The Scientology Murders

by William Heffernan

  “Never?” Wells elevated his voice to emphasize his incredulity.

  “I cannot recall ever making a call to her on either phone.”

  “Did you ever call the prison where she was incarcerated?”

  “Yes.”

  “Did you call to speak to her?”

  “No.”

  “If not to speak to her, for what reasons did you call?”

  “Whenever she had a parole hearing I would call to make sure I had the time and date right. The prison system is notorious for not keeping victims or their families informed about changes in the hearing schedules.”

  “And you wanted to be certain you would be there to oppose her release?”

  “That’s correct.”

  “Why?”

  “I considered her a danger to me and to others.”

  “You are a trained police officer, are you not?”

  “I am.”

  “Trained in defending yourself against attacks from a . . . 110-pound, middle-aged woman?” He extended his hand toward Lucy Santos at the defense table. She blinked.

  A ripple of laughter went through the courtroom. The judge used his gavel to command quiet.

  “May I have your answer, detective?” Wells pushed.

  “Yes sir, I am trained to defend myself.”

  “And yet you were afraid?”

  “I was concerned.”

  “Oh, I see, you were concerned, not afraid.”

  Peters jumped to his feet. “Your Honor, I object to the defense counsel’s continued use of sarcasm to belittle this highly decorated officer.”

  “Let’s ease up on the sarcasm, Mr. Wells,” Judge McCoy said, then turned to Harry. “You may answer the question.”

  “Yes, I was concerned.”

  “Why, because of some harmless letters she sent you hoping that you would one day arrive in heaven?” There was a wide grin on Wells’s face.

  Harry held the man’s eyes with a level gaze. “I was concerned because she had already killed me once when I was ten years old. I didn’t want her to have a second chance.”

  “The truth is that you wanted to set her up for a parole violation, isn’t that so? The truth is that you used the pay phone in the marina to call your mother and set up a meeting to discuss your personal difficulties, isn’t that so? And the truth is that you planted the six-inch carving knife on your mother after you asked Meg Avery to call the police. That is also the truth, is it not, Detective Doyle?”

  “Your Honor,” Peters shouted over Wells’s thundering words, “certainly defense counsel cannot be allowed to ask and answer his own questions!”

  Judge McCoy leaned forward. “The state’s attorney makes a valid point, Mr. Wells. Ask your questions one at a time and wait for Detective Doyle’s answers.”

  “At this time I have no further questions of this witness, Your Honor.”

  “I have one additional question, Your Honor,” Peters said.

  “Proceed,” the judge responded.

  Peters stood and stared long and hard into Harry’s eyes. “Detective Doyle, in response to Mr. Wells’s earlier question, you said that you were concerned about Ms. Santos’s release from prison because she had already killed you once and you didn’t want to give her another chance. Can you please elaborate?”

  “Objection!” Wells shouted.

  “Overruled, counsel,” McCoy said. “You opened this door. You may answer the question, Detective Doyle.”

  “According to reports filed with the Tampa Police Department, Ms. Santos drugged my six-year-old brother Jimmy and me.” Harry spoke slowly, his voice suddenly filled with sadness and regret. “When we were unconscious she dragged us into the garage of our Tampa home and started her car. She then left us there to die and went to her church. Fortunately, a neighbor heard the car running inside the closed garage and telephoned the police. Two patrol officers arrived, broke into the garage, and found us. Neither Jimmy nor I had a heartbeat and we weren’t breathing. The officers dragged us out of the garage and started CPR and were able to bring me back. Jimmy, who was younger and smaller, did not respond. He was pronounced dead at the scene.”

  “Thank you, detective,” Peters said. He turned to Wells and added: “Your witness, counselor.”

  Wells stood and peered at Harry. Then he extended a hand toward Lucy Santos once again. “This woman was judged mentally ill when she killed your brother Jimmy, isn’t that true?”

  “Yes,” Harry said.

  “And after years of psychiatric treatment she was declared well, was she not?”

