In the gallery, Sasha and the Band of Sisters inhaled deeply, bit their lips, and shifted in their seats in uncomfortable anticipation. Harper’s summation had been effective: brief, concise and possibly the best he could have mustered in a case with no witnesses and no evidence to speak of. But had it been enough to sway the jury? Sure, his client had taken the stand against advice and self-destructed under cross-examination, but as Harper pointed out, the burden was on the state.
During closing arguments the state is allowed a rebuttal, and Nassios stood once again to address the jury. “I’m not going to belabor an argument because I know you are tired, but before you retire for your deliberations, I want you to think about the life that each of these two people bring to the table.” Nassios paused for effect, allowing the jurors to look between Ayesha and Larry Lee.
“Ayesha is young, just a kid really, has been unsettled, vulnerable, homeless with marginal support. Smith, on the other hand, is seasoned—in his fifties with life experience. He knows what to do. It means nothing that he did not leave. Larry Lee Smith knew that he had to cooperate. He was trying to wrap his mind around the fact that he’d just messed up. That’s why he went to the office before Ayesha. He knew he was in trouble.”
She explained that once at the police station, Larry Lee’s brain was racing. “He’s throwing out everything he can, trying to excuse his behavior and get Patty Tipton going in different directions.” Then Nassios reiterated Larry Lee’s six versions of events for the jurors. “Only someone savvy and manipulative, very manipulative,” would invent such a series of evolving scenarios.
Then there were his bizarre excuses related to the victim’s DNA on his hands. “When he said, ‘What she said happened, happened,’ he meant: Yeah, I had my hand in her vagina. Now, I’m not telling you that is a confession to rape. It’s an admission that he’d had sexual contact with her—which he could then later claim was consensual. There’s a difference between admission and confession. But at that point it was reasonable to assume that he was going to claim consensual sex as his defense.
“So the DNA wasn’t tested,” the prosecutor admitted. “It probably should have been.”
Then Nassios reminded the jury that the state had not claimed dire physical injuries for the victim. The sore neck and throat, the strained leg and groin muscles and the vaginal scratches had healed in a matter of days. “Ayesha didn’t go to the doctor,” Nassios acknowledged. “I don’t know why. Maybe she felt she couldn’t afford to go to the doctor. I have insurance; I go to the doctor. I bet you do, too. Maybe it’s not so easy for some people.”
On that final note, Nassios returned to her seat and Judge McGee began his instructions to the jury. At just past four in the afternoon, the panel retired to deliberate the fate of Larry Lee Smith.
Deliberations took under an hour. Sasha and the rest of the group had retired to her hotel to recharge on coffee and cookies and barely made it back in time. Just after arriving back at the courthouse, they were called into the courtroom. The twelve jurors filed in and the judge asked the foreperson, Mr. Donovan, if they had reached a verdict.
“We have, Your Honor,” Mr. Donovan answered. The jury found the defendant guilty on all three counts. At the defense table, Harper showed no reaction while Larry Lee resumed his pursed-lipped expression and shook his head in seeming disbelief at the injustice of it all.
Tears streamed down Anita’s cheeks. A young female juror with long, dark hair had turned to look at the group after the verdict was read. She observed Anita’s tears. When her eyes met Sasha’s, Sasha made a silent clapping motion of relief and agreement. Maintaining the posture of an impartial and silent juror, the young woman allowed herself a small smile. Her eyes communicated that she understood and that she too was relieved.
The judge set April 11, 2013, six weeks into the future, as the day of the defendant’s sentencing hearing.
“Your Honor, I want to ask for a new lawyer!” Larry Lee blurted out. Judge McGee, in his characteristic gentle manner, advised him that this was neither the time nor the setting to address that matter. Harper gathered his notes and placed them in his briefcase.
Knoxville News Sentinel court reporter Jamie Satterfield was present for the second day of the trial. In the hallway, afterward, she talked to Nassios and asked for a statement from Anita. Her story ran on page 8A of the February 27, 2013, paper. The headline began with a signature Satterfield bang:
Prosecutor to seek life sentence after conviction
Knoxville police believe Larry Lee Smith got away with murder.
