Miscarriage of Justice

by Kip Gayden

  Attorney General Anderson asked Jordan Warren a few more questions, then he was finished. He turned toward the jury and announced his next witness: “The state calls Daisy Cobb to the stand.”

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  Daisy was wearing the same plain black dress as the day before, Walter noticed. On the witness stand she displayed a particularly meek and sad demeanor; the jury and the audience were clearly sympathetic to her. And why shouldn’t they be? She was as much a victim as anyone—not only of Anna’s actions, but of her husband’s infidelity.

  The first question from the prosecutor was “Do you know Anna Dotson?”

  “I do.” Slowly, her head turned until she faced Anna. Their eyes met and held. The room was silent—not a cough or a shuffle to be heard. Anna, in contrast to Daisy, was dressed in a fashionable outfit with a matching hat. A blue veil covered his wife’s face; she sat motionless, as she had throughout the trial thus far. Walter didn’t know how she could possibly remain so outwardly calm.

  The state pressed on. “Do you want Anna Dotson to be found guilty of murder for the death of your late husband, Charlie Cobb?”

  Tears began trickling from Daisy’s eyes. “Yes, I do.”

  “Do you want Anna Dotson to pay the ultimate price for what she did to your husband and for what she did to you and to your child, Alice, seated over there?”

  “Yes, I do,” Daisy said, her shoulders beginning to shake with sobs.

  Attorney Seay rose from his seat beside Anna. “Your Honor, with all due respect, it is not up to Mrs. Cobb; it is up to the jury to decide the fate of this remorseful defendant.”

  The attorney general jumped out of his chair. “When counsel gets his chance he can certainly cross-examine Mrs. Cobb! It is not his time to make a speech on behalf of his so-called remorseful client, who murdered Charlie Cobb in cold blood!”

  Judge Neil pounded his gavel. “Mr. Prosecutor, stop yelling, and both of you, stop arguing to the jury through your objections! I sustain the objection.”

  Walter studied the jury; how could they just ignore what the prosecution had said? The state’s attorneys were taking every opportunity to paint Anna as a cruel, cold-blooded killer. It made Walter angry, but there was nothing he could do about it except sit with his hands in his lap, balled into fists, and pray that J. M. Anderson knew what he was doing.

  Judge Neil turned to the jury. “Gentlemen of the jury, it is up to you to decide the fate of the defendant. It makes no difference what anyone else thinks; you will make the final decision.” The attorney general sat down, grumbling under his breath, but from the expressions on the faces of the jury, Walter wondered if the objection had served any purpose other than highlighting the difference between the emotionally overwrought Daisy and the seemingly cool and collected Anna.

  Daisy’s testimony was heart wrenching. She testified about having a “loving relationship” with her husband. She did qualify that by stating that lately she “did indeed think something was amiss” in their marriage. “I began to suspect that there was something going on between my Charlie and Anna Dotson.” Daisy Cobb talked about the friendship she and Charlie had with Anna and her husband, Walter. She related that they “were quite intimate” and had “been thrown together often,” that she saw Anna Dotson almost every day. “I considered her my best friend and dismissed any thought that I might have that she and my husband were carrying on. I trusted her.” Daisy’s lips trembled, and she covered her mouth with a hand and tried to compose herself.

  It was strange for Walter to realize that in many ways, he and Daisy were co-victims. And yet he wanted, more than anything, for Anna to have a second chance—and Daisy wanted Anna to die.

  “We used to play hide and seek in the Dotsons’ yard with the children, and I noticed that Mrs. Dotson and Charlie were always the last ones caught,” Daisy continued. “One day I pinned a rose on his coat and she took it off. However, during that time I never saw any improper relations between the two.”

  These words gave Walter a sharp pang. He thought of all the times he should have suspected something. If only he’d paid attention to his wife, as a husband should! Surely he’d have seen . . . something.

