TARGETED: A Deputy, Her Love Affairs, A Brutal Murder

by M. William Phelps

They argued. He called into question Tracy’s competence as a law enforcement officer. The animosity between them sputtering out in words back and forth.

  When Tracy later returned to her car after going back to the station to get a second set of keys, the sheriff who had waited behind to make sure nothing happened to the vehicle got out of his car and said, “Hey, Fortson, come here.”

  They walked over to the passenger’s side of Tracy’s car.

  “Look,” he said, pointing.

  “When I looked and saw the door unlocked, he opened it. The damn car had been unlocked all along. Someone had locked the driver’s side door to make me think that the keys were locked in. All that trouble and arguing and cussing for nothing. I had never locked my keys in the car. Somebody was expressing their sense of humor.”

  Tracy told me this story, she later said, because there always seemed to be someone in the department messing around with her—and it was some of those same sheriffs and deputies who later investigated the murder of Doug Benton.

  57.

  Camp began cross-examining Ralph Stone by asking the crime scene re-constructionist if he believed his “opinion was only really as good as the information upon which (he was) provided.” A fair and intelligent question under what were unprecedented circumstances.

  “That is correct,” Stone responded.

  “So, if you don’t have all of the information, then it is sometimes difficult to make an appropriate opinion, correct?”

  “I can make an opinion,” Stone pushed back a little, “but my opinion might change if I am provided additional information.”

  They discussed the so-called “research” Stone had studied and ultimately based his opinions on in this case, and how much of it, actually, Stone had taken a look at. But before Stone could answer, Tom Camp indicated an interest in something else, a topic of which should have caused jurors to sit up straight: How many times had Stone met with DA Bob Lavender to talk about the case and his testimony?

  Stone agreed he had met with Lavender “at least once if not more.”

  “And you all talked about this theory of the case and all of that, is that correct?”

  “He gave me an overview of the facts, I guess, as he understood them.”

  As he understood them, in this situation, is an incredible statement. It’s no secret, of course, that witnesses meet with prosecutors to discuss testimony. Yet, when that testimony pertains to such delicate matters such as opinion and what might have happened at a crime scene during the course of a murder, it was important to point out what would become one of Tracy Fortson’s main points of contention later—that a murder narrative was constructed by the district attorney and Stone was the chosen storyteller.

  Next, Camp returned to the idea of the tractor forks and/or a screwdriver at the watering trough farmland scene being responsible for the possible stab wounds. He and Stone talked about this for a few moments, Stone agreeing that nobody had ever told him about a screwdriver being at the watering trough scene (a major piece of editing).

  After that, Camp took a final look at his yellow legal pad and said he was done.

  Lavender produced another GBI crime scene analyst who talked about and eventually qualified all of the photographs taken inside Doug’s house. Once again, here was another law enforcement expert talking about what had been established repeatedly as a “very strong odor” of kerosene as investigators and crime scene experts walked into Doug’s residence.

  This testimony, no doubt one of the DA’s final witnesses, carried on and on as Lavender had him introduce photo after photo, depicting nearly every scene inside Doug’s house.

  From Doug’s home, they moved onto Doug’s truck, before a series of photographs of it was introduced.

  The testimony became so tedious and comprehensive that the judge requested a break for jurors to collect their thoughts and unwind for a few moments.

  When crime scene analyst Terry Cooper returned after the break, they moved onto the crime scene, where the watering trough had been found. Cooper talked about all the photos he took, including aerial shots from a helicopter.

  After 15 minutes of that, it was on to Tracy’s truck and all of the photos Cooper had taken.

  In particular, Lavender had Cooper explain how the photographs of marks on the trees near the spot where the trough was found matched in height to Tracy’s bumper, implying that it was likely that Tracy’s truck made the markings on the trees.

  This was speculation, not science. And Tracy had strong opinions about it when we talked.

  “(In) the video from the scene where Doug’s body was found,” she said, “investigators tried to match marks on a tree to the bumper of my truck. In the video, you can see a fresh scrape on a pine tree, a fairly large chunk that was very visible. However, when you look at the still photos taken prior to the removal of the metal container, using a tractor and hayforks, it is obvious that the mark was not there. They were trying to connect my truck to a mark that was most definitely caused by the tractor. And you’ll notice that they used three (police officers) to simulate the weight of the container (estimated at 1,100 pounds) and the effect the weight had when it came to how far the bumper of my truck dropped. What kind of scientific analysis is that?”

  Over the course of that same afternoon, Jessie Mattox, Cody Cross and Amory “Buck” Scoggins concluded the DA’s case. Mostly, Mattox and Cross told jurors about the crime scenes (yet again), with a focus on the concrete mix Tracy had purchased, when and where. Scoggins discussed his role in the investigation interviewing Tracy, telling jurors Tracy admitted that she’d had a “rocky relationship” with Doug, and that Doug, in her view, had “become jealous” and wanted to “know her whereabouts at all times.”

