Tunnel Vision: Trial & Error

TUNNEL VISION

TUNNEL VISION —

TRIAL & ERROR

Robert O. Marshall With the help of his sister

Oakleigh Valentine

Algora Publishing New York

Algora Publishing, New York © 2002 by Algora Publishing All rights reserved. Published 2002. Printed in the United States of America ISBN: 1-892941-78-3 [email protected] Library of Congress Cataloging-in-Publication Data 2001-007240 Marshall, Robert O. Tunnel Vision / by Robert O. Marshall. p. cm. ISBN 1-892941-78-3 (alk. paper) Murder—New Jersey. Trials (Murder)—New Jersey. Prisoners—New Jersey—Biography. Death row inmates—New Jersey—Biography. I. Title. HV6533.N23 M37 2001 364—dc21 2001007240

New York www.algora.com

To my sister, Oakleigh, without whose love and support I would not have survived. To my son John, whose love and smile gave me hope for a new life. To my friends Rev. James McColl, who helped provide spiritual strength and guidance with visits and prayers, and Ev Hutchinson, and Tom, without whose generosity and support this book would not be possible. Most of all, to my wife Maria, for her love and forgiveness.

CONTENTS

A Note from the Publisher

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Foreword — Some Perspectives

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PROLOGUE

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PART ONE

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PART TWO

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Tunnel Vision

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Nothing is a waste of time, if you use the experience wisely.  Rodin

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Tunnel Vision

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A NOTE FROM THE PUBLISHER This book strictly represents the views of the author, Robert O. Marshall. Algora Publishing neither supports nor refutes the accuracy of the claims and characterizations made herein. The author did not pay to have his book published. The Publisher does not represent Robert O. Marshall in any legal representation nor does it vouch for the veracity or correctness of the facts as stated in this book. However, it is axiomatic that in a democratic nation, everyone should be given a chance to present his opinion and to tell his side of a story — especially when his life is at stake. Anyone who might feel that the author’s perspective does not reflect events in the proper light may address such concerns with the author. We have taken pains to remove or alter names and details that might identify or unjustly portray, and therefore bring excessive attention, or harm, to individuals who may have been incidentally involved in the events recounted in this book. The names of most characters have been changed, to avoid any possible inconvenience. It is unavoidable that certain details remain in place in order to present what the author submits is the true story. Whether Robert O. Marshall is innocent or guilty in his wife’s murder, we, Algora Publishing, do not know in the least. We must leave it to the courts, through the judicial process, to examine the facts and to determine their validity. However, there are complexities and ambiguities inherent in any judicial process — problems that become particularly critical when the death penalty is involved — and we are serving the public by bringing to the debate a case that exemplifies those troubling questions.

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Tunnel Vision

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FOREWORD — SOME PERSPECTIVES

The violent death of Maria Marshall on September 7, 1984 was both a great shock and a great loss for many people — notably, her husband, Rob, her three sons, her parents, and her many friends. It was clear from the first moment that the police arrived at the Parkway rest area that Maria had been murdered. The locale of the crime gave rise to the later oft-quoted reference: the Parkway Murder. It is often the case, when a wife is murdered, that the police turn their attention to the husband. So it was in this case. During the ensuing investigation, a witness, Jimmy McInerney (alias) became known to the authorities. Jimmy McInerney was to become the darling of the prosecution; and to the Defense, as suggested in their openings, the devil. The trial commenced with opening statements on January 27, 1987. McInerney was the star witness. During his testimony, it became obvious that he had invented the notion of Larry Thomas (alias) as the “shooter”— something he had to do in order to obtain the miraculous plea bargain that he made. Although the jury found McInerney a liar with respect to Thomas being the “shooter”, they could not see that he was lying about Robert Marshall. Rob was convicted, and sentenced to death.

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Tunnel Vision In the past seventeen years, while Rob has waited on death row, the New Jersey Supreme Court has set aside the sentences of 24 men who were convicted of murder before he was. In most of those cases, the reason for overturning the sentences was that it had not been proven at their trials that they had a specific intent to kill. Rob, not being a member of any minority and having (if the State’s case survives appeal) a specific intent to kill, may be the first person to be executed in New Jersey under our current death penalty statute. This book deals with the persons involved in Maria’s life and death, the trial that resulted from her death, and the life of Rob Marshall in the years since Maria was killed. Someone once said that a great trial should involve family, sex, mystery and religion. In this case we have the family tragedy, Rob’s affair, the mystery of Maria’s death, and only God and Rob Marshall know the truth. Readers will be able to come to their own conclusions. Meanwhile, the appellate courts will come to a legal conclusion. Francis J. Hartman Attorney

Robert Marshall may well be the first person to be executed by the state of New Jersey since the early 1960s. His case is now wending its way through the federal court system, the last real chance for him to avoid that ultimate penalty. The final act of this tragic situation could take place in the next 18 months, assuming the federal courts and the Governor do not intervene. Marshall is close to the end. The first major reason for my writing this introduction is that I am unalterably opposed to the death penalty in all cases. The second is that my daughter was murdered in 1988, and I oppose and fight the death penalty in her name and honor, action that I know would make her proud. The third is that I, as a retired attorney, have studied the record in this case and have come to the conclusion that if the State of New Jersey executes Robert Marshall, there is a good chance that it may be executing an innocent man. Fourth, and finally, there are a myr8

Foreword iad of reasons that do not include my own personal prejudices why Marshall, in particular, should not be executed. With reference to personal feelings, my moral compass points to the fact that we, as a people and a civilized society, set a horribly wrong example when we coldly, calculatedly and willfully set out to kill Robert Marshall or anyone else convicted of murder. While we may feel strongly that they deserve death and that we impose it via a legal system, supposedly with strict rules and checks and balances, nevertheless the end is the same: we are killing a man or a woman. I emphasize and reemphasize the word “we,” since it must be understood that it is we whom the state represents. It is not some bland entity called the State of New Jersey who will kill Robert Marshall. Do we, as a people, wish to take that upon ourselves? Or do we, instead, want to follow the path of just about every other civilized nation in the world, the path of 13 states of the Union and of just about every major religion and ethical organization in our nation, and say courageously that we will not copy the actions of the killers? My answer echoes that of the national organization, Murder Victims’ Families For Reconciliation (MVFR), of which my wife and I are proud members. There are thousands of us across the nation, hailing from each and every state, who give solace to each other and who adamantly say, “Not in our name!” My daughter was murdered by her husband, so I must say here that I began researching the Marshall case with a built-in prejudice against Marshall, since he too was convicted of the murder of his wife. Whenever my wife and I see the horror of a killing or disappearance of a woman on TV, our unfortunate automatic response is to accuse the husband or boyfriend. Often, but certainly not always, this knee-jerk response is correct. That type response is what has confronted Marshall. But there were three major differences in the two cases. First, Marshall was convicted of hiring someone to kill his wife, while my Lisa was stabbed to death from behind by her husband. Second, Lisa’s killer was convicted only of voluntary manslaughter and sentenced to serve only 20 years, as opposed to Marshall’s death sentence. A third difference is that Marshall is alleged to have killed in order to be free to marry another woman and for the accompanying insurance money, whereas Lisa’s killer did so for the opposite reason, that is, she was in the process of leaving him. In studying these cases, it seems to me that

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Tunnel Vision murders by spouses or lovers are much more prevalent in these latter situations than the former. We hear the infamous words repeatedly uttered by men, “If I can’t have her, no one will.” As I have said time and again to audiences at churches, synagogues, schools, union halls, prisons, etc., my Lisa was a beautiful, wonderful young woman who loved life and loved people and would not want anyone to be killed in her name. Therefore, I continue to honor her in waging this struggle. With specific reference to Robert Marshall, I have read all the major portions of the record in the case as well as the court opinions, and have come to the conclusion that I simply do not know, and cannot hope to know, whether he did contract to kill Maria Marshall. If I were a betting man, based on the evidence I have read, I would wager on his innocence. However, if I actually claim his innocence, I would be showing as much ignorance as the writer of the earlier book and the TV screenplay that asserted his guilt, as much ignorance as those persons who read and watched that propaganda and read the contemporary press accounts and flatly stated that he is guilty. As much as they may have studied the case, they, like me, cannot know, but can only speculate. The only ones who really know whether he is guilty or innocent are “McInerney,” the man he is supposed to have hired to do the terrible deed, and Marshall himself. At a minimum, I would conclude that there are serious doubts of guilt. There are many obvious reasons for these doubts, but since I am not the author of this book, I will only take the space to state two. The prosecution case avers that Marshall contracted with McInerney and that McInerney subcontracted to “Thomas” to shoot and kill Maria Marshall, and that Thomas in fact did so. The same jury tried both Marshall and Thomas; they found Thomas innocent and Marshall guilty, based primarily on McInerney’s testimony. McInerney himself was not tried, since he cut a “sweetheart” deal with the prosecutor to testify against the other two men. He received the unbelievably lenient sentence of five years with a recommendation by the prosecutor to allow him to get out in minimal time. He was set free in less than five years. Is that justice for a killer? Maybe the State of New Jersey thought it was okay to put him back on the streets, since he would be going back to his Louisiana home and would be unlikely to kill again in New Jersey. The testimony of other witnesses and the holes in McInerney’s own testimony indicate clearly that he was lying egregiously about 10

Foreword Thomas’s participation. It was not a case of failing to prove Thomas’s guilt beyond a reasonable doubt, but a certainty that Thomas was in the state of Louisiana at the time of this shooting. The prosecution had to know that, and yet, in order to get Marshall, they allowed McInerney to take the stand and go through his false testimony. The question immediately occurs, to any thinking person, whether we should believe McInerney about Marshall’s alleged role in these events when he so obviously lied about Thomas. On top of that, the temptation to lie in order to get a sentence of a mere five years or less, for murder, must have been enormous. It is obvious that had McInerney not made a deal to testify against Marshall, he too would have been a subject for the death penalty (or, minimally, a life sentence). In fact, a fourth party, supposedly somehow implicated in this Byzantine situation, is serving a life term at present. It makes one wonder about the justice system when one co-conspirator in a murder, who admits his guilt, can walk away virtually scot free, and another, who has denied guilt from the beginning, and who was convicted primarily on the testimony of a proven prevaricator, receives a death sentence. This is particularly abhorrent when there is a situation, like this one, fraught with the potential for falsehoods. Finally, even if one sincerely believes that Marshall is truly guilty, there are several reasons besides the moral ones why execution is inappropriate. The first one we have already discussed: there is still, at minimum, a possibility that we may be executing an innocent person. In my talks all over New Jersey, time and again people have said to me that they favor the death penalty — but only in the most heinous of cases and only when there is absolute certainty of guilt. In light of the nearly 100 cases of persons who were on death row in America and were later exonerated (some within hours of execution), the public is becoming more and more uncomfortable with the possibility of executing an innocent person. I know of ten cases in New Jersey alone, of recent vintage, wherein persons convicted of murder or rape have been exonerated later. They were exonerated not through the normal processes of our legal system, but by the agency of outside forces such as organizations like Centurion Ministries in Princeton, NJ, that investigate these cases. How many other human beings may be rotting in prison, without an organization like Centurion (or top-notch counsel like Paul Casteleiro, Esq., who often works with Centurion), to champion their 11

Tunnel Vision causes? Furthermore, I have to wonder why Marshall may be killed by us within the next two years while the killer of my daughter could have been released into the streets within seven years. (Lisa’s killer will actually serve his full sentence of 20 years, only because I conducted a letter-writing campaign in the State of Georgia to keep him in for his full term.) Why has McInerney, an admitted killer and quite possibly the only killer of Maria Marshall, been walking free since the early 1990’s? I do not want to hear one more politician or court say that the death penalty is reserved only for the most heinous of killers. Does not McInerney fit that description? Are not all murders heinous? Please, do not tell me that someone else’s life is worth more than Lisa’s! Another reason why both this verdict of guilt and sentence of death for Marshall must be reversed and a new trial granted is the conduct of both major counsel involved in the case. On the side of the State, we take it for granted that in such a high profile case the prosecutor will go for the jugular and act zealously in behalf of the State. We have a highly adversarial system — which I do not favor, particularly where lives are at stake, but it is a fact of life. However, this prosecutor knew no bounds, going beyond zealotry. He used every trick in the book and then some. He ignored the judge’s admonitions, sometimes apologizing for improper conduct when the judge commented on same, and then subsequently doing the same thing again in a bit of a different way. I practiced law in Bucks County, Pennsylvania for 25 years, trying many cases. I never witnessed such brazen conduct on the part of a prosecutor, or even by a defense counsel, who oftentimes have a welldeserved reputation for over-the-top conduct when trying to save the life of an accused. Reading this record, I found myself ashamed to have been a participant in the legal profession. This conduct flavored the entire proceeding, and I very much agree with the dissenting opinion in the NJ Supreme Court that this conduct, along with other factors, warrants a new trial. With regard to the defense counsel, I regret to state that he just did not do the job. One example is in the penalty phase, where he failed to present witnesses in Marshall’s behalf, making a strategic decision to rely on an agreement by the prosecutor that Marshall’s life experiences included many mitigating factors. Anyone who has ever tried such a case must be aware that these past good deeds must be demonstrated in their fullness to the jury. The majority of the 12

Foreword NJ Supreme Court said that while a particular strategy by the defense may not be the best route to take, it nevertheless would be insufficient to reverse as long as he gave it his best effort. I disagree. It is my belief (as it was that of the minority Justices) that this strategy was so blatantly mistaken that a reversal of the penalty is mandatory, especially in a capital case and especially when there are so many other reasons to reverse. In conclusion, wherever the reader may stand on the usefulness and morality of the death penalty, any fair-minded, logical person who reads even a portion of this record must conclude that Robert Marshall should have another chance to demonstrate his innocence (if innocent he may be), but at least to receive a fair trial on a level playing field. We need a trial where counsel, on both sides, play by the rules and where the prosecution’s star witness does not have an opportunity to avoid spending the rest of his life in prison as long as he testifies in a certain way, a way that would bring about the conviction of Robert Marshall. Our innate sense of justice and fair play demands at least this much! Lorry Post Attorney

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Tunnel Vision

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PROLOGUE

After a pleasant dinner at Harrah’s Meadows Restaurant in Atlantic City, Rob and Maria Marshall played blackjack for a couple of hours and walked away with over $6,000. They paid off two small credit markers, then headed for home, an hour north in Toms River, New Jersey. After pulling out of a Garden State Parkway tollbooth, Rob felt a vibration from one of the tires. Thinking he might have to change a tire and wanting to avoid the potential danger of parking on the shoulder, he pulled into a nearby picnic area. Indeed, the right rear tire was partially flat. As he was checking the tire, he was knocked unconscious by a blow to his head — from behind. He woke up in a pool of his own blood, his pockets turned inside out and the casino winnings gone. Maria was lying across the front seats, bleeding from fatal gunshot wounds to her back and side. That was September 7, 1984. Three months later, Rob was arrested for conspiring to have Maria killed. The previous May, Rob and Maria had attended a neighbor’s party where they met Billy Caller*, a Shreveport, Louisiana man who had beNote: Many of these names have been changed, to protect the innocent — and the guilty.

