Rolland Papendick, in a light-weight suit and well-shined shoes, hurried in and took a seat at the long, curved defense table.
McGuire, all-business in a somber suit, entered and took a seat at the adjacent prosecution table, Investigating Officer Al Shamblin ambling in to sit next to her.
Hooker was brought in, and the cameras kicked to life, raising a low, mechanical racket. Dressed in a tweed sports coat, white shirt, tie, and gray slacks, Hooker probably looked better than he had on his wedding day. His hair was carefully combed, parted on the side, and while not handsome, he looked boyish and neat.
The bailiff warned the media people that proceedings would soon commence. Cameras dutifully stopped, the equipment was hustled out the door, and the bailiff called the court to order. “All rise. . . .”
Judge Knight, an articulate man with a clear voice and the alert, unflinching gaze of a hawk, entered and stepped up to the judge’s bench.
He explained that this trial might take five or six weeks and asked the prospective jurors a few preliminary questions. He proved to be fairly lenient, excusing several people who said a long trial would cause them hardship.
Court was recessed so potential jurors could be called, one at a time, for questioning in the judge’s chambers. Secluded from the group, they were asked about any pretrial publicity they may have heard about the case and whether they’d already formed an opinion. This was a way of weeding out those who were familiar with the case without tainting the others. For the most part, those who had heard of the “sex slave” case claimed not to have strong feelings about it.
Then the attorneys prepared to begin the voir dire.
Some argue the voir dire is the most important portion of the trial. It’s the sole chance the attorneys have to address the jurors as individuals, question them about their backgrounds and beliefs, and dismiss those who seem less than sympathetic to their side of the case. Although the stated objective is to choose a fair and impartial jury, both attorneys have a shot at slanting the jury in their favor.
The defense went first. One at a time, Papendick asked prospective jurors a list of questions about their jobs, families, educational backgrounds, and hobbies—and whether they read the Bible.
Among prospective jurors were mail couriers, retired architects, engineers, managers, housewives, and maintenance men. Some had lived in the area all their lives; others had recently moved from out of state. They were of all ages and education levels, with interests ranging from classical music to rollerskating. It was a smorgasbord of society, as it was meant to be.
With these thumbnail biographies established, Papendick’s questions circled closer to the matter at hand. Shifting from foot to foot, he asked whether any of them disagreed with the California legislature that bondage between consenting adults should be legal. No one spoke. Saying that people have their own “peculiar needs” and their own reasons for staying in relationships “that some people may find abhorrent,” he asked whether anyone felt they couldn’t give the defendant a fair trial if his sexual preference were bondage. No one believed they would have any problem with this.
Revealing the skeleton of the defense strategy, Papendick took care to explain the statute of limitations, asking if anyone disagreed with the law that a case must be filed within a certain time. And he wanted to know if anyone believed that if someone were kidnapped, it meant that person could not subsequently consent to sex. He asked if they had ever heard of someone “bad-mouthing” a relationship after it had ended, and if any of them had strong feelings about lesbianism.
The prospective jurors sat quietly, taking it all in, nodding on occasion.
Papendick soon concluded his questions and took his seat. It was the people’s turn.
Before starting, the prosecutor asked the bailiff to set a podium before the jury box, which gave her a place to put her papers, and made her seem more imposing, despite her diminutive stature. Her approach was more formal, more serious.
Reading from her notes, McGuire seemed stiff at first. She tried to educate and prepare the jury with her questions, asking if they’d heard the myths that women like to be raped, asking if it would bother them to view graphic slides and pictures or to hear sexually explicit language. She noted that the defendant sat before them looking like “a nice, clean-cut young man,” and cautioned them not to feel that a person charged with serious crimes should look a certain way.
And she tried to prepare the prospective jurors for the testimonies of her main witnesses. Regarding Colleen’s unemotional demeanor: “Do you expect a victim to become hysterical or cry while she is relating what happened to her?” Regarding Janice: “Will you be able to equally accept the testimony of a witness who has been granted immunity?”
She ended her remarks by asking each individual: “Can you think of any reason why you could not be a fair and impartial juror?” Each responded: “No.”
Now each counsel was allowed to dismiss those who they felt wouldn’t be favorable toward their positions. Papendick made sure to excuse those who were close to or had been victims of rape or wife-beating. McGuire favored those with college educations and avoided men with blue-collar jobs—those whom she felt would be most sympathetic to Hooker.
Prospective jurors were called, questioned, and excused all day, without much let-up or change in the script. But the solemnity was broken when Papendick asked one of the panelists, a middle-aged NASA employee who would later become jury foreman, if he had studied or had a special interest in sado-masochism. Mr. Hogan responded: “I don’t even know what it is.”
“You will after this case,” the judge quipped from the bench.
The court rippled with amusement, Papendick smiled, even Hooker chuckled. But later Papendick would decide this wasn’t so funny.
By late afternoon of the second day, Papendick and McGuire finally had a jury acceptable to them both.
A jury of five men and seven women were sworn to sit in judgment of Cameron Hooker. Eight of the twelve had at least some college education. Two others, women, were selected as alternates in case someone had to step down during this long trial.
