by John Bloom
“No, sir, it’s not,” said Deffibaugh.
Candy began to tremble. She buried her face in her hands. It was the same position she would maintain almost all day Thursday.
Seats for the trial’s fourth day were hotter than season passes to the Dallas Cowboys football games. O’Connell expected it to be the prosecution’s final day, and the rumor on the streets was that Crowder would open the defense portion of the trial by putting Candy herself on the stand. The women had started lining up on the courthouse steps at six in the morning, long before sunrise. Some of them claimed vantage points where they could watch Candy as she got out of her car; maybe, if they were lucky, she would even say something as she walked by. Tom O’Connell was as curious as everybody else to find out what she was going to say. He frankly considered self-defense a weak story. Unfortunately, it was the one defense that was impossible to prepare for until you had heard the defendant’s explanation. All he could do was prove that Candy did the crime, and then go after her on cross-examination when she told her cockeyed story.
Fred Cummings, the Texas Ranger, and Jim Cron, the Dallas fingerprint expert, took the stand to testify that Candy’s bloody thumbprint was found on the freezer. An analyst from the Southwest Institute of Forensic Sciences testified that Candy’s blood was found on the doormat at the Gore home. But it was not until Dr. Irving Stone took the stand that the jury was first exposed in any direct way to the frightful mess found in the utility room the night of the thirteenth. Stone, who handled the collection of evidence that night, was the first man to examine Betty’s body, which he noticed right away was surrounded by dried, congealed, caked blood. He described the blood-covered ax, the blood-smeared doors and doorknobs, the bloody footprints made by a pair of “thongs.” He described how the bloody thumbprint on the freezer door was photographed and preserved. He described the bathmat, apparently stained by blood after the perpetrator showered. And he said that two hairs found in the bathtub were probably Candy Montgomery’s. Finally, completing the chain of evidence for the bloody fingernail found on the carpet, Stone testified that the nail found by Stanley, shown to Stone, left on the counter, picked up by Peggy Sewell, passed to Cynthia Parker, turned over to Royce Abbott, given to Fred Cummings, and finally examined by Stone again—that that fingernail was, indeed, the fingernail of Candy Montgomery.
After O’Connell had finished the direct examination, Ryan declared a fifteen-minute recess, and Candy asked Elaine to go with her to the witness room. She had to take a Valium. There would be no other way to get through the medical testimony.
Unbeknownst to O’Connell, Don Crowder had met with Dr. Stone, and his colleague, Dr. Vincent DiMaio, three weeks earlier. They had been the first two outsiders to learn the complete self-defense theory that he intended to put forth at trial. They had been remarkably cooperative and, being scientists, very intrigued by the whole business. Don now felt he knew their every answer long before he asked the questions.
Stone now testified that, in his opinion, “quite a struggle” had taken place in the utility room, and that many of the wounds to Betty Gore’s body could have been inflicted after she was already dead. He also confirmed Royce Abbott’s opinion that the crime had been carried out carelessly.
“If someone had planned to murder Betty Gore,” said Don, “could you imagine it could have been carried out anymore ineptly than this one was?”
“Probably not.”
Then, a few questions later, “Is there anything in your investigation that would rule out the fact that Candace Montgomery may have attacked in self-defense?”
“No, sir.”
“When we were talking in my office one time, you told me that this appeared to be a case of ‘overkill.’”
“Yes.”
“What did you mean by that?”
“It’s cases of homicide where there is inflicted to the body far more damage or injury than is necessary to take the life of that person.”
Vincent DiMaio, the Dallas County medical examiner, testified immediately after lunch, and the more cynical members of the defense team suspected that O’Connell scheduled him that way for maximum effect. In excruciating detail, he described the corpse of Betty Gore, from the dried blood on her skin to the rigor mortis in her joints, and then one by one he listed every single wound on the body. Frequently, he said, he found “gaping wounds.” He also found “chop-like wounds.” He found parts of the body “severed.” He described skin that was “sheared off.”