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Tunnel Vision come friends with the neighbor some time ago when Caller lived in north Jersey. After an afternoon of drinking together, Rob told Billy he was going to leave his wife and needed a private investigator to determine the whereabouts of over $15,000 in missing casino winnings and to find out whether Maria was consulting a divorce lawyer. Billy told Rob he knew an investigator, and advised Rob to give him a call after he got back to Shreveport. Thinking Billy would refer him to someone in New Jersey, Rob called Billy a week later and was introduced to the investigator, a former Louisiana deputy sheriff, who called himself Jerry Davies. It wasn’t until much later that Rob learned he was a conman named Jimmy McInerney. Ocean County investigators believed that Rob was involved in his wife’s death, and they interrogated Caller in Louisiana and then arrested him and McInerney; they were extradited to New Jersey, where McInerney was offered a deal if he would name someone other than himself as the “shooter,” and Rob as the person who hired him. Before McInerney gave his statement to the prosecutor, he was allowed to review the discovery file that contained all of the notes the county had gathered up until that point in their investigation. On December 18, 1984, McInerney gave a statement matching the prosecutor’s file notes, naming Rob and identifying a Louisiana man (Larry Thompson) as the shooter. He had cut himself a deal that would limit his jail time to less than sixteen months. Rob and Larry were arrested separately on December 19, 1984. At a pre-trial hearing in 1985, Judge Michael Green decided that they would be tried together. The trial would commence the following January. For the first time in his life, Rob Marshall was facing the American justice system: the system he would count on to prove his innocence and return him to his three young sons.

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PART ONE

1 My sister Oakleigh was the first to arrive at the house after I called my family the morning of Maria’s death. We sat in my office while I told her what had happened: I woke up in a pool of my own blood next to the right side of the car. As I stood up, I saw Maria lying across the front seats. There was blood on her sweater, a shell casing on the floor by her feet. I sat on the seat and called her name, but she didn’t answer. When I touched her, she didn’t move. I didn’t know what to do first. I knew I had to get help, so I ran out onto the Parkway and started waving my arms while I dodged cars and buses, trying to get someone to stop. It must have taken five minutes before a car pulled over. The driver spoke with a heavy accent and I wasn’t sure if he understood me, so I stopped another car. This time there were five men in a station wagon. I told them I thought my wife had been shot, and to call the police. When they left, I ran back to the car and just sat there with her, crying. I realized my pockets were turned inside out. My wallet lay on the pavement; the money we had won at the casino was gone. When the men came back, I sat with one of them until the state troopers got there. A few minutes later, another car pulled in and

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Tunnel Vision an officer came over and introduced himself as Lieutenant Pistacchi from the State Police. I sat in his car and told him what had happened. That was when one of the other troopers came over and I asked him about Maria. He looked at me and told me she didn’t make it. I went nuts and started crying again. An ambulance drove in and a paramedic put an ice pack on my head while Pistacchi finished his questions. Then they took me to the van to clean my head, and took pictures of the wound. They said they wanted to take me to the hospital. I told them I wanted to see Maria before we left. I sat next to her and told her I loved her, as I touched her for the last time.

I started crying again. “Are you gonna be OK, Rob?” Oakleigh asked. “Can I get you a Coke or something?” I told her I was OK, and that I wanted to finish telling her what happened before anyone got there. They drove me to the hospital and took X-rays and stitched my head. When they finished, I called Father Farrell at Saint Joseph’s Church. I knew I wouldn’t be able to face the boys alone. He drove me home and stayed with me while I told Roy and Jay what had happened. We just sat on Roy’s bed and cried together. Then the back door bell rang. There were two police officers wanting to ask more questions. We talked in my office for a few minutes, and they asked if I would go with them to the state police barracks to answer more questions. They also wanted the clothes I had worn that night. I asked if we could wait until tomorrow, because I wanted to stay with my boys until someone from my family arrived. They said they wanted to talk while everything was fresh in my mind. After we got to the barracks, I waited almost a half hour before they started asking their questions. A county officer named Mulligan told me the flat tire had been cut in the sidewall, which didn’t match up with what I had told the officers at the scene. I told him the tire was only partially flat when I stopped. I didn’t know anything about the cut. He asked if I had insurance on Maria. I told him, yes, and on myself as well; that I was an insurance broker. A second officer named Joo asked if I had any debts. I told him, yes,

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Part One that’s what the insurance was for. Mulligan asked if I had a girlfriend. I told him no. I asked them if I was a suspect. Mulligan told me, “Everyone who drove on the Parkway tonight is a suspect.” After a brief conference among themselves, they brought me back to the house around 8:00 AM.

“What about Chip?” “I don’t want to tell him over the phone. I’ll drive up to school later this morning.” “How about Maria’s parents?” “I haven’t spoken to them yet. I figured maybe Roy and Jay could drive into Philly and pick them up while I go get Chip. “There’s something else I want to tell you before anyone gets here. I do have a girlfriend. I’ve been having an affair for the past fourteen months. I was going to leave Maria in a few weeks.” “Who have you been seeing?” “You’ve never met her. Her name is Beth. She lives on the block behind us.” “Did Maria suspect you?” “I’m not sure. That’s part of what I want to tell you, but we’re going to have to save it for later — someone just pulled into the driveway.”

Oakleigh comments: After Maria was killed early on the morning of September 7, 1984, and Rob’s arrest the following December, I stayed with his sons, Roy, Chip and Jay, at their home in Toms River, until the trial in January of 1986. After considerable urging, I convinced Rob to keep a record of the events as they unfolded. In these pages, we will use the diaries we kept to recount what really happened and why. There were two events that took place several hours after Maria’s death that undoubtedly caused the county investigators to immediately look at Rob as the prime suspect. First: an investigator Maria had hired through her attorney advised the prosecutor that he knew of Rob’s infidelity. Second: Beth was picked up and

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Tunnel Vision questioned by the police on her way home from work, the afternoon of Maria’s death. She told them that at one time Rob had joked with her about getting rid of Maria. Before we begin, it is important to know that what you may have read in Joe McGinnis’s book, Blind Faith, or seen in the NBC movie by the same name, was greatly misrepresented and simply not factual. Half of the large pale-green paneled courtroom was filled with media people from Philadelphia and the surrounding area. A television crew had set up camp directly behind the prosecutor’s table on the left and they were talking among themselves. I was sitting in the front row directly behind the defendant’s table with Rob’s son Jay and Wendy Thomas, the wife of Rob’s co-defendant, Larry Thomas (the man McInerney named as the shooter). Other members of our family would join me after jury selection was complete. Wendy was now staying with us at Rob’s home. I had met her several times while visiting Rob at the jail before the trial. She would drive up from Louisiana in a battered pickup truck, stay a few days to visit with Larry, and then drive back again to run their roadside restaurant outside of Shreveport. Just before the trial, their restaurant burned to the ground, leaving her with no source of income. After Rob’s investigator discovered that Larry was in a dentist’s office in Louisiana on the date of Maria’s death, and had other alibi witnesses, we knew he was innocent and we had no qualms about Wendy staying at the house with young Jay. This allowed me to return to my own long-neglected family. As it turned out, Wendy became a friend to each of the boys and cared for them like they were her own. Also in the courtroom was author Joe McGinnis, who planned to make Rob’s case the subject of his next book. I spoke to him briefly, asking that he be objective and not have tunnel vision* like the prosecutor and media. He assured me he would. Then there were Rob’s so called “friends” from Toms River and * Tunnel vision: “A narrow outlook. The focus of attention on a particular problem without regard for possible consequences or alternative approaches.” Webster’s New World Dictionary (a.n.)

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Part One a few former classmates from college. The remaining seats were taken by local “trial owls,” looking for blood.

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* * *

The trial excerpts contained in these pages were condensed from more than 4,000 pages of trial transcripts. Portions have been omitted but the essence and meaning are consistent with the record. After a formal introduction to all the potential jurors, we began the tedious process of selecting those who would serve. From a list of 250 names, we interviewed more than 150 before the judge felt we had enough for the final selection. Each of the potential jurors had filled out an eight-page questionnaire which was designed to determine his or her bias on several important issues. A few admitted having strong feelings about the case, based on what they had read in the newspaper. We felt they should have been excused by the judge. However, he simply asked them if they could keep an open mind. We had to use our peremptory challenges to eliminate them. After seven days, using a five-point rating system, we picked the twelve men and women, and four alternates, who were to be the jury of my peers. There were four casino executives, a casino bus driver, and a young female dealer from Harrah’s who ended up being the jury foreman. Four others were in construction, and the remaining six were a dental assistant, a civil servant, an insurance company supervisor, a project engineer, a china caster, and a 21-year-old road laborer. All but the last had been rated a “three.” The profile could have been better, but we were not totally unhappy with the final selection. Opening statements would begin after lunch. It was January 27, 1986. Assistant Prosecutor Keith Farrell opened first. He spent an hour pacing in front of the jury reciting his prepared speech. His assistant, sat listening stoically at the prosecutor’s table. Farrell was still overweight and wearing the same wire-rimmed glasses I remembered from our lunch interview several years earlier. (I had been referred to him by another attorney client and bought him lunch while we talked about a mutual fund IRA investment program.) He described what happened on the night of Maria’s death and went on to explain the State’s theory of a conspiracy between the in-

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Tunnel Vision vestigator I had hired, Jimmy McInerney, Billy Caller (the man who introduced me to McInerney), and me. As he neared the end of his diatribe, he said, “and he checked into Room 16 of the Best Western and would have us believe that he was going to kill himself. We will prove that his real intent was to plant evidence to help himself.” My attorney, Gene Zeigler, leaned over and said, “He practiced this in front of a mirror.” Because many people believe a defendant is guilty and must prove his innocence, when it was Gene’s turn to speak, he explained that an indictment is not evidence of guilt and that the jury must keep in mind I was presumed innocent. Only they could decide if that presumption should be taken away. Gene explained the facts of the case and proclaimed McInerney’s deal “a pact with the devil.” He spent a few minutes going over my biography: “An award-winning businessman. Married in 1963. A family man with three sons; he has lived in Toms River, New Jersey since 1964. Past President of the Ocean County Business Association. Former Fundraising Chairman of the Ocean County United Way. Present Chairman of the Ocean County Swim League, to name only a few of the charitable organizations he’s involved with.” Then he brought out a chart, which he set up on an easel for the jury to see. It showed the chronology of events after Maria’s death. He admitted my affair, saying, “We’re not proud of it. It is a fact we will not deny. What we are denying, most vehemently, as you will hear from Rob’s own lips when he testifies later in this trial, is that he had anything to do with the death of his wife.” He went back to the chart, which came to a dead end after McInerney was brought to New Jersey. “What happens after the dead end, almost two months later? The deal with McInerney.” “I submit to you,” he continued, “the facts are going to show that, but for Jimmy McInerney, Rob Marshall would not be here. . . . “When you are taken to the picnic area where Maria was killed,” he told the jury, “I want you to see that you can continue further along the road where it would have been more secluded than where Rob stopped his car. I would like you to keep in mind that Rob’s car had its bright lights on; you will have to decide if that is consistent with the State’s theory of wrong-doing. . . ” 22

Part One He closed by saying, “I have faith that you will come to a just verdict and return Rob to his family.” After a short recess, Larry’s attorney, Frank Hartman, had his turn. He walked to the jury box, put his hands on the rail and said, “Ladies and gentlemen, one time when the government was oppressing the citizens, a great patriot stood up and said, ‘Give me liberty or give me death.’ In this particular case, when the state was oppressing him, Jimmy McInerney said, ‘Give me liberty and give them death.’ “You’re going to hear McInerney tell you a rather incredible story: that three times he came to New Jersey, and on only one occasion was he accompanied by Larry Thomas. And you’re going to have to believe that Larry Thomas — who is not otherwise identified in this case by anyone or anything other than McInerney (a man who was bought as a witness for the prosecution, with the payment of his own liberty) — killed Maria Marshall. “Let me talk to you about that deal, the pact with the devil which Mr. Zeigler has referred to. He is to be charged with conspiracy, not murder. You’ll learn that he is not to be charged under the Graves Act, which requires a much longer sentence. “You will hear that the State has asked that he be given the earliest possible parole date. You will also find that he and his family will go into the witness protection program, and you’ll hear about the financial benefits that go with being in that program. . . . “Now, McInerney has just one problem in making his deal, and that is, although the evidence may seem to point to the fact that it was McInerney who did the shooting, the State would not make such a sweetheart of a deal with someone who actually did the murder. So he invented another person to get himself out of that situation. He picked Larry Thomas. . . Fortunately for Larry, he was able to develop the facts of an alibi. . . . “We will produce for you a number of witnesses who will establish that the statement given by McInerney regarding my client is not true. . . . And if you find that Jimmy McInerney lied about Larry Thomas, you may have considerable doubts about what he said about Rob Marshall.” He thanked the jury and sat down.

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Tunnel Vision The judge adjourned, with a warning to the jury not to discuss the case with anyone and not to read or watch anything about the case in the media. Knowing that most jurors do follow the case, in spite of the admonition by the court, Gene asked the judge to sequester the jury. In view of the anticipated duration of the trial, the request was denied. Before we left the courtroom, I had Gene ask the judge if I could get a hug from my family — jail rules prohibited physical contact. He granted the request and, for the first time in over thirteen months, I was able to make contact with the people I loved. It was a wonderful moment, but all too short. On January 28, as I was waiting to leave for court, I heard about the Challenger space shuttle disaster on TV. My own loss somehow made me feel their pain even more acutely. It was cold and blustery as we drove to the Oyster Creek picnic area on the Garden State Parkway, the scene of Maria’s death. The jurors shuffled around trying to keep warm while Larry and I sat in a police car, waiting. I had a sick feeling in my stomach as I viewed the spot where, nearly fourteen months earlier, I had innocently stopped to check a tire I thought was going flat. I could not help but reflect on what had led to this tragedy. 3 On a hot and lazy July 4th weekend in 1983, Maria and I rode our 18-foot ski boat to Walter and Jeanie Stucci’s backyard party (their home was nestled in the trees on the edge of a Toms River lagoon). Walter was a fellow business association member and manager of a local stock brokerage office. Most of the people who had arrived before us were talking in small groups under a yellow and white striped party tent. Maria went into the house, while I headed for the bar. As I took a long pull on my drink, she walked up to next to me and said, “Hel-lo,” in a sultry voice. “Well, hello,” I said, as I turned to face her. She wore a dark red jumpsuit which was accented by silver jewelry and her dark wavy hair. Standing there, facing me, she was nearly at eye level (in two-inch heels). Beth knew how to attract attention. Beth Brachfeld and her husband, Daniel, were social friends who lived in our neighborhood. I 24

Part One played tennis with Dan on a regular basis. Their daughter had a crush on Chip, and Jay often played with their son. Beth and I had a common bond as the kind of people who were asked to do the tough jobs and did them. We acted, rather than reacted. We did what we felt was best, regardless of the responses of those who watched from the sidelines. “You look terrific,” I said, handing her my drink. “Are you still teaching aerobics?” “Just a few hours a week.” “Where’s Dan?” I asked, as I ordered another drink. “At the beach with the kids. Where’s Maria?” “Inside helping Jeanie.” “Oh,” she said, sipping her drink and staring at me over the rim of her glass. We moved away from the bar and stood in the shade of the tent, talking. After several minutes, I said, with a wry smile, “Are we ever going to get together?” This was an old joke that always evoked a bawdy response. She looked at me with her dark eyes for a thoughtful moment and said, “I’m about ready for something like this. Why don’t you call me at school.” I was nonplussed. “Where are you working now?” I asked, trying to maintain my composure. “I’m an assistant principal at the high school. I work half days during the summer; give me a call before noon.” “OK,” I said. “I’ll be looking forward to hearing from you,” she smiled. I stood there looking at her thin, lithe figure as she joined one of the other groups talking under the tent. I could not believe what had just happened. The remainder of the afternoon was a blur, but I remember catching Beth’s eye as we backed the boat away from the dock. Her look left nothing unsaid. When I called the following Monday, there was no hesitation in her voice. We agreed to meet on Wednesday at noon in the parking lot of the Smithville Inn, a well-known restaurant fifteen miles north of Atlantic City and just a few miles from her school. 25

Tunnel Vision I had located a motel a few miles south and checked in at 11:30 AM. I bought ice and Cokes and turned on the air conditioner before driving to meet her. I arrived at the restaurant five minutes early and wondered if she would be on time — or show up at all. She drove in at 12:00 sharp, parked next to me, and gave me a look that said she was glad to be there. She grabbed an oversized handbag from the back seat and got into my car. I could feel the excitement building within me as we drove away. We walked into the room together and were met by a wave of cool air. As I locked the door and turned to face her, she kicked off her shoes, looked at me and said, “I’ve been thinking about this all week.” “So have I,” I said, taking her in my arms. She was sensitive and responsive to my passion and desire. We spent four hours together, taking occasional breaks for a drink or a bite to eat. I did not know it then, but that day marked the beginning of something that would change our lives forever. The next time I saw her was at the country club, several weeks later. She wore a black one-piece bathing suit that complemented her dark tan. “I like what you’re wearing,” I said, touching her hand. “I knew you would.” “I’d love to see you again.” “I would too,” she said looking at me with sparkling eyes. “Bring some Beaujolais this time,” she said with a smile. What had started as a fling quickly blossomed into an intensely romantic relationship. Each time we were together, our feelings for each other grew to another level, closer in understanding and emotion. We seemed to be in harmony on almost everything; a refreshing change from the ongoing conflict that existed at home. Beth was also unhappy with her marriage and wanted a fresh start. We had both been married for almost twenty years. I bought her a portable tape recorder to match mine, and we made tapes with favorite songs and a personal message and left them in a post office box for each other. I phoned her at school every day from my office; it seemed important to maintain contact when we could not be together.