  Probably the most important question Lavender asked that afternoon went to Scoggins when the prosecutor brought up whether the sheriff had “eliminated” Jerry Alexander and Jeff Bennett as suspects in the murder of their friend.

  “They were eliminated as suspects,” Scoggins testified.

  The DA left it there and did not get into how.

  Amory Scoggins was the DA’s final witness.

  To that, a few moments later, the judge asked Tracy to stand. Then: “I have just talked to your attorney about whether or not you would take the witness stand and testify. And he has informed the court that you are not.” Further, the judge made a point to say it was his responsibility to make sure that this was a conscious decision on Tracy’s part and if she understood it clearly.

  “Do you want to testify?” the judge asked pointedly.

  Tracy looked toward her attorney. Then down at the table. After a pause. “No, sir,” she said.

  Quite surprisingly, Tom Camp told the judge that the defense was resting its case—meaning, of course, that Tracy’s lawyers were not going to be calling any defense witnesses.

  The judge brought the jury back in and explained the situation, adding how the remainder of the trial was set for closing arguments.

  During closings, both attorneys tirelessly rehashed their cases, point by point, adding nothing more to the record other than a narrative of the case from his perspective.

  By 6:10 that evening, after a week of testimony, the jury was in a room deliberating Tracy Fortson’s fate.

  Just under three hours later, by 9 that same night, a note was given to the judge that jurors had reached a verdict. In terms of scope and how much information had been detailed during the weeklong trial, this was rather quick.

  The judge had the foreperson stand. He then asked if the jury had, in fact, reached a unanimous decision.

  “Yes, Your Honor, we have,” the foreperson said.

  The judge had the foreperson hand the verdict to the bailiff.

  Tracy’s stomach tightened. She gripped the hand of her lawyer, pinched her face, and prepared herself.

  58.

  In December 2016, I began sending Tracy questions about various aspects of her case. Namely, a belief of mine that Tra
cy was reading one particular document wrong and was too focused on the conspiracy aspect of her argument. One of her main contentions throughout has been that many of the people involved in her case lied—that, in effect, either collectively or by themselves, conspired to make sure the evidence lined up to convict her. I need to always question this sort of accusation because, for one, just about every convicted murderer I have interviewed makes it; and two, the chances that so many law enforcement officers got together to falsify and plant evidence to frame a person for murder is, to me, as far-fetched an accusation as there could ever be. I mean, were there mistakes made in Tracy’s case? Surely. Were parts of the investigation compromised? Absolutely. Were speculation and opinion put forth during her trial that might have been misconstrued as fact? No question about it. But for me, I have to ask: Did several law enforcement officers walk into that courtroom and lie to make sure Tracy Fortson was convicted?

  I am not anywhere near that opinion.

  Thus, as I started to ask what I saw as hard, pushback questions, Tracy went after my motives, ethics, how I work and my overall interest in writing about her case.

  We got into what was a heated email exchange over the holiday season 2016. By the start of the New Year, after trying to work through our difficulties and differences of opinion, I received this:

  Sorry. But I don’t believe that you are looking out for my best interests. I no longer wish to participate in your project and request that you do not include any of my personal information, i.e. emails, documents, letters, or any other correspondence relating to my case or my personal life, in your book, if you decide to write one.

  Respectfully, Tracy Lea Fortson

  I understood the frustration and anger. It was just a week or so before this email that Tracy had been given some rather bad and final news from an appellate court. She was in the tough position of facing finality regarding her case. On top of that, and maybe most importantly, I sat back in my cozy office and put myself in the position of someone in prison for life knowing she had not committed the crime for which she had been convicted. That would be (anyone would agree), to borrow a cliché, a living hell like no other. The feeling of isolation and no one willing to listen must be immense and overwhelming. Your days are consumed by thoughts of never being able to explain to the world that you are not who the court says you are. I would imagine, speaking for myself, that a final exit enters your mind at some point.

  Still, I needed to defend the integrity of what I do, why I do it and how I do it, and fight for Tracy’s continued participation. We were, at the time she cut it off, heading somewhere. I could feel it. I sensed a breakthrough. I had been told by a woman in television who studied this case and produced a show about it that I needed to go into it with open eyes and an understanding that Tracy could be telling the truth. You, as a reader, have read most of the evidence presented. You’ve heard witnesses testify. You cannot, like me, overlook how guilty Tracy Fortson comes across. It’s seems so clear to me that only one person had motive, means and opportunity to kill Doug Benton.

  I persevered and called Doug’s mother.

  “She’s innocent,” Doug’s mother, the victim in this case, told me over the phone. “I have no doubt about it.”

  I spoke to Carol Benton for some time. She insisted over and over that Tracy had been set up and framed.

  Hanging up the phone, I sat back and thought about it: The victim’s mother stands behind the main suspect and person likely most responsible for her son’s death?

  A bit pissed off at her trying to cut me off and the idea that as soon as I posed some tough questions, she got upset, I wrote to Tracy.