When DiMaio came to the right side of Betty’s face—the ghastly mess where her eye used to be—Bob Pomeroy winced and felt sick. From his seat on the front row, he could hear every word DiMaio said. He didn’t want to know any more about the suffering. Bob thought about leaving, but decided he could take it. He couldn’t stand not to know everything.
The last wounds DiMaio described were the massive gashes to the back of the head, which had literally ripped open Betty’s cranial vault and allowed her brain to seep out.
There were, in all, forty-one chop wounds. Forty of them occurred while Betty Gore’s heart was still beating.
On cross-examination, DiMaio said that a beating heart doesn’t necessarily indicate a person is alive, and that Betty was probably unconscious during most of the destruction. He went on to testify about the effect of adrenaline on the body—specifically, that the secretion of adrenaline can make a scared person stronger and quicker than he would otherwise be. Don led him back through the description of the wounds, emphasizing the apparent randomness of the blows, and at the end of three full hours of bloody testimony, asked, “Is there anything in your investigation that would rule out that Candace Montgomery acted in self-defense in killing Betty Gore?”
“No, sir.”
A few minutes later Tom O’Connell stood up at the defense table.
“If it please the court, ladies and gentlemen of the jury, the state will rest its case in chief at this point.”
Ryan asked the bailiff to take the jury out of the courtroom. The prosecution’s case was finished, and what was proven so far was that Candy Montgomery had killed Betty Gore. The body had been mutilated. Candy had seemed unremorseful and, in fact, had concealed the crime. The defense knew all this. They were greatly relieved that none of the surprise witnesses had materialized. They had feared that O’Connell would bring in women to testify about Candy’s “loose” character—her trips to the Currency Club, for example—or that one of the jail witnesses would claim she had confessed the crime.
Still, Don was taken aback when Ryan said, “Are you prepared to go forward, Mr. Crowder?”
Don approached the bench and told Ryan that he certainly wasn’t. It had been a long, grueling day of tedious police and medical testimony. It was already the middle of the afternoon, and Candy had been so upset by the autopsy testimony that she had taken a tranquilizer.
“Judge, I intend to call the defendant as my first witness, and I thought our prior agreement was that we could begin our case at the beginning of a trial day. I really need the evening to prepare my opening remarks.”
Ryan was unfazed. He thought there was plenty of time left in the trial day, and it was foolish to waste the court’s time and the state’s money by sending everyone home.
“I don’t think she’s capable of testifying at this time.”
“When do you anticipate she will be?” asked Ryan.
“Could we have about a ten-minute recess?”
“All right. Ten minutes.”
Don took Candy into an empty witness room and said, “You’re going to have to testify today. Are you ready?”
Candy looked at him with glazed eyes. She started to shake. “I’m tired.”
“Candy, we don’t have any choice. You know what we’ve been through. You know what to say. I know you’re tired, but I also know you’re tough. Now pull yourself together.”
Late in the afternoon of October 23, 1980, the curiosity-seekers and reporters, policemen, and attorneys who had wa
ited all week finally got what they had come for. Candy Montgomery took the oath and slid into the witness chair, situated directly in front of O’Connell, so that she had to look straight into the eyes of the twelve jury members and, beyond them, the mostly female members of a hushed audience. Now everyone would hear for themselves whatever it was that Candy Montgomery could possibly say for herself.
She was less than a model witness. Her voice was clipped and nasal, her manner cool. Somehow she had regained that air of haughty reserve that served as her defense against the world. As Don began the questioning—about her children, her upbringing, her community and church activities, her friendship with the Gores—Candy gave short, functional answers. She sounded like a stuffy schoolmarm, over-enunciating her sentences and wringing all the emotion out of her voice.
Don moved on to the morning of June 13 and led Candy through the events of that day, beginning with her breakfast with Jenny, Ian, and Alisa, and continuing through her story-telling session at Vacation Bible School. During a pause in the questioning, Don walked over to the defense table, leaned over, and asked Rob, “Is this going as bad as I think it is?”