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Part One We were able to go to dinner only once, in the fall of 1983. We picked a new restaurant thirty miles north in Eatontown, hoping we would not be recognized. Over dessert, she took my hand and said she wanted to tell me something. For a moment, I thought she was going to break off our relationship. She looked at me and said, “I want you to know about my torrid past; I don’t want any secrets between us.” “What are you talking about?” Over the next half hour, she told me that she’d had a number of affairs and had actually left her husband twice, only to return after a few days. “Will you tell me who you were with?” I asked, tentatively. She hesitated for a moment, and then named a number of men I knew. “Most of them were during the summer my mother died. My psychiatrist told me I was punishing myself for her death. Anyway, I wanted you to know.” I looked at her for a moment and said, “Why did you ever pick me?” “At first, you were a conquest,” she said, with a sly look. “Do you know that you and Maria are known as Ken and Barbie?” “No.” “It’s true. Of course I don’t feel that way now.” “You know,” I said, “the first thing that comes to mind is that you’ll do the same thing to me.” “No! I was eighteen when I married Daniel. I didn’t know what I wanted then. I do now. “There’s something else I want to tell you,” she said. “I’ve told a couple of people about us. I know we agreed not to tell anyone but I can trust these people; they’re my only true friends.” “Are you sure? You know Toms River people; you can’t trust anyone with a secret. That’s why I haven’t said a word to anyone.” “Believe me, Rob, I wouldn’t have told them if I thought for a moment they would tell anyone else.” “Damn! I’m so frustrated. I want to be with you now, not six months from now.” “Me too,” she said, squeezing my hand. “I can’t take much more at home either. Just say the word and I’ll pack my bags.” I looked into her eyes and knew she was serious. “Much as I want 27

Tunnel Vision to, we can’t now, not right before Christmas. And I want to get Chip situated in college. The summer will be better.” “What about you?” she said. “I’ve bared my soul, now I want to know all your deep, dark secrets.” “Well, there’s not much to tell. I’ve been unfaithful only once. I’ve been pretty much of a straight arrow. Except for speeding and coasting through stop signs late at night, there isn’t anything else. I guess I know why they call us Ken and Barbie.” “Did you ever do drugs?” “Nothing except Ornade,” I said smiling. “How about you?” “Some pot. We actually got busted trying to bring some home from the Islands when we went down for a convention a few years ago. We ended up missing our plane. I had to tell the principal at school that we were detained when they found prescription medication in our luggage.” We sat across from each other, looking into each other’s eyes. She finally said, “I want you to know something that has become very important to me. I love the way I feel when we’re together. You treat me like a lady.” “You are a lady. You’re my lady.” She smiled and looked at me. “And I love our tapes. They’re an uncluttered stream of consciousness, I can see deep into your soul.” At that moment the waitress walked up and asked if we wanted anything. Without hesitation I ordered two Bacardi rum and Cokes with double lime, squeezed. Several days later, as we sat in a secluded area in my car, sipping rum and Cokes, I gave her a bottle of Lady perfume as I played Kenny Roger’s song, “Lady,” on the car tape deck. She lay in my arms, listening, tears streaming down her face. “Whenever you hear this song,” I said, “I want you to think of me and remind yourself that you’re my lady.” “I adore you, Rob,” she said softly, touching my face. “I think we just hit another plateau.” “I know.” One day in December, after an argument with Maria, I drove to my office in frustration and called Beth at school. “She’s driving me crazy,” I said. “I just want to be away from her. God, I wish I could be 28

Part One with you now.” “What happened?” “Someone called the house last night and said, ‘I love you’ three times and hung up. Chip took the call and said it sounded like you. Naturally, Maria is convinced it was you.” “Oh, my God!” she cried. “Was that you?” “Yes. I thought you answered. Chip sounds exactly like you. You told me you would be home. Where were you?” “We decided to go to a movie.” “Oh, Rob, I’m so sorry. I was at the Club with Daniel and I missed you; I just wanted to hear your voice. I would have hung up if I thought anyone but you answered.” “Well, if Maria didn’t suspect before, she will now.” “What are we going to do?” she asked, honestly concerned. “Try and act as though nothing is wrong. What else can I do? Listen, my love, much as I love your gesture, please don’t call the house.” “You’re absolutely right, I’m really sorry.” Little did I know, then, what that call would cost. On one of our long evenings together, we talked about the frustration of not being able to do normal things together in public. Because of my diverse clientele and our familiarity within the community, we knew people in virtually every walk of life. “Our luck,” she said, “we’d go to dinner and one of Daniel’s customers or your clients would see us. We’ll have plenty of opportunity to go out to dinner once we’re together; I hate to cook.” Later that evening, after we had made frantic love, she threw her head back and yelled, “God, I wish they were dead!” “Who?” I asked. “Maria and Daniel.” I looked over at her and said, “And I suppose you know someone in that line of work, too.” “Sure,” she said. “Probably Joey MacArthur from the beach club. I think he’s connected.” “You’re not serious about wanting them dead; are you?” “Convenient as that might be, of course not.” 29

Tunnel Vision 4 We heard the first witnesses that afternoon. Farrell called the state troopers who were first on the scene, and then a ballistics expert. Most interesting was the claim that the troopers had destroyed any notes taken at the scene. Each testified that I told them the tire was flat when I stopped. This contradicted Detective Pistacchi’s testimony and notes that stated I told them the tire was partially flat when I drove into the picnic area. At the end of each day in court, Larry and I were shackled and handcuffed and returned to the Atlantic County Jail. The jail was a new facility, opened in 1985. Each of the eight wings had one control booth monitoring two 24-cell units, half of which had double bunks. There were tables and stools bolted to the floor in the day-room with a TV set mounted on the wall. Opposite the TV was a single pay phone. Before being driven the three miles to the courthouse in an armed squad car each morning, we walked to the admitting area, where we shaved and dressed in one of the three suits we were allowed to keep there. As we entered the courtroom each morning, I noticed that Farrell greeted Larry and Wendy. I thought this was an odd way to behave toward someone he had accused of murdering my wife. Gene’s investigator, Rich Kohl, joined us at the defendant’s table for the afternoon session. He was full of encouragement and positive expectations. He also handed me his latest bill, for over $7,000. It did not take me long to realize that Larry’s lawyer, Frank Hartman, was much more skilled and at ease than Gene. With his baggy pinstriped suit and tenacious manner, nothing seemed to bother Frank. If he encountered an obstacle, he simply backed up and found another way to his objective. At 57, with a full head of hair and looking very much like divorce lawyer Marvin Mitchelson, his confidence was justified by his past successes in the courtroom. Gene, by contrast, dressed in designer suits and matching Gucci belt and shoes; he was blustery and repetitious to the point of nausea. I silently wished that Frank was representing me. A good deal of time was spent reviewing the pictures of the autopsy and arguing about which ones should be shown to the jury. I felt ill listening to their casual discussion of entry wounds and trajectory. 30

Part One During this debate, Farrell held the photos face up so the spectators could see them. They were also in plain view for my family to see. I could see that they were upset. I spoke to Gene, and he had Farrell put the pictures face down on the table. I could not believe how unfeeling he was. He just sat there glaring at me. Pathologist Dr. Anu Sinha was called next. I knew him socially. I also knew he had made up his mind about the case before he took the stand. While reading the discovery material before the trial, I noticed he had called the prosecutor to inform him that I owned a .45 pistol — which was untrue. The only weapon I owned was a .22 Remington target rifle which I had fired on only one occasion in the past fifteen years: during a Rotary Club outing on a remote island in Barnegat Bay. He was there. I couldn’t understand why he would lie. Perhaps police gossip had influenced him. However, a police report in the discovery file showed that I did not own a pistol. Because of Frank’s greater experience with forensic evidence, it was decided that he would do the cross examination. The first thing he accomplished was to get Sinha to admit that he was not a forensic pathologist. He spent an hour discussing the Ocean County Pathologist, who had reached the ridiculous conclusion that Maria was asleep when she was shot. He finally agreed there was no way he could determine that as a fact. The next day’s Asbury Park Press headline read, “Maria Marshall Asleep when Killed.” It was a typical example of the negative reporting that was evident from the very beginning of the case. 5 Oakleigh comments: Rob was in high school when he was introduced to Maria. He was sitting behind his drum set at band practice. Her cousin, Wally Krupp, a member of the band, brought her to meet him. At fifteen, Maria had a cherubic face that set off her hazel eyes and light brown hair in a perfect frame. She was five inches shorter

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Tunnel Vision than Rob, at five-foot-ten; her svelte figure was enhanced by her grace and charm. She was truly beautiful. The only child of Dr. Vincent and Helen Puszynski, she lived in the Polish-American section of northeast Philadelphia, where her father ran a modest obstetrical practice from their home on Richmond Street. Rob and Maria began dating almost immediately, although the physical distance between our homes made it difficult. Not having a car of his own, most of the time Rob would have to take public transportation an hour and a half each way. Of Irish and Scottish descent, Robert Oakley, “Rob,” was born on December 16, 1939; he is the oldest of the five children of Howard and Oakleigh Marshall. Pete is two-and-a-half years younger. I was born on December 17, 1944, one day after Rob’s fifth birthday. Mary followed in 1948, and finally, Kate in 1952. After Dad lost his job with Seth Thomas Clocks (because of hurricane damage to the factory in Connecticut), we moved from a small town in Wisconsin to Havertown, Pennsylvania, a suburb just west of Philadelphia. His ever-changing career in sales made that the eighth move for our family. Rob would attend four grade schools and three high schools before graduating from Monsignor Bonner High School in Drexel Hill, Pennsylvania in 1958. With a few exceptions, Rob and Maria dated steadily for the remaining months of high school and college. In fact, I do not think Rob would have gone to college if it were not for Maria. Dad’s suggestion to him was to join the Navy; college tuition just was not in the budget. After graduation from high school, Rob spent the summer in a Naval Aviation boot camp at Willow Grove Naval Air Station, a few miles northwest of Philadelphia. When he learned that the Navy offered a program that could help him qualify for Annapolis, or college, he enrolled at Brown Preparatory School in downtown Philadelphia and spent a year boning up for the SAT examination that would determine his entry into the program. The Navy paid for the exam, but Dad paid for school. As it turned out, Rob did not score high enough in mathematics to qualify for Annapolis, but he was accepted at Villanova University and enrolled in the Naval Officer Reserve Training Corps program. He started classes in September of 1959 with a major in Business and a minor in Naval Science. Entrance in the NROTC

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Part One program meant he would not have to continue the monthly reserve drills at Willow Grove. However, his name remained on their roster throughout college. If he graduated, he would be commissioned an Ensign with over four years of service: a considerable benefit for pay purposes. Our maternal grandmother, who had been living with us, died during Rob’s freshman final exams. That sorrow, together with a lack of preparation for college and trying to run a small construction business in his spare time, made Rob’s grades suffer the first two years at Villanova. It took him three summer school sessions to make up the classes he had failed during his freshman and sophomore years. That summer, we took Grandmom back to Michigan to be buried next to Granddad, who had died the year before. The following December, Granddad’s summer cottage in Michigan was sold and the income was used to pay Rob’s college tuition loan and Catholic school tuition for Mary, Kate and me. Mom used a little of the money to ransom Grandmom’s vintage furniture, which had been in storage since the Depression. The furniture arrived just in time to furnish the new home Dad had rented a few blocks further west. The only problem was that the new house had only three bedrooms. Mom and Dad had one, I took one, and Mary and Kate the other. Pete was away in the Navy, but Rob was left without a place to sleep. Fortunately, the landlord agreed to let him build a bedroom in a portion of the basement. The remainder was converted into a recreation room with a bar and built-in stereo system. Creating that bedroom worked out so well that it laid the foundation for Rob’s construction business. Working on a “time and materials” basis, he made enough to buy a 1955 Plymouth and pay for his gas and dates with Maria — no small task. Our recreation room became a meeting place for his NROTC friends after drills on Tuesday afternoons. It gave them an opportunity to unwind and relax over a drink. The understanding was that Rob provided the booze while his buddies brought the mix. Actually, Dad unknowingly supplied the liquor. Life in Pennsylvania was good for all of us. Dad’s new job brought him home almost every weekend. My sisters and I were enrolled in private parochial schools, at Mom’s insistence. Rob

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Tunnel Vision joined a fraternity in his sophomore year so he could give Maria the fraternity pin, thus announcing their “pre-engagement.” Maria was a day student at Chestnut Hill College in northeast Philadelphia, driving an hour each way. After graduation in 1963, she worked as an assistant buyer for Strawbridge and Clothier in Philadelphia. Rob completed his required summer cruise for the Navy and returned to Villanova to receive his commission on the first of August. Mom and Dad were there to share the moment, as Rob took the oath of allegiance and became an Ensign in the United States Naval Reserve. He was the first in our family to receive a degree and a commission. One week later, he loaded all his possessions into his 1961 TBird convertible (a graduation present from Mom and Dad) and headed for Pensacola, Florida to begin flight training. Rob and Maria were married on December 28, 1963 at the Polish-American church in her neighborhood. After a reception for over 300 people at the Benjamin Franklin Hotel in Philadelphia, they flew to Puerto Rico for their honeymoon; they enjoyed a wonderful week together, then returned to Pensacola, Florida. For the next year, they lived in a rented home in Milton, Florida, seven miles from the base where Rob finished his fixed-wing training. He spent his final three months in rotary-wing training and was ordered to HC-2, a Helicopter Combat-Rescue Squadron that served the Sixth Fleet in the Atlantic and Mediterranean. The squadron was stationed at the Lakehurst Naval Air Station in New Jersey. Rob hated wasting money on rent, the way Dad had done for 25 years. After a careful search of the area, they built a 3-bedroom ranch-style home in Toms River, a small, quiet town eight miles east of the base. Situated on the neck of the river, the town sprawls across central Ocean County, midway between New York and Atlantic City. In 1965, the only business in the county was a chemical company owned by Ciba-Geigy, plus the naval base at Lakehurst. If you asked anyone in the Freeholder’s Office, they would tell you that the main industry was tourism. The entire county borders on the Atlantic, with a barrier island running from Barnegat Inlet at the south end to the town of Bay Head at the north. The river itself runs into Barnegat Bay, separating the mainland from the island.

