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Dear DiaryMay 14

Yesterday was the first day of testimony. First up was Claudia Shepherd, Dear Mother’s executive assistant.

She became worried when Mom did not show up at the office. She called me and we met at Mom’s house with a police officer.

Her testimony went pretty well with just a couple of bad moments. She told the jury about how I acted when I identified Mom’s body. Expressionless was how she put it. Unemotional was what the prosecutor wanted her to say. Marc objected and the judge agreed with Marc.

The next thing that came up was really bad for me. Claudia must have told the cops or the prosecutor what I said, or more accurately, what I asked Claudia. When we were leaving, I jokingly asked her if she wanted to go celebrate. That sounded really bad. Much worse than I meant it. When she said it, almost all of the jurors looked at me. None of them were smiling .

Later Marc explained that it opened the door for us. He got Claudia to admit she answered by saying, “It’s a little too soon.” Marc used that to get Claudia to admit that just about everyone at Crystal Cosmetics hated my mother and that there were dozens of complaints with H.R. about her treatment of employees. Marc even made her read a few and admit she had seen them because they came across Claudia’s desk. The prosecutor, Hughes tried to object but Judge Foster shot him down. “You opened the door.”

When Claudia got off the witness stand, as she was leaving, she told me she was sorry. Claudia said it loud enough for the jury to hear her.

The next to testify was the police officer who met us, Claudia and me, at Mom’s house when we found the body. He testified about what he did. This amounted to finding Mom’s body and calling it in.

Most of the afternoon was taken up by the crime scene guy. A lieutenant somebody. I don’t remember. And then after him, Lucy Compton testified. She tried to claim that no one really believed Mom’s death was the result of a burglary gone bad. Marc went after her pretty hard with Claudia’s complaint letters. He got her to admit they did not know about them so, of course, they didn’t investigate them.

Lucy had said the only common thread for all of these murders was me. Marc repeated that then drilled her by asking, “How would you know if you did not bother to look.” One for our side.

It was 9:15 and the normally punctual Judge Foster was not on the bench. The county attorneys were at their table. Their first witness, a man Marc and Jennifer both knew well, was seated behind the prosecutors in the first row.

Marc spun around to look over the fully occupied courtroom. In the front row, in his usual spot behind the defense table, was Philo Anson, the Star Tribune reporter.

“Hey, Philo. I see you got your usual spot. Do you have to bribe a guard every day for it?” Marc said loud enough for half the courtroom to hear him.

Philo, a nervous look on his face, shifted his eyes about and said, “What? What are you talking about? That would at least be unethical if not, illegal.”

Marc laughed and said, “That would make you the one and only honest and ethical journalist in America.”

“All rise,” Marc heard the bailiff say saving Philo from more embarrassment.

When the jury was seated, Foster told the prosecutors to call the next witness.

Celia Raines stood and said, in a clear, loud voice, “If it please the court, the state calls Doctor Buraid Shambhani.”

Buraid––Benny––Shambhani was a third generation doctor. Much to his father’s disappointment, Benny became a pathologist right out of Yale University Medical School. Dad wanted Benny to join him in private practice at Massachusetts General Hospital in Boston. The acrimony was so bad Benny fled to flyover country and a job at Hennepin County. It took several years, but they finally reconciled. Good thing too. Dad died of pancreatic cancer less than six months later.

Benny loved testifying. It was his favorite part of the job. Often a murder case would be won or lost by the state based on Benny’s forensic analysis. Benny had grown to love the attention. He was practically salivating at the prospect of testifying for a couple of the claw hammer murders. Those would come later. Today was Priscilla .

Benny testified for two hours, autopsy photos and all. He also testified about the irrefutable result–––Marc’s pathologist agreed–––Priscilla died from being smothered by a pillow; a pillow that was photographed lying on the floor next to Priscilla’s dead body in her bed. There were tiny cotton fibers that matched the pillow case in Priscilla’s mouth, trachea and lungs. No more than a dozen but enough to establish she tried breathing with the pillow covering her face.

What Benny could not help with was the who-done-it part. There was no physical evidence from anyone else on or around the pillow, the bed, the body. Yes, Robbie’s prints and DNA were all over the house where it could be expected. Robbie’s prints were even found in Priscilla’s bathroom. But not in the bedroom.

Marc went over this thoroughly until Judge Foster stopped him after an objection by Hughes.

Time for the lunch break.

Once again, the protestors were circling the two city blocks where the Government Center stood. Only this time––collecting easy overtime––there was a sufficient police presence. These protesters, both for and against Robbie, were primarily suburban people and college kids. People who generally did not want to tangle with the police.

