by Gay Courter
Grace Chandler closed her notebook and stepped back from her stand. She walked slowly in front of the jury members, trying to make eye contact with each of them. “These children have suffered. Two of them have testified to abhorrent acts done to them by their biological father.” Her voice choked with emotion. “The time has come to speak out and say that you believe the children, children who had nothing to gain and everything to lose by coming forward. I urge you to put an end to what has happened to these young people, an end to their abuse, as well as the abuse of others. For, if you choose to believe Mr. Stevenson, you are giving him the capacity to perform the same crime again and again.” Tears filled her eyes. “Thank you.”
The courtroom was silent. Walt Hilliard was the only one moving. As he stood up, his face seemed pained, as though Grace’s summation had touched him as well. In a measured voice he also thanked the jury for their time and attention, then spoke in a deep, confident tone. “A serious crime has been charged in this case. If Richard Leroy Stevenson, Sr., is found guilty of a felony in the first degree—sexual battery upon a person less than twelve years of age—the State of Florida requires a minimum mandatory sentence of twenty-five years, and yet a mere seventeen percent of the time in this trial was spent on evidence related to this actual charge, while eighty-three percent dealt with other matters only peripheral to the case.
“To keep your attention focused away from the fact that there is not a single piece of proof to substantiate the charges, the prosecutor had to lean on the emotional aspects of a confused young woman’s description of events. You have heard words distorted to sound sensational, but is being called ‘Shampooman’ a crime? Of course not! Nor is calling your daughter a nickname like ‘Lollipop.’ Members of the jury, don’t be confused by these diversions. The only issue is whether or not you think this man is guilty of a heinous crime.
“At first this may seem a daunting task. Concentrate on the issues and refuse to be misled by the extraneous matters that have been brought up to confuse you. Above all remember that as a jury in the State of Florida you must feel that the prosecution has proven beyond all reasonable doubt that Mr. Stevenson is guilty as charged.”
Walt Hilliard paused. He took a few steps backward and began again, this time in the more didactic voice of a professor from Civics 101. “How will you sort out sentiment from the fact?” Walt Hilliard held his arms out to the jury in supplication. “When it comes time to make your decision, read the rules of deliberation, study the laws of evidence, and you will see that before you can pronounce this man, this father of three abandoned children, who has done his best under difficult circumstances to raise his family, you must have a conviction which does not waver.” His arms fell to his sides.
“When you examine the evidence, you will find it flimsy at best,” he said as though the conclusion was obvious. “When pressed to tell what really happened, Alicia becomes muddled about touching and fondling. She said her father felt her breasts when she was five, but an affectionate father might brush up against a child’s chest or pat her bottom without it being dirty or sexual.” He shook his head sadly. “I feel sorry for Alicia because she is mixed up and alone. And I feel pity for her older brother, Richard Jr., whose mental problems have been so severe he has required extensive psychiatric treatment. Even in this court he demonstrated his obvious disturbance when he used his wife’s name when he meant his sister.
“And his sister has serious problems as well. Abandoned at a crucial age by her mother, this lonely child escaped into a fantasy world. This is a young lady with a vivid imagination. She said she had sex regularly with her father but couldn’t describe it accurately. She claimed they sometimes had gentle sex, sometimes forceful, violent sex. However, Dr. Leif, a medical expert with more than thirty years experience in examining abused children, could not state that this girl ever had sexual intercourse in her life, let alone forceful, violent sex with a mature male on a regular weekly basis for more than five years. Yes, Dr. Leif allowed that in hypothetical cases the estrogen effect hides some of the evidence of sexual penetration, but not everything. Wouldn’t you think that Dr. Leif, the state’s expert witness, would see evidence of sexual trauma? But he did not say that. In fact, he agreed it was possible that she may never have had sexual intercourse in her life.”