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Part One One of the main attractions of the area is the pristine Island Beach State Park that encompasses the lower ten miles of the island and attracts hordes of visitors from all over the greater New York area. Roy was born on June 12, 1965, two months after they moved into their new home. The following December, Rob sailed out of Norfolk, Virginia, aboard the USS America, CVA 66 (the Navy’s newest attack carrier) for an eight-month cruise in the Mediterranean. Maria, who was three months pregnant with their second child, returned to Philadelphia to stay with her parents until Rob returned. Chester Vincent, “Chip,” was born the following year on June 9. The America was anchored off Athens, Greece when Rob got the news. Maria had a ham radio operator contact the ship within a few hours of Chip’s birth. Rob was back in the Mediterranean just two years later, aboard the USS Saratoga, CVA 60. As they steamed through the Straits of Gibraltar, in June of 1967, the Six-Day War commenced and the Saratoga spent the next sixty days patrolling the waters off the coast of Lebanon until the situation was stabilized. Midway through that cruise, Maria flew over to spend three weeks with Rob. He had arranged for leave when the ship was in port and they were able to tour Malta, Athens, Vienna, Florence and Rome. Maria hadn’t wanted to spend the money, but after seeing so many older couples hobbling on and off tour buses, having waited until their “golden years” to do their touring, Rob told her he would rather create the memories while they were young and healthy. It was a decision they never regretted. Rob told me his Navy flying was risky, but totally enjoyable. He was involved in several rescue attempts and the normal flying duties of the squadron. The most hazardous mission was flying “plane-guard” at 400 feet over the water on a moonless night. With no horizon to use as a reference, it was easy to succumb to vertigo. They lost several crews this way. Fortunately, Rob logged nearly 1,000 hours and never had a serious emergency. He left the service in June of 1968. His plans to work for a helicopter company did not pan out, but after he purchased life insurance to replace his G.I. coverage, he was recruited and hired by Provident Mutual Life, based in Philadelphia. After passing the company aptitude test with high scores, Rob

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Tunnel Vision recalled with wonder the psychologist at Villanova who, after giving him a battery of aptitude tests, told him he was definitely sales oriented, but that he should not try to sell intangible goods like life insurance. His concern was short lived, however. In his first year with the company, he sold over $2 million of life coverage and ranked among the company’s top fifty agents, a distinction he maintained for the next sixteen years. Rob’s starting income with Provident was $700.00 a month, a considerable drop from what he had earned in the Navy. But with a good deal of patience and guidance from the agency manager, he soon surpassed his Navy income and earned a $12,000 bonus at the end of his 3-year internship. His manager also rekindled Rob’s interest in tennis and they joined the Toms River Country Club. At the time, the Club was owned and subsidized by Ciba-Geigy and so it was easily affordable (the annual dues and fees were less than $700). The Marshalls were not interested in the limited social aspects so much as the sports facilities: swimming for the boys and tennis for Rob. It was at about that time that they decided to have another child; Jay Peter was born on January 17, 1971. Having missed so much of the older boys’ lives because of sea duty, Rob made sure he experienced every possible minute of Jay’s. Maria and Rob became involved with the Club swim team as timers and officials, and eventually Rob became the chairman of the summer league with Maria as the league secretary. Competitive swimming became a major part of their lives, with practice at the YMCA every evening from October through March, and swim meets on Saturday mornings. The family moved to a larger home shortly after Rob started working for Provident. Three years later they used his bonus money to purchase a three-quarter acre lot in an attractive neighborhood four miles to the east. They built a contemporary custom home with a huge deck leading to a 20x40’ swimming pool surrounded by a natural barrier of shrubs and trees that they selected and planted. It was a beautiful setting, topped off with a small patio set and a large yellow umbrella. They moved into their dream house in June of 1973. Rob worked out of one of Provident’s branch offices, in Red Bank, thirty miles north, until 1976 when he earned his CLU (Chartered Life Underwriter) designation. He then opened his own office in Toms River and hired Vikki Dall, a vigorous middle-

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Part One aged widow, as part-time secretary. However, he still maintained a small office at home, so he could be close to his family, make his business calls, and work late Monday through Thursday. Friday was his day off. That day was set aside for Maria. Provident had established a mutual fund dealership in 1970, adding to the variety of products Rob could offer his clients. His business developed around financial and estate planning services and continued to grow each year. Before long, he was writing over $5 million of life and health business annually, plus additional sales in mutual funds. He prided himself on being a professional, working almost exclusively on a referral basis. After nearly twenty years of marriage, Rob and Maria had a comfortable relationship. On the surface, all seemed well — but in reality, he was frustrated. Except for the intense love for their boys, they did not have much in common. Rob was passionate, Maria was passive. Rob was active and often played tennis and racketball; Maria went to ballet class once a week. His hobbies were carpentry and photography. Maria collected and tended plants. She could sit on the beach for hours, while Rob became restless after thirty minutes. The only beach he really enjoyed was at Captiva Island, Florida where they had a time-share condo — he would walk the shoreline for hours, collecting shells. The only activity they did together was to attend, and later participate as officials in, the YMCA and summer swim league meets. To help pass the time at meets, when they were not officiating, Rob brought a video camera and recorded every event. When the high school team had meets on Friday evenings, they often had pizza parties for the coach and team at the house and replayed the videos. Maria knocked herself out for her family. She was up at 6:00 AM each day to make breakfast for the boys and do her domestic chores. On Monday through Thursday, dinner was on the table by 6:30 PM. Friday and Saturday were pizza or eat-out nights. By 10:00 PM every weekday evening, she fell asleep on the couch in front of the TV, just about the time Rob finished his business phone calls. He tried many times to convince her to ease up a bit, or take a nap in the afternoon so they could have some time together, but she always refused. She tended to overbuy everything, filling the boys’ drawers and closets with the latest designer

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Tunnel Vision clothes. She was stubborn and always felt she was right, always had to have the last word. But when someone is as loving and lovely as Maria, you overlook a lot. The 1957 Oscar-winning song they chose as “their song” speaks volumes: All the Way, by Frank Sinatra. The bottom line was that Rob loved Maria very much and wanted to make her as happy as possible. One of Rob’s clients, Dr. George Henry, a corporate chemist, and his wife ran a casino gaming school as a hobby. Dr. Henry was a math whiz and had written and published several books on blackjack strategy and card counting. In the winter of 1982, he showed Rob why blackjack was the only game where the player can improve his odds by playing a specific strategy on each hand. After Rob mastered the concept, Dr. Henry taught him card counting and a betting strategy that further improved the chances of winning. Rob taught Maria and her father, and they won enough the first year to buy an 18-foot ski boat, which they named Double Down. One additional skill Rob learned was how and when to ask for casino comps: free meals, shows, and rooms, customarily given to heavy bettors. “The pit boss can’t watch you all the time,” Dr. Henry told Rob, “so ask for the comp after you’ve won a few hands and raised your bet.” Rob played the game well and usually won. When he did, he shared the winnings with Maria. They established a credit line with a thirty-day float and became “regulars” at Harrah’s, driving down once a week for a comp meal, sometimes a show, and a couple of hours of blackjack. Occasionally, Rob would get a comp for four and they would bring another couple, and split the tips. They enjoyed many fine dinners overlooking the waterfront near the Atlantic City Inlet. One of the captains, John G., and his team went out of their way to treat them with special care. Early in 1984, Rob had a bad night in Atlantic City and lost over $1,000. Normally, he kept his losses to a few hundred dollars, which were offset by bigger wins. When he asked Maria to help to pay off the loss, she claimed she had spent the money on clothes for the boys. He took care of the loss himself and didn’t think any more about it, until one day in March. When Rob called Beth on a Monday, after she had attended a dinner-dance at the Club, she told him that Jed Chapman (a mutual friend and an attorney), had confided to her that Maria had met with him to discuss her suspicions that Rob was seeing Beth. Jed told Maria that he would not get involved, because of his friendship with Beth. Beth denied to

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Part One Jed that she had any involvement with Rob. They discussed the possibility that Maria had, in fact, hired an attorney or an investigator. “The worst that can happen is that we’ll be together sooner,” Rob said. “I’m just afraid that something as sensational as this will affect my situation at school. Assistant principals are supposed to be lily-white.” They had planned for Rob to leave Maria first, and set up an apartment. Then Beth would leave Dan and join Rob, hoping to give the impression that their relationship started after the separation, not before. They felt this would make it easier on their children. They talked a lot about the children and how their selfish act would affect them. Rob was very close to his sons and wanted to maintain a close relationship with them. Beth’s children were in boarding school, but she too wanted joint custody. They each spoke to divorce lawyers to get some idea of what to expect. Louis Clark, an attorney client and friend of Rob’s, told him there was nothing terribly complex about his situation. Rob told him he planned to give Maria pretty much whatever she needed. Beth planned to continue working; her $30,000 annual salary would augment Rob’s, which was well over $100,000. Rob was concerned about his debts but they agreed they could handle them together. At one point, Beth told Rob she was willing to take her mother’s jewelry from the safe-deposit box and sell it to help them. They started buying silver bullion, which she kept in a safedeposit box in a bank near the school. Hopefully, it would appreciate and help them pay off the debts.

8 The 1980s brought changes to the insurance industry, including my employer, Provident Mutual. Because of lower mortality rates, the cost of term insurance was ridiculously low. You could purchase a new policy that cost less than the same coverage had cost five years earlier. It made sense to replace old coverage with new. In an attempt to generate sales and improve the quality of busi-

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Tunnel Vision ness, Provident introduced a new incentive program designed to reward successful agents by providing an expense allowance for office rent, secretarial help, business equipment, and an auto lease: a tremendous extra benefit worth more than $22,000 a year. I made sure Vikki received a generous salary, allocated an adequate amount for office rent and equipment, and used the balance of the funds to lease a new 1982 Mustang hatchback with a T-Roof and custom pin-striping. I gave the car to Roy, with the stipulation that it was his to use as long as he maintained a B average and stayed “straight” (no drinking or drugs). Roy got the car in June of his junior year, on his 17th birthday. The plan worked so well that in his senior year he brought his grades up enough to be accepted at Villanova University. The expense allowance was so generous that the following year I added a brand new Jeep to the package and gave it to Chip, with the same understanding — although Chip did not need those incentives; he was already an “A” student and straight as an arrow. Also in 1983, I purchased a house in a “professional zone” near the center of town. Maria, the boys and I virtually gutted the place and by March, we had created three professional suites. Vikki and I used one for our offices. The others were rented to a lawyer and a civil engineer. The rents I collected from Provident and the tenants completely covered the mortgage and taxes. Late in the year, I prepared a Capital Needs Analysis for Maria and myself. The analysis is designed to indicate the amount of capital needed, should either spouse die. It was the same kind of analysis I used with my clients. With our $180,000 mortgage and equity loan on the house, a loan for an addition, cars and education, money borrowed for investments and the improvements to the office, our personal debt was $250,000, plus an $80,000 mortgage on the office. However, my annual income was over $130,000 (nearly $11,000/month) and increasing steadily. The monthly debt service, including the mortgage, was less than $4,000. I also received nearly $2,000 a month as an expense allowance. The office mortgage was covered by the rental income. As assets, the house was worth over $250,000, and the office now had a value of over $135,000. We also had $40,000 in stock investments, $150,000 in my pension account and more than $250,000 of vested renewal commissions to be paid out over ten years. We also owned two cars (my 1981 beige Eldorado and Maria’s 1982 yellow Ford station wagon), and 40

Part One the boat, and we had a few thousand dollars of working capital in the checking accounts. If I were to die, we wanted to be sure the debts were all paid, an education fund established for the boys, and enough capital left to continue providing $100,000 of pre-tax income for Maria. That meant I would need $1 million in insurance in addition to the $750,000 already on my life. That would include a contingency fund to provide for Maria’s aging parents. Maria’s father had suffered a mild stroke the previous year and, after learning they had no medical coverage, we felt we should be prepared to help with their medical expenses if the need arose. Both of my parents had died of cancer a few years earlier. We also considered the possibility of losing Maria. We knew my commission income would be drastically curtailed if I suddenly became a single parent. Indeed, the majority of my income was derived from new business; much of my success was possible only because Maria was there for the boys. Even when Roy and Chip were away at school, there would be Jay to consider. He was only twelve at that time. Since my income was straight commission with no salary, we decided I would need $50,000 additional income to make up for the lost commissions if Maria was not there. With the debt to consider, that meant we would need more than a $1 million in insurance on her as well. In October of 1983, we each applied for $1 million of term coverage, split between two of the very competitive companies I had in my brokerage portfolio. (None of the new policies had an accidental death benefit, which would have doubled the death benefit and would have been easy to add.) I also planned to add a joint mortgage policy and cancel a more expensive term policy we had purchased for Maria almost two years earlier. Once that was accomplished, our program would be complete. Unfortunately, tragedy struck before I could finalize the changes. 9 In April of 1984, Maria and I went to Marco Island, Florida for a company meeting. Our plane was delayed for several hours before leaving Newark, so we waited in the VIP lounge. After a few drinks, I mustered up the confidence to confront her on her suspicions about Beth and me. 41

Tunnel Vision “Did you talk to a lawyer?” I asked, looking directly at her. “No,” she said, obviously startled. “I ran into Beth at the Club and she told me that Jed Chapman spoke to her about a meeting you had with him.” “Er — yes, I did talk to him.” I could see her face flush at being caught in the lie. “Why?” I asked boldly. She hesitated and said, “I asked him to try to find out what was going on — . He actually talked to her?” she said, obviously surprised that Jed would betray her trust. “What did he tell you?” “He said he was too close to all of us to get involved.” “Did he refer you to anyone else?” “No. That was the end of it.” I had a feeling that was not the end, at all. When we returned from our trip, I started making inquiries in an attempt to locate an out-of-town investigator. I soon learned that it would be costly, but I wanted to find out what had happened to the casino winnings I had given Maria, and whether she had hired her own investigator. Early in May, Roy called from Villanova to tell us that he and a friend had been suspended for trashing the dorm advisor’s room. He claimed he was out having a pizza when the incident occurred. However, the school was firm in its belief that Roy was involved, and the suspension was upheld. It was only after I said I would fight the issue in court that Roy finally admitted that he had, indeed, been involved. On a brighter note, Chip graduated from high school with honors. He had been president of the honor society, captain of the swim team, and editor of the yearbook, and had been accepted at Lehigh University to major in architecture. Roy and Chip both worked as lifeguards during the summer — Roy on the township beach, Chip at the Club. Jay graduated to the eighth grade and would spend the summer competing on the Club swim team. 10 On a beautiful Sunday afternoon late in May, Maria and I attended the graduation party for our neighbor’s daughter at a boardwalk

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Part One restaurant in Point Pleasant Beach, New Jersey. I really did not want to go, but Maria prevailed, as usual. She persuaded me, saying that she would drive home, so I could relax and enjoy the bar. We walked into a room overlooking the beach with a large oval bar near the window. The tables were full, so we sat at the end of the bar with one other person. Anna, our hostess, welcomed us and introduced us to Billy Caller. She said they had gone to school together when she lived in north Jersey. We spent the first hour or so visiting with Anna’s family and talking with Billy. He told us he was a partner in a hardware store in Shreveport, Louisiana, and lived there with his wife and daughter. Over the next four hours, Maria socialized while Billy and I got a little “tight” together. At one point, he confided that he’d had a fight with his wife about making the trip to New Jersey, and was having some problems at home. “So am I,” I said, leaning closer. “In fact, we’re probably gonna break up.” “You’d never know it to look at you,” he said, sipping his beer. “What’s the problem?” “It’s a long story, but there’s another woman and I think Maria suspects. In fact, I’m looking for an investigator to check out a few things.” “Whaddaya mean?” he said. “Well, there’s a good deal of money missing, and I think she might have hired a lawyer.” “Listen,” he said, leaning closer. “I have a friend who used to be a deputy sheriff; he does domestic investigations in his spare time.” “What would he charge?” I asked, at first thinking he was talking about a friend from north Jersey. “Aw, I don’t know, but I bet it wouldn’t be much. He’s been talkin’ about comin’ up to Atlantic City to do some gambling anyway. I’ll be home in a couple of days. Why don’t you give me a call. Anna knows where I work.” Later, we talked about investments and he told me he was interested in an IRA. I promised I would put some information in the mail to him. A few days later, I asked Anna where Billy worked, and was able to get his phone number from Information. I called him at home that 43

