning of trial?” the judge asked.
“Again, your honor, I do apologize for the timing, but it was simply out of our control,” Phillips said. “Perhaps the appropriate remedy here is for this matter to be continued to allow the defense to examine the data?”
“That could solve the issue. Ms. Cooper?” the judge turned to the defense.
“Your honor, I do not believe that would be appropriate,” Cooper said. “As the court, I’m sure, is aware, Dr. Radcliffe has the right under rule six-hundred of the Pennsylvania Rules of Criminal Procedure for his trial to commence within one year of being charged. The defense has not requested a single continuance in this matter. This case has only been subject to a couple of brief continuances because of court-scheduling conflicts. Put simply, the Commonwealth is running out of time. If the prosecution requests a continuance, I will have no choice but to file a motion seeking dismissal of all charges, with prejudice.”
“Mr. Phillips?” Judge Perry turned his gaze back to the prosecution.
“I believe that a continuance at this juncture is the appropriate remedy and that the time should run against the defense,” Phillips said. “The Commonwealth cannot be expected to scour the ends of the Earth for evidence that a defendant purposefully hid. The delay in finding this evidence is solely the result of Dr. Radcliffe’s actions. Barring evidence under such circumstances would be tantamount to encouraging wholesale evidence dumping.”
“I’m sure the Commonwealth has been eagerly seeking this evidence for over a year,” Cooper shot back. “The anonymous tip makes it clear that someone knew where it was. It also makes clear that the Commonwealth failed to identify that person in a timely manner, even though it must have been someone close to Dr. Radcliffe. The Commonwealth failed to exercise due diligence, and now they’re asking Dr. Radcliffe to pay the price by sitting in jail while they get to work.”
Judge Perry gave a slight nod of his head, signaling he’d heard enough.
“I tend to agree that the Commonwealth might have been able to better vet those in Dr. Radcliffe’s immediate circle to see if they knew where these items were,” the judge said. “But the fact of the matter is that this evidence appears to have gone missing as a result of the defendant’s actions. This court is not going to make a ruling that rewards such conduct. I will grant a two-month continuance in this matter to allow the items to be processed. But this trial will start on the twelfth of August, barring an act of God.”
CHAPTER 25
Monday, August 12, 2019
9:43 a.m.
Robert Phillips looked at the floor as he walked to the lectern, a slight smile coming to the corner of his mouth in a rehearsed aw-shucks manner. He set a stack of notes on the mahogany surface and rested his large hands on the sides, nodding to the judge for permission to begin his opening statement.
“May it please the court. Counsel,” Phillips said, giving Melissa Cooper an amiable smile. He turned and faced the jury. “Ladies and gentlemen, I don’t mean to alarm you. But I’m sorry to say what I’ve got to tell you is quite shocking. This isn’t simply a case of child abuse or even murder. This is a case about broken promises, violated trust and, most of all, greed. Not greed for money, but the greed of a man who would do whatever it took to get what he wanted — no matter who paid the price.
“By day, Dr. Marvin Radcliffe was a seemingly respected psychiatrist who worked closely with troubled youth in our community. You’re going to hear about the children he helped and the volunteer work he’s done. You’ll find out that he serves on the boards of several prominent organizations in our community. You’re even going to hear that he has previously testified for the prosecution — my office — in criminal cases where we needed psychological assessments.
“Well, he fooled us all, myself included. Because you’re also going to hear about Dr. Radcliffe’s dark side. The secret life he lived and concealed from us all. You’re going to hear that Dr. Radcliffe bore witness to horrific crimes against the four victims — Justin Gonzalez, Kimberly Foster, Emma Nguyen, and David Kowalski. All of them were teenagers. Still children. And they were sexually abused, forced to perform unspeakable acts in front of a camera for the entertainment of depraved men,” Phillips said.
Here, Phillips paused for effect, pretending to scribble a note on his papers as he let the jurors think over his turn of the phrase. A couple of them fidgeted in their seats, rubbing their hands over their mouths. Phillips could hardly have been more pleased.
“All of those children are now dead. And I would like you to remember that they’re dead because they saw that side, that secret side, of Dr. Radcliffe. Ladies and gentlemen, the testimony you are going to hear will prove beyond a reasonable doubt that Dr. Radcliffe conspired with another individual — a substitute teacher named Vincent Gillespie, who himself was involved in this child pornography ring — to kill these children. The children were incriminating evidence, and Dr. Radcliffe made a calculated decision to get rid of them, no different than a robber might throw away a gun after a stick-up.
“But what is different about this case is the depths of the depravity Dr. Radcliffe and Mr. Gillespie showed in disposing of their trash. They didn’t simply put a bullet in the heads of these children. They didn’t slit their throats and kill them quickly. No, what they did was much more insidious and sadistic.
“These men created a white-noise app for these kids to install on their cellphones. The app was purportedly meant to help them sleep. What the children didn’t know was that behind the static, Dr. Radcliffe had hidden a subliminal message — a recording of Vincent Gillespie’s voice. The message said, ‘They’re watching me always. Nothing can make it stop. End it now. Before they find out.’
“Now, I don’t know what the defense is going to argue, but I submit that there’s only one way to interpret that message. And on top of that, Dr. Radcliffe was continuing to see these children in therapy sessions. You will hear that he and Mr. Gillespie were doing everything in their power to make these kids feel desperate and hopeless. They used them and decided to throw them out like household trash, so they used these kids’ own shame against them in a twisted plot to avoid detection. It was psychological warfare. Dr. Radcliffe and Mr. Gillespie tormented and bullied these kids until they were utterly broken. These kids h
ad no one to turn to because the people they were supposed to trust — their psychiatrist and their teacher — were conspiring against them to end their lives.
“Ladies and gentlemen, there is only one common-sense ending to this story. Dr. Marvin Radcliffe did everything he could to ensure those kids died and couldn’t testify against him. He employed duress and deception in using the subliminal messages to get in their heads. That is the crime of causing suicide. He engaged in grossly negligent conduct in counseling these children and encouraging them to take their own lives. That’s involuntary manslaughter. And the evidence will clearly show he was involved in a criminal conspiracy with Mr. Gillespie.
“In the end, I trust you will find Dr. Radcliffe guilty as charged. Thank you.”
Phillips slowly gathered up his notes and stepped away from the lectern, resuming his seat at the prosecution table. Judge Perry looked to the defense.
“Ms. Cooper?”
“Thank you, your honor,” Cooper said.
As she stood up, her chair slid back across the tiled floor, sending the echo of wood scraping through the courtroom. She walked to the lectern briskly. Although the gallery was full of spectators, the sound of her heels clicking on the floor was the only break in the courtroom silence.
Cooper laid several pages of notes on the lectern, but she didn’t have a prepared speech. She preferred to speak directly to the jurors. She also found prepared speeches made it difficult to improvise and respond to what opposing counsel had said. Altering a prepared speech on the fly always seemed to her to result in a disorganized rebuttal, which the jury could take as a sign of being unprepared.
Looking up from her notes, Cooper scanned the jury for several moments, looking at each member before she spoke.
“Ladies and gentlemen, we are a nation of laws. These laws are the core of our beliefs, and they say that the prosecution has the burden of proving Dr. Radcliffe’s guilt beyond a reasonable doubt. I submit they won’t be able to do that. They can’t do that, because our laws also say Dr. Radcliffe has the right to a fair trial. He has the right to confront his accuser. As you’re going to hear, the only person who ever accused Dr. Radcliffe of wrongdoing is dead. And Dr. Radcliffe isn’t accused of killing him. The police did that.