“You don’t want to say anything?” Tonka asked Motter.
“No, I do want to say something. I want my attorney. Didn’t you hear me the first time?”
This was not the same person that was arrested the first time. There was no sympathy for what he did. Instead there was sarcasm. He never said another word that night. Not at the police station, the drive to jail, or at the jail itself. He was content to wait for his bond hearing in the morning.
* * *
At the bond hearing at nine a.m. the next morning Motter sat next to his attorney, Theodore Wilson II. His parents again were sitting in the chairs directly behind them. After hearing all the evidence, the bond judge set bail at two hundred and fifty thousand dollars, ten percent. This meant twenty-five thousand dollars cash.
Herman Motter leaned forward and whispered to Jeffrey, “I have that on me.” He would meet him at the jail and have him out within an hour and a half.
So before I received a phone call telling me what had occurred, Motter was in his car driving home. I had always believed in our court system but this was beginning to weigh on my nerves.
When I arrived home from work I told my wife Stephanie what happened in court. She was more upset than I was. “How can this happen? He admitted to doing this to our son. He gets to go about doing his business as if nothing happened?”
“You have to remember he has a huge bond amount, it’s just that he has the money to post it.” I was trying to be logical with her. Make her understand the system. This was not going over well.
“How can you take his side? He hurt your child, and you say it’s all right that he doesn’t get put in jail? Don’t you care at all about what he has done?”
“I’m not taking his side. I’m just trying to make you understand…”
“Oh, I understand. I understand you care more about your fucked up system than you do your own son.” She was now crying and the words were hard coming out. I knew we were feeling the same way, only it wasn’t coming across to her that way. I went to hold her. She pushed me away, “Leave me alone.” She then walked out of the kitchen, down the hall, and into the bedroom. I heard the lock click.
I knew enough to leave her alone. We would talk later. But I was to find out this would not be the last fight over this incident. There would be many more fights and tears, from everyone’s eyes.
* * *
The case was called up before Judge Henry Peterson in courtroom 5005 every month since the first date, a month after Motter’s last bond hearing. No one had to be there, only Motter, his attorneys, who now included Theodore Wilson II and Arnold Kukec who worked in Wilson’s office, and the States Attorneys.
On Tuesday, September fifteenth, attorney Wilson went before Judge Peterson to ask if his client, Jeffrey Motter could have permission to leave the state and travel to Florida to see if his properties were ready for hurricane season. It was a condition of his bond he could not leave the state. The States Attorney’s, Paul Shehume and Brent Clark, objected to the request.
Judge Peterson after more or less a ten-minute argument granted the request. I had heard Judge Peterson granted most requests by defense attorneys, not that he leaned their way, but to protect against a reversal if the case was appealed.
After I was made aware of the motion to grant Motter the opportunity to leave the state, I told my wife Stephanie again what had occurred. She again went into a rage. “How can all this happen? Don’t they know what he did to my son?” she cried out.
I tried to calm her down, but the more I said the worse it got. “They are looking at he’s innocent until proven guilty.”
“He’s guilty. He even said he was guilty to the cops. Tony’s confused and going through things I have no answers for, yet this guy can go to Florida on a vacation, like he has done nothing? This is bullshit. Our system sucks.”
“I’m not condoning it. I’m just saying he has made his bond and as long as he works within the structure of it, he will be able to do things.”
Stephanie was sobbing and her breathing came hard. This was going to be a long, long time until this trial would be over. If it lasted twelve months it would be too long. I took Stephanie in my arms and held her trembling body next to mine. I gave her a kiss on her forehead. “We will get though this.”
It was a few minutes before she could talk again. In-between sniffles she said, “I don’t know if I’ll last. My nerves are all ready shot and we have barely begun. You are use to this kind of thing.”
Actually that was far from the truth. Yes, I had handled more incidents of child abuse than she did, but never before was I the one that brought the piece of shit into the house. This was unnerving to me also. How could I, a trained police officer, trained to observe indicators about crimes, miss everything? Looking back now, I could see that there were red flags all over the place. He was living at home with his parents, liking being around children, no girlfriends, and no girls at all. None of these would indicate anything wrong by themselves but put it all together and I felt I should have seen it.
* * *
I hadn’t mentioned anything at work about what was going on in my life but I could tell they knew something was different. About six months had passed since the arrests and nothing was happening in court. I wanted to sit in on a hearing to find out for myself how the case was proceeding.
I would have to ask my boss, Corporal Jillian Monroe, if I could have some time off from work to go to court. The next court date was January third at nine o’clock in the morning. On December twenty-seventh I asked Jillian to come into a back room with me.
Once in the back I felt my throat strain, I started to speak, but my voice left me. This would be a lot harder than I had ever expected. I looked at Jillian as my eyes began to tear up. How come this was happening? I could talk to Stephanie about this without this much emotion.
“What’s wrong?” asked Jillian. “Is there something you want me to do?”
