Love Her To Death

by M. William Phelps

  As Larry Miller finished testifying, the day ended.

  As the gallery left the courtroom, word buzzing in the halls was that the state’s next witness would be explosive.

  No, not Angie Funk. She was still waiting in the wings—in hiding, more like it. But her husband, Randall, was up next.

  What would the other man at the center of this affair have to say? Would he trash his wife and her lover? Did Randall know anything about the crime?

  72

  Randall Funk had an amorphous way about him. He was everyman: that guy you passed ten times a day and did not notice. Simple. Sincere. Friendly. Very much likable. The hell this man had been through over the past year was something no one could deny him. He was a victim, too—one more on Michael Roseboro’s growing list. His wife’s name and moral character had been attacked from all sides, perhaps rightly so. He, himself, had been viewed as a pushover, having stayed with her, helping her to raise her bastard child. The comment sections on the local public Internet forums had been brutal on Randall Funk.

  Entirely merciless.

  Angie Funk’s husband took the stand and stared at Roseboro, who sat diagonally across from him. Randall was not happy to be where the state had placed him. This was clear in his tense gaze. Randall, a project manager for a building supply company, had a straitlaced, professional look about him. In one photo, he sports a spotty salt-and-pepper beard, which had not fully come in, eyeglasses, a smile.

  Everyman.

  Craig Stedman called in Randall Funk to alibi Angie. As much as Stedman needed to prove that Michael Roseboro committed the murder, he had to demonstrate to the jury that everyone else had been eliminated, especially Angie.

  The slim, owlish man first told the jury who his wife was and how many kids they had together—a six-and four-year-old—which made his role in the saga seem all the more tragic and heartbreaking.

  “And am I also correct,” Stedman asked after talking Randall through his vitals, “that you were unaware that your wife was having any type of affair prior to the murder of Jan Roseboro?”

  “That’s correct.”

  From there, Stedman had Randall tell the jury that his wife was at home on the night of July 22, 2008, but that he had gone to bed at nine, read for a half hour, watched his wife come into the bedroom, change into her pajamas, then retreat back down the stairs.

  “And did she come up to bed at some point?”

  “Yes, sir, she did.”

  “About what time would that have been?”

  “Between ten and eleven.”

  Stedman made a point to have Randall Funk say that he had witnessed no injuries or scratches on his wife in the days following Jan Roseboro’s murder. And cleared up any confusion the defense might bring into the record regarding Angie having any relatives or siblings involved in wedding planning or wedding vow renewal.

  Allan Sodomsky, not moving from where he sat, said, “Good morning, Mr. Funk,” after Stedman finished his questioning. “I have nothing further, Your Honor.”

  Smart move. Beating up on the mistress’s husband was not going to get Sodomsky anywhere.

  Randall Funk walked out of the courtroom, literally passing his wife in the hallway, as Angie Funk, arguably the star of the show, made her way toward the witness stand.

  *  *  *

  Michael Roseboro’s son was nearly four months old as the boy’s mother sauntered with the excitement and cockiness of a peacock into the courtroom—her head held high, some said, a look of resolve on her face—and took her seat in the witness stand. Angie was thirty-nine years old. She still had that short, boyish haircut, embarrassed smile, and prideful manner about her. She was attractive in a subtle, girl-next-door sort of way—a librarian without her glasses. You could see the Mennonite influence on Angie in the way she dressed, carried herself, and the accent she spoke with.

  After asking Angie to tell the jury where she worked, for how long, and how old her two children with Randall were, Stedman asked Angie about “the other child.”

  “Matthew,” she said.

  “What’s his full name?”

  “Matthew Francis Alan Rudy.”

  A mouthful.

  Being prompted by Craig Stedman, Angie talked about where she lived in relation to the Roseboro Funeral Home, how long (“five years”) she had known Roseboro before the affair, and how she and her girlfriend would “make jokes” about Michael Roseboro and getting together with him, as if he were some sort of wizard who could make all her dreams come true.

  The tension between prosecutor and witness was taut and obvious. There was an air of a showdown in the room. Sarcasm on both sides. Angie talked about when they met, how they met, and how Roseboro made that call on May 29, 2008, asking her to lunch.

  The beginning of the end.

  After that, she said, they met up just about every workday at the Turkey Hill convenience store for morning coffee.

  As Stedman pried into the relationship and how it progressed, Angie became that same person he and his investigators had pulled out their hair over while interviewing. Getting her to extrapolate on anything, or add to the information presented, was impossible. I don’t remember and I don’t recall became Angie’s favorite phrases to lean on when she didn’t want to go any further into a subject. As in, “How many times,” Stedman asked, “would you say you stopped at the funeral home between June and July?”

  “Oh,” Angie stated, “I couldn’t tell you. I don’t know.”

  Stedman pressed, almost trying to walk her through a response, his voice getting louder as his patience waned. “The best estimate you can give. Are we talking about two times? Are we talking about twenty times?”

  “I don’t know,” Angie said. Then she paused. Thought about it: “Maybe five. I don’t know.”

  They discussed the first time she and Roseboro said they loved each other. Angie admitted Michael said it (“probably”) right before they had sex for the first time. The way she made it sound, he said it right before entering her.