There were no windows in the courtroom, but a late afternoon storm was lashing the courthouse and the rumblings permeated the walls. Again Walt Hilliard changed his voice, sounding more like the sensitive social worker than the abrasive lawyer. “Alicia Stevenson is a very troubled teenager. There were financial problems in the family so she couldn’t have a closet filled with pretty clothes or a car to drive. When the boat business declined, she was stuck in a one-bedroom house with two siblings—one of whom was mentally ill—a stepmother, who was not getting along with her father, and an ailing grandfather. She wanted out of there in the worst way. Then she remembered how her stepsister Sunny Rhodes got out.” Walt’s voice modulated to a husky stage whisper. “And do you know what? It worked. The trouble is she didn’t have another home to go to the way Sunny did. She dreamed she could live with her best friend, but by the time she realized this was not going to happen, it was too late. Alicia was forced to tell her story over and over again and guess what happened? Her explanations began to change and the truth began to unravel. She became trapped by her web of lies.”
Mr. Hilliard turned toward the audience and waved his arm to indicate the section where I was sitting with Lillian and the HRS workers. “How could Alicia retreat from those stories? How could she let down these well-meaning women who have so much invested in prosecuting perpetrators in order to protect our community’s children from evil? No, it was too late. Even if Alicia wanted to, she could not recant. She tried. In the HRS parking lot, with some of these good women nearby, she attempted to apologize for ‘the mess’ she made, but nobody was listening then.”
Walt Hilliard strolled back toward the jury. He put his hands on the podium and leaned forward. “I have pity for this child. I have compassion for her pain, and that of poor, confused Richard Jr.” Then he raised his voice. “You, the jury, are the ones who must weigh what they have claimed with the more balanced testimony of the other adults. In each case you must ask yourself where each person was coming from. Look at the ex-wife who testified. Peggy Abbott had a failed marriage and admitted resenting the time this father spent with his children, so she made the worst, most egregious interpretation of innocent events. Yes, perhaps Mr. Stevenson woke up his children with squirt guns or washed out his son’s mouth with soap. Perhaps you might not approve of these discipline techniques, but are they a crime? If they are, why was he not charged with them? If, as it is alleged, he molested another child, why was he not charged with that crime either? Do not forget that Mr. Stevenson is charged with only one count against his daughter. One count. One story she made up to get out of the house about when she was nine years old. Not when she was fifteen. Oh, no, not when there could have been physical evidence to link him with her.”
Now Walt was shouting and the storm outside was thundering. “Why, there is not one shred of physical evidence in a young woman who claimed to have regular violent, pounding sex.” Pelting rain could be heard reverberating in the distance. “How is that possible? How could an experienced physician testify that Alicia Stevenson might be a virgin?”
Walt Hilliard’s passion far surpassed anything that Grace Chandler had been able to muster, and for a moment I thought I had walked into an audition for “L. A. Law.” His hands slid down the sides of the podium until they fell limply at his side. “I ask you not to look at the facts in the case and decide if they are mostly true. I ask you not to decide if there is clear and convincing evidence for you to believe that something probably happened.”
The attorney stepped forward like a preacher about to anoint the congregation. “Mr. Stevenson is presumed innocent unless his guilt is so clearly proven that you, the jury, can see that no rea
sonable doubt remains as to the guilt of the person charged. I ask you to do your duty and decide whether the evidence in this case makes you fully convinced and satisfied as to a moral certainty—a moral certainty—that Richard Leroy Stevenson, Sr., is guilty of sexual battery on his minor child beyond a reasonable doubt.” His tone lowered again to sound as paternal as possible. “For, if after you deliberate, you have reason to question any or all of the testimony, you must not send this man to prison for what will certainly be close to the balance of the rest of his natural life.”
The defense attorney hung his head. “Please go and deliberate with guidance of God, and with honest appreciation of all of us here. Thank you.”
