Wall of Silence

by Dorey Whittaker

  “Yes, sir.” Marjorie sat glaring at Lisa as the judge called the proceedings to a close. The bailiff ordered everyone to remain seated until he had removed the jury. As the jury stood up and began filing out, every one of them took a good long look at Marjorie sitting in that witness box.

  Duncan watched their faces, carefully trying to measure the impact of his work that morning. As each juror took their turn looking at Marjorie, Duncan screamed in his head, Good, now piece that disgust you have for this woman with the feelings you had Friday, seeing those photos of that young girl. Think about how you, or any normal parent, could possibly have stayed away. Ask yourself that question. Could you have stayed away?

  Duncan didn’t really believe in mental telepathy, but it had become his habit to concentrate all his mental energies toward the jury at those times when he most wanted them to think. He couldn’t possibly know if this actually worked, but he usually got the results he wanted from his juries, so he wasn’t going to stop now.

  After the jury left, he turned back to Lisa and asked how she was doing. He knew this morning was Lisa’s hardest, and she had handled it very well. Each time he looked over at Lisa she had a pleasant look on her face. She had followed his orders. He put his arm around the back of her chair and leaned in closely to speak. As he was finishing his question, he saw Lisa’s eyes leave his face and look past his left shoulder. He could hear Marjorie’s footsteps behind him as she made her way up the aisle, and he knew Lisa was looking at her.

  “Lisa, you handled yourself very well this morning. How are you doing?”

  Lisa’s eyes didn’t return to his face until he heard the sound of the back door opening. And then, as the familiar creak subsided signaling Marjorie had gone, Lisa’s eyes returned to his.

  He smiled. He had come to respect this strong, self-controlled woman sitting beside him. Few people have the opportunity to know another person as well as a criminal defense attorney gets to know his client. By the time an attorney has put a case together, he or she has talked to almost every person, both good and bad, who has ever known the client. The attorney has probably heard every dirty little story there is to tell. During preparation, if he is good, has pieced together an accurate picture of the client’s life. Duncan had done this with Lisa Miller. There were no secrets. He knew it all, and he respected her for becoming the woman she was.

  Lisa quickly assured him she was fine. “Just a little tired. I think I forgot to keep breathing a few times though. When it got really painful, I focused my mind on the note from my niece and that helped.”

  “Well, I suspect you have heard the last of your mother for today. I would seriously doubt that Mr. Gordon will want to have Marjorie Miller on the stand anymore than absolutely necessary. He will probably dismiss her almost immediately after lunch. Why don’t you go have some lunch and relax during the two-hour break? I need to check with the court clerk and make sure Mrs. Reiner is here, so I probably won’t come in and see you during the break. I have some things to handle, and your whole family is here, so you’ll be all right.”

  With this, Duncan gathered his papers and headed for the court clerk’s office.

  Chapter 32

  Just as Mr. Duncan had suspected, when the trial was resumed and Marjorie Miller was re-seated in the witness box, Mr. Gordon, never looking directly at Marjorie, said, “I have no questions for this witness, Your Honor.”

  Duncan had read it right. He had intentionally questioned her right up until the noon break so the judge would not have time to offer Gordon an opportunity to begin his cross-examination. The judge, although probably feeling Gordon would want to get rid of her as soon as possible, couldn’t take the chance of Gordon taking the court over into the lunch break, so Judge Kirkley was forced to make him wait until after the break.

  This was an important move on Duncan’s part. He wanted the jury to again see Marjorie Miller sitting on the witness stand just before Mrs. Reiner was called. He didn’t want to have even a two-hour break between these two women in the minds of the jury, and he had accomplished it.

  As Marjorie took a seat three rows behind the prosecution’s table, Judge Kirkley asked Duncan to call his next witness.

  “The defense calls Mrs. Bernice Reiner to the stand.”

  Lisa had read Duncan’s transcript of her interview, but had not seen her old neighbor since she ran away. Lisa turned and watched as Mrs. Reiner came down the aisle, took her seat, and was sworn in.