But Knox County Assistant District Attorney Leslie Nassios hopes to make sure he dies in prison anyway.
A six-woman, six-man jury on Tuesday took less than an hour before deeming Smith, 52, guilty of aggravated rape and aggravated kidnapping in an October 2011 attack on an 18-year-old woman.
Smith has a violent history that includes prior convictions for rape and kidnapping in two other states.
Because of that, Nassios has filed notice of her intent to seek a sentence of life without parole under a state law that targets the worst of the worst in the criminal justice system.
The article then moved through parts of Michelle’s story and ended with:
Michelle Anderson’s mother, Anita Anderson, attended the trial and wept when the verdict was announced.
31. SOMETHING’S WRONG HERE
Forty-four days later, on Thursday, April 11, 2013, the Band of Sisters again assembled in Knoxville for the sentencing of Larry Lee Smith. Amanda drove from her home on one side of Atlanta to Ayesha’s on another, and they rode to Knoxville together. Katherine drove over the mountains from North Carolina with a friend, joining the rest of the group—Bert and Sasha; Anita; her sister, Janice; Ted; Anita’s son, Doug; and Susan and her friend, Bobbi. They all met at the courthouse in the morning.
In the courtroom, multiple cases were being presented. Larry Lee, in his inmate uniform of faded-black and white stripes, sat alone, shackled and cuffed at the far end of the second row of the otherwise empty jury box. He continued to wear his thin, bushy, white-gray hair pulled back into a small ponytail and Sasha considered it, overall, an improvement. Although on this date, it looked messy and unkempt.
Just after the group took their seats, Mitch Harper entered the room with a stack of folders clutched under his left arm. As he made his way to a court-staff waiting room, he passed directly in front of his client without so much as a glance.
Several cases had to be heard before Larry Lee’s, so the group sat and waited patiently. Sasha found herself engrossed in another proceeding when Anita gave her a nudge. Sasha looked at her and saw that she was motioning with her eyes toward Larry Lee. Sasha turned her head in his direction and was startled to see him glaring right at them. He seemed to be mouthing something to them from his seat thirty feet away. When he finished, he shook his head, adding emphasis to whatever it was he had just said.
“What is he doing?” Sasha asked.
“He just said something to us!” Anita responded. Neither Anita nor Sasha had been able to make out what he’d said, but Larry Lee seemed pleased with himself and turned his gaze back toward the middle of the courtroom. Whatever it was, Sasha thought he looked noticeably more smug.
Eventually, the courtroom cleared and Larry Lee’s sentencing hearing began. Bound and encumbered by his shackles and chains, he struggled down from the jury box and shuffled across the courtroom to the defense table.
Nassios rose and went to a podium that faced the judge. Unlike at the trial, Larry Lee’s malignant criminal history was fair game. Nassios cited his convictions for the 1981 kidnapping and rape in Florida of then-fourteen-year-old Katherine McWilliams and the 1989 kidnapping and assault in Georgia of then-eighteen-year-old Amanda Sanders, both incidents facilitated by his offering of assistance to the girls before using his signature throat-choking move to overpower them. She maintained that Larry Lee was a violent repeat offender who met the criteria for life
in prison without the possibility of parole
Judge McGee considered and reviewed the facts of the case aloud. Then he expressed his agreement with Nassios’ recommendation: a life sentence.
And like that, it was over.
The Band of Sisters barely had time to register what had happened. Then there was a flood of relief and rejoicing in the gallery as members broke into smiles and squeezed each other’s hands in triumph. Sasha spontaneously pumped both fists into the air, which drew the ire of the bailiff from across the courtroom, who shot her a look of disapproval
Anita sighed deeply and looked at Ted. Perhaps for the first time since her daughter’s disappearance and death twenty-six years before, she did not cry. Larry Lee had seemingly gotten away with the kidnapping and murder of Michelle, but there had finally been recognition, validation, even a justice of sorts for Anita and her family. During his trial, every newspaper story that covered it had revisited the account of Michelle’s assumed fate at Larry Lee’s hands. In the court of public opinion, he had been accused and, no doubt, convicted by many.