  After that, Angie talked about Roseboro bringing up the notion of marriage. She said at the time of all this matrimony talk and the hot sex they were having, her marriage to Randall Funk was “very poor.”

  Of course, it was.

  As the afternoon progressed, Craig Stedman carefully coached Angie Funk down into the pipe dream that had become her extramarital relationship with Michael Roseboro. During her time on the stand, Angie rarely looked at her former lover. She stayed focused on Stedman and the questions, often staring down at her lap, even though she did her best to dodge the subjects that made her most uncomfortable. From all indications, Angie told the truth, as she saw it. She wasn’t there to support the prosecution and she wasn’t there to help Michael. Mainly, Angie Funk wanted to clarify what had happened between her and Michael Roseboro and, at the risk of using a cliché, set the record straight. (According to several law enforcement sources, in their shared opinion, Angie Funk was holding back. She knew more.)

  Stedman had his witness talk through several phone calls, most of which Angie said she could not recall. The prosecutor introduced charts and graphs to show the jury how many times the two lovebirds communicated, the results of which were staggering to look at on paper: between thirty and forty—sometimes more, almost never less—calls per day between them, not counting the e-mails and text messages. Most of the calls were generated by Roseboro, who appeared to be entirely absorbed by and obsessed with this woman and could not speak to her enough.

  One intense exchange between the DA and the mistress centered on the day of the murder. Stedman, in having Angie talk the jury through that day, was able to paint a picture of Michael’s mind-set in the hours leading up to Jan Roseboro’s murder. He had not spent the afternoon at the doctor’s, that was one lie he told police. Instead, Stedman wanted to point out, Roseboro had spent the afternoon with Angie.

  “You had sex with him on the afternoon of the murder, right?”

  “Y
es.”

  “Did you see any scratches on his face?”

  “No.”

  “What did he [ultimately] say about the scratches on his face?” Stedman questioned.

  “He said his youngest daughter did it while they were playing in the pool.”

  “That night?”

  “Yes.”

  “And that came up because you asked him about it?” the attorney asked.

  “Right.”

  “What other things do you remember talking to him about this case?”

  Angie thought about the question. “If he had prior affairs,” she answered.

  “Did you ask him about that?”

  “Yes.”

  “And what did he say?”

  “He said no.”

  Stedman had already submitted several stipulations, which Roseboro had signed, proving these additional affairs.

  In turn, Angie said, Roseboro had lied to her. One of many, apparently.

  Angie told the jury that Roseboro never mentioned jewelry missing until a week after the murder, when he suddenly realized that $40,000 worth of necklaces and bracelets and rings had vanished.

  She said he never expressed any “shock” that Jan had been murdered.

  She said Roseboro told her women were stalking him and his family.

  She said he mentioned how he wished she had never told the police about their affair.

  She said Roseboro kissed her in the parking lot of the funeral home after the murder.

  She said, between the time Jan was murdered and he was arrested, she didn’t remember how many calls and text messages they exchanged.

  So Stedman clarified those numbers: fifty-nine phone calls, 165 texts.

  In just over a week.

  Ouch.

  There was some talk about the fragmentary e-mails that forensic computer investigators had pulled from their computers, but Angie could not recall any additional information other than what was found.

  Shocking!

  Not even in a fragment e-mail with the subject line “Our future.”

  Nothing.

  Throughout the afternoon Stedman and Angie talked through the amount of lies Roseboro had told her and how (through the police) she found out he was lying. They discussed the baby. The promises Roseboro had made. Their dreams of marrying on a remote beach, with their children present. And the idea that Roseboro was concerned about losing everything to Jan, but had not once mentioned a plan for divorcing her. Only the cost of the end of the relationship.

  Then they moved on to the phone calls from prison in April, just over three months ago.

  Before he asked about the phone calls, Stedman tried to get Angie to admit that she still had feelings for Roseboro. “You don’t—you don’t really want to say anything up there that is going to help convict Mike Roseboro of murder, right?”

  Stunning the packed courtroom, Angie said: “I’m not …” Then she stopped. Regrouped. Continued: “If he’s guilty, then he’s guilty. But if he’s not, he’s not. I’m not going to alter my conversation or testimony to benefit anybody.”

  “You loved him in July ‘08?”

  “Yes.”

  “You loved him”—Stedman looked down at a yellow legal pad in front of him—“you clearly loved him in April ‘09, right?”

  “Yeah. I’ll always love him. But that doesn’t mean I’m going to protect him in any way.”

  Angie Funk had found her groove.

  “You love him right now, right?” Stedman asked, pushing harder.

  “I’ll always love him. He’s the father of my son.”

  Michael Roseboro looked on, without emotion or reaction.

  “And if he’s found not guilty, you’re going to be with him, right?”

  “No.”

  “He’s not in your future anymore?”

  “No.”

  “You’re in a loveless marriage right now, right?”

  Sucker punch.

  “For lack of a better word … yeah! “

  “And I’m sorry to get into that, but we’ve got to get into it. And you love Mr. Roseboro, right?”

  “Yes!”