  “Mrs. Reiner, can you please tell the court how long it has been since you have spoken to my client, Lisa Miller?”

  “Spoken to her or seen her?” Mrs. Reiner wanted to be careful not to answer any questions incorrectly.

  “Either one, Mrs. Reiner. Can you recall for the court how long it has been since you have had personal contact with my client?”

  Mrs. Reiner was a wise woman and knew where Mr. Duncan was going. She was going to make sure the jury heard it loud and clear. “Yes. Well, I lived next door to the Millers the entire time Lisa lived at home. She was born right after the Millers moved in. During the whole seventeen years Lisa lived next door, I don’t recall a single conversation with her. Nothing more than a quick ‘hello.’ Those girls never talked with any of us neighbors. That is to say, none of the adults in the neighborhood. Lisa did talk with my son, Steve, sometimes. But only when her parents were not at home. But to answer your question, it has been over twenty years since I have seen Lisa Miller.”

  Duncan knew it was always better to have a witness tell the jury a fact rather than the lawyer. Jurors tended to be distrustful of lawyers, so whenever possible, he wanted the witness to tell them what he wanted them to know.

  “Mrs. Reiner, after all that time, can you explain to the court what circumstances transpired that brought you into this courtroom today?”

  “I was contacted by you because my name was found on several Atlanta police reports over the years.” Mrs. Reiner emphasized the word several as she gave her answer to the jury. Duncan had also instructed her to address as many of her answers directly to the jury, rather than toward him.

  “So, Mrs. Reiner, how did your name get to be on several police reports involving the Miller family?”

  “I was their next-door neighbor for more than twenty years, and until Chuck Miller was sent off to prison, I had the great misfortune of hearing fights that would turn your hair gray.”

  “Objection, Your Honor. Please instruct the witness to refrain from adding her colorful colloquialisms.”

  Judge Kirkley, after giving Mrs. Reiner a polite smile, instructed, “Mrs. Reiner, please simply answer the questions placed before you. I understand it is difficult sometimes to give succinct answers, but please do.”

  Then turning to the court recorder, the judge instructed, “Please strike her last comment.”

  “Mr. Duncan, would you care to rephrase your question for the witness?”

  Returning a polite nod, Duncan asked, “Mrs. Reiner, over that period the Miller family resided next door, how many times did you call the Atlanta police complaining of fighting?”

  “It felt like hundreds.” But as Mrs. Reiner saw Gordon start to lean forward, ready to object, she quickly changed her wording. “But it was probably several dozen times. I didn’t keep count.”

  Duncan got up and came over to stand close to Mrs. Reiner. Actually, he positioned himself between her and the jury so they could look over his shoulder and still see her face.

  “You say these fights went on until Charles Miller, otherwise known as Chuck Miller, went to prison? Now, is that the prison term he served for beating his daughter, Lisa Miller, fourteen years ago?”

  “No. I know nothing about that time. The prison term I’m talking about was twenty-five years ago when he almost killed his wife. If I hadn’t called the police that time, he would have killed her.”

  Gordon jumped to his feet. “Objection, Your Honor! This witness cannot possibly know what might have happened.”

  Jud
ge Kirkley, looking at Mrs. Reiner, said, “Will the witness please confine her answers to details that are known to be true, and the court recorder will strike that last comment from the record. Go on, Mr. Duncan.”

  “Mrs. Reiner, the Atlanta police records show that you called them on five different occasions during the four-year period prior to that incident. You were complaining of violent fighting going on in the Miller residence. Is that correct?”

  “Yes, but that was just the five times I couldn’t take it any longer. Usually, if the fight didn’t last too long I would try to ignore it, but if it kept going and especially if it was one of the girls being beaten, I would call the police.”

  “So Chuck Miller did not restrict his fights to only his wife? He also beat his girls?”

  “Absolutely.” Mrs. Reiner’s reaction was pure contempt.