  “Yes, she was,” Harry answered.

  “But you never forgave her, did you?”

  “No,” Harry said. “She—”

  “No further questions.”

  “Your Honor,” Peters said, rising to his feet, “I would like to hear all of Detective Doyle’s answer.”

  “You may finish your answer, detective,” McCoy said.

  “She showed no remorse in the letters she sent me year after year. I interpreted them to mean that she still wanted to ‘send me to Jesus,’ which was the reason she gave to the Tampa police when they arrested her for Jimmy’s murder and my attempted murder.”

  “No further questions, Your Honor,” Peters said.

  McCoy shifted his gaze to Wells and asked: “Anything further, Mr. Wells?”

  “I have no further use of this witness, Your Honor,” Wells said.

  “Mr. Peters, do you have another witness?” McCoy asked.

  “No, Your Honor, the prosecution rests.”

  “Call your first witness, Mr. Wells,” McCoy said.

  “The defense calls Tyler Tully.”

  Harry had taken a seat directly behind the prosecution table and he now watched Tyler Tully, a.k.a. the dock Nazi, being led to the witness stand by a court officer. It was a transformation he had not expected. He had only seen Tully dressed in a white T-shirt bearing the name of the marina, tan khaki cargo shorts, flip-flops, and a pith helmet. Today he was dressed in sharply creased tan slacks, a dark blue polo shirt under a light blue seersucker sports coat, and penny loafers. His short blond hair was slicked back with gel.

  Wells stood and favored him with a broad smile. “Mr. Tully, what is your job at the marina?”

  “I’m the dockmaster.” He seemed to inflate slightly with self-importance.

  “And what does that entail?”

  “I’m responsible for the safety of seventy-eight boats worth many millions of dollars, the safety of all persons who come onto the docks, and the protection of those docks from damage by weather, other boats, and vandalism. I’m also responsible for all fees owed by boat owners, and compliance to all rules and regulations of the marina.”

  “Is Detective Doyle, who is seated in this courtroom directly behind the prosecution table, a tenant at your marina?”

  “He is.”

  “Is he a good tenant?”

  “Yes, he is.” Tully gave Harry an insipid smile.

  “Mr. Tully, is there a pay phone on the marina’s property?”

  “Yes.”

  “Have you ever seen Detective Doyle use that pay phone?”

  “Yes, I believe I have.”

  “Did you see him use it on more than one occasion?” Wells asked.

  “Yes, I believe so.”

  “No further questions.” Wells walked back to the defense table.

  Peters stood. “Mr. Tully, would it surprise you to learn that Detective Doyle has testified that he has never used that pay phone?”

  Tully looked at him blankly, then turned his gaze to Wells as if searching for some help. “Well, I thought he had,” he said.

  “Could you have been mistaken?” Peters asked.

  “Well, anything’s possible,” he said, adding a silly smile. He caught a sharp look from Wells, and quickly added: “But I’m pretty certain I saw him use it.”

  “No further questions,” Peters said.

  “Your next witness, Mr. Wells,” the judge
said.

  “The defense calls William Harvey.”

  Harry watched a tall, slender man, about fifty years of age, with a long nose, thinning hair, and heavy bags under his eyes, walk to the witness stand to be sworn in.

  Wells remained behind the defense table. “Only a few questions, Mr. Harvey. Did you, pursuant to a request from my office, check the calls made from a pay phone at the Clearwater marina?”

  “I did,” Harvey said.

  “Did you find any calls made to a cell phone owned by Lucy Santos?”

  “I did. There were four such calls.”

  Wells handed him a sheet of paper. “Does this list, signed by you, note the times and dates those calls were made?”

  “It does,” Harvey said.

  Wells handed a copy to the judge. “Your Honor, please accept this as defense exhibit one.” He passed a copy to Peters as well. “No further questions.”

  “Mr. Peters?” the judge said.

  “No questions, Your Honor.”

  “I think this would be a good time to break for lunch,” the judge said. “Court will reconvene at one o’clock.”

