Murder, Motherhood, and Miraculous Grace

by Debra Moerke

  They must be confused and not know how to act. I allowed for their confusion and determined to show love and warmth no matter how they reacted. My children greeted them with reserved smiles and kept their distance. They were uncomfortable as well. It was an awkward few minutes.

  The doorbell rang again, and two more women with Andrew, Ally, and Steven stood on the threshold. As I welcomed them in, the last car drove up with DeAnn, the oldest. All six children had arrived.

  The siblings grinned when they saw one another, and joy danced in their eyes. They kept hugging each other. The sound of the Bower children’s giggling filled our home once again.

  The night before, I had put sheets and blankets over all the clothes and toys in our sunroom so no one could see what they were until they were unveiled. After a few minutes I said, “I have a surprise for all of you! Follow me into the sunroom.”

  My two girls went ahead of us and lifted the sheet and blankets. The faces of the children beamed. They talked excitedly as they looked through their familiar belongings. Dolls, a noisy fire truck, Hot Wheels cars . . . they each remembered which ones were theirs. Laughter filled the sunroom. It was all I could do to contain myself. My girls and I exchanged smiles. My heart was full.

  With their special toys in hand, the children went into the living room to play.

  It was time to introduce Courtney to her brothers and sisters. They gathered round her, gently touching the baby and softly talking to her. It was a tender moment.

  Then we all gathered in the kitchen for finger foods, cookies, and punch. The next two hours flew by, and it was time for them all to leave. I asked if I could take a picture of them with their new baby sister. They climbed onto one of the couches and as older siblings held younger ones, they smiled and said, “Cheese!”

  Two hours of love and happiness. Two hours of forgetting the horror of why they were separated. Two hours of giggles and chatter and wrestling; snacks and punch and cookies; crumbs and messes and joy; reconnecting. Then the time came to leave and go back to separate homes with people who were not their parents, to continue their now separate lives. But for two hours, there was joy. Pure joy!

  Chapter 22The Witness Stand

  THE SUMMER OF 1999 proved to be quiet and calm—a welcome relief—until one afternoon in July when I heard a knock on my door. To my surprise, an officer was standing there with an envelope.

  “Are you Debra Moerke?”

  “Yes.”

  With that, he handed me a subpoena to appear in court in August for a hearing concerning Karen’s case. I couldn’t imagine why I was being called to court. Karen had confessed to the police. They had it all on a recording. What more could I possibly contribute?

  Since Al was still settling into his new job in Arizona, I had to face a judge alone—again. I asked my faithful friend Charlene to go with me. When we arrived, we joined hands in a corner of the lobby and prayed. I didn’t doubt God would be with me, but I was nervous and missed Al. I was grateful for his prayers and those of friends who’d offered their support. I drew in a deep breath for courage as I heard my name called. Charlene and I entered the sparsely filled courtroom and took seats near the back.

  Minutes later, as a court officer entered with Karen at his side, an eerie silence washed over the room. Her ankle chains dragged across the floor and echoed throughout the room as she shuffled to the defendant’s table. One of her attorneys assisted her in taking a seat. She rested her cuffed hands in her lap and looked quickly across the room at me before looking down. She and her legal counsel then huddled together, whispering.

  “All rise,” the court officer bellowed as the judge entered the courtroom. He took his seat, cracked the gavel on the sound block, and ordered the hearing to begin.

  “I’m ready to hear your opening statements,” the judge announced as he looked at the prosecuting and defending attorneys. Still baffled as to why I’d been subpoenaed, I was eager to hear what they would say.

  What took place over the next hour was complicated and tedious, but slowly through their opening statements and their many questions to me I realized why both Karen’s lawyer and the prosecutor wanted my testimony at this hearing and just how much was at stake. The issue boiled down to this: They knew that Karen had made a confession to me. They also knew that I’d been questioned by Detective Marsh and had opted not to disclose what Karen had told me out of my concern over breaking confidentiality. What they did not know was what Karen had actually told me, and whether, since I was a lay chaplain, her conversations with me were legally confidential or not. Nor did they know how much help or damage I might do to the cases they were each building if I were to be called as a witness during her trial.

  I also learned that there was no legal statute in Wyoming that covered the question of confidentiality of information given to a lay chaplain, and therefore it was entirely possible they might use my case to establish one. That alone would have been overwhelming to me, but it paled in comparison to the realization that both sides saw me as a potential threat to their cases and therefore were trying to discredit me in some way.

  At one point during his opening comments, the defense attorney’s words made my blood run ice-cold in my veins.

  “. . . during this whole period of time, Ms. Moerke was attempting to adopt Ms. Bower’s youngest child. That adoption went through in May of this year. On May fourteenth, the order was signed.

  “After that adoption went through, Ms. Moerke apparently felt she no longer had to invoke any kind of privilege and was free to talk to law enforcement officers or the district attorney’s office or anyone else that she wanted.

  “We think that [confidentiality] privilege existed because Ms. Bower was under the impression that Ms. Moerke was a clergyman. She entered the cell as a clergyman. She signed into the jail as a clergyman. There was no discussion that we’re aware of as to whether or not she was an ordained minister at that time.