Tunnel Vision evening. He told me his investigator-friend was working on a construction job where there was no phone, but he would ask him to be in the store at 11:00 AM Thursday morning, June 7th. I called from my office at home. Billy handed the phone over, saying he had a customer. “Hello,” the voice said. “Billy told me you needed someone to do a domestic investigation.” “Right,” I said. “I understand you’re coming up to do some gambling; how much would you need to cover your expenses?” “$2500 should cover it. Why don’t you send it by Western Union, to Shreveport, in my name: Jerry Davies. I can be up there on Thursday, the 18th. Where would be a good place to stay?” “Well, Harrah’s would be the most convenient, that’s where we play. Why don’t I meet you there around one o’clock in the afternoon?” “OK,” he said. “I’ll see you there.” (As I reflect on this now, it was foolish to send money to a stranger. However, I trusted Billy and I believe he had nothing but good intentions when he recommended the man who called himself Jerry Davies.) I had checked with a Philadelphia detective agency and been told that the going rate was around $500 for a day’s work. I cringed at the thought of wasting that kind of money, but I sent the money order a few days later, and called Billy on the morning of the 18th to confirm that Davies would be here. On the way to Atlantic City, I stopped at my bank and withdrew $7,500 from my ready-equity account. When I got to Harrah’s, I paid off $4,000 in markers. (I had used part of the casino money to make the first payment on Chip’s tuition. The balance would be used to pay for a new air conditioner at the office, and to buy more silver bullion to give to Beth.) When I arrived at Harrah’s, I called Davies on the house phone and he gave me the room number and told me to come on up. As I entered his room, we shook hands and I took the opportunity to size him up. He was at least 240 pounds, and 6 feet 3 inches tall. He had a beefy face and wore a goatee. Before I had time to think further, he said, “Come on in and sit down.” I looked around the room as I walked to a chair by the window. It looked as though both beds had been used. He interpreted my look and said, “I’m here with a friend; he’s downstairs in the casino. Why don’t you tell me your problem and we’ll see what we can do.” 44

Part One “Well,” I said, sitting in the chair, “I’m involved with another woman and I’m going to leave my wife.” “So what’s the problem?” “We want to do it in a way that won’t look like we’ve been involved.” “Why?” he asked impatiently. “Because it would be better for our kids. And it might be difficult to get joint custody if my wife can prove I was involved before we separate.” “I still don’t know what you want me to do.” “I want you to find out if she’s hired an investigator. Can you do that?” “Yeah, there are ways.” “Billy told me you use to be a deputy sheriff.” “That’s right, that’s where I got my experience.” “OK. Another thing, I want to find out where over $15,000 of casino winnings has gone. This is money I’ve given her over the past two years. I always share my winnings with her. That and a lot of other money has disappeared. Whenever I ask her about it, she gets very evasive.” “Does she suspect you?” he asked. “I’m not sure.” “Well, if she does, she’s probably salting the money away, or using it to pay her lawyer.” “That’s what I want to know. If she’s gone that far, I’m gonna make my move before she makes hers. It’s very important to me to maintain control of the situation. Do you think you can find out?” “Yeah, I think so,” he said, standing and lighting a cigarette. “Billy told me you sell investments.” “Investments and insurance,” I said. “You make good money?” “Pretty good,” I replied, wondering where this line of questions was leading. “Are you known well, where you live?” “Fairly. I’m involved in a lot of fundraising projects for the community.” “Does your girlfriend know you’re gonna hire an investigator?” “No. I’ll tell her after I get your report. She’s already told a few of 45

Tunnel Vision her friends about us, and I don’t want to take a chance she would tell anyone about this. How soon do you think you can get back to me?” “I need four or five days, that’s all. How can I reach you?” he said, sitting again. “I’m in my office every day by ten. Here’s my card.” “I’ll need a picture of your wife, too; write your home address on the back.” “Listen, I said, “if you want to see her, we’re coming down here tonight for dinner at the Ram’s Head restaurant.” “Where’s the Ram’s Head?” “Just a few miles west on Route 30.” “They got good food there?” “Some of the best in the area.” “Good. Maybe I’ll go there for dinner.” I took out my wallet and gave him a picture I had taken of Maria the year before. “Leave everything to me,” he said. “This is fairly routine.” “OK.” I actually felt a sense of relief. If my fears were realized and Maria had hired an investigator, I would be in a position to move first, hopefully avoiding a traumatic confrontation. “Tell me how you won so much, gambling,” he said, lighting another cigarette. I spent the next twenty minutes giving him a rough idea of the blackjack strategy, card counting and betting system that had worked so well for me. “I plan to play a little today,” I said. “Why don’t you join me and I’ll show you how it’s supposed to work; I don’t win all the time.” As soon as I sat down, I asked for a $3,000 marker. “I always play with their money,” I said. “I’ll take it home and deposit it in my bank account. They give me a 30-day float, which means I get to use the money for thirty days before they send a draft to my account. The idea is to give the impression that I’m giving the casino a lot of action. That’s how we get our comps.” “Don’t they watch your betting?” “Yes, but I move around a lot. There are too many tables for them to follow every bet I make. And by using the progressive betting system I told you about, I don’t make large bets until I win several hands in a row.” He watched me play for over an hour, following each hand on the 46

Part One strategy card I had given him. I won just under $200, took out another marker, and asked for a dinner comp — which I gave to him as we walked out together. “I’ve got to get back,” I said, “but you can use this to get yourself and your friend dinner and a few drinks while you’re here.” He walked me to my car and we shook hands. “I’ll call you early next week,” he said. I called him at Harrah’s the next day to find out if he had gone to the Ram’s Head. He told me that he had, but when he got there he realized he was not dressed properly; he had not worn a jacket. I was in my office every day but there was no call from Davies. Vikki only worked until noon, but any missed calls transferred to an answering machine. I had hoped to find a message from him; there was none. I got through to Billy a few days later. Davies had told him he tried to call and got the answering machine, but did not want to leave a message. He had had to go back because of a personal problem, but would be back to finish his work. However, I was to send him an additional $3,000, and I was not to use my name when I sent the money, as I had done the first time. When I asked why he needed more, Billy told me Davies had said something about buying the evidence from someone in Ocean County. Now, I had to decide whether to stay with him and hope he would come back, or forfeit what I had given him and start over with someone else, which would probably cost more. If there was evidence, I had to know. Billy’s reassurance eased my frustration, and I told him I would send the additional money in a few days. Davies returned in July, but went home again without completing the job. Billy told me he’d had an accident, but promised to return. Maria and I had plans to take the boys to Michigan in early August, so I told him I would call when I got back. 11 Maria had changed. During the preceding few months, she had become less inhibited. I didn’t realize it then, but she was trying to save our marriage. Unfortunately, it was too late. I had loved her since she 47

Tunnel Vision was fifteen. My graduation and Naval commission, and marriage to Maria, were what I prayed for when I was struggling to graduate from Villanova. All I wanted then was to be part of her life. But after 25 years, that passion had waned; now I could only see a future with Beth. We had been planning a vacation to Crystal Lake in Michigan with the boys during the first week in August. The only sign that she suspected I was involved with someone else were her unusually scathing remarks whenever Beth’s name was mentioned. I suspected the trip was an effort to separate me from the temptation she sensed. Maria located a two-room efficiency in a beachfront motel, just a quarter mile north of Granddad’s summer cottage. We towed the boat behind the station wagon and after a tortuous trip, we saw the lake through the trees. It was still as blue and clear as I had remembered. The boys seemed to be agreeably impressed. What I had forgotten was that we were on the western edge of Eastern Daylight Time; at 7:00 PM the sun was still high in the sky and would not set until after 9:00 PM. It was wonderful. The boys quickly unloaded the boat and we had it in the water within thirty minutes. After swimming in the cedar-tinted water of Toms River, they were surprised that they could actually see the sandy bottom forty feet down. We water-skied until the sun set and then moored the boat to a concrete anchor in front of the motel. We filled the week with memories for the boys, visiting Sleeping Bear Sand Dune on Lake Michigan, and taking a canoe trip down the Platt River, which winds through the trees and valleys to the great lake. On our last day, we fished for lake salmon from a charter boat on Lake Michigan. Jay and Chip each caught a salmon, which the captain cleaned; we stored them in an iced cooler for the trip home. Shortly after we got back to New Jersey, the situation became acute due to an incident that occurred in mid-August. It was the first time Beth and I had been together since my return from Michigan, and we were hungry for each other. I checked into a motel early, so I could prepare the room. I brought sandwiches, rum, Coke, and lime, which I laid out on the counter with a bucket of ice. I turned on the air conditioner and left to pick her up at a parking lot several blocks away. As soon as we got to the room, we tore at each other with a crazed 48

Part One passion. Our clothes ended up on the floor and we were on the bed, when suddenly someone shoved open the door. Beth screamed and ran to the bathroom, while I closed and locked the door; I could only see that it was a man, who ran away. I wasn’t in a position to complain to the manager at that point, but we were convinced it was an investigator taking pictures. I called Billy the following day and told him what had happened. I told him to tell Davies I would give him an additional $1,500 if he would come back and complete the investigation by early September. Beth and I had decided to make our move within a month. If there were photos, I wanted them. To avoid the problem of future intrusions, Beth located a winter rental through an ad in the Atlantic City Press. It was perfect: a twobedroom bungalow in Manahawkin, about halfway between my office and her school. We agreed to split the $350 monthly rent. All we talked about for the next few weeks was how we would fix up the place, painting and decorating, not caring that we would be starting over with practically nothing. All we wanted was to be together. When we were, the daily pressures seemed to melt away. I set up a meeting with the owner of the bungalow to sign the lease agreement, right after Labor Day weekend. Billy confirmed that Davies would be up on September 6, and would call me at the office at 10:00 AM. He assured me that, if there were photos, he would get them. Maria and I spent the holiday weekend with Provident friends in Pittsburgh, and returned on Tuesday. The previous week, I had received a solicitation for mortgage insurance through the mail. This low cost plan would allow me to eliminate several more expensive policies we had purchased and consolidate them into one contract for $130,000, the amount of the equity loan. The premium was lower than anything I had seen to that point. Our separation was imminent and I wanted to take care of these details while we were together. I knew Maria would not cooperate once I was with Beth. The financial needs of the family had to be resolved, regardless of our marital situation. Appointments for physical exams were made for 10:30 AM, at the house, on the morning of September 6. Davies called the office at 10:00 AM. 49

Tunnel Vision “Are you alone?” he asked. “My secretary is in the next office.” “Call me back from a pay phone.” “Why?” I asked. “Just do it.” I couldn’t understand the need for this, since I had made all the other calls to him from my office. Fifteen minutes later, I returned the call from a pay phone at a 7Eleven store. When I asked again why he wanted me to call from a pay phone, he said he was just protecting our privacy. He asked me to give him the details of what had happened at the motel when the door was opened on us. “Did you get a look at the guy?” he asked. “No. By the time I got to the door he was gone. I wasn’t dressed to chase him.” “All right. There’s only a couple of detective agencies up there, it shouldn’t be to tough to get to the bottom of this. When can I see you?” “I’m coming down to Harrah’s for dinner tonight; I could see you around 9:30.” “OK. I’ll meet you where we met before. Bring the money.” “Bring your report,” I said. I arrived home at 10:30 AM and found Maria had just finished her insurance physical. The paramedic completed the exam on me and left the house just after 11:00 AM. I poured myself a Coke and sat at the kitchen table talking with Maria. “Is Roy still asleep?” I asked. “Yes. He doesn’t have to be at work until 4:00. Do you have any plans for lunch today?” “Nope. Why don’t I take you and Roy to the Club.” “I’d like that,” she said, softly. “How’d you make out on the physical?” I asked. “Fine. Everything looked good. How about yours?” “Mine was good too; blood pressure was right where it should be, 130 over 80.” I finished my Coke and said, “I’ve got to pick up something at the lumber company, I’ll be back in fifteen or twenty minutes. The agent will be here at noon to pick up the applications and a check. We can leave right after that.” 50

Part One “OK,” she said, with a smile, “I’ll wake Roy now.” I left the house around 11:30 AM and returned twenty minutes later. The agent, Jesse Prada, arrived just before noon. We spent ten minutes together and then Maria, Roy and I left for the club, returning a little after 1:00 PM. I spent the next couple of hours in my home office making phone calls and working on my dictation for Vikki. I met Beth at 4:00 PM. She was bringing the checking account applications that I would sign, so she could open our joint checking account the following day. We drove to a favorite secluded spot and spent the next hour and a half unwinding over rum and Cokes and listening to music. “Are you going to have time to open the accounts tomorrow?” I asked. “Sure, I’ll do it right after school.” “Be sure to get some temporary checks, so I can pay the first month’s rent when I sign the lease on Monday. I postponed my meeting with the landlord until then.” “I won’t forget.” She paused and looked at me. “This is the beginning, isn’t it?” “This is it, we’ll have our own place as of Monday. I figure it will take a couple of weeks to get it fixed up the way we want it; then I’m leaving. Are you ready?” “I can’t wait,” she said eagerly. “You know, if Maria does know about us, the first thing she’s going to do is call Dan.” “I know, and I don’t care. If that happens, I’ll just pack my bags and come to you.” “Much as I want things to go the way we planned, I’m anxious to have you with me as soon as possible.” “I have a feeling you won’t be waiting long,” she said, “I hope not.” “Do you have a tennis match this afternoon?” “Yeah, with Tom Serp at 6:00; then I’m taking Maria down to Harrah’s for dinner.” “Do you have a comp?” “No. I could have gotten one for The Marina Gardens restaurant but she wants to go to The Meadows.” “Am I going to see you over the weekend?” 51

Tunnel Vision “You’d better, you’re supposed to give me the checks — unless you want to leave them in the post office box.” We arranged for her to meet me for a few minutes after my tennis match Saturday morning. I walked in the door at 7:30 PM, to find Maria ready to go. She was dressed in off-white slacks and a lavender knit sweater, accented with her favorite gold necklace. “You look lovely,” I said. “We should be on our way by now,” she said, annoyed. “We had a great match. I didn’t want to leave before we finished. You know how Tom is.” “Did you beat him?” “Six two, six one.” “Good.” “I’ll shower and be right down.” We walked into The Meadows at 8:45 PM and were seated immediately. John G. and his team had the wine chilling and our favorite appetizer ready to serve. During dinner, Maria asked if we could use the courtesy phone to call Chip at Lehigh. He was supposed to drive home that weekend and she wanted to know when to expect him. He told us he had decided to stay at school and come home in a few weeks. I knew she was disappointed. “Why don’t we drive up tomorrow and surprise him?” she asked. “I have my regular tennis match with Rick Leever tomorrow morning.” “I’m sure he’ll understand if you cancel. Why don’t you give him a call now? Please, for me?” It was hard to say no to Maria, and I knew how much she missed Chip. “OK, but we’ll have to be back in time for Jay.” “Roy’s going to be home; he can keep an eye on things until we get back.” I was beginning to like the idea more as we talked; I, too, was anxious to see Chip. At 9:30 PM , I excused myself and went down to meet Davies. He was waiting in the lobby. When he saw me he said, “Let’s go outside.” I followed him out to the marina area. “Did you bring the $1500?” “I’ve got it right here,” I said, patting my pocket. “Do you have your report?” “I’m not finished. I need another day.” 52