  “Anna and I had written to each other on many occasions when I was out of town, visiting my family in Kentucky,” Daisy said. “We exchanged letters and cards expressing words of endearment.” The state then introduced as evidence and exhibits several postcards Mrs. Cobb identified as having been written by Mrs. Dotson to her while she was on visits to her parents’ home in Herndon, Kentucky.

  Daisy testified about the night she and Charlie decided to leave Gallatin on short notice. She said, “Charlie told me he had gotten into trouble with Anna Dotson . . . I took that statement by Charlie to mean he and Anna had been having relations.” She continued, “Charlie told me the truth about the affair after Walter had left our front yard—after Walter had made the death threat. The last letter that I received from Charlie was dated the day before his death.”

  Daisy said, “That night, when Walter came to our house, I was convinced that Walter would kill my husband if Charlie did not leave Gallatin as soon as possible. I decided to forgive Charlie that night after he confessed to me, and I wanted to try to make our little family work. We left very hastily, leaving much of our furniture and belongings behind. Me and Alice went to Kentucky to my parents’ house . . . Charlie was not welcome by my family when they found out the truth of the situation . . . Charlie went to his pa’s home in Tennessee.

  “I wanted to have a talk with Anna. I wanted to know how my best friend could find comfort in sleeping with my husband, behind my back, pretending all the while to be my friend. She pulled the wool over my eyes and Dr. Dotson’s too. Maybe I could have forgiven her. It would have been hard, but I could have forgiven her. But I cannot forgive her for ruining my baby’s life, my little girl who has harmed no one, and who now has no father.” Daisy broke down and sobbed uncontrollably.

  Walter was having a hard time controlling his own emotions; in Daisy’s words he could easily recall many of his enraged reproaches of his wife. He felt whipsawed; his compassion for Daisy’s tragedy was at war with his need to protect Anna. He looked at the jury and calculated that every one of the twelve men would have offered Daisy a handkerchief and knotted a rope around Anna’s neck in the same moment.

  Next, Daisy identified nine postcards written to Charlie from Anna. “I found the letters in Charlie’s dresser and had kept them, waiting for the opportunity to question Charlie about the letters and cards.” She said that the real answer to the meaning of the letters and cards came after she was able to get the spoken truth from Charlie. She compared the handwriting on the intimately worded cards and letters sent to Charlie with the other letter and cards sent to her by Anna, stating, “It is the handwriting of Anna Dotson.”

  One of the notes read, “That party will be gone for a while after Monday. Come. Want to see you. Important.” Another note from Anna to Charlie read, “Gee, I am lonesome, need you.” Still another read, “Mustn’t be too blue.” And another: “Saturday afternoon at home . . . I will be home all the afternoon alone. All have gone to the fair but me . . . I am so lonely. P.S.: No one suspects anything.”

  The nine cards and letters from Anna to Charlie were circulated to the jury, along with cards from Anna to Daisy, expressing words of endearment. The handwriting clearly matched. As the jurors’ eyes scanned the two sets of notes, one practically begging for intimate visits from Charlie Cobb while the other offered endearments to his wife, Walter could see jaws tightening and gazes hardening. The prosecution was quickly alienating from the jury any thoughts of clemency for the defendant.

  “While he was in Nashville,” Daisy went on, “I received a letter from him most every day. He was always kind and affectionate and he said that he wanted me to come to Nashville and live with him. We never had a cross word. The last letter I received from him was postmarked March 14, and I did not get it until after he was buried.”
Daisy began to cry then, audibly.

  “Did you love your husband?” Anderson asked.

  “I did,” she sobbed.

  “And did he love you?”

  She could only nod.

  “I have no further questions.”

  Walter realized his face was burning with shame. Once again, he felt the rage of a man betrayed, held up for public ridicule by a cheating wife. He clenched his jaws and reminded himself that his first duty was to his family. Anna had repented . . . and Scott and Mabel needed their mother.