  “We think that under In Re Grand Jury Investigation [a reference to a confidential Grand Jury investigation], that qualifies her as a clergyman and the fact that she invoked the privilege, qualifies her as a clergyman. We also believe evidence will show she acted in a role as a clergyman through this whole proceeding until after the adoption went through. At that point she felt she could say anything she wanted to anyone. That evidence we plan to present to the Court today.”

  I sat stunned, my heart pounding. If it were true, I supposed he would have a good case. But I knew the truth. Karen knew the truth as well. I looked at her, but Karen looked anywhere but at me. It was understandable why her attorney didn’t want me to testify at Karen’s trial. But manipulating the truth would be the only way their argument could hold up.

  The prosecutor, I assumed, would want to be able to put me on the stand and reveal what Karen told me about how Hannah died. I wondered if my supposition was correct.

  As the prosecutor spoke at length, my head spun in an effort to grasp all that was being presented to the judge.

  “It’s our position, your Honor,” he eventually said, “that after hearing testimony in this case, you will conclude that Debra Moerke is nothing more than a lay minister, providing spiritual counseling and guidance and prayer to an inmate at the jail, as are dozens of other lay people who are called jail chaplains, who are not ordained ministers or clergy.

  “She has no formal theological training, which makes her a simple lay member of her church who participates in jail ministry, for which she is passionate.

  “Ms. Moerke answers to an ordained pastor who is one of the sponsors for her to enter the jail chaplain program. She is in a church that does not have a belief system in a confession-type right [sic] or sacrament of confession, and furthermore, does not believe that either Ms. Moerke or her pastor would have authority to absolve sins. So it’s not the traditional priest-penitent-clergyman relationship. She did not have that authority.”

  I couldn’t help but nod. I may be teased by friends and family of having m
any superpowers, but absolution of sin was certainly not one of them. But what did my belief system concerning the absolution of sin have to do with the trial?

  “Ms. Moerke’s in the capacity a counselor would be in. She’d like to invoke the privilege of a psychiatrist or psychologist, but cannot do so because of her status. She doesn’t meet that threshold question.

  “Secondly, your Honor, the testimony is going to establish that when you look at the total picture—contrary to the defense counsel’s representations—the testimony will be that Ms. Moerke, in fact, advised Karen Bower, and what Ms. Bower said to her was not confidential and was not privileged.

  “There was no professional capacity as far as confidentiality. Ms. Moerke was not acting as an agent of the State, nor was she acting as an agent for the police trying to gain information. She was simply there, at the request of Karen Bower, immediately upon her arrest back in July of last year.

  “Ms. Moerke’s first visit to Ms. Bower really was because Ms. Bower knew her and because Debra Moerke—as the evidence will clarify—was a foster parent of many of Ms. Bower’s children. They had a relationship existing prior to their communication at the jail.

  “Now, since then the State acknowledges that Ms. Moerke went to the jail, prayed, gave guidance, and read [S]cripture, there was no expectation ascribed of confidentiality. There was no reasonable expectation on Ms. Bower’s part that Debra Moerke was anything other than a lay person coming to visit with her at the jail.

  “We believe, the testimony of Ms. Moerke, and Lieutenant Shift, will explain the chaplain program to the Court. The Court will conclude the privilege did not apply, and Ms. Moerke would be allow[ed] to testify as to anything Ms. Bower said to her concerning the death of Hannah Bower.”

  “Thank you, gentlemen.” The judge signaled with a nod to call me to the stand.

  After hearing their opening arguments, I understood why I had been subpoenaed. The judge could rule whether I would be called to testify at Karen’s trial or not. The prosecution, as well as the defense attorneys, knew Karen had talked to me about Hannah’s death. Would I be an asset or a liability?

  It depended on which side got their way.

  I felt like a bone between two dogs facing off.

  However, I continued to wonder why it would be so important either for me to be a witness against Karen or why I would be a threat for the defense if called upon. Wasn’t Karen’s recorded confession to the police enough? The thought of being called as a witness in Karen’s trial sickened me. Might my testimony lead to her receiving the death penalty?

  “I would call Debra Moerke,” the defense attorney announced.

  I walked down the side of the courtroom to the dais where the judge sat.

  As I approached, my heart pounded and I felt shaky. I thought about the advice the witness advocate had given me earlier: answer the questions the best I can, offer no additional information, remember that attorneys will try to trip me up, and finally, relax. Relaxing seemed quite beyond me at the moment.

  While being sworn in, I looked at Charlene. She smiled and gave a little nod, reminding me God had me covered. I tried to smile back just as the judge began to speak. For a split second, Karen and I looked at each other. We both knew the truth. But we were under the jurisdiction of the courts now and had to let the hearing play out however it would.

  The distinguished judge wasn’t as scary as I had imagined. His features were soft and his eyes kind. He instructed me to answer the questions but to stop if there was something I didn’t understand, then asked if his directions were clear. I assured him they were.