The jurors were mostly middle-class, with white- and blue-collar jobs. They dressed informally. Mr. DeMarco, an engineer, favored T-shirts that revealed resplendent tatoos on both arms. (Many were surprised McGuire kept him on the jury—including DeMarco himself—-but she was more impressed by the fact that his wife was expecting than by the ink designs on his skin.)
There was a wide range of ages, from mid-twenties to retirement age. Only two members of the jury were divorced, one was widowed, and one had never married. Two blacks, Mr. Fuqua, a scholarly-looking man who worked with Pacific Bell in marketing, and Mrs. Tamplin, an employee at a mint and the mother of nine, kept it from being an all-white jury.
Most described themselves as “not religious,” and their hobbies were wide-ranging: square dancing, painting, sailing, gardening, and so on. They gave an impression of being an active bunch, Well-rooted in their communities and happy with their family ties—with interests far removed from bondage and sado-masochistic sex.
On the third day, the jurors finally learned what they were in for. Judge Knight started off by reading the impressive list of charges against Cameron Hooker, a total of sixteen felony counts: one of kidnapping, with a special allegation of having used a knife; seven of rape; one of forced oral copulation; one of forced penetration with a foreign object; one of forced sodomy; three of false imprisonment; and two of abducting to live in an illicit relationship.
There were a few preliminaries, and then it was time for opening statements.
The prosecution went first. McGuire posted a list of the charges on the front wall, arranged her papers on the podium, and began to chronicle Colleen Stan’s kidnap and captivity.
Her straightforward, cool presentation contrasted with the bizarre situation she described. She stood before the jury, smartly attired in her navy pin-stripe suit, the very picture of propriety, yet
speaking of appalling tortures, describing how Colleen had been hung, whipped, chained, hurt, and humiliated by Cameron Hooker.
McGuire claimed Hooker had employed mind and behavioral control techniques, such as isolation and terror, designed to rob Colleen not only of her physical autonomy but of her will. Letting a note of anger slip into her voice, she declared that Hooker had kept Colleen “on an invisible leash.”
In relating the principal events of those seven years, McGuire was careful to describe, count by count, each crime with which Hooker was charged. She also included the weakest portions of the people’s case—the “year out” and the brief trip to Riverside, Colleen’s declarations of love for Cameron, and Janice’s jealousy. She didn’t want the jurors to feel she was hiding anything.
In the state’s interpretation, Jan’s conscience motivated her to free Colleen and leave Cameron. Fearful of her husband’s plans for taking another slave, guilty over her own role in Colleen’s kidnap and imprisonment, Janice told Colleen the defendant didn’t belong to the Company, there was no Company, it was all a lie.
McGuire explained Colleen’s failure to contact police as the result of “seven years of attachment conditioning.” She compared Colleen to “an infant who must cry for food, could not talk, and was bound. As Hooker intended, she became extremely dependent, just as an infant is. And just as an infant develops an attachment even to the worst of mothers, so did Colleen.”
While she spoke, two sketch artists deftly rendered McGuire’s likeness with charcoal pencils, while journalists madly scribbled in notebooks.
Few noticed, however, that in the midst of her opening statement the prosecutor surprised herself. Her voice didn’t waver, but her eyes grew wet, and she came dangerously close to tears. After all these months of acclimatizing herself to this case, it still affected her.
McGuire concluded her remarks, rather anticlimactically, by simply listing some of the most convincing evidence. Then a recess was called, and a clutter of television cameras zeroed in on her for brief interviews in the hall.
When the cameras were shut off, a female television reporter commented to McGuire, “This reminds me of The Story of O. Have you read it?”
“That’s reference material,” McGuire joked. But the reporter’s question triggered a recollection. She decided to ask Janice about it.
Defense Attorney Papendick presented a very different version of the relationship between the three main characters in this peculiar drama.
He began by casting doubt on Janice Hooker’s credibility, noting that her November, 1984, statement to police was replete with “I don’t knows” and “I can’t remembers.” “She was making changes in her statement as late as two weeks ago,” he charged.
And he portrayed her as a clearly guilty party. He said, for instance, that it was Janice, not Cameron, who found the article on slavery and suggested making Colleen their slave.
Striding back and forth as he read from notecards, the defense attorney explained that Cameron and Jan had originally agreed there should be no sex with Colleen, only bondage. He granted that she was initially kidnapped and held against her will, but said that once the Hookers moved to the mobile home, “Kay,” as Colleen was called, was no longer held captive.
She was free to go, yet opted to stay, becoming part .of the Hooker household. Papendick enumerated her many freedoms: she attended family gatherings, made phone calls, babysat, and was often out on her own. She went jogging, shopping, and to bars where she met men. And wherever she went, she always returned to the Hooker home.
In 1981, Colleen was even taken to visit her family, alone, for twenty-four hours. She never complained about her living situation. And she voluntarily returned to Red Bluff with Cameron.
Papendick didn’t deny that Cameron practiced bondage with Colleen, but this, he said, was consensual. Moreover, he announced, “the evidence will clearly show that Colleen loved Cameron, even promising she would give him the son that Janice never did.”