  Honestly, this back and forth, passive-aggressiveness, is not good for your cause. And I’m done with it. I thought we were going to chat by phone early next year, hash these things out—the facts of your case—but forget that now!

  So you face a bit of pushback, some pressure from me on a few issues (based on speculation and opinion) … and you decide: You know what, he’s getting to close. He’s not accepting the applied truth. You’re right: I do NOT have your best interests at heart; I have the interest of the TRUTH … I considered maybe that truth was what you were interested in. Apparently, only when it plays into your arguments and opinions are you interested. I ask tough questions because I need answers. You don’t agree, you throw up your hands and give up. That’s fine with me.

  … Please note: Your case (life story) is public. All of the letters I have, the documents, trial transcripts, police reports, witness interviews, medical and autopsy reports, scores and scores of additional documents, interviews I conduct with all the players, audio and photos and video, a 6-page narrative of events written by YOU, your letters to Carol Benton and hers back to you, etc., ALL of it is public record and fair use for me as a journalist. All of what you wrote to me in your prison emails (which you KNEW could end up as part of my book—the ONLY reason we were corresponding) … is good to go. You’ve said a LOT. Thank you for that!

  So I will consider that you want no part from this point on. Fine. You can’t answer some hard questions the public will expect me to ask, that is okay. I get it. I had a running list of questions based on what I have uncovered that I was just about to send, but forget that.

  Tracy wrote back a few days later.

  I would have liked to be able to talk to you without you interpreting what I say incorrectly, but no matter what I say or how I say it, you take it wrong. I don’t want pity, I’m not asking for your sympathy. I never asked for any of this. You contacted me, I never even heard of you until I got your letter.

  The way I understood you when you said you were looking at my case objectively was that you were looking at it from a neutral standpoint, but you’re not … It’s obvious that you had your mind made up before you ever contacted me. I didn’t throw my hands up and quit because you asked me hard questions. You already have the answers to the questions you asked … You tell me that you are basing your book on facts, but that isn’t true … You are going to believe what you want to believe about me, about evidence, about testimony and everything else involved in my case, and your book will reflect that. You don’t want to be neutral and non-biased, if you did, I would continue, but you slam me every chance you get. … (Y)ou aren’t interested in the truth. You’re only interested in a story that will get you recognition, and possibly an award. I’m not angry with you. You are what you are and you’re just doing what comes natural to you.

  I so wanted to hit back. But as I thought about it, Tracy was in prison, alone, feeling as if some book writer was poking her with a stick to get a reaction to write a juicy, salacious book that made her look like a fool—on top of being completely guilty. Anyone who has ever read any of my books knows that’s not me. But she didn’t know that, obviously.

  I left it there. It was clear to me that Tracy was coming from a place of pure frustration and angst. Taking the environment she was in at the time into account, I knew there was no way, then, I could convince her that it doesn’t matter what she thinks of me, what type of book I am writing, what the court found, what I think personally of her, or what the investigation uncovered. What matters, really, in the end, is what the evidence implies. What does that evidence—even when you take out those pieces of the puzzle Tracy calls controversial or contrived—say about who killed Doug Benton? There is so much that points to Tracy as Doug’s killer.

  Was all of that so-called evidence, however, too much? This became the question. Was it too obvious that Tracy Fortson was Doug’s killer? Were there just too many breadcrumbs leading to Tracy? As a cop, why hadn’t she cleaned up her role in the murder better, if she had done it? Why leave so much evidence behind, especially knowing the process of crime scene investigation?

  59.

  On a good day, most people manage the world in which they live fairly well. In other words, most of us with a solid moral compass make the best decisions we can based on the information we are given, and le
ad the best life we know how to. Juries, it has been said, do the best they can, given the circumstances and evidence. But at the end of the day, as William Landay so articulately puts it in his book, Defending Jacob, “A jury verdict is just a guess—a well-intentioned guess, generally, but you simply cannot tell fact from fiction by taking a vote.”

  For Tracy Fortson, her life was in the balance. A guilty verdict and it was over. An acquittal and she could pick up the pieces and try to move on. She’d struggled to come to terms with being branded a murderer. And if there were one consistent, undeniable facet of Tracy Fortson’s character, it had to be that from June 2000, when she was arrested, until I began speaking with her in 2016, the woman had not once wavered in her resolve and determination to clear her name. Throughout all of those years, Tracy maintained she was set up and framed by a group of cops who had pooled their resources to see that she paid the ultimate price—either because of something Doug had done in his past or that sexual harassment suit she had lodged against Ray Sanders and the sheriff’s department.

  The courtroom was silent, waiting on the clerk to read the jury’s verdict. It could go either way. The short time span of deliberation didn’t mean a damn thing, in the end. Juries were a fickle bunch. They got it right and they got it wrong.

  Tom Camp put an arm around his client. “It’s going to be OK.”

  Tracy stared at each juror.

  On all five counts—malice murder, felony murder, aggravated assault with a gun, aggravated assault with a knife, attempted arson—Tracy was convicted.