Anthony Garcia Murder Trial
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| Some of the exhibits entered as evidence during the proceedings. |
I attended the Anthony Garcia murder trial Friday morning. I wanted
to share some behind-the-scenes insight into the widely-covered trial
that has captured the attention of producers from "Dateline NBC" and "48
Hours." The proceedings are expected to continue Monday for another
couple of days.
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This ominous sign stands next to the
metal detector outside the courtroom. |
Courtroom 316 at the Douglas Country
Courthouse is not hard to miss. Looking up or down from the rotunda, it
is the only one to feature a metal detector (besides the one you must
pass through at the front doors). If you have attended the trial of
Anthony Garcia on any of the previous eight days, you are already "on
the list" and simply have to give your name to one of the two Douglas
County Sheriff's deputies manning the metal detector. But if you are
like me, and have not been here in one of the first nine days of the
trial, you must present your driver's license, which is recorded on a
two-page log sheet.
A large sign outside the courtroom says cell
phones and pagers must be turned off and put away while in the
courtroom. But I already know this order is not being enforced.
Reporters from several Omaha TV stations and the Omaha World-Herald have
been tweeting the proceedings, along with some relatives of the victims
and casual courtroom observers. So my cell phone stays on as I enter 10
minutes before the scheduled 9 a.m. start.
Entering Judge Gary
Randall's courtroom is like walking into a church. The floor is carpeted
and the seating for those not part of the prosecution, the defense or
the jury resembles church pews – sans the kneelers. But that is where
the similarities end. A large TV screen hangs to the left of the judge
and another is suspended above the jury box. Sheriff's deputies – three
in all, one of them armed with a portable metal detector – enter the
courtroom with Garcia. Reporters with laptops and notebooks in hand take
their seats in the second row that is reserved for them. Others find it
less crowded to take a seat on the long bench in the back of the
courtroom. But beware sitting so far back. You are likely to miss some
of the softer-spoken testimony or exchanges and your view might be
blocked by one of several white pillars in the room that seats about 100
people comfortably.
In a trial that has been three years in the
making, I had expected more people to be in attendance. It is quite
possible that the first week of testimony – which included graphic crime
scene photos – featured a larger turnout. But the audience today only
numbers close to 70.
Minutes before the scheduled start,
Garcia's three defense attorneys enter first. The prosecution team
follows about a minute later. Even Judge Randall's boyfriend is here,
seated in the back row with a friend. I took a seat where I could see
the judge, Garcia and the big screen TV near the judge. But my view of
the jury is limited to three of the six jurors in the front row. I am
also accompanied by a friend, Dave, who sits to my right. His wife,
Sonya, is Judge Randall's court reporter. Wearing a bright red top, she
is seated to his left, a few feet from the jury box. I am anxious to
watch her in action and see what a challenge it can be to record
courtroom questions and testimony that sometimes comes fast and furious.
Today,
Garcia is dressed in a suit and black-and-white striped, long-sleeved
shirt. The shirt is almost reminiscent of old-fashioned prison garb,
only the stripes are narrower. A blue box of tissues sits to his right.
Those tissues were the source of interest a few days ago when a deputy
originally denied Garcia an entire box of them after asking for more
than what he was originally given. Garcia's inquiry about getting the
entire box of tissues is reportedly one of the few times he has spoken
in court in three years.
Much like the past two or three days of
the trial, it is clear things will not be starting on time. The judge
summons the defense and the prosecution teams to his chambers while
Garcia sits alone, meticulously removing his glasses and using two
tissues to wipe them off. Nearly 20 minutes after the scheduled start,
the attorneys and judge are still out of sight and the jury has not yet
arrived. Finally, at 9:23, counsel returns. Two minutes later, we "all
rise" and Judge Randall enters. A minute later, the jury enters and we
rise again. This time, we stand for more than a minute as the 12 jurors
and four alternates enter through a side door next to the jury box.
Judge Randall reminds them that they are not to be contacted by anyone
about the case. It appears clear that someone has tried to contact a
juror about the case. His admonishment to them as a group could well
indicate more than one person has been contacted.