I wanted Walt Hilliard’s business card in case anyone I knew ever needed a criminal lawyer. Jeremiah Stevenson had mortgaged his house and used the last of his savings to pay the retainer, but for them it had been worth it. After that summation, it would be difficult to convict this man.
Clearly at a disadvantage, Grace Chandler came forward to give her rebuttal closing. She gazed at the jury at eye level, then turned to indicate Mr. Hilliard seated at the table with his client. “You have just been entertained by great theatrics, but do not be deceived that they were anything but that. Mr. Hilliard is manipulating your emotions and ignoring that there are hard, cold facts that Mr. Stevenson has sexually molested at least three children over many years duration. I can’t feel sorry for Mr. Stevenson, and I can’t concern myself about how he might fare in prison when he did not concern himself how his natural born children would suffer for the rest of their lives from the deep psychological wounds he inflicted on them to satisfy his own lust.
“Yes, you must find him guilty beyond a reasonable doubt, but that does not have to be an abiding conviction of guilt. As you deliberate whether the state has proved that this father did to his daughter what is charged, you, the jury, are permitted to take into consideration what he also did to his son as well as to Sunny Rhodes.”
Grace lifted her chin righteously. “Defense attorneys use many tactics to deflect your concerns. Notice that Mr. Hilliard became the most upset when talking about Sunny Rhodes. Her testimony was the strongest, most corroborating evidence. She was molested when she was almost the same age that Alicia was when her first penetrations began. Sunny Rhodes was examined by a doctor, who has verified the physical findings of sexual abuse. I do not know why Mr. Stevenson was not charged for that crime, but he did abuse her, just as he abused his natural daughter, Alicia, in the same manner.”
Grace was not speaking from notes, so she hesitated now and then. “You see in front of you a pleasant-looking man dressed in a suit and tie. It is difficult for good people to comprehend that a man could have sexual intercourse with his own children. But it does happen. Pedophiles are people with serious mental problems. There is no logic to what pedophiles do. And they are clever. They must get the object of their desire through subterfuge. Alicia was groomed by her father with little kindnesses and gifts, even money. He conspired with her and made her feel she was doing something special. ‘He boxed her in, made her keep the secret, until she finally felt strong enough to reveal it.
“Remember the words ‘violent, forceful, hard, pounding sex’? These were not Alicia’s words. These were the attorney’s phrases. The truth is even more difficult to grasp. Alicia’s father was kind and loving to her. This father taught his daughter that loving a parent meant having sex with him. And, you have heard her say, that despite everything, she still loves her father, proving that what happened between them had a loving, if perverted, aspect to it.”
There was a long pause as the prosecutor allowed this awful truth to permeate the room. Grace turned to the audience, then back to the jury. “We have heard four children testify in this courtroom. Either three are lying and one is telling the truth, or three are telling the truth and one is lying. To evaluate whether Cory Stevenson might be the solitary one telling the truth, you must consider his underlying interest. He has been utterly miserable in foster care. Home is the haven to which he wants to return. Now let’s look at another of the defense’s star witnesses. Dee Smiley is the one person who has testified that Alicia may have lied. Yet Mrs. Smiley is the only person who has recanted her story. For some reason she has ignored Alicia’s cry for help and has befriended the abuser.” Grace shook her head sadly. “You saw Mrs. Smiley. You decide if she made a credible witness or not.”
Grace Chandler stiffened her spine. “This case has shattered the childhood of at least four young people. The Stevenson children will never be the same. Even if Cory has not admitted abuse, he will have to live with himself and his problems. Isn’t it pathetic to realize that Mr. Stevenson, who admits that he was horribly abused as a child, may have passed on the same legacy to his children? But these insidious violations can be stopped. They must be stopped. Molestation is a common result of being abused as a child. Please, help put an end to the cycle of abuse now!”