  The defense chose not to cross-examine Daisy. “No questions, Your Honor,” Anderson said. He had likely concluded that Daisy Cobb’s testimony was damaging enough; to cross-examine her would only further inflame the jury against his client.

  “FOR ITS NEXT WITNESS, the prosecution calls Paul Christian.”

  It was late in the evening when Christian walked toward the witness stand. As he looked around he noticed the courtroom was filled to capacity, and there were as many women as men. In the back part of the upper gallery he saw a conclave of suffragettes seated together, wearing white dresses with the characteristic yellow sashes around their waists. He could only imagine what they might be thinking. He found himself hoping he didn’t run into a group of them outside the courthouse.

  Christian was sworn in and sat down. The attorney general asked him his name and then asked if he was a voluntary witness.

  “No, I was served a subpoena.”

  “Were you at the police station on the day of the murder, March 13, 1913?”

  “Yes sir.”

  “Did you happen to meet the defendant?”

  “Yes.”

  “And where did you meet her?”

  “She was in the holding cell inside the booking room of the police station.”

  “Please indicate to the court the person that you are was referring to?”

  Christian looked at Anna Dotson, still wearing her veil, then pointed to her.

  “Did you have the occasion to talk to her about the events that had transpired earlier in the day?” the prosecutor asked.

  “Yes.”

  “Did you write down any information that you obtained from her?”

  “Yes, I did.”

  “Do you have your original notes?”

  “Yes.”

  “How long did you talk to her?”

  “Off and on, for over an hour.”

  “Did she admit to you that she killed Charlie Cobb?”

  “Yes.”

  “Could you read the exact words to the jury?”

  Counsel for the defendant objected to Christian’s reading his notes. But Judge Neil conditionally overruled the objection. “The witness can read his notes and refresh his memory before testifying as to what the defendant said to him, if he cannot recall the events independently. If he cannot remember, he can relate to the jury the exact words as he wrote them down at the time.”

  Christian knew very well he didn’t need to read his notes; he had thought of nothing but this case ever since that first phone call that summoned Sidebottom to Jackson’s Barbershop on Broadway, back in March. But he acted as if he needed to, anyway—no sense risking a misstatement, after all—and he took a few minutes to shuffle through his papers.

  While Christian was pretending to read his scribbled notes taken down that fateful day, he noticed out of the corner of his eye that Anna was pulling the veil up over her hat. She was staring at him. From what had been reported to him, it was the first time during the trial that she had revealed her face. He noticed that all of the jurors were suddenly, intently studying her. It was as if she had just made some sort of debut.

  Finally, after a few moments of silence, Christian proceeded to testify about the interview, including the admission of the shooting by the defendant, the reason she said she had shot Cobb, her state of mind, her admitted premeditation, and her tale of the turbulent matrimonial history between herself and her husband.

  As Christian testified, he occasionally looked over toward the table where Anna and her lawyers were sitting. Anna would slightly nod her head up and down, as if in agreement with every bit of his testimony. It was unnerving. Here he was, putting a noose around her neck, and she was acting like his personal amen corner.

  Christian knew he would never forget the look on her face during his testimony. It was as if she were trying to assure him that everything was all right, that he shouldn’t worry, that she wasn’t angry at him. I told you the truth and you printed the truth, her eyes seemed to be saying. Her gaze was soft, almost fragile. She sat with her head high and her shoulders erect. Even as he condemned her to death, Christian was thinking to himself, “Damn it, I actually like this woman.”

  Anna’s attorneys had their heads down through most of his testimony. Christian guessed J. M. Anderson wanted to lean over and ask Anna to quit nodding along with his version. He probably surmised, though, that appearing to coach her would only draw more attention to her reactions. And even though Christian was the one doing the talking, nobody in the place was looking at him, and he knew it.

  “That’s all we have, your Honor,” the prosecutor said, after Christian had been on the stand for about an hour. He walked back toward his table. “Your witness, Mr. Seay,” he said as he went. And now, Christian knew, he had to face the cross-examination.