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Omaha World-Herald reporter Henry Cordes typed away
in the back of the courtroom. |
As the first
witness is called to the stand, a glance around the courtroom reveals
who is live tweeting or taking down testimony on their own. Veteran
Omaha World-Herald reporter Henry Cordes is seated in the second row
with a mini-laptop. His colleague, Todd Cooper, is in the back row
corner, laptop on his lap. Seated next to him is KETV's David Earl. A
third Omaha World-Herald reporter, Alia Conley, sits on the right side
of the courtroom, closer to the jury box and begins tweeting. (The
newspaper regularly touts on social media that it has the most reporters
covering the trial). WOWT's media representative, Erin Murray, sported a
black WOWT jacket when she entered the courtroom. Like Cordes, she is
also seated in the left side pews, closer to Garcia.
Garcia has
shifted himself to the far end of the defense table and is seated
directly facing the jury. He has his glasses on, is taking notes and is
using a headphone pressed to his left ear to enhance the courtroom
audio. At least for now he is paying attention.
The testimony by
retired Clark County, Illinois, Deputy sheriff Kurt Callahan begins with
the lead prosecutor, Douglas County Attorney Don Kleine, thanking him
for his public service. Then the first piece of evidence from the
prosecution today goes up on the court monitors. It is an aerial view of
an interstate interchange in Indiana, not far from Terre Haute. Marked
with a yellow tag as Exhibit No. 1727, it shows the location of where
part of a gun was found that is believed to have been involved in the
shooting death of Dr. Roger Brumback, who was murdered along with his
wife, Mary, at their home in May of 2013.
The gun, packaged in a
plastic bag, is examined by the defense team and entrusted into evidence
"with no objection." Kleine says it appears to have been taken apart
and enters five additional photos of it as additional pieces of evidence
as to its condition when it was found. I notice that there is a
proliferation of PCs in play in the court. The prosecution team's
attorneys, the court's own computer system and the laptops used by
Cooper, Cordes and Earl. Only the defense team has a Macintosh – a
silver MacBook sporting the familiar Apple logo.
When the defense
begins its cross examination of Callahan, Attorney Robert Motta Jr.
asks who called 911 to report finding the gun, whether Callahan picked
it up, whether this is a common area of the interstate for truckers to
pull over and take a rest break. Through it all, Garcia is watching and
listening to the questioning with a slight smirk on his face. As the
morning wears on, I will come to learn that the smirk seems to be more
of a permanent expression than a random one.
The first sign of
levity in all the seriousness comes when Callahan is asked by Motta Jr.
if he immediately put the gun into an evidence bag and whether he ran
the gun through the NCIC database. After some back and forth between the
two, Callahan leans forward into the microphone in front of him and
tells Motta Jr. in a southern drawl, "I don't know what you are trying
to get me to say." The quip draws laughter from the audience, the
prosecution and even some of the jurors.
When it is time for
Kleine to question Callahan again, I begin to notice a pattern. He and
his colleagues on the prosecution team have a tendency to stand when
questioning a witness while Motta Jr. and the defense remain seated,
some of them even rocking back and forth in their chairs. This habit
becomes even more apparent when the prosecution's next witness, Omaha
Police Detective Derek Mois, enters the courtroom.
In reading
previous coverage of the trial, it is clear there is little love lost
between Mois and Motta Jr. Mois was at the Brumback murder scene and is
now being questioned by the only female on the prosecution team, Brenda
Beadle, who also stands while questioning Mois. The defense says photos
Beadle wants to enter into evidence "have never been seen before" and a
"sidebar" between the prosecution, the defense and Judge Randall ensues.
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| A cell phone and tablet recovered from Garcia's car. |
For
those of you who recall the O.J. Simpson trial, these sidebars are
actually private conversations that happen out of earshot of the jury
and everyone else in the courtroom. To ensure nothing can be heard,
white noise – the kind some people sleep to – is piped through the
courtroom speakers. The court reporter, Kennedy, puts in ear phones to
take transcription with the help of a microphone strategically placed at
the front of the judge's bench.
When the sidebar ends and
testimony resumes, the defense objects nearly immediately to the photos
again, which results in another sidebar. Finally, Exhibit 1741 is
admitted into evidence as "a demonstrative aid for the jury," Beadle
says. The photos are computer-generated illustrations showing the
possible trajectory of bullets which struck Dr. Brumback as he stood in
the entryway of his West Omaha home.