  Again, Mr. Gordon objected. “Your Honor, Mrs. Reiner was not inside that house and has no way of knowing who, if anyone, was being hit. She simply heard some screaming and therefore made an assumption.”

  Duncan spun around and looked directly at Gordon while addressing the bench. “Your Honor, if you will allow me to continue my questioning, I will show the court that there were no assumptions made on Mrs. Reiner’s part.”

  Judge Kirkley looked at Mrs. Reiner and then said, “I will allow her comment to stand. However, Mr. Duncan, if I am not quickly satisfied that you have met your burden of proof, I will strike her entire comment.”

  Duncan turned again to Mrs. Reiner, taking a step back so the jury could easily see her face as she told them her story. He wanted them to see the same face he had seen when she told this same story to him two months earlier. “Now, Mrs. Reiner, please tell the court what proof you have that Chuck Miller beat his children.”

  Mrs. Reiner took a deep breath and leaned forward in her chair as if bracing for a difficult task. Her eyes found the most grandmotherly face on the jury, and she spoke directly to her.

  “The very first beating I witnessed Chuck Miller give one of his daughters was twenty-seven years ago, and I’ll never forget it. My husband and I were in our back yard planting a vegetable garden. It was about lunchtime, and I was getting up so I could go into the house and fix us something to eat when a rock came flying over the fence and just missed my head.

  “My husband jumped up and started screaming over the fence at our neighbor, Chuck Miller. Usually, my husband would never think to talk back at that man because the whole neighborhood was afraid of him, my husband included.”

  “Objection, Your Honor. Mrs. Reiner cannot speak for the entire neighborhood.” Gordon almost fluffed his chest as he made his protest. Then, he looked over at one or two of the jurors as the judge ordered the comment stricken. It was obvious his challenging this woman was not sitting well with them.

  Duncan then motioned for Mrs. Reiner to proceed.

  Turning back to the jury, Mrs. Reiner continued as if never interrupted. “We had ignored three or four other big rocks he had thrown over that morning while mowing his lawn, but when that rock almost hit me in the head, my husband had had enough. The two of them screamed and yelled at each other for several minutes before Chuck Miller turned and stormed off toward his kitchen door.

  “My husband and I stood there staring at him as he dared us to do something about it. When he walked into his kitchen, he didn’t bother to close the door, so we could see clearly what took place next. He walked a little to the right of the door, but we could see everything through the kitchen window. We could see his wife, Marjorie, standing at the sink. We heard him yell something at her, and then we watched as he slammed her against the sink and slapped her across the face.

  “As this was happening, their youngest daughter, Susan, then just five years old, walked through the door that led from their living room. I watched as she stood against that door looking at her parents. Before my husband and I could do anything to stop it, Chuck Miller walked over to his daughter, grabbed a handful of her hair, and picked that baby up by her hair a good three feet off the ground and slammed her head against the door three or four times.

  “I remember standing there absolutely frozen in disbelief at what I was seeing, and before I could collect my thoughts, he took his left hand, made a fist, and punched that baby in the stomach as hard as he would any man. Then he dropped her, stepped over her, and went through that door into another part of the house.

  “You know, that baby didn’t make a sound. She crawled over by the kitchen table and started picking something up off the floor. Then, still bent over in pain, she left the kitchen.”

  By the end of Mrs. Reiner’s accounting of this story, her face was tear-stained, as were the faces of several jurors.

  “Mrs. Reiner, what, if anything, happened to Chuck Miller because of that beating?”

  “Nothing,” was her disgusted response.

  “Didn’t someone call the police?”

  “Yes, sir, we did! That was the first time I called the police on Chuck Miller.”

  “What did the police do? Did they come out and investigate?”

  “Yes, they came. They came to our house first, and we told them exactly what we saw. Then they walked over and talked to Chuck Miller. We watched them from our living room window, standing there talking to him out on his porch. Then they left, and he went back into his house.”

  “Didn’t they talk with the child or check to see if she was all right?”

  “No! They never entered the house, and she never came out.”

  “So what did you do after they left?”