Part One “I’ll give you the money when I get the report,” I said firmly. “Look,” he snarled, grabbing my lapel and pulling me close to him, “I need money for expenses. I’m not going to stay otherwise. Understand?” I could see this was trouble. I thought for a moment; if I gave him everything, he would have no reason to stay. It seemed the best solution would be to give him some money and hope he would stay and finish. “I’ll give you half now and the rest when you give me your final report.” “Let’s have it,” he snapped. “I’ll be away tomorrow. Can you stay till Monday?” I asked, handing him eight $100 bills. “Yeah,” he said, resignedly, “I’ll give you a call Monday morning. Be sure to be there, this time.” “I’ll be there. Could I have Maria’s picture back?” He handed me the picture and said, “You gonna play blackjack after you eat?” “Yeah, we’ll play for a little while,” I said, wondering why he asked. “I’ve got to get back though.” I walked towards the door, shivering; it had gotten much cooler. “I’ll be waiting for your call,” I said. Well, I thought, as I hurried to rejoin Maria, he’ll have all day tomorrow and Saturday to complete his work. It looked like he was committed to finishing, this time. 12 As we walked out of The Meadows, the maitre d’ handed Maria a beautiful long-stemmed red rose from the vase on the desk and said, “Good luck, Mr. and Mrs. Marshall.” “Thanks, Roberto,” I said. “Great dinner, as usual.” We were at the tables by 10:30 PM. I took a $2,000 marker and gave Maria $500 in chips. She went off to find a $5 table, while I played at the $25. Over the course of the next hour, I moved to different tables trying to improve my luck. If I lost three hands in a row, I moved on. Even though I didn’t need it, I took a second marker and finally found a table where things started to improve. Maria came up beside me just as I won my third straight hand. “You must be my luck tonight,” I said. “How are you doing?” she asked, patting my pocket where I kept 53

Tunnel Vision my chips. “Barely holding my own, up to now,” I told her, as I raised my bet to $150. “Are you betting a $50 progression?” “Yeah. My original bet is right here,” I said, tapping the chips in front of me. “Are you counting?” “Yes. At least I’m trying to,” I said as I wrapped my arm around her waist. She looked lovely standing there, holding the rose from The Meadows. “You just won again!” “I’m going to raise my bet to $200, and pull back the rest.” I could hear her groan, anticipating the loss. Admittedly, five wins in a row is rare. “You got a blackjack,” she squealed in delight, as she put her arm on my shoulder. “You are my luck tonight,” I said, as I pulled her closer to me. “And the count’s really high,” I whispered. “I don’t believe this,” she said, as I was dealt the next hand. “You have eleven and the dealer is showing a six.” “What does that mean?’ I asked, rhetorically. “You’re supposed to double down; but please don’t.” This was one of those rare times I ignored her plea and made the bet. I could hear her groan again. If I lost, I knew I would never hear the end of it. The dealer gave me a jack, and turned over his down card revealing a ten, and then drew a king. “He busted!” she cried in delight. We won, or tied, an incredible twelve hands in a row before the shoe ended and the dealer ran out of cards. “Let’s go,” she said, tugging at my sleeve, “I have to get up with Jay tomorrow.” I asked the pit boss for a dinner comp to The Meadows for the following week, and a tray for the chips. I walked away from the table with over $6,000. Considering the $4,000 in markers and the $500 I had given Maria, we had won over $2,500 in less than twenty minutes. I paid off the $4,000 in markers and we headed for the car. It was just before midnight, September 6, 1984. I could tell there was something different about the ride of the car almost immediately. “Feels like we’ve got a mushy tire,” I said. 54

Part One “I can’t tell.” “I can feel it in the wheel.” By the time we got up to speed on Route 30, heading for the Garden State Parkway, the car seemed to be handling all right. “I think it’s just low tire pressure,” I said. I drove a 1981 Cadillac with front-wheel drive and kept the tires at 28 pounds to give the car a softer ride. I thought maybe the sudden drop in temperature might have affected the pressure. “If it’s not giving you a problem, let’s not stop,” she said. “I’m exhausted.” “How’d you like that last shoe?” I asked, smiling. “That was so exciting. I still can’t believe you won so many hands.” “Me either. The most I’ve ever won was seven in a row.” We talked about our plans to visit Chip at school the following day and our comp for the Kenny Rogers show at the Golden Nugget on Monday evening. After we went through the first toll booth, she kicked off her shoes, put her head on my lap and closed her eyes. As I slowed to enter the Barnegat toll, twenty minutes later, she sat up suddenly and said, “What time is it?” “Almost one o’clock.” “Please hurry, I’ve got to get up at six.” I paid the toll and increased my speed to almost 70 mph, and immediately felt and heard a vibration through the car. “What’s that?” Maria said. “We must have a leak in one of the tires. I’d better check it.” “I hope you’re not going to pull over on the shoulder; remember what happened to Max.” How could I forget? Several years earlier, Max Klausner, a local physician, had stopped on the shoulder of the Parkway to fix a flat. He was killed by a drunk driver. “There must be someplace you can stop that’s safe,” she said, sounding concerned. At that moment, I spotted a sign for the Oyster Creek Picnic Area, one of several located in the median between the north and south lanes. It was dimly lit but I knew it would be safer than the shoulder. If a tire was going flat, I knew I would ruin it trying to drive to the service area four miles ahead. 55

Tunnel Vision I drove into the left lane and up the narrow ramp. I’d seen police cars use the picnic area as a drive-through to get to the south-bound lane and I didn’t want to block the ramp or entrance. As I reached the top, I turned left and made another left, stopping on the road that winds through the park. I switched on my high beams, hoping the light would illuminate the area, and checked the compartment behind the seat for a flashlight. Finding none, I opened my door and looked at the rear tire, which was clearly visible due to the courtesy light in the door. “No problem back here,” I said. As I was checking the front tire, a car turned off the ramp and stopped in the roadway, facing west. The headlights stayed on, but I did not see anyone get out. I figured it was someone who couldn’t make it to the rest area and had stopped to relieve himself. As I walked around the rear of the car, Maria opened her door to illuminate the rear tire. I could immediately see that it was partially flat; the side walls were bulging at the bottom. If we did have a slow leak, I didn’t think we would make it to the rest area, so I told her to pop the trunk; there was a trunk release in the glove compartment. As I squatted to look at the tire, I heard Maria cry out in a terrified voice I will never forget, “Oh my God!” At that moment, I felt a sharp pain on the top of my head, and blacked out. 13 I was finally able to call Beth at school, around 9:30 AM. “Are you sitting down?” I asked when she answered. “Why? What’s the matter?” “Maria was killed last night,” I cried. “What! How?” “Coming home from Atlantic City. . .” I repeated once again what had happened. “I saw police cars at the picnic area on my way to school this morning, and I heard something on the news, but I never dreamed it was Maria. Oh, Rob, are you all right?” “I’ve got five stitches in my head, and I’m an emotional wreck. I can’t believe this happened.” “How are the boys?” “Numb, I think. Chip is at Lehigh. I’m going to drive up and tell 56

Part One him later this morning.” “What are we going to do about the rental?” “I forgot about that; I can’t stop thinking about Maria. I’ll call him now. Are you going to be OK?” “Yeah, I’ll be fine.” I would not hear from her again for a week. As I sat there alone in my office, I thought about the lie I had told the police. And I thought about the difficult task of telling my sons that, indeed, I did have a girlfriend. It was something I had intended to deal with in a few weeks, but Maria was supposed to be there. It wasn’t supposed to happen this way. Within a few hours, the house was full of people who wanted to help. Oakleigh was the first to arrive and I had just finished telling her what had happened when our sister Mary and her husband, Jeff Doughty, arrived. They offered to drive to Philadelphia with Roy and Jay to tell Maria’s parents and bring them to the house. Our brother Pete, who lived in upstate New York and sister, Kate, who was in nursing school, would arrive on Monday for the memorial mass. My agency manager drove Chip’s high school girlfriend Terry and me to Lehigh University. We made the two-hour drive to Bethlehem, Pennsylvania late Friday morning in near silence; we were all still in shock. Terry, like many of the boys’ friends, loved Maria like a second mother. Maria had that rare ability to make everyone she cared for feel comfortable, regardless of his or her age. We arrived just after lunch, on a warm sunny day. The campus was alive with students. Cold frosty air had already touched the area and colorful leaves were making their final glide to earth. I remembered the last time I was there, just two weeks earlier, when Maria and I helped Chip move into his dorm. That was a happy time, seeing him start his college career with such a positive attitude. Maria had quickly made friends with several other freshman mothers, and I knew she anticipated we would be spending many wonderful weekends with Chip and his new friends. As I look back, I think it was more difficult to tell Chip than anyone else, probably because he was closer to Maria; they were very much alike. I knocked on his door and heard his roommate invite me in. Chip had been asleep in his bunk and was waking up as I walked in. “Hi Mike,” I said, shaking his hand. “Would you let me talk to 57

Tunnel Vision Chip alone for a few minutes?” “Sure, Mr. Marshall,” he said. As he left, Chip hopped off the top bunk and said, “Hi Dad, where’s Mom?” I wrapped my arms around him and said, “Chip. Mom. . . was killed last night.” “What!” “On our way home from Atlantic City. Oh God, Chip, I can’t believe it.” “Not Mom. Oh God!” he cried. “Not Mom.” We stood there trembling and crying in each other’s arms. Never, more than then, did I wish it was me who had died instead of Maria. The tearful ride home was full of questions without answers. As we pulled into the driveway, Jeff, Roy and Jay drove in right behind us with Maria’s parents. There was a tearful reunion as we walked into the house hugging each other. There were still many people at the house trying to help. Someone gave me a sandwich and Coke, and I sat on the back deck with my brother-in-law, away from the clamor. He was my personal attorney and friend. “Jeff,” I said, “there’s something you should know.” He sipped his drink and looked at me without speaking. “I’ve been having an affair,” I said. “I know.” “What do you mean, you know?” (Jeff was the kind of person who would say something like that, whether he knew or not.) “Maria told us; she hired someone to follow you. Beth Brachfeld; right?” he said with a smug look. I was stunned. “She’s known for quite some time,” he said. “How long?” “Since December.” “Geeze! I thought she might have suspected, but. . . ” “She was going to tell you last Monday when you went to see your marriage counselor. She’d written a letter telling you she knew everything and wanted to start over.” “Why didn’t she give it to me?” “She wanted to show the letter to the counselor first and then have you come in and give it to you, but he called you in together.” 58

Part One I took a long pull from my drink and said, “I guess I should have known something was wrong when I couldn’t get her to return any of the casino money.” “How much are you talking about?” “I gave her over $5000 last year and almost twice as much this year.” “Have you told the boys about Beth?” “I haven’t had a chance. I’ve got to tell Maria’s father too.” At that moment, he walked onto the deck and asked if we could talk. I took him to my private office. “Mom and I were wondering about the arrangements for Maria,” he said in a shaky voice. “Well — Maria and I promised each other that there would not be a viewing. We felt it would only make things harder on everyone. We each wanted cremation and a memorial mass. Is that OK with you?” He nodded silently as I spoke. I knew how much he hurt. Maria was his whole life. I had known him for over 25 years and I don’t remember him ever telling her that he loved her. He did, of course, but he was the kind of person who cannot, or will not, speak his emotions. Our relationship was one of friendship and respect. I never felt really close to him. Now I had to tell him some of the most intimate details of a part of our life he had no idea existed. “I was planning on telling you later, Doc, but there’s no good time for something like this. . .” He sat there, listening in silence as I spoke. When I finished, he simply said, “Maria deserved better, Rob.” “I know, Doc. I’m sorry.” He was right. Later in the afternoon, I brought Roy and Chip into my office to tell them. Without going into too much detail, I tried to explain why I had been planning to leave Maria. I knew neither of them was fond of Beth, but I hoped they would understand. They sat close to me and listened quietly. When I finished, Roy was the first to speak. “We just want you to be happy, Dad.” We hugged, and I told them I would try to keep things as close to the way they had been as possible. “Are we going to keep the house?” Chip asked, anxiously. “Do you want to?” I asked. 59

Tunnel Vision “Yes,” they said together. “Then we will. I want you both to continue with college. You know that’s what Mom and I wanted for you.” They both eagerly agreed. We hugged and kissed each other. “I love you both very much,” I said. “I love you too, Dad,” they each said. They stayed with me while I brought 13-year-old Jay in and sat him on my lap while I told him about Beth. I knew he didn’t understand my reasons, but he put his arm around my neck and his head on my shoulder while I spoke. When I finished, he simply said. “It’s OK, Dad, I understand. It’s OK.” What incredible children, I thought. I realized I was crying again; we all were. “I want you to know that I never stopped loving Mom; I’ll always love her. . . She was a great lady, and I know she loved you with all her heart, just as I do,” I said kissing them. 14 As the day wore on, I spoke to my friends Tim and Rick, telling them what had happened and about my plans to leave Maria. Tim and his wife Sue Ellen were ten years younger than us, and also had three sons. He ran a successful Xerox printing business in town and had become a good friend during the past year. Rick and Jean Leever were ten years older, and their children were grown. He was the senior partner in a civil engineering firm in town. Both men were supportive and understanding. They wanted to help in some way and, after talking with me, they placed an ad in several local papers offering $10,000 for information that would lead to Maria’s killer. I spoke to a friend, Chris, a funeral director we knew from the Club, and made the final arrangements for Maria. “What about her remains?” he asked. “We made a promise to each other that whoever died first would be buried in Florida. Maria always said she wanted to rest under a palm tree where she was happiest. “Also, Maria’s parents will be here from time to time, and I think it would be upsetting for them — for all of us — if the ashes were here in the house. Can you keep them for me until I can make arrangements 60

Part One to go down with the boys?” “I understand, Rob. I’ll keep them in our vault until you’re ready.” The following day, I stopped by the office and found a search warrant on my desk. It listed the items that had been removed: a slip of paper with phone numbers, several snapshots of Beth that I had hidden in a book, and some trash from the outside trash can. That was when I decided it was time to contact a lawyer. I made an appointment to see attorney Frank Casciano the following morning for breakfast at a local restaurant. I knew him socially and competed with him in tennis at the Club. We had won the men’s doubles tournament a few years earlier and had been to each other’s homes for parties. Beth and I had been among the volunteers who worked on his campaign when he made his bid for political office. I told him everything, including my relationship with Beth. I was surprised when he asked if I thought she could somehow be involved in Maria’s death. I told him I could not believe that of her. He looked at me for a moment and said, “I don’t want you to discuss the details of this with anyone, especially Beth. If the police want to talk with you again, tell them you want me to be there.” “OK,” I said, wondering if it would ever get to that point. He asked for a $7,500 retainer and told me he would start making inquiries, and would call when he knew something. When we walked into St. Joseph’s Church Monday morning for the memorial service, nearly every pew was occupied. Friends came from as far away as California. Even the president and the CEO of my company were there. I was gratified to see how many people cared about Maria. Our family sat in the front pew together, holding hands through the brief service. At the appropriate moment, I asked Roy to say a few words for us; I just could not manage it myself. I tried to be strong for the boys, but inside I was a mess. He held onto the pulpit, looked into the crowded church and made a beautiful statement that said it all. “Although I’m saddened by my mother’s death, I thank God that she was with us as long as she was. I’ll miss her very much.” We all will, I thought. Then a soloist from the choir sang The Prayer to St. Francis, a song I knew Maria would have wanted: 61