Because of this, Maddy went ahead through the skyway, across Fourth Avenue to get a table at Peterson’s for a real, cooked lunch and not plastic wrapped sandwiches.

The afternoon session began at 1:30 with the punctual Judge Foster allowing the state to call its next witness.

Celia Raines stood and said, “The state calls Sandra Harding.”

A medium size Minnesota blonde girl, seated two rows back on the aisle, stood. She walked a tad hesitantly up to the witness stand. Foster’s clerk was waiting, did the swearing in and Ms. Harding took the stand.

Celia Raines did her direct examination. First thing was name and employment then the events on the morning of January 10 .

“I arrived at Sanger, the school, early, a few minutes before six o’clock.”

“How can you be so sure of the time?” Raines asked.

“It’s ah, the time I always get there. I’m early. I like to get an early start,” Sandra said remembering to look at the jury.

“Anything unusual happen?”

“I’ll say! I mean, yes. It was snowing, I mean, well, this is Minnesota and that’s not unusual. What was unusual was anyway, when I was walking up the sidewalk to go into the building. I saw something on the sidewalk.”

She paused here long enough for Raines to ask, “What was it?”

“It was a, ah kind of a big lump covered with snow. I couldn’t tell, um, what it was, at first. So, I walked up to it and when I got there. I could see it was a person, a body.”

“Then what did you do?”

“I, ah, stood there looking at it for, I don’t know, several seconds. It wasn’t moving. She, I believed it was a woman because of the long hair.

“I looked closer and saw what looked like blood in the snow on her head. That’s when I got scared.”

“Then what did you do?” Raines patiently asked.

“I, ah, I ran back to my car, locked the doors and thought about driving home.

“Instead, I called 9-1-1 and waited for the police. The first one arrived just a few minutes later.”

Sandra steadied herself with a deep breath then continued before Raines asked.

“When I saw the police car drive into the parking lot, I got out to meet him. I waved and he drove over to me. I told him what I had seen. I pointed her out. We could see the body on the sidewalk. I didn’t notice it at first, but I could see it now.

“Anyway, he asked me to stay in my car and not leave. He went off by himself to check on the body. He must’ve called it in because within, maybe fifteen minutes, the place was crawling with cops, I mean, police.

“A little while later, maybe another ten or fifteen minutes, two men in overcoats and suits got in my car. ”

“They showed me their badges and introduced themselves. They were detectives. They asked me what I saw and did. They wrote it down. When I finished, they said I could go home. No school today. So, that’s what I did.

“They had asked me to come to their office and give a statement. My fiancée brought me there that same afternoon and I gave a statement that was taken by a stenographer.”

“Thank you, Ms. Harding,” Raines said. “Nothing further your Honor.”

“Mr. Kadella?”

“Ms. Harding. When was the first time you saw my client, the accused, Roberta Curtis-Powell?”

“Um, I, ah, well, this afternoon. Here in the courtroom,” she replied a little confused.

“Did you see her anywhere near the school that day?”

“Oh, um, no, I didn’t.”

“Did you see anyone else before the police arrived?”

“No, no one.”

“Do you have any personal knowledge of who committed this horrible act?” Marc asked.

“No, I never said I did.”

“Thank you, Ms. Harding. I have nothing further,” Marc said.

“Ms. Raines,” Foster said.

“Nothing further your Honor.”

“You may step down and thank you for your time,” Foster said.

Thus, the prosecution’s trial pattern was established. Five victims. Each would have to be completely and carefully presented. They were all very similar, with the exception of Priscilla. Evidence to prove each element of the crime Robbie was charged with must be presented individually and proving each element of five counts of first degree murder. That was the prosecution’s job. And the defense, Marc and Jennifer were keeping track. If they missed even one of those crucial elements, that charge would be thrown out.

For each victim, first up, the person who found the body. Then the first responding police officer. The detectives to present their investigation, the forensic people to present physical evidence. Finally, the medical examiner to explain, with four color photos, the grim details of the cause of death. Finally, a forensic laboratory expert from the state crime lab at the Bureau of Criminal Apprehension to link the hammer, Exhibit A, with each shattered skull. Complete with photos of skull fragments and microscope closeups of scratch marks on the skulls comparing them to scratch marks on the hammer. All very scientific in full color and very impressive.

Skipping a weekend, with delays for in camera arguments, breaks and delays, three more victims took up another week. The victims all neatly tied by witnesses such as Dr. Andrea Brie, the Margaret Sanger Middle School psychologist, to one person and one person only.