  * * *

  When Harry returned from a quick sandwich at a nearby restaurant, he found Meg Avery standing outside the courtroom.

  “Hi, sailor,” she said as he walked past her.

  Harry stopped and moved toward her. Peters was standing farther down the hallway and Harry beckoned him over.

  “Making sure you have a witness?” Meg asked in a teasing voice.

  “It seems to be the wise thing to do,” he said.

  “Yes, I suppose it is. I’m sorry. But it was business, not personal, as they said in The Godfather.”

  Peters arrived and Harry introduced Meg as someone he had known as Meg Adams, a fellow dock mate when the incident occurred with Lucy Santos. “Her real name is Meg Avery and she’s the president and CEO of Avery Security,” he added.

  Meg, as always, looked beautiful. Now, unlike her days at the marina, she also looked glamorous. She was dressed to the nines in a dark blue Armani suit over a pale blue silk top, with dark blue Christian Louboutin pumps, all of it set off by her coifed red hair. Harry could tell Peters was already smitten.

  “I just wanted to tell you something,” Harry said. “If you’re still working for the same people, and you have any contact with Tony Rolf, please be careful. We believe he just killed another woman last night.” With that, he turned and entered the courtroom, with Jeremy Peters reluctantly following in his wake.

  * * *

  When court resumed Jordan Wells called Meg Avery to the witness chair, where she swore to tell the truth. She looked at Harry and gave him a small, regretful smile, and he knew without question she was prepared to lie through her teeth. Her words—It was business, not personal—rang in his ears.

  Wells came around to the front of the defense table and faced her. To Harry, they looked like models ready to head down the runway, each impeccably dressed in several thousand dollars’ worth of clothing.

  “Ms. Avery,” Wells began, “did there come a time earlier this year when you were living aboard a sailboat in the Clearwater marina under the name of Meg Adams?”

  “Yes, there was.”

  “What can you tell us about that?”

  “Very little, really,” Meg said, softening her words with a smile.

  “Why is that?”

  “I am president and CEO of Avery Security and I was there working for a client who has asked my firm to provide it with anonymity. I can tell you that my work had nothing to do with Lucy Santos or the case now before this court.”

  “I accept your client’s request for anonymity and your need to respect it,” Wells said. “On the day in question, in the matter that is now before this court, were you present when an incident occurred between Lucy Santos, the defendant in this matter, and Sheriff’s Detective Harry Doyle?”

  “Yes, I was.”

  “What did you observe?”

  “I was on deck when I saw Ms. Santos walking down the dock.”

  “How did she appear to you?”

  “She appeared to be looking for someone and she appeared confused.”

  “Confused in what way?”

  “She seemed confused in the way someone seems when they are not sure if they are in the right place.”

  “Did you speak to Ms. Santos?”

  “Yes, I did.”

  “What did you say?”

  “I climbed down off my boat and asked her who she was looking for.”

  “What happened then?”

  “Harry Doyle, who kept his boat in the slip across from mine, suddenly appeared on deck and jumped down to the dock and grabbed Ms. Santos. He put her in handcuffs and asked me to call the police with an ‘officer needs assistance’ message.”

  “And did you do what the detective asked?”

  “I did.”

  “You and Harry Doyle were dock mates and friends, were you not?”

  “Yes.”

  “And you knew he was a law-enforcement officer, correct?”

  “Yes, I did.”

  “And after you made the call, did two Clearwater police officers subsequently arrive and place Ms. Santos under arrest?”

  “Yes, they did.”

  “Now, Ms. Avery, are you a trained observer?”

  “Yes, I am.”

  Wells turned to the judge. “Your Honor, I have a list of training courses that Ms. Avery has completed. The corporation that she heads is a multimillion-dollar enterprise that employs several hundred people, including former police officers, FBI, and other federal agents. These people can be called to testify as to her expertise.”