“Worse,” Rob said evenly.
So Don decided to gamble. He decided to be brutal. He decided to take Candy directly to Betty Gore’s house and make her describe every single detail and movement that she could remember. If necessary, he would make her describe every blow of the ax. Someway, somehow he intended to make her reveal something of herself besides the tight, thin lines around her mouth.
The story Candy Montgomery was about to tell did not spring suddenly out of her conscious memory. As late as two months prior to the trial, most of the facts of the case—what actually happened inside the utility room—remained unknown. Dr. Fason had changed all that by putting her under hypnosis and literally forcing her to relive every moment. She had been through long, wrenching hypnosis sessions on three separate occasions. After those sessions she had been forced to repeat the events of the thirteenth in private sessions with Don and Rob. When her conscious story conflicted with her unconscious story, she had been confronted with the lie and forced to admit the facts she would rather have forgotten. After six intensive sessions—three under hypnosis, with a psychiatrist, and three conscious—the best possible reconstruction of the killing of Betty Gore emerged.
24 Passion Play
Candy wasn’t expected until noon, so when Betty responded to the polite knock that morning, her face bore an expression of surprise and pained sufferance. No doubt she had just sat down to rest for the first time that day after putting Bethany into her crib for her midmorning nap. She probably hurried to the door so the noise wouldn’t wake the baby. In her hand Betty held a half-finished cup of coffee, and from behind her came the muffled sounds of The Phil Donahue Show. Since she didn’t intend to go out that day, she was dressed for housework: tight-fitting red denim shorts, a yellow short-sleeved pullover, and sandals. She pulled the front door halfway open and peered out.
“Betty, I have a special favor to ask you.” Candy was not long on greetings and salutations, but no one minded her abruptness; the friendliness in her eyes and her smile was greeting enough. “The girls wanted Alisa to go see the movie with us tonight, and I told them that if it’s okay with you, it’s okay with me, and I’ll be happy to take Alisa to her swimming lessons to save you the extra trip.”
“Yes, that’s okay,” said Betty, appearing a little distracted. “Come on in.”
“I thought it would be,” said Candy, “and so I just ran down from Bible School to get Alisa’s swimsuit.”
The two women walked into the living room-den, which that morning was dominated by a large playpen in the middle of the floor, with toys and children’s books strewn around it.
“The only easy way to do it,” said Candy, “would be for Alisa to stay another night with us.”
“Okay,” said Betty. She switched off the television and walked into the kitchen. “Want some coffee?”
“No thanks.”
Candy took a seat in a chair next to the sewing machine, where she noticed that Betty was making something out of yellow cloth. Betty came back and sat on the other side of a small table. She still seemed tense, as though she were anxious for Candy to leave.
“So where’s Bethany?” asked Candy.
“Bethany got up very early today, and she just went back to bed.”
“Oh no!” said Candy, frowning. “I wanted to play with her.”
“Candy, if you’re going to take Alisa to her swimming lesson, remember that she doesn’t like to put her face under water,” said Betty. “So when she does put her face under, be sure to give her peppermints afterwards. That’s the reward we use.”
“Okay,” said Candy, “and while I’m thinking about it, I need to get directions to the lessons because I’m not sure I remember.”
“Oh, it’s easy. It’s right off Parker Road, coming the way you came into town. I forget the name of the street but it’s the only one there, right after 2514 makes that left-hand turn. It’s the second or third house on the left.”
“Okay, I think I remember.”
Betty was loosening up a little, as though the small talk was a welcome interruption to all the morning chores.
“I’ve been so busy getting ready for our trip,” said Betty, “but there’s still so much to do. We’re leaving Wednesday and taking the kids in the Rabbit to Kansas.”
“Oh, that sounds great,” said Candy. “Rabbits are great for vacations. We took our Rabbit down to Padre Island last month and had a great time, even with the kids.”