  The defense attorney proceeded with establishing who I was and asking me to explain my relationship to Karen.

  “Today my relationship with her is sort of a combination. It has become a friendship, but I have been a mentor, spiritual mother, counselor, and foster parent to her children.”

  The attorney nodded. “Did you have any special type of interview or anything of another nature that allowed you to become a chaplain at the jail here in Casper?”

  I told him about the chaplain training I had received.

  “You were foster mother to Karen Bower’s children, right?” The attorney examined some documents in his hand, then peered at me.

  “Yes, I was.”

  “How long did you have her children?”

  “Approximately ten . . . ten and a half months.”

  “Did Karen see her children while you had them in your custody?”

  “Yes, she did.”

  “And where did those meetings take place?”

  The questioning seemed relentless, covering all kinds of details about my relationship with Karen, but always coming back to the confidentiality issue.

  Then the prosecutor stood to begin his questioning.

  “Ms. Moerke, in your conversations with Ms. Bower, during the time she was arrested, to the present day, did you and she ever discuss the confidentiality of her conversation with you?”

  “Not that I recall.” I wondered what direction his questioning would take.

  “Did you ever indicate to Ms. Bower that you would not lie for her as to what she told you?”

  Karen looked over at me, her eyes a bit squinted and her jaw locked, waiting for my answers. What had she told them?

  I didn’t want my words or my intent to be misunderstood. I knew I was counseled to only answer the questions and not add to my answers, but I had to make sure that neither I nor Karen was being misrepresented at the hearing.

  “I want to answer that, but I also want to clarify that Ms. Bower has never asked me to lie. But I did make it clear to her I never would lie for her. I thought that was important to express.”

  “Did it ever come up about whether what she told you was going to be confidential or not in your conversation together?”

  “Yes, it did.”

  “And what was that conversation, and when did that occur? Do you remember?”

  Did they want an exact date? I hoped not. The best I could give was an estimate. “It was sometime between . . . before counsel was appointed to her.”

  The attorney turned to the court reporter, directing his statement more to her than to me, though his question was for me. “I want to clarify for the record one final question in this regard. At no time, did you tell Karen Bower that you would keep in strict confidence everything she told you about the death of Hannah Bower, did you?”

  “No.” How many ways can one ask the same question? I had to be patient. There was obviously something the attorney was trying to get out of me. I could only tell him the truth. That was all I knew.

  “That’s all at this time, your Honor. Thank you.” The prosecutor offered the floor back to the defense for further questioning. The tall attorney stood and walked up to me. He narrowed his eyes as he approached the witness stand. I wasn’t sure what that meant. What information could I have that needed a confrontation, other than Karen’s confession? I realized this attorney was hoping I would not be able to testify due to a confidentiality position that, evidently, was in question.

  “In July of 1998, Karen Bower had been arrested for the death of Hannah Bower. Do you recall that?” he began.

  “Yes.”

  “Okay. And she called you?”

  “Yes.”

  “And she had not been appointed an attorney when you first talked to her, is that correct?”

  His tone had grown deeper and louder. His faced flushed a little as he waited almost impatiently for my answer.

  “That’s correct.”

  “She asked you to come see her?”

  “Yes.”

  “And did you go see her?”

  “Yes, I did.” I was getting a little frustrated with the questioning. Haven’t we established all of this?

  “Where did you meet with her?” the attorney continued.

  “I met with her at the detention center here in Casper.” Where else would we meet? She had been arrested.

&nbs
p; “And did you meet with her in person?”

  “Yes, I did.”

  “How did you get in to see her in person?”

  “Because I have chaplaincy clearance, I was able to see her in person.”

  “Did anybody at the jail question you about your standing in your church?”

  “No.” I was beginning to see where he was going. I knew I needed to listen carefully to each question.

  “Did anyone ask you if you were an ordained minister?”

  “No.”

  The tedious questioning went on and on concerning the clergy privilege status. Realizing I could be a part of a case that could establish a new legal principle, I wasn’t feeling comfortable being put in that position, but I had no choice.

  I answered his questions to the best of my ability, even though the attorney put the pressure on. When he asked about my church and my belief system, I shared the details about my Christian belief. When he asked me about the forgiveness of sins, I spoke freely about what I had told Karen.

  The attorney moved a step closer to where I sat. “What are the types of things your church believes as far as basic fundamental religious beliefs?”

  Did I hear him right? This was a question I would gladly answer with confidence.

  “We believe in the [T]rinity, the Father, the Son, and the Holy Spirit. And we believe that Christ came to die on the cross for our sins. We believe that there is forgiveness for sins through Christ’s death. We believe that when we receive Christ as our Lord and Savior, we receive the gift of the Holy Spirit that can lead us into all truth, and that he communicates before the Father for us. We believe in the Bible as the final Word of God. And those are our basic beliefs.” I never imagined I would be in a place to share the gospel in a court of law. Whatever else was going on in this strange hearing, God was working in a mysterious way.

  The defense attorney wasn’t finished with me yet. “Do you believe you must confess your sins?”