  Peters rose to his feet. “That will not be necessary, Your Honor. The prosecution is familiar with Avery Security and we understand that Ms. Avery is a trained observer.”

  “You may proceed, Mr. Wells,” the judge said.

  “Ms. Avery, at any time did you see a six-inch carving knife in Ms. Santos’s hand?” Wells asked.

  “No, I did not.”

  “Did you subsequently see a six-inch carving knife?”

  “Yes, I saw Detective Doyle hand a knife matching that description to one of the police officers.”

  “Did you overhear anything that was said by Detective Doyle?”

  “Yes. Harry, Detective Doyle, said he had taken the knife away from the woman who had been arrested.”

  “But you didn’t see her with that knife.”

  “No.”

  “Were you surprised when he said she had been holding the knife?”

  “Yes, but I assumed he meant that he had found it on her person.”

  “The arrest report says she had menaced him with it.”

  “I didn’t see that.”

  “Thank you, Ms. Avery.” Wells turned to Peters, but his eyes remained on Harry. “Your witness, Mr. Prosecutor,” he said.

  Peters turned to Harry, who leaned in and whispered in his ear: “She’s lying, but I can’t prove it.”

  Peters rose slowly to his feet. “Ms. Avery, is it possible that you simply failed to see the knife, either because of your position on the dock or because you were preoccupied with telephoning the police?”

  “Of course it is, but I have to say that it would be highly unusual for me to miss such a blatant detail. And, of course, at that time Ms. Santos was handcuffed and her hands were behind her back and there was no knife on the dock or in Detective Doyle’s hands.”

  “Thank you. No further questions at this time.” Peters slowly returned to his seat. He purposefully avoided Harry’s eyes.

  Wells rose to his feet. “Your Honor, I debated whether or not to call the two arresting officers, but after reading their reports it was clear their testimony would add nothing to what they had written. I will therefore submit the reports to the court, and if the prosecutor chooses to call them as rebuttal witnesses, I will certainly not object. I now call the defendant, Lucy Santos, and if it pleases the court I
would like to have fifteen minutes to speak with her before she testifies.”

  “You may have fifteen minutes,” McCoy said.

  As Wells led Lucy Santos out of the courtroom, Harry asked Peters: “How badly did Avery’s testimony hurt us?”

  “It set new levels for reasonable doubt,” Peters replied. “In fact, it would not surprise me if the judge asked my office to investigate possible perjury charges.”

  “I told you the truth, Jeremy. I testified to exactly what happened.”

  “I believe you, Harry, and I don’t think a perjury investigation would come up with anything. But it adds one more area of doubt in your mother’s case.”

  “What about proving Meg Avery lied through her beautiful teeth?”

  “Bring me one witness who will testify that she told them she saw a knife in your mother’s hand and I’ll charge her. Otherwise I don’t see any way of challenging her statement. How do I prove that someone saw something they say they didn’t?” Peters paused. “What can I expect from your mother?”

  “She doesn’t want to go back to prison. She wants to stay close to me. She’ll say anything he tells her to say.”

  * * *

  Lucy Santos took the witness stand, keeping her eyes fixed on her attorney.

  “Please state your name,” Wells began.

  “Lucy Santos.”

  “How old are you?”

  “I am fifty-two.”

  “Where have you spent the last twenty years of your life?”

  “I was in prison.”

  “What were you convicted of doing?”

  Tears began to flow down Lucy Santos’s cheeks. “I killed my little boy Jimmy, and I tried to kill my other boy, Harry.”

  “Why did you do these things?”

  “I was sick.”

  Wells paused to let her words have full impact. “Are you still sick?”

  “No, I’m better now.”

  “Do you have any intention of hurting your son Harry?”

  “No sir, no, never. I would never hurt my Harry.” Lucy turned her head and stared directly at her son. “I would never hurt him.”

  “Did there come a time within the last month that you went to the marina where your son Harry lives?”

  “Yes, I went there.”

  “Did you know that there was a parole board order and a court order that you were to have no contact with him?”