Knoxville News Sentinel court reporter Jamie Satterfield covered the sentencing hearing. Her final story about Larry Lee would appear on page 7A the next morning under the headline:
Man gets life term in prison for 2011 rape
A serial rapist suspected in a decades-old slaying of a teenage Knoxville girl offered up Thursday not an apology to his latest victim but forgiveness…
“I understand I have a messed-up life,” Larry Lee Smith, 52, said before turning toward the young woman. “I forgive you for this because I know I didn’t do anything to you. Something’s wrong here.”
At the time, the Band of Sisters, sitting all around Ayesha, turned to look at her as soon as Larry Lee uttered those words. Tears welled in Ayesha’s eyes as feelings of shock and outrage moved through her. The women on either side of her put their arms around her. Sasha, sitting directly in front of her, reached back, touched her on the leg, and mouthed, It’s okay.
The victim, too, was given an opportunity to have her say. Although shaking with hesitation, Ayesha made her way to the podium. “I’ve had a hard time,” she said softly into the microphone. “This has hurt me a lot.”
As Larry Lee was led from the courtroom to the bus carrying prisoners back to the county jail, those who’d been in attendance at the hearing began emptying into the hallway outside. Sasha caught Leslie Nassios as she exited the courtroom. “You’re our new hero,” Sasha told her.
“Just look at how many people one man impacted,” Nassios observed, looking over at the gaggle of folks chattering and milling about. “All those victims.”
“Even he’s a victim,” Sasha observed.
“I don’t know about that!” the prosecutor retorted.
The courthouse began to empty as staff, including Nassios and her team, left for lunch. The group of twelve, however, lingered about. They’d come together hoping—praying—to see Larry Lee put away for life, and they’d gotten their wish. But there can be no real celebration associated with the saga of Larry Lee Smith and the lives he’s harmed, including his own, but there was a sense of relief and quiet celebration of a battle fought, and on more than one front, won. Faces flashed smiles, voices laughed and chatted, cameras clicked and preserved priceless moments.
With the building nearly empty, the group was free to pose almost anywhere they chose. They lined up along the wine-colored, burlap-textured wall, just under the large, gold letters spelling out Criminal Court Div. III. The Band of Sisters—Sasha, Anita, Katherine, Amanda, Ayesha, and Susan—gripped each other’s hands and raised them high in a unified declaration of triumph.
“Look at those happy faces!” Joe DeVuono would observe a few days later after Sasha emailed him the photo.
Outside the upper level of Knoxville’s City-County Building, on an open crosswalk looking into the downtown, Bert captured an image on his camera that Sasha had been imagining for some time. In her efforts to tell this story, she’d kept Larry Lee’s victims couched to some degree in anonymity. In doing so, she had envisioned a photograph of the women linked arm-in-arm, united and strong, bound together by this strange saga, but taken from behind to preserve their identities and the new lives they’ve made for themselves.
Bert centered his lens on a clock tower in the distance. Tall historic city buildings peeked through blooming green branches on this sunny spring day. Ayesha stood in the middle, her newly-trimmed dark hair short and tapered, bangs pulled to one side. To her left stood Amanda with her long, wavy blonde tresses flowing across her back. On Ayesha’s right stood Katherine, her auburn-brown hair cut short and stylishly angled. On either end were Sasha, with her blonde-brown highlighted bob, and Anita in her short, dark curls, framing the women who’d come together to form this Band of Sisters.
As the group slowly pulled apart, exchanging hugs and thank-yous and promises to stay in touch, the out-of-towners prepped for their half-day drives and the in-towners headed home to relax and reflect upon all that had come about. In the coming weeks and months their focus would shift back to the immediate realities of their respective lives, but the experience had changed each one of them.
For Anita, the Band of Sisters had been a healing force: she (and Michelle) were so much less alone. For Ayesha, who’d now transitioned from fast-food employment to a Monday-to-Friday day job and had bought her first car, Larry Lee’s conviction and sentencing had been an affirmation of her worth and her power, one she sorely needed.