As Detective Mois pivots in
his chair and directly faces the jury box to his left during his
testimony, Garcia is now slumped back in his chair. He is no longer
writing. But any chances that he will nod off – as he has done in the
first eight days of the trial – are put aside as Judge Randall calls for
the morning break at 10:22 a.m. As nearly everyone files out of the
courtroom, Cordes uses the break to move to the back and pound away on
his mini laptop. Dave and I head to the front of the courtroom to check
in with his wife, who describes how difficult it can be when two people
are talking at once. "If two people are talking at once and the judge
starts talking, I only listen to what the judge is saying," she tells
us. She also says all the courtroom proceedings are captured on audio,
which she can later refer to. "But it is rare that I have to do that,"
she said.
Twenty minutes later, everyone is back in the courtroom
and the jury is seated again. Jurors sit in three rows of six. Three
blue boxes of tissues – identical to the one Garcia has in front of him –
sit on each level of the jury box. Each juror wears an identification
badge sporting "JUROR" in large, bold lettering. Earlier, while I was
hanging up my coat in the back of the room, I noticed about 40 juror
badges on the top of the coat rack. One of these could potentially get
you into some secured areas of the courthouse, so it seems odd that they
would just be laying around for the taking.
As the trial
resumes, Detective Mois matter-of-factly describes his investigative
process of Garcia and what led police to track down the 40-year-old
former Indiana doctor who was fired from Creighton University's
residency program in 2001. The testimony is less-than-riveting for now.
And despite the recent break, many in the courtroom are no longer
listening as intently as before. The audience of observers is a bit of
an eclectic mix, much like you would see at a Sunday church service. A
few people in their 20s, several elderly couples – some relatives and
friends of the victims. The media representatives. The TV producers
taking notes for possible "large-scale" network pieces. Two Douglas
Country sheriff's deputies, one of them a woman who keeps taking her
jacket on and off. "I'm getting hot and cold flashes," she tells me.
Garcia's
eyes are nearly shut as Detective Mois describes what a Louisiana
license plate looked like from 2005 to 2008. Witnesses in a Dundee
neighborhood that was home to the murders of 11-year-old Thomas Hunter
and a housekeeper, Shirlee Sherman, have described the suspect vehicle
as a Honda CRV with an out-of-state plate. Judge Randall occasionally
strokes his chin and takes notes as he listens intently. But two jurors
in the front row of the jury box are not so attentive and appear to have
nodded off themselves. It is only when Detective Mois says an incoming
call to Garcia's cell phone was received near Atlantic, Iowa – a town
"west of Omaha" that many in the courtroom finally perk up. "East of
Omaha," a few mutter, prompting the prosecution to correct him.
Minutes
later, the droll of testimony about phone calls and possible motel
stays in West Des Moines have even Judge Randall struggling to pay
attention. No longer taking notes, no longer stroking his chin – as he
is prone to do when listening to testimony – the white-haired judge
appears to either be very deep in thought or very tired. When Beadle
asks Detective Mois why Garcia's purchase of a gun in March of 13 was
"so significant," the defense immediately objects. Judge Randall seems
startled by the sound. He jerks his head forward, much like someone who
has suddenly been awakened, then stares blankly ahead as he appears to
gather his thoughts and process what has just happened. After a few
seconds of silence, he summons the prosecution and defense teams to his
bench for a sidebar. Was Judge Randall really listening? Or had he
nodded off? We will never know, absent the presence of cameras in the
courtrooms, which are prohibited by state law.
As the prosecution
continues its questioning, the phrase "Why is this significant,"
becomes a common tactic for Beadle to attract the attention of the jury,
which appears to be wondering if the lunch break is approaching. It is
only when she approaches some large maps of Omaha – resting on easels
near the jury box – that every member of the jury appears to be engaged
and attentive.
As Detective Mois goes on to explain how the Omaha
Police Department created two task forces to investigate Garcia, I
begin my sixth page of meticulous note-taking. I am learning about the
NCIC database, about cell phone "pinging" (to identify a mobile phone's
location) and even how long it takes to drive from the Wingstop near
72nd and Pacific to the Brumback's home (less than five minutes). As the
prosecution ends its questioning of Mois, it is clear the most
interesting portion of the day's testimony is still to come. But at
precisely 11:55 a.m., Judge Randall announces a break for lunch, with
special instructions to the jury not to discuss the case with anyone,
even among themselves. For me, there will be plenty of discussion in the
coming days of what I have witnessed, what I believe will weigh in
Garcia's favor, and how the prosecution will go about tying him to the
scene of the two double murders.
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| The gun recovered from the shoulder of an interstate off-ramp. |