  “Well, we sat there for a while talking about how unfair it all was and trying to figure out what we could do. You see, it was dangerous to have Chuck Miller mad at you, and if the police weren’t going to do anything, calling them was just asking for trouble.

  “Finally, an hour or so later I called the police station and asked to talk to one of the officers who had come over. He called me back about two hours later with a real attitude in his voice. I asked him what was going to happen to Chuck Miller and he said, ‘Nothing.’ ”

  Before Duncan could ask another question, Mrs. Reiner began repeating that officer’s full statement to her in an extremely mocking voice. ‘He said “Mr. Miller just got a little carried away spanking his kid for disobeying. It happens sometimes, Mrs. Reiner. I think that, because the three of you had just had an argument, your perspective was a little vengeful. Wouldn’t you say that was possible, Mrs. Reiner?’ “

  Mrs. Reiner sat back in her chair, paused a moment, and then looked at Mr. Duncan. “I have lived with those images in my head for more than twenty years. That was the first, but there were many more. Every time I called the police, they treated me like a malicious busybody, until the night he beat Marjorie Miller within an inch of her life.”

  Knowing Officer Bailey would fill the jury in on that night, Duncan wasn’t going to ask Mrs. Reiner to relive her memory for the jury, so he asked, “Mrs. Reiner, I’m not going to ask you to get into any details about that night, other than to ask, why did you call the police that night when they had disregarded your pleas for help so many times before?”

  “Well, after years of listening to those beatings, suddenly Lisa disappeared one day. The Millers said she had run away, but none of us really believed it. The police could not find a single person who had seen her. She hadn’t taken a bus, train, or plane—nothing. They couldn’t find one person who had seen her hitchhiking, and she apparently had no money. Even my son, Steve, had no idea where she had gone. After two months of the police coming around all the time, everyone was convinced Chuck Miller had probably gone too far one night and that Lisa was probably dead.”

  Mrs. Reiner turned her head toward Lisa and smiled at her as she said, “I was very happy to find out we were wrong.”

  Mrs. Reiner returned her gaze to the jury and continued. “Anyway, when word got around that Lisa had been seen in California, we still weren’t convinced. Then around eight o’clock that nig
ht, it started. I had heard lots of fights from that house, but this was different. Almost from the moment of the first sounds, we knew this was going to be a really bad one. I remember saying to my son that I couldn’t sit there and listen to it. Even if Lisa were safe, one of these times he was going to go too far, and I couldn’t have that on my conscience. So I called.”

  Duncan walked back to his seat next to Lisa and sat down. “I have no further questions of this witness, Your Honor.”

  Duncan knew Gordon wouldn’t have a chance with Mrs. Reiner. He knew Gordon had seen all the police reports. He had to know he couldn’t attack her memory because the reports confirmed everything she had said. He also had to know how powerful her testimony had been and how the jury was simply oozing sympathy for both Mrs. Reiner and the Miller girls. It was quarter to four, and Judge Kirkley was turning Mrs. Reiner over to the prosecution.

  Gordon made several attempts to pit Mrs. Reiner’s opinions against that of the police officers who had investigated each of these domestic disturbance calls, but he was getting nowhere. He could feel the discomfort of the jury as he tried to imply that maybe the police were a little more trained in the area of domestic problems than, say, a neighbor.

  Duncan smiled as Mrs. Reiner responded to this line of questioning. “No, sir, I do not think they know more! There is an old saying: ‘The proof is in the pudding.’ The police were wrong and I was right, I’m sorry to say. That is certainly one time I would have gladly been proven wrong, sir!”

  With this, Mr. Gordon said he had no further questions and sat down. The jury had heard enough for one day.

  Everyone was quiet as they made their way out of the courtroom. No one in the family knew what to say after this afternoon’s testimony. It was obvious Susan was upset, and Scott was ready to come undone. Caroline slid her arm around Susan and walked out with her without saying a word, while Aunt Gladys and Mrs. Bascom headed to the conference room to talk with Lisa.