Papendick explained that Jan became extremely jealous of Colleen’s relationship with Cameron and felt threatened by Colleen’s easy rapport with the children. In 1981, Colleen was put back in the box at Jan’s insistence.
Emphasizing discrepancies in the stories of the threesome, Papendick said: “Cameron recalls she was out and free all night, every night. Jan recalls one to three hours. And Colleen recalls fifteen to thirty minutes.”
By 1984, Colleen had resumed her status as a live-in babysitter and regular member of the household. She was included in family excursions, and even rode a bike to and from King’s Lodge, where she worked as a motel maid.
Meanwhile, Papendick contended, Janice was on the verge of a mental breakdown and was in no condition to care for her daughters. Still intensely jealous over the sexual relationship between Cameron and Colleen, she now feared they would take her children from her.
By August of 1984, Janice badly wanted Colleen out of the house, so she told her the Company was a lie and that she had to leave.
It was significant, Papendick continued, wrinkling his nose with emphasis, that three days after her departure Colleen telephoned Cameron at 12:11 A.M. and talked for seventy-six minutes! In fact, the defense would show there were several phone calls placed between the two over the next three months.
More than a lingering affection existed between Colleen and Cameron, Papendick said. They planned to be reunited: Colleen’s father owned land in Cottonwood, not far from Red Bluff, and she talked of moving there. Cameron volunteered to put in sprinklers and plant trees. In a letter, Colleen wrote: “I can’t wait to get back home.”
Janice panicked, went to the police, and Cameron landed in jail.
Returning to his seat, Papendick left in his wake the impression of a quirky—yet technically legal—living arrangement.
CHAPTER 29
Janice Hooker, who had been waiting in the jury room while McGuire and Papendick gave their opening statements, would be the state’s first witness.
She emerged from the back of the courtroom looking decidedly undramatic, plain, and pudgy. But she’d cut her hair short since the preliminary hearing, and instead of her usual sweatshirt and jeans, she was wearing the simple cotton dress that McGuire had bought for her.1
Janice was sworn in, then seated herself in the witness box without even glancing at Cameron.
McGuire had watched Janice grow over the past months, watched her struggle with her own guilt, with her unhappy bond with Cameron, with worry over how all this would affect her children. Her private life had become painfully public—never a comfortable situation, but worse in a small town like Red Bluff. It took considerable courage for her to overcome the awful twin pulls of fear and loyalty in decrying the sins of the man who had been the center of her orbit for more than twelve years.
But McGuire knew the jurors might feel unsympathetic toward Janice. That she was getting immunity for her testimony rubbed some people the wrong way. After all, they said, she was guilty of everything he was, she ought to be on trial, too. And there seemed something doubly suspect about a woman who would testify against her husband.
So McGuire tried to balance Jan’s guilt against her victimization. She wanted to encourage her to be open, yet avoid appearing too chummy.
Gun-shy after Jan’s horrible testimony at the preliminary hearing, McGuire asked: “Are you taking any medication today?”
“No.” She was straight and clearheaded.
The prosecutor quickly delved into the evidence. First, a stack of photographs of Janice in bondage positions. (The whole courtroom was stunned to hear that some of these had been done to Janice as many as fifty or a hundred times.) Then McGuire had her identify the heavy, double-walled head box, which she placed on a table near the center of the room. Next, she had Janice describe how Cameron had constructed the head box in 1975 in the basement at 1140 Oak Street, and led into the agreement that preceded Colleen Stan’s abduction.
Asked to explain, Janice sai
d, “I wanted a child, and I pressed him many times about having a child, and he agreed, as long as he could have a sexual slave.”
McGuire started to ask, “Was it your understanding that the sadism—” but Papendick shot out an objection over the word sadism.
Judge Knight paused to consider this, then said, “That’s a matter of opinion, but I’ll overrule.”
It was a small victory for McGuire. They’d made the leap from bondage to sadism, from a legal form of sexual expression to one that, while not overtly illegal, was certainly more sinister.
McGuire asked, “Was it your understanding that this person would endure the sadism?”
“Yes.”
“And that it would stop with regard to you?”
“I believe some things he might do to me, but the hanging he’d do to the sex slave.”
“Was the hanging the most painful?”
“Yes.”
“Did it end?”
“No.”
“What do you understand a sadist to be?”
“A person who performs acts of bondage, hanging, whipping, and enjoying the pain that the other person suffers.”
“And what about a masochist?”
“Sexual enjoyment from pain.”
“Is the defendant a sadist?”
Papendick shouted out another objection.
The judge sustained the objection, barring Janice’s answer, but the idea that Hooker was a sadist was firmly planted in every mind in the courtroom. Whether his wife was a masochist was another question.
Several of the jurors took notes as McGuire laboriously covered the events of the first several days of Colleen’s captivity. She posted displays on a bulletin board, asking Janice to identify a picture of the rack, then a large drawing of the box that Cameron kept Colleen in. It “opened like a chest freezer,” Janice said.
The courtroom sat transfixed as Janice described the nightly feeding routine, how Colleen was only allowed to use the bedpan once a day for the first few weeks, and the dunking incident when Colleen was given her first bath.2
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