Amanda and Katherine had traveled from decades past to give their life-changing gift of support to both Anita and Ayesha. Even Michelle’s brother, Doug, smoking a cigarette outside during a court recess, had shared some feelings with Katherine, a significant step for him.
The next day, Friday, April 12, 2013, Sasha got an email from retired KPD Investigator Randy York. He’d been across the country for his daughter’s wedding:
I heard Larry Lee got life. I wanted to be there… I did all I could do, and I thank you for your help and input in this matter. I’ll not forget you.
“Band of Sisters”
L-R: Anita, Amanda, Ayesha, Katherine and Sasha
32. IN CLOSING
Just after the sentencing hearing in mid-April 2013, Sasha received another email from York, which contained an intriguing element of mystery:
Hold off on the end of your book; can’t explain now but will keep you updated… You’ll be the first to know if all goes well. Don’t write the last chapter yet.
In the meantime, over at the KPD, Investigator Jeff Day tied for Officer of the Year in recognition of the high number of cold cases he’d solved. DNA was kind of magical in that way. Sasha sent him an email message of congratulations, to which he responded:
I will be in touch soon regarding Michelle’s case. May have some info… Can’t say more right now. And thanks for the other email, I appreciate it. I would trade all those cases to solve Michelle’s case. I will be in touch. Jeff.
What was happening? Was Larry Lee talking? Had he finally shared some kind of revelation—a confession? As much as Sasha wanted it to be true, her observance of Larry Lee’s performance on the witness stand had illuminated his devious methods of defense and defiance. The way he’d called Ayesha out at his sentencing—saying he forgave her for his fate—showed that he was heavily invested in the charade—in the con. Guilt, it seemed, was not a standout feeling on Larry Lee’s emotional palette.
Still, the press coverage during the trial and sentencing—the four newspaper articles—had no doubt generated as much pressure as Larry Lee had ever faced regarding his role in Michelle Anderson’s disappearance and death. In each of the four articles his latest mug shot was featured along with his name. Could this press exposure, coupled with his life sentence, have pushed him over the edge? It was an intriguing notion, especially after all this time, but all Sasha could do was wait.
Eventually, additional bits of information floated Sasha’s way, and a
clearer picture began to coalesce. Some interesting events had been unfolding at the jail: Larry Lee had allegedly been talking to a cell mate, revealing that he’d sexually assaulted Michelle. After he’d dropped off Chas that night, he reportedly claimed he’d driven up Cherry Street, to a spot where prostitutes and addicts sometimes gathered, just off the interstate. There he’d assaulted Michelle, raped her, and tossed her personal items up the hillside. He did not admit anything beyond that. No murder. No dumping of the body.
Upon getting this report, Investigator Day and a forensic team scoured the area. Highway ramp reconstruction had altered the lay of the land there, but Jeff Day told Anita that they’d found a weathered purse and an 80s model Kodak camera. As he described the purse to Anita, it didn’t sound like the Davey’s bag Michelle had carried that night, but he said he’d bring a picture by her office just in case. In the meantime, he would continue searching for a connection between Larry Lee and the Crossville area where Michelle’s body was found.
After Day’s visit, Anita had driven over to the spot off Cherry Street, beside the interstate. It was a large expanse behind a car-parts company with a dead-end drive leading in.
“It looked real sketchy,” Anita told Sasha. “Shacks. Not a good area at all. So I didn’t want to be there alone. Haven’t been back again.”
Anita thought a break in the case was imminent, that the file was being submitted to Nassios, that charges would be brought any day. But now that a period of time had passed and again nothing new had occurred, Anita felt the weight of one more disappointment. She told Sasha that she felt like an emotional yo-yo: up whenever there were new developments—or the possibility of new developments—then plunging back down when the anticipation was followed up by nothing.
As soon as Sasha got wind of the “confession” and the possibility of new charges against Larry Lee, she had more questions than answers. To begin with, how could physical evidence survive twenty-five years out in the open, exposed to the elements, in an area that had been through a major reconstruction?
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