All I could do at this point was to shake my head “No.” As I tried to compose myself my mind was racing on how I could explain myself without feeling like a complete idiot. I took several deep breaths then began, “I would like to go to a courtroom on January third, Courtroom 5005. My son was molested and it’s taking too long. I have to see how it is progressing.” I barely got the words out. Jillian consoled me with a hug.
“Certainly you can go. Is it all right if I tell my supervisors? I’m sure they will agree with me.”
“That would be fine. I just don’t want everyone to know right now.”
“I’ll speak with them later today, and then let you know. Will that be acceptable with you?”
“Yes. That’s fine.”
My eyes were still red and my breathing wasn’t normal. Jillian asked me, “Do you want to stay in here a little while? I’ll keep Danielle Lee in to do your job.”
“That would be good. It’ll only be a few minutes. I’m sorry for the way I have acted.”
“There is nothing to be sorry for. You are doing much better than I could ever do. Just come out when you are ready. No one will come in here.”
Jillian left closing the door behind her. She would tell my immediate co-workers I would be in the back for a while, not to go back by me. She said it was a personal matter that would possibly be discussed by me at a later date. She would not go into it any further.
When I came out of the room no one even gave me a look as if to say, “What’s going on.” These were true friends. They knew something was wrong but were not going to cross over any lines to get me to talk before I was ready to share my story with them.
Later in the day I asked Jillian if she could tell my co-workers what had happened. I didn’t feel I could tell them without getting emotional. She said she would tell them when I was out to lunch.
When I did return from lunch Jillian told me that she had given my co-workers; Danielle Lee, Allan Topseed, and Robert “Bobby” Jaimieson the basic story of what my family was going through. They
all had questions for her which she didn’t have the answers to, but they still had to ask. All shared a deep regret of the proceedings I was going to be going through.
But when I returned from lunch no one said much to me other than, “Sorry to hear of your problems.” I was glad they kept everything short. It put my mind at ease.
I sat at my desk watching the inmates arrived for afternoon court. Basically my job was to call for the inmates to come to court, then make sure once they were here to get them to their proper courtrooms.
I sat on one side of a window where I kept count of the inmates from jail. My co- workers, the county deputies, were the ones actually transporting the inmates to the courtrooms.
This afternoon was moving as well as any until I heard a plunk on the wall. I looked up to see an inmate falling to the ground with another one standing over him motioning for him to get back up. The inmate on the floor had blood running out of his nose and also possibly coming from his forehead. I called to Allan and Bobbie who immediately started out the door to stop the fight. It was over as quick as it started.
The inmate that was standing was Edgar Sampson. He was charged with attempted murder of his girlfriend’s new boyfriend. I guess he wasn’t much on closures to relationships.
The inmate who was still on the ground was Arvin Smith. Smith was a burglar with a sizzling, venomous tongue, which probably earned him a trip to the nurse’s office in the jail. Three other inmates confirmed that Sampson said something to the effect, “Hold your fuckin’ horses, asshole,” as Smith bumped into him as he was walking past. Smith said something back to Sampson. The next thing the inmates saw was Sampson swing a fist once at Smith striking him in the nose, blood splattering to the floor, then Smith spinning around and smack his head on the wall.
While Smith received medical attention, Sampson stood in a corner saying, “He shouldn’t have pushed me. Bet he doesn’t do it again.”
Smith was taken back to the jail, then to the hospital for stitches in his forehead. Smith and Sampson were placed on separation; whereas neither of them can come into contact with the other one. Sampson was taken back to his cell where the story of him almost killing Smith had already been circulating. It is called the grapevine of a jail. Of course he let the story grow and never denied anything that made it look worse than it was.
As things began to settle down in our room, which was called base, Allan, Danielle, Bobbie, Jillian and I started talking again. Danielle whispered to me, “Sorry about your son. Are you all right?”
“Yeah, I’m fine.” But I wasn’t. I was starting to crumble again inside. I never could figure out why I became so emotional at some times and others I could stay calm.
“Well, I have to say you’re handling this better than I could. I’d have to go out and kill the guy,” Bobbie said. I never knew at first how to handle this statement. I wanted to kill the bastard that hurt my little boy. However, I knew this was the right way. But again, was I wrong. Did I not love and care for my son as much as Bobbie would care for his child? It was always confusing to me.
“Well, let’s just say I’m giving the state their chance first. If they fuck it up, who knows what could happen.” I kept telling myself going through court was the right thing to do.
They all ended by telling me if there was anything I needed, “do not hesitate to ask.” They were all good friends, all well meaning.
* * *
It was now nine months since Jeffrey Motter was arrested. He had been back to Florida two times, to check on his properties. He appeared in court once every month. He was still operating his electrical business, all as if nothing had ever happened.
Tony asked weekly what was going on. He had also started seeing a psychologist once a week. He had terrible mood swings from happy to angry. Stephanie and I started noticing some of our liquor missing. When we confronted Tony he would fly into a temper tantrum and slam the door to his room.
We didn’t know how to handle him. With everything he had been through did he have a good reason to drink? Maybe so, I wondered. Were these changes in him due to the stress he was under? We did not have the answers therefore we also started seeing a psychologist. This was tearing at our whole family. Stephanie and I were also having many more fights than ever before. And I was drinking more than ever, not for the pleasure of a drink either, to get lost in a haze, to make me forget. Life was taking a dip and it was all because of one person. The person I trusted my son to and he betrayed my most precious trust.