While the jury deliberated, the different parties in the case formed into islands on the first floor of the courthouse and spilled out on the steps. Red Stevenson was surrounded by Walt Hilliard, the attorney’s partner, Cory, and his grandfather. Dee Smiley was outside smoking with another woman, who was wearing tight black stirrup slacks, a black satin blouse with a rose embroidered across the chest. I saw Red Stevenson come up behind the other woman, slip his hand around her waist, and give her an intimate squeeze.
Rich had been returned to Janet’s mother’s home Friday afternoon and had not been recalled on Monday, so Mitzi Keller joined Ruth Levy and Alicia while the other HRS employees, including Cynthia, formed a flank of support nearby. Lillian left to call the Guardian ad Litem office. Not knowing what else to do, I circulated between Cory’s camp and Alicia’s followers like a hostess for the cast party of “Family Feud.”
When I was standing beside Cory, his grandfather pleaded with me.
“Please, no matter what happens, may Cory come home with me tonight?”
“I don’t think so,” I replied sympathetically.
“I don’t want to be alone,” the grandfather said, his body trembling like a cornered coon.
Cory had pasted on a chipper expression. “Don’t worry, Gramps. I know it is going to turn out just like it is supposed to be.”
I didn’t have the heart to prepare Cory to have his balloon burst. What would it matter? If it burst, it burst, and I would deal with the fallout.
I noticed that Alicia had drifted away from Ruth. I eased away from Cory and over to her. I put my arm around her shoulder. “Almost over.”
Alicia wasn’t paying attention to me. She was watching her father.
“You want to talk to him?” I dared ask.
“Uh-huh,” she muttered under her breath.
I looked around the corridor. The attorneys were talking elsewhere and Jeremiah was sitting on a bench with Cory. Steering her slightly with the pressure of my arm, I led Alicia to her father.
“Dad …,” she said in a whisper.
Red looked at her, his eyes shining with tears. “I never meant to hurt you with anything I did.”
“I know. Me too.”
Suddenly self-conscious, Alicia headed for the water fountain, pretending that is where she had been going the whole time.
Then Lillian was by my side. “How are you doing, Gay?”
“Numb. You know, no matter what happens, nothing is solved for any of these children.”
In less than an hour and a half we were called back into the courtroom. Walt Hilliard took this as a fortuitous sign. In the elevator he was patting his client on the back. “They couldn’t have had much to deliberate over. You’ll see.”
Red was not so confident. He was trembling. As the door opened he spoke to me. “You’re planning to keep my boy from me no matter what happens?”
I looked him in the eye. “No. I’ll do what is best for Cory, even if it means fighting HRS.”
For the first time the children were allowe
d in the audience of the courtroom. Cory sat to my left, flanked by Marta Castillo on his other side. Alicia was to my right, sitting beside Ruth Levy. I stared straight ahead as the jury foreman handed the verdict to the bailiff, who gave it to the judge, who passed it back.
Then it was read aloud.
“Not guilty.”
Cory jumped out of his seat. “Told you!” I held him down until the judge dismissed the jury, then I allowed Cory to pull me along with him to see his grandfather. Jeremiah was clutching his chest and breathing erratically.
I started back to Alicia, who was crying against Ruth’s bosom, but the reporters circling Grace Chandler made it impossible for me to get to her. I watched as Ruth led her out the door.
Grace was ashen. “This typifies the difficulty in getting a conviction in sexual battery cases in this county,” she said to the reporters. “Now you see why victims fear pressing charges.”
Red Stevenson was being interviewed by another reporter. “I just knew the truth would be told, but I was scared like anyone would be.”
“What are your plans for the future?” Red was asked.
“I’m going to try to get a job, get my son back, and my life together.”
“Will you remain in the area?”
“I’ve been here for sixteen years, and I now have no reason to leave.”
Extricating myself from Cory, I eventually made my way to Grace Chandler’s office. The prosecutor was sitting beside Alicia on the couch. Tears streaked Grace’s cheeks as she told a story of something that had happened to her grandmother. I had missed the first part but heard the ending.