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  Did you ever tell mrs. dotson that you would be testifying against her in court while you were taking notes of her supposed confession?” Attorney Seay said.

  “No, I did not.”

  “Don’t you feel like you took advantage of her?”

  “No, I do not.”

  Seay leaned against the witness stand and gave Christian a sort of conspiratorial little smile. “You really want Mrs. Dotson convicted, don’t you, so that your story will gain more national notoriety? You could be a big-time reporter after this, couldn’t you?”

  The question got under his skin. He paused for a couple of seconds and took a couple of deep breaths. “No, she talked to me without any prodding. She simply volunteered her story without any insistence from me. I just listened and copied down her words. That is my job—it’s what I do. I report. I don’t have any desire to have anybody convicted until proven guilty beyond a reasonable doubt, and that includes Anna Dotson.”

  But at the same time, Mr. Seay, I don’t much want my name associated with the first court-ordered hanging of a woman in Tennessee. Of course, he couldn’t say that part out loud, could he?

  Seay gave him a long, measuring look. “Did you think she was in possession of all her faculties when she proceeded to implicate herself in this case without even knowing who you were? I mean, didn’t you think it was a little strange, her telling all that to someone she’d never seen before?”

  The defense was taking a gamble. Too bad Christian didn’t have the cards they were looking for.

  “She appeared perfectly sane. It is true that at times she seemed nervous and even cried a few times, but mostly she kept her composure and seemed quite an intelligent and well-bred woman. My impression was that she sincerely believed she would spare her husband and possibly her brother from being charged with murder, by murdering Charlie Cobb herself . . . but I am not an expert on insanity.”

  For once, the men in the jury were looking at Christian, not at Anna. It seemed like he’d struck some sort of nerve. He thought about it for a few seconds, then looked at the jury and said, “I had not known Mrs. Dotson before, or since, the murder, but I am genuinely puzzled by the terrible deed committed by such an intelligent and likable woman.”

  “Objection!” the attorney general hollered, bouncing to his feet. Christian might have been the state’s star witness, but he’d clearly just ventured over the line. Judge Neil sustained the objection and charged the jury, “What Mr. Christian thinks or supposes about the defendant doesn’t count and cannot be considered.”

  Now it was the defense’s turn to object. Judge Neil overruled them and instruc
ted Christian, “Son, please do not answer with your personal thoughts, just answer with the facts.”

  “Yes sir, I understand. I am aware it is not for me to say whether she is guilty or not, and I am not interested in seeing anyone hung. That is up to the jury, not me.” What’s gotten into me, all of a sudden? he thought.

  Attorney General Anderson was bellowing again. The court sustained it. “Young man, I have warned you,” Judge Neil said, giving him a hard look. “I will find you in contempt of court if you don’t just answer the questions.”

  By now, Christian could tell both sides wanted him off the witness stand as soon as possible—and the judge, to boot. At least I don’t have any blood on my hands. He’d done what he had to do for the state, and all he could do for Anna Dotson. Depending on the way a person looked at it, his testimony either drove the nail into Anna’s coffin or gave her a first ray of hope. Of course, the judge had told the jury to disregard his suppositions, but once words see the light of day, you never know where they’ll stick and where they won’t.

  In the end, Christian was satisfied his testimony was accurate and truthful. Whether it helped the state or the defense was up to the individual jurors. He was willing to let it rest with them. When he left the stand and walked back to the front row, where his place was reserved, Anna gave him a tiny smile. He would never forget that smile and those eyes, even if he lived to be two hundred.

  The judge adjourned the case for the day. Christian shuffled out with the rest of the crowd. Sidebottom was out in the hallway and Christian went up to him.

  “Detective, I hope you’re not mad about anything I said in there.”

  He patted Christian on the back. “Son, you got the confession that let us close the case and hand it to the court. I just try to make sure we get the right person on trial, and I did that. What happens from there isn’t up to me. You did your job . . . and mine too, in a manner of speaking. How can I complain?”