Tunnel Vision

Lord, make me an instrument of your peace. Where there is hatred, let me sow love. Where there is injury, pardon. Where there is doubt, faith. Where there is despair, hope. Where there is darkness, light. Where there is sadness, joy. It is a prayer I say every day, now. Back at the house, Tim had arranged for food and drinks for those who stopped by after the service. Of all the people who took the time to be there, I was touched most by the presence of the maitre’ d and waiters we had gotten to know from The Meadows. They wore the restaurant symbol, a red rose, in their lapel. After everyone left, I found the roses lying beneath Maria’s picture in our family room. The police had already leaked to the local press the fact that I was having an affair with an unnamed woman, but I think everyone knew who it was; and she was conspicuous by her absence. The media barrage had started, and it was going to get a lot worse. In the weeks to come, I would learn of the fierce competition to get any snippet of information about the case. Many friends stopped by in the days that followed. We received scores of fruit baskets, which I gave to a charity. I finally asked that friends donate to the United Way rather than send flowers or fruit. I later learned they received nearly $1,000 in donations in Maria’s name. Food dishes were dropped off with offers of help. Nonetheless, the house seemed empty and barren; the life Maria had given it was missing. Chip went back to Lehigh. Roy was working and taking several courses at the local community college before his return to Villanova in January. He had, indeed, been suspended at the end of the last semester for a stupid prank. Jay had been sleeping next to me to provide mutual support, but he eventually returned to his own bed and to school, getting up by himself every morning — something he had never done before. I tried to keep things close to normal at home, but I was a dismal failure. I now had to shop for food and do all the things Maria did every day, as well as try to keep my business going. It was an impossible task. 62

Part One Maria’s once-a-week housekeeper did as much as possible to help, but nothing filled the void. The newspapers carried front-page stories, updating their readers every day, and it seemed like the local radio station mentioned further developments every hour. It was all negative. They alluded to sealed indictments and a “Louisiana Connection.” The pressure was building. I asked Casciano if I could speak with the police to clear up some of the questions. He told me, “It probably won’t do you any good and it might do some harm. My advice is to say nothing. If anyone has questions, keep the facts of the case to yourself, for now.” 15 On Friday, the 14th, Tim called. “Beth would like you to call her at the beach apartment,” he said. “How is she?” I asked. “She told me she’s left Daniel, and her father threw her out of her own house. She’s alone and desperate.” I knew it was too soon, but I was feeling lost and I knew she had no one else to comfort her. We arranged to meet in a parking lot near the beach. She was waiting when I pulled in. I got in her car and we drove to her apartment without saying a word. Once inside we reached out and held each other, crying, afraid to let go. I asked what had happened after we last spoke. She said, “The State Police stopped me on the way home from school the day Maria was killed and escorted me to the courthouse, where I was interrogated. Did you know that Maria had hired an investigator?” “I found out a few days ago.” “He told the police about me. Jesus, they fingerprinted me and took my picture. I had to call my lawyer to come over and represent me. I was scared stiff!” “What happened?” “I told them you couldn’t possibly have had anything to do with this because too many people knew about us. “As soon as my lawyer left, he called Daniel and told him everything. I couldn’t even get into the house to get clothes for work — my 63

Tunnel Vision father locked me out.” “What did you do?” “I stayed with a friend for a few days until I could get back in the house when my father wasn’t there. God, I hate him!” “How is Dan taking this?” “Not well. By the way, he also found out I had a relationship with Frank Casciano.” I looked at her, incredulous. “I didn’t know you had.” “I thought I told you. I’m sorry, I meant to.” “I retained him,” I said, telling her about the search warrant. “I hired a lawyer too,” she said. “Someone from Westfield. My cousin recommended him.” We met again at her apartment a few days later. It was during that time that we discussed what I perceived to be Casciano’s lack of interest in my fate. “Maybe you should find someone else,” she suggested. “Considering my past relationship with him, he may be feeling a conflict. Frankly, I’m surprised he accepted you as a client.” The following day I called him and told him I wanted to terminate his services. “I don’t think your heart is in it,” I said.” “You may be right,” he replied, sounding a little embarrassed. The next day, while I was talking to a Provident friend from Philadelphia, he told me about Gene Zeigler, a criminal defense lawyer recommended by one of his clients. He set up a conference call and I made an appointment to see him at his home on Saturday. Before we hung up, he cautioned me not to speak to the police unless he was present. It was obvious to me that the legal expenses were going to be a lot more than the cash I had on hand. As long as there was any question about the circumstances of Maria’s death, the insurance companies would not pay the proceeds of her policies to me. Much as I hated the idea, I called a real estate agent and put my office building on the market. I spoke to Beth on Friday, the 21st, and she told me her lawyer said he did not feel we had to keep our relationship a secret, since the police knew about it anyway. That evening we went back to the only restaurant we had dared go to together during our 14-month relationship. Incredibly, there were teachers from her school at the next table. When we left, she dropped me off at my car in a shopping center 64

Part One parking lot in Toms River and said she had some shopping to do before she came to the house. I had asked her to stop by to meet Oakleigh, who had come for the weekend. When I walked in, Roy told me that Detective Murray had called and asked me to get back to him. Before I could pick up the phone, he called again, and asked if he could come over. “We want your help with something,” he said. “It’ll only take a minute.” I told them to come over. I then remembered that Beth would be there in a few minutes; I thought she might feel uncomfortable being present when the police arrived. I asked Oakleigh to wait outside and stop her before she got to the house. A few minutes later, they walked in together. “You couldn’t keep me away with a bulldozer,” she said, smiling. “I wasn’t sure how you’d feel, but I’m glad you’re here.” Detective Murray from the Ocean County Prosecutor’s Office, and Detective Woodley from the State Police, arrived five minutes later. Roy sat next to me on the couch while Oakleigh and Beth stood nearby and observed. “Before we start,” I said, “I must warn you my attorney has advised me not to answer any questions without him being present.” “We just want to ask if you know anyone named Jerry Davies or Jimmy McInerney,” Murray said. I repeated Gene’s advice. As they got up to leave, I asked how their investigation was going. “If you have any questions, you’ll have to work through your lawyer,” Murray said. “My driver’s license and keys were left at the scene; can I get them back?” “Get your attorney to contact us,” Woodley snarled. After they left, Beth said, “You handled that beautifully. Did you know those men?” “No,” I lied. I did know a man named Jerry Davies. Roy went out with friends, leaving us to talk over the events of the past two weeks. Beth later remarked how incredible my family was to accept her, and what a contrast that was compared to the way her own family had treated her.

65

Tunnel Vision Since I was without my driver’s license, Beth agreed to drive me to Gene’s home in Moorestown the following day. I didn’t mind driving around town without it, but I did not want to go much further. We arrived at 2:00 PM and Gene introduced us to his investigator, Rich Kohl. Beth had brought some personal work and waited patiently in the kitchen while I talked with Gene and Rich on the porch. We spent two hours going over every detail I could remember. Gene was anxious to take the case and was confident he could handle anything that developed. I was finally starting to feel that everything was going to be all right. It felt like a great weight had been lifted from my shoulders, although it was going to cost me; Gene wanted a retainer of $15,000. His final words to me were a warning not to discuss the case with Beth. 16 The Trial On Monday morning, February 3, Jimmy McInerney took the stand. He had the same Van Dyke beard but had lost 30 or 40 pounds since I last saw him. He wore a ski vest over a flannel shirt, and I could hear Larry mumble something in disgust as he took the oath. Farrell spent the morning having him weave his version of the events that took place since Billy Caller introduced us over the phone in June of 1984. He confirmed that I wanted him to do a domestic investigation, and he had to get the real Jerry Davies, a friend, to pick up the money I sent to him via the Western Union office in Shreveport. However, he claimed that I gave him an additional $2,500 when we first met and that fifteen minutes after meeting him, I told him that I wanted to have Maria killed the night we went to the Ram’s Head for dinner. He said I agreed to pay him $65,000 — $10,000 up front and the balance after the insurance proceeds were paid. He admitted going to the Ram’s Head by taxi and said that he left because the parking lot was too well lit. Rich turned to me and said, “What was he going to do, have the taxi wait while he shot Maria?” It was difficult to sit there and listen to him. I wanted to cry out 66

Part One and call him a damn liar, but Gene had warned me to sit still, look straight at him and not say a word. “Don’t even shake your head,” he said. I felt inhibited. Worse than that was knowing my family had to listen to him as well. When Farrell moved to the July visit, McInerney said he had come up with a man named Mike; that I gave him an additional $7,000 in chips and told him I would stop at a 24-hour restaurant on the way home so he could “do it” there. He claimed he had told Mike I wanted to have Maria killed. He confirmed that I called Billy in August, but alleged I offered $15,000, not $1,500. Then things got really bizarre. McInerney said, “Larry told me he had been offered a contract on me from some people in Dallas, for $75,000.” When Farrell asked him why, he said, “Well, I kind of knew why. You know, I mean, I knew that I hadn’t done anything up there, I just took the man’s money. So it had shook me up, you know. Then Larry said, you know, these things can be done so let’s go up there and look at it. “So in a couple of days, I called him and we drove to New Jersey in my Cadillac.” He confirmed that he called me at my office at 10:00 AM, but then claimed we agreed to meet at a Roy Rogers restaurant on the Parkway so we could pick out a place to kill Maria. When Farrell asked him what time we met, he said, “Approximately noon.” He said we spent almost an hour together, driving up and down the Parkway until we finally settled on the Oyster Creek Picnic Area. McInerney went on to claim that, after we met at Harrah’s at 9:30 PM the evening of the 6th, he found a True Value Hardware Store open at 11:00 PM and bought rubber gloves for Larry. When Farrell asked if he had a gun, he admitted to having a Colt .45 Army Special. “What happened next?” Farrell asked. “Approximately 12:00, I took Larry to the picnic area and went back and waited by the toll both for about an hour. When I saw Marshall drive through, I waited about two minutes and drove into the picnic area behind his car. Marshall was lying on the ground at the rear of the car.” 67

Tunnel Vision “Then what happened?” “I saw Larry squat down by the rear wheel, and I could hear air hissing. He ran back to my car and got in. I left the picnic area and headed south on the Parkway. I pulled out real slow.” “What did you do with the gun?” “It was thrown out, with the knife, into a large body of water a ways down the Parkway.” He said Larry gave him a few hundred dollars of the money he took from Maria’s purse and my pockets. When Farrell asked him to tell the jury what he did when he returned to Shreveport, he said, “When I found out that people from the Ocean County Prosecutor’s Office were down here, I went to an attorney, Moe Laurence, and told him that the woman I was conducting an investigation on in New Jersey was killed when I was there. I wanted him to get in touch with the man I was conducting the investigation for, but he didn’t want to make the call, so I called and left a message for Mr. Marshall to call Mr. Laurence.” When Farrell asked him what else he did, he said, “I wrote out a statement for Rich Kohl explaining that I was in New Jersey doing a domestic investigation for him.” Farrell then got into the plea bargain. “Would you tell us the circumstances that led you to entering into an agreement with the Ocean County Prosecutor?” “I was shown the evidence file. Someone had seen my car and I learned that an investigator was watching Marshall — for Mrs. Marshall. Also, there was that tape that Marshall made; it had some bearing on me making a statement.” After reading McInerney’s plea agreement into the record, Farrell said, “That’s all I have of this witness.” 17 Gene had the first crack at McInerney and got him to admit that he had given no statement when he was arrested on October 12th. “They wanted to have some idea what you were going to say before they made the deal; isn’t that right?” “That’s correct,” McInerney said. “And if you stuck to the original story, there would be no deal and 68

Part One you would be sitting in a courtroom answering to a first degree murder charge.” “That’s correct,” he said again. Gene took him through his statement piece by piece, getting him to commit himself to his lie. Just before we adjourned for the day he asked, “Now, as far as Caller knew, you were someone who had experience in law enforcement and had done matrimonial investigations; isn’t that true?” “That’s true.” He also admitted that his intention was to “rip me off,” and that he had done it to others. The following day Gene continued with McInerney, getting him to admit that the prosecutor’s people told him about Beth’s statement and about the insurance on Maria before he made his own statement. “After you found out what they had, you tried to negotiate yourself into the best possible position with the State, right?” Gene asked. “Right.” “Let’s assume the information you were going to give them avoided any mention of Rob Marshall, or of somebody else being involved. If you had told them you shot her, that you robbed Mr. Marshall and were going to try to blackmail him — would they still have given you the deal, because you were being truthful?” “No.” “You had to give them what they wanted to hear; didn’t you?” “That’s correct.” “Do you remember reading articles in Louisiana that Rob had offered a reward for the apprehension of the perpetrators and that he offered to cooperate in the probe?” “Yes, I read them.” “Now, you mentioned a statement that was prepared by your sister. In the statement, you mentioned a prostitute named Peggy, who you were supposed to be involved with up here; didn’t you?” “Yes.” Farrell interrupted, asking for a copy of the statement. Gene promised he would locate it and give him a copy. “Was there a time when you were hiding from the police in Louisiana?” Gene continued. 69

Tunnel Vision “Yes.” “Was that when they searched your house?” “Yes.” “And did there come a time when you went to a bar, where you saw Ocean County Investigators, Mr. Mulligan and Mr. Reilly?” “Yes.” “Did you go out and let a little air out of the tire of Mr. Mulligan’s car?” “Yes.” “How much air did you let out?” “About half.” “And you did that with a pen on the valve stem?” “Yes.” “And when you saw him at another restaurant, what did you do?” “I let air out of his right rear tire.” “I have one last question. Did you tell Reilly that Rob would have to pay you the money because he would be afraid you would blackmail him?” “Yes.” “Thank you,” Gene said, as he sat down. There was much more to cover, but it was decided to leave it to Frank Hartman. He stood up and approached the witness stand, looked at McInerney and said, “Mr. McInerney, you have a great motive to lie about this case; don’t you?” McInerney squirmed and said, “I guess from all the signs it would appear that I do.” “And there’s nothing more important than saving your life; is there?” “That’s correct.” “Now, until you mentioned Larry Thomas’s name, there was no evidence against him; was there?” “No.” “And in order to buy your freedom from the death penalty, and other things you got with this deal, you had to say that you did not shoot Maria Marshall; isn’t that true?” “Yes.” 70

Part One “You’re telling us that you would not lie about being the shooter; is that right?” “My conscience would have kept me from being the shooter.” “Well, your conscience didn’t keep you from being involved in an alleged conspiracy to commit murder; did it?” “That’s true.” “Your conscience is somewhat elastic; it seems to depend on how many dollars are involved. I take it that different amounts of money accomplish different things with your conscience.” “When I need money, it does.” “Would you lie to your wife about where you were at night for $50,000?” “I might, for zero dollars.” “Well, now that we have settled the issue, let’s talk about the amount. Do you agree that living is worth a tremendous amount of money?” “Yes.” “And living is worth lying about Larry Thomas; isn’t that so?” “No.” “Tell me something; how did they check that Larry Thomas was at the Oyster Creek Picnic Area?” “By my saying so.” “Did they check anything else you said about Larry?” “Not that I know of.” After going back to the plea agreement, Frank said, “Do you remember the agreement saying, ‘. . .with full understanding of my rights and without any promises having been made to me;’ do you remember that?” “Yes.” “But there were promises made to you; weren’t there?” “Yes.” “OK. And you knew that the Graves Act requires a three-year mandatory sentence for crimes committed with a gun; didn’t you?” “That’s correct.” “And the agreement waives the Graves Act; isn’t that right?” “Yes.” Frank continued to pull apart the agreement, piece by piece. It was clearly an outrage that the prosecutor would make such a deal. 71