  They had been talking back and forth, getting louder with each question. Cutting each other off. The judge looked dismayed, about to lose his patience. At one point, a few questions later, Judge Cullen interrupted, saying, “This yelling back and forth makes it impossible for the jury to understand what anyone is saying. This is not a track meet. There is no benefit to speed. I want you to clearly understand that.” He explained how he wanted the questioning to continue: wait until the other finishes.

  They both answered, “Yes, sir.”

  Stedman was able to get Angie to admit that she and Roseboro had talked about a reunion (if he was acquitted) during those April prison calls. “You guys, I mean, you’re saying you want him found not guilty because you’re not giving up on ‘us,’ on you and him, right?”

  “I have now.”

  “But not in April?”

  “No.”

  “What changed?” Stedman wondered.

  “I don’t know. Change of heart.” Angie looked down. Then up, directly at Stedman. “I don’t know.”

  Three or four questions later, “Have you truthfully told us all you know about the murder of Jan Roseboro?”

  Angie did not hesitate: “Absolutely.”

  The jury heard tapes of the prison calls. The transcripts were ready for them to study. Stedman was stuck on those calls. He wasn’t sure, simply because Angie sounded so unsure of herself, that Angie felt the way she insisted. He believed there were feelings between them, and a verdict of not guilty could spell a new beginning for the beleaguered couple. He referred to Angie’s statement on the tape of her not wanting the prosecution to have anything on Michael Roseboro. It sounded so final, so unwavering, as if she’d never give up on her man.

  Angie said what she had meant by that was how she didn’t want Roseboro to say something on the phone he’d later regret.

  “Like what?” Stedman pried.

  “Just like—” She stopped, and looked down again at her hands.

  “Just like what, Mrs. Funk?” the DA pressed.

  “Just like ‘I haven’t given up on us.’”

  “How would he regret that?”

  “Because that’s what you’re using as a motive.”

  Tears might have begun to form in the ducts of Angie’s eyes. The conversation was taking a turn toward an end—not in the testimony, but of the fairy tale.

  Stedman asked again about the two of them being together if Roseboro was found not guilty.

  Angie repeated that it wasn’t an option any longer.

  He asked again.

  “No! I’m still married,” she said.

  “If you’d get a divorce, you could be together with him, right?”

  Tears. “I could.”

  “I mean, your marriage is terrible, and you said that, right?”

  “Yes.”

  “It’s not like you’re giving up something that’s wonderful. You’re living in a house with a husband you cheated on, and every day you [and Randall] have to see the baby of the man who you cheated with, right?”

  More tears. Angie wasn’t looking anywhere but down. That comment hurt like a burn. “Right …,” she finally admitted.

  “I mean, you guys [Randall and Angie] aren’t speaking to each other, other than about the children, right?”

  “Pretty much,” she said, collecting her composure.

  “And you stayed with [Randall] for insurance purposes for the baby, right?”

  “No!”

  “That’s not true?”

  “No.”

  It was near 3:30 P.M. Stedman asked Angie a few more questions about the content of an e-mail (dated the day of Jan’s death), in which she had said she and Roseboro weren’t going to have to wait too much longer to be together. Angie said the statement was a mere coincidence and had nothing whatsoever to do with Jan’s murder. She did
n’t know anything about the murder prior to it happening.

  Craig Stedman asked if she was certain about that.

  “Yes,” Angie Funk answered.

  The prosecutor said he had nothing further.

  Allan Sodomsky shifted in his chair. The question one had to ask as Angie took a sip of water and prepared herself for Sodomsky: how was the defense attorney going to handle the state’s motive for his client’s guilt—with kid gloves or a jackhammer?

  73

  Allan Sodomsky had about an hour left to the day. Sixty minutes, the seasoned defense attorney knew, was more than enough time to get jurors thinking about Angie Funk’s intentions for scoring herself a catch like Mr. Michael Roseboro—not to mention the role she had played in this horribly tragic drama.

  Sodomsky made it clear from his first questions that he had not spoken to Angie in almost a year, besides questioning her at the preliminary hearing the previous fall. He told Angie how important it was for her to tell the truth, as if saying this implied she had good reason to lie.

  They established off the bat that Michael had not once indicated to her in any form or fashion that he was planning (or going) to kill Jan Roseboro. He had never given Angie any indication, as a matter of fact, that Jan was going to become a problem he had to dispose of. And through this line of questioning, Sodomsky’s point was well taken: although Angie and Michael had talked and e-mailed about getting married and being together for the rest of their lives, Roseboro had never referred to killing his wife as a means to that end.

  Sodomsky asked Angie about her home life.

  “I told my husband I would try to work it out with him,” she said. Then, referring to the contrast of this statement outlined in that April phone call, Angie responded, “Well, I mean, I wasn’t at that point of working it out with my husband yet, no.”

  “But now you are at that point?”

  “Yes.” Angie started to cry again. Sodomsky offered tissues to her. “No,” she said defiantly. “I’m okay.”

  Get this over. The sooner, the better.

  “I believe you said on direct examination—I don’t want to put words in your mouth—but you said ‘he is not my future anymore,’ when you were talking about Mr. Roseboro. Were those your words?”