It was on a Tuesday morning I was contacted by States Attorney Paul Shehume. He wanted to set up a meeting, to “go over the case” and to talk about “some situations that had come up at some of the court dates.”
I was told Stephanie, Tony and I should come in. We set the meeting for five p.m. on Friday. Finally, I thought, we are starting to get somewhere.
I went home and told Tony and Stephanie. “What’s this about?” asked Stephanie. “Did they set a trial date?”
“I’m not really sure. The States Attorney said some situations had come up and…”
“What situations. The guy’s guilty. What could possibly be discussed?” Stephanie half-yelled through clenched teeth. I could see this was turning south real fast. Again the messenger was going to be hung.
“Look, I don’t know. That’s what he said.” I was trying to retain my composure but I could feel the hairs starting to rise on the back of my neck.
“Why don’t you ask questions? Find something out, instead of waiting until they decide to tell you. This is our son, have you forgotten that? We should know everything going on right now. Not have to wait until Friday for them to give us the court date.” I knew she was sounding off; unfortunately I was the sounding board. This fighting was tearing me up because I knew it was not aimed at me but the words and the impact of her statements hit hard.
I went to bed without any dinner. It would be better that way, as neither of us would have to continue the fight. We were both being drained emotionally. I would wait for Friday to find out the answers, although I didn’t think we would receive all the answers we wanted, nor would we be satisfied.
* * *
I woke up at six-twenty in the morning on Friday, just before my alarm was to sound. I could smell something cooking in the kitchen. The smell was making its way up the stairs into the bedroom. I had noticed Stephanie was not in bed or the master bathroom. I threw on some clothes and went downstairs. “Boy that smells good.”
“It should. It’s bacon, eggs and hash browns, one of your favorites.” We had been talking for the last few days. That is how it went with these fights. We both knew the other one was not the enemy but there seemed a need to lash out.
“I think I’ll just sit down and wolf down this breakfast. On second thought, I’m going to slowly enjoy this breakfast. Yeah, that sounds better.” This was how it had been, fun times. I would enjoy it for as long as I could because I felt later today my life would again turn to shit. But for now, as the song went, everything is beautiful.
My day at work was uneventful. Not many questions from the guys. And of course, by guys I mean both boys and girls. The only uncomfortable time was when I was told again, “I don’t know how you can control yourself, I would kill him.” I’m not even sure who said it this time but I didn’t matter, it fucked with my head.
I finished work and went downstairs to meet Tony and Stephanie who had called me on my cell phone announcing their arrival.
There was little activity going on at four forty-five in the afternoon at the courthouse. There were a few attorneys coming in for meetings with the States Attorneys and a few classes on victim impact.
These were classes in which an offender would sit in a room and hear from victims or victim’s families about the impact their crime has made in their lives. Tonight it was driving while under the influence of alcohol classes. Some of the victims here tonight had lost loved ones, taken by a D.U.I. driver.
It seemed to help both sides. The
offenders most of the time came out teary eyed. The victims seem to feel they had assisted in them never driving drunk again. If it all worked, it was worth the effort.
I saw Tony as he entered the security line. He gave me a heads up hello nod. I waved back. I felt so proud of him deciding to prosecute Motter. It was no small decision. But he decided to do it, no matter the cost to him. He would have to tell strangers exactly what was done to him. It takes a brave person to stand up in front of the offender and tell their story. But I still hoped that Motter would do the right thing and plead guilty and not put Tony through any of that.
After Stephanie and Tony were through the line Tony asked me who were all those people walking through security bypassing the screening?
“Those are attorneys or other workers who work for the county courthouse.”
“Man, they could smuggle in anything, even weapons. Is that how you get in dad?” I heard the question, but thought more into it. Was he asking me if I could bring in a weapon? Or was it just small talk and a question?
“I go through the pass line but every now and then they pull people aside and have them go through regular security, in case they are bringing something in they are not supposed to have.” This was true for other workers and attorneys, but I knew no one would stop a security co-worker to have them go through the security line. It just wasn’t done.
We made our way to the States Attorney’s office without much being said. We would wait to find out what this was about before there was any talk of our case.
We proceeded past the deputies guarding the closed entrance to the State Attorney’s building. I waved, gave them the classic, “How ya doin’?” Then we entered the elevator to the second floor.
Since there was no receptionist at this hour I called Paul Shehume on my cell. “Hello,
Paul? We are waiting in the lobby. Great, see you soon”
“Is he here?” asked Stephanie.
“Yes, he is. He’ll be out in a minute. Just has to walk up from his office.”
Shehume opened the door and with a cordial smile said, “I’m so glad you took the time to come in and see me. This won’t take too long but a few things we should go over. Also I’d like to keep you up to date with how the case is proceeding and if you have any questions I’ll try to answer them. If I can’t, I’ll try to find out the answer for you.”
My Justice My Revenge Page 12