“Well, the only problem is that Alisa wants to take the puppy to Kansas, and I’ve told her that’s just impossible in a Rabbit, but she wants to do it anyway.”
“You mean you have a puppy and I haven’t even seen him?”
“Oh yes, he’s about six months old now.”
Candy jumped up from her chair and walked over to the sliding glass door that opens into the backyard. “I have to go play with him then.”
Betty followed Candy out onto the Gores’ concrete slab that passed for a patio, while Candy knelt down and let the frisky little cocker spaniel nuzzle up to her legs. An older dog followed him.
“What’s his name?” she asked.
“Chito.”
“Princess and Chito—I just love cocker spaniels. He’s cute.”
“Alisa just can’t bear to leave him here alone.”
The women went back into the living room-den and sat again in the two chairs.
“I almost forgot to tell you—I have a new business,” said Candy. “Sherry and I are going into business together once the kids go back to school. Pat thought we would never do it, but we’re incorporated and everything, and now he’s starting to change his tune. We’re lining up jobs for papering and painting. Do you need anything papered?”
“I don’t think so.”
“Let me show you these business cards Sherry and I had made up. They’re so cute.”
Candy fished in her purse until she found one of the cards. She placed it face up on the table between them. The card featured two cartoon women holding brushes and, next to the illustration, the legend “The Covergirls,” with their names and home phone numbers at the bottom.
“That’s cute,” said Betty.
Candy glanced at her watch. “Well, it’s getting late and I have some errands to run.” She put her purse in her lap. “I need to be going. You want to get me Alisa’s suit?”
Betty didn’t stir from her chair. Her face was blank, her eyes unfocused.
“Candy,” she said calmly, “are you having an affair with Allan?”
Candy was stunned. “No, of course not,” she answered, a little too quickly.
Betty squinted and a steeliness crept into her tone. “But you did, didn’t you?”
“Yes,” said Candy, quietly now, “but it was a long time ago.” Candy was still and her eyes avoided Betty’s. Betty said nothing at all, staring pa
st Candy’s head, transfixed, sullen.
“Did Allan tell you?” Candy looked into Betty’s face for some sign.
“Wait a minute,” said Betty. She rose abruptly from her chair, walked through the open door of the utility room and out of sight. While she was gone, Candy wondered how recently Betty had found out. Pat had said that, if Betty ever found out, she might not be able to take it. Candy also realized, with a quiet panic, that she had nothing to say to her.
After a few seconds, Betty reappeared in the doorway, her face tensed. In her hands she clutched the wooden handle of a curved three-foot ax, the kind used for chopping heavy firewood. There was, oddly enough, nothing very threatening about her stance, since her hold on the implement was rather clumsy and she held it away from her body, the blade pointed at the floor. Candy was more worried about what Betty would say than what she would do.
Candy stood up but didn’t move from the chair.
“Betty?”
“I don’t want you to ever see him again.” Her tone was deliberate and had a hard edge to it. “You can’t have him.”
“Betty, it’s been over for a long time. I’m not seeing him. I don’t want him.”
Betty continued to stand in the doorway, though her grip on the ax was loosening. She seemed uncertain, as though realizing that people have little to say to each other at times like this.
“Betty, don’t be ridiculous,” said Candy, hoping to diffuse her anger with a wave of the hand. “It was over a long time ago.”
“Well, don’t see him again,” said Betty. It was an order.
Candy reached down to the chair seat and picked up her purse.
“Under the circumstances,” she said, “I think I’ll just bring Alisa home and drop her off right after Bible School.”
“No,” said Betty harshly. “I don’t want to see you anymore. Just keep Alisa and take her to the movie, because I don’t want to look at you again. Bring her home tomorrow.”
Betty laid the ax against the wall, just inside the living room-den, and walked past Candy into the middle of the room. “I’ll get a towel from the bathroom,” she said, speaking over her shoulder. “You get Alisa’s suit off the washer.”