Tunnel Vision McInerney was visibly upset with the next set of questions. “Did the prosecutor ever tell you that the judge could throw out the agreement because he felt it was too lenient to you?” “No.” “The agreement also states that the prosecutor will recommend that you serve your sentence at a women’s prison; wasn’t that because you used to be a police officer and were afraid of being mistreated?” “That would have something to do with it.” “And so again, to protect Jimmy McInerney’s skin, not just from the death penalty but from abuse in prison, this was negotiated on your behalf; is that right?” “That’s correct.” “Were you told that because you’ve been in jail for more than a year, you would get credit for your time served and be eligible for parole immediately?” “Yes.” Frank then went over the benefits of the witness relocation program and said, “After going through the plea agreement, I ask you again: will you agree with me that you have an enormous motive to lie?” “Yes,” was all he would say. It was clear he had been coached to say as little as possible. At that point, Frank asked if we could take a recess. During the break, the officers in our security detail commented on McInerney’s deal and said they felt he was lying to save his skin. I hoped it would be that obvious to the jury. After the break, Frank continued. “You didn’t mention Larry Thomas in your statement to the Grand Jury, did you? “No.” “You lied to your lawyer in Louisiana, didn’t you?” “Yes.” “Without going into all the other examples we can give, isn’t it true that you have lied about various facts in connection with this case?” “Yes.” Frank stepped back a few feet and said, “Tell me something: is there some way in which the jury can tell when you’re telling the truth 72

Part One and when you’re lying?” Farrell objected and the judge sustained. Frank turned away and started walking to his seat. He turned back and said, “Did you ever see the movie, Pinocchio?” The courtroom broke into laughter as Farrell objected again. Before the judge could say anything, Frank withdrew the question. Then he said, “Does your nose get longer when you lie?” Again there was laughter and Farrell objected, saying, “He made his point.” The judge sustained the objection and gave Frank a mild admonition. Frank shrugged it off and said, “Thank you, Your Honor.” He continued, “When you wrote up the scenario that your sister typed up for Rich Kohl, do you remember saying that you had to check some things so you could make sure the scenario jibed with the facts?” “I had to make them coincide with the real thing.” “That scenario left you and Rob Marshall out of any criminal activity, didn’t it?” “Yes.” “And it didn’t mention Larry Thomas, did it?” “No.” “And before you made up this 25-page statement for the prosecutor, you had to go over the discovery file so you could make sure your statement jibed with the facts the State had at the time; isn’t that so?” “Yes.” Frank spent some time developing the fact McInerney either lied about having someone up here with him in June, or was keeping the identity of that person a secret. He then shifted to another area and tripped him up on the amount of time it took to drive back to Louisiana in September. McInerney said it took them 22 hours to drive to New Jersey but 53 hours to return. His only explanation was that they must have slept by the side of the road. Frank ended the day’s proceedings by asking McInerney, “What have you been able to give the State, to show that Larry Thomas was with you from the 4th of September until Sunday, the 9th?” “Just my word.” We recessed with a directive by the judge for both sides to furnish discovery by the next session. 73

Tunnel Vision

The next day, Gene said he could not locate a copy of the statement McInerney had made for Rich. Farrell, obviously annoyed, said he wanted to put Rich on the stand as soon as he arrived in court. Frank resumed with McInerney. “Mr. McInerney, is it not true that you told your attorney that you were doing a domestic investigation for Mr. Marshall, and were not involved in Mrs. Marshall’s murder?” “That’s correct.” “OK. Let’s talk about the second money order you had Rob send you. That came down as if transmitted by a man named James McCall. Do you know a man by that name?” “I believe I do.” “Now, let’s talk about your version of Rob’s involvement in this. In your statement to the State and your testimony to the Grand Jury, did you tell either of them about any cover-up story?” “I don’t recall.” “Would you accept my representation that you did not?” “I will.” “Did you see a problem as to how the authorities might interpret the fact that he was still alive and Maria was dead?” “Sure did.” “What was the solution?” “Well, he was well thought of in the community and he was a businessman of stature, and the shadow of guilt would not be cast on him that heavy.” As I sat there listening, I remember him asking about my standing in the community on our first meeting. Frank was nonplussed. He said, “Mr. McInerney, you were a sheriff’s officer and detective; did you think for one minute that a man who had a girlfriend, had a million dollars of insurance on his wife, who recently bought insurance on his wife, who was the only person with her at the time she was killed — did you think that story would wash for ten seconds?” “I can’t answer yes or no to that.” “You wouldn’t want him to be caught, because then you might be implicated; right?” “That’s true.” 74

Part One “So you would have rejected any plan that didn’t make sense, wouldn’t you?” “Yes.” Frank spent the morning jumping from one area to another, keeping McInerney off balance, never sure what was coming next. “Now, I submit to you that, had you not said in your statement that you told Mike Genner, the man who drove down with you on the second trip, that Marshall wanted his wife killed, there would have been no way you could explain why Thomas approached you. Isn’t that so?” “That’s correct.” “In fact, you had to get in touch with Genner to get him to back up your story; isn’t that so?” “Yes.” “OK. Now, in your statement, you said you gave Larry a shirt to wear out there at the picnic area because it was cold; is that right?” “That’s correct.” “Did you ever give it to the authorities so they could take it to the lab to have it examined?” “No.” Frank shifted gears again. “Tell me, when you were giving your statement, did you notice that you were being led by the officers who were questioning you?” “Well, if there was a fact they wanted in, they would ask me about it.” “That’s what they did all the way through; they tell the story the way they want to get it across, and use you as the Charlie McCarthy that says, yes, correct, et cetera; isn’t that true?” “That’s correct.” “And you were interviewed three times before you signed your statement; isn’t that true?” “Yes.” At that point we broke for lunch. Before McInerney returned to the stand, the State called Anne Hilton, who testified that on her way home on the morning of the 7th, she nearly had a collision with a car that came flying out of the Oyster Creek Picnic Area at a high rate of speed, contradicting McInerney’s 75

Tunnel Vision earlier testimony. When McInerney returned, Frank moved on to the conversation he was supposed to have had with Larry behind a McDonald’s restaurant in Shreveport. “Didn’t it occur to you that it would be pretty silly for Rob to be calling someone from Dallas to kill you? If he wanted his wife killed, he could have hired them in the first place. Didn’t that cross your mind?” “Well, he carried on enough about it that I began to think maybe he was serious.” Frank changed gears again. “All right; earlier, you said you called Marshall around ten o’clock; why did you tell him to go to a pay phone?” “Well, after I learned he was having marital problems, and knowing that I myself had put taps on a phone, I asked him to go to a safe phone.” “You didn’t want his wife to find out he had hired you as an investigator for a domestic investigation; is that right?” “I wouldn’t think so.” “As a matter of fact, Rob told you that; didn’t he?” “He could have.” “Now, the phone records show that he called you back at 10:17; when he called you, what did he say?” “He told me to meet him at the Roy Rogers at a certain mile-post on the Parkway.” “And how long did you think it would take you to get there?” “I assumed it would take an hour.” “Do you recall testifying before the Grand Jury that you met him there at 11:00?” “Yes.” “Do you know, now, that Mr. Marshall was far away from the Roy Rogers, taking an insurance exam with his wife?” “Well, it was actually some time around noon.” “So you want to change your answer to noon?” At that point, Farrell interrupted, “Judge, I have to object, the question has been asked and answered. Around noon was his answer.” “I’ll withdraw the question if you say it was around noon.” There was now a statement on the record that was in direct contradiction to what actually took place on that day. We would be able 76

Part One to show that it was impossible for me to have been with McInerney. “Now, according to your statement, you met with Mr. Marshall at Harrah’s around 9:30; is that correct?” “That’s correct.” “And you stopped at the True Value Hardware Store on your way to the picnic area, around 11:00?” “No, sir,” he replied, a bit unnerved, “That’s not my testimony.” “Then tell me when you bought the gloves?” “Sometime that afternoon, late.” “Was it at 12:00, when you were on the Parkway with Marshall?” “I don’t recall exactly. All I know is that I did buy the gloves. If you got a time in mind, you tell me.” A moment later he testified that he bought the gloves sometime on the evening of the 6th. When Frank asked him if he had the gloves by the time he met with me, he said, “You’ve got me confused now. I don’t know whether I did or not.” Frank bore down, “Did you ever take the police out to the True Value to ask if anyone could identify you?” “No, sir.” “OK. I want you to go back to when you met Rob Marshall on the Parkway at noon; how much time did you spend with him?” “I would say approximately forty minutes to an hour.” “Now, you testified that when you got to a large bridge, the gun and knife were thrown out; do you remember saying that?” “No, sir.” Frank looked surprised, “You didn’t say the gun and knife were thrown out?” “The gun was thrown out.” “Are you sure about that now?” “No sir, instead of throwing the gun out, it could have went into the seat.” I was having a hard time not shaking my head in dismay at the constant contradictions. I caught the eye of one of the jurors who rolled her eyes in obvious disbelief. Frank continued, “Mr. McInerney, have you been rehearsed?” Farrell objected, “If he had been rehearsed, his testimony would be a heck of a lot better than it is now.” The judge sustained the objection. 77

Tunnel Vision Frank shifted gears once again, “Did you discuss the events that occurred at the picnic area on the way home to Louisiana?” “No, sir.” “When you testified before the grand jury, you said, ‘Thomas said he had hit Marshall on the head and hit him a good lick’; do you remember saying that?” “Yes, sir.” “But you didn’t say that in your statement; did you?” “No.” “When you fictionalize, it’s hard to remember which story you’re remembering at different times, isn’t it?” “Sometimes yes, when you fictionalize.” “So if you say one thing in your statement and another before the grand jury, it’s hard to get the story straight; isn’t it?” “Yes, it’s hard to get the story straight if you made it up.” “It’s sort of like that story about the fishing trip, the fish get bigger every time you tell the story; isn’t that so?” “Sometimes they do, yes sir.” Frank looked at him, satisfied, and said, “I have no more questions, your honor.” Farrell tried to restore some of the damage on redirect, but Frank got in the last lick. “If you went to trial in this case, you would lie under oath; wouldn’t you?” “Possibly.” “Well, as long as you tell that lie that Thomas was the shooter and Marshall plotted with you, you keep your deal; don’t you?” “I believe the evidence will bear me out.” “We’ll let the jury decide that,” Frank said. “That’s all I have, Your Honor.” McInerney left the courtroom after three days on the stand; somehow he seemed a bit smaller. 18 Without skipping a beat, the state ballistics expert identified the slugs and shell casings recovered at the scene. Frank asked if he could 78

Part One tell if Larry had fired the shots. He simply answered, “No, sir.” George Herman, a forensic chemist for the State, testified that the tire had been slit with a knife and would not hold air during his tests. He said there was no indication the tire had been driven in a semideflated condition. When Farrell asked how he could determine that fact, he said, “I looked for marks on the rim and a white powdery film inside the tire.” When Gene took over, Herman admitted he did not know what the air pressure would have to be before seeing damage to the rim or tire, and he had not attempted to make tests on another tire from the car. Gene then rolled the tire in front of the witness stand. There was a four-inch square chunk cut from the sidewall where the slit had been made. Herman admitted he had made the cut in September of 1984 and that there would be no way for anyone to make further tests once he cut the tire. He admitted to Frank that the damage to the tire was made with a knife different from the ones taken from Larry when he was arrested. It seemed clear to me that we should have made our own tests, on one of the other tires. An expert could have determined that driving on a tire with eighteen or twenty pounds of air would not result in rim damage or cause the white powder film to which Herman referred. Gene had certainly had plenty of time to conduct the tests, but he kept every dollar I gave him for himself. This would prove to be a crucial factor. When Farrell called Murray, one of the prosecutor’s investigators who had stopped by the house to ask if I knew Billy Caller or Jerry Davies, he claimed that I became pale and visibly upset and he thought I was going to spill my drink. That was a bald-faced lie. I remember Beth telling me how well I had handled the interview; she was there with Oakleigh and Roy. Tom Bitler, the investigator Maria had hired, testified that he had me under surveillance on five occasions, from December 1983 through July 1984. Maria had paid him almost $2,000. It was Bitler who had called the prosecutor’s office on the morning of Maria’s death and told them he had been retained to follow me and knew I was having an affair with Beth.

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Tunnel Vision When Jerry Davies, the man who’s name McInerney used, took the stand, he testified that he picked up the two money orders for Jimmy McInerney from the Western Union office in Shreveport. Gene asked him if he was a friend of Jimmy McInerney. “Well,” he said, in his good-old-boy Louisiana twang, “Once you know McInerney, you can’t get away from him. He won’t leave you alone. You can’t embarrass him. You can’t run him off.” “Sticks to you like glue, right?” “That’s true, especially if you can help him do something.” “He’s a wheeler and dealer, isn’t he?” “You got it.” “You got conned by him, didn’t you?” “I have, several times.” “And you ended up in jail as a result of him conning you, didn’t you?” “You got that right,” Davies said, angrily. “He told you that the purpose of the money was for an investigation he was doing; isn’t that true?” “That’s right.” “Jimmy made a practice of using other people’s names; isn’t that true?” “That’s true.” “Did he tell you he did this to avoid paying taxes?” “Yes, that was one of the remarks he made.” Frank asked him if he ever heard Larry talk about being involved in this case? “No, sir.” he answered. Harrah’s credit manager testified that I had taken markers on each of the days I met with McInerney. Gene was able to show that I took markers every time I played. Most important, he confirmed that I walked away from the blackjack table on the evening of September 6 with over $6,000 in chips. Farrell had a multitude of minor witnesses testify throughout the day, from phone company executives and handwriting experts to motel clerks. They spared no expense. Each witness confirmed that they had not seen nor spoken to Larry Thomas. As we watched the seemingly endless stream, Rich leaned over 80

Part One and said, “The State has an unlimited budget, while your defense is restricted by how much you can afford.” At the end of the day, Frank asked if either Larry or I would mind if he went to the New Jersey Bar Association meeting over the next few days. His associate would cover for him while he was gone. We did not object. In retrospect, that was a mistake. We would need Frank’s back-up for the next major State witness. The following day Attorney Edwin O’Rourke, dressed like an over-aged preppy, took the stand and told the jury he had been retained by Maria on December 23, 1983, and had recommended Bitler as the investigator. Gene asked him to confirm that Maria had paid him $1,600 and the investigator, Bitler, nearly $2,000. “I have been so informed,” he said, stiffly. He also confirmed he had discovered an additional $9,700 in her safe deposit box. Counting the $700 Chip found in Maria’s dressing table and the $1,400 she returned to me to help pay off a marker, Maria had managed to salt away over $15,000. 19 Saying good-bye Rich told me he thought he saw Beth waiting in the prosecutor’s office outside the courtroom. It seemed apparent she would take the stand next. I sat there thinking about the events that led to our breakup and my despair afterwards: The boys had made plans to be with their friends on Sunday, September 23. I was going to spend the afternoon with Beth. Before I left, I gave Roy the phone number at her beach apartment and told him to call if there were any problems. Later in the day, he left a message on the answering machine while we were on the beach. The message was that a man named Moe Laurence, from Louisiana, had called and wanted me to get back to him. I did not know who he was and my first thought was to call Gene. Beth saw that I was upset and asked if I really did know the men 81

Tunnel Vision from Louisiana that the investigators had mentioned at the house on Friday evening. I remembered Gene’s warning and made up an outrageous story about meeting Billy at Anna’s party and sending him money to pay off a bet. When I told her how much, she was shocked. Frankly, I do not blame her. It was foolish not to trust her, but I kept hearing my lawyer’s warning, “Whatever you do, don’t discuss the case with Beth.” I’m convinced now that if I had confided in her, she would have understood. I decided instead to leave, and call Gene. After explaining what had happened, Gene asked what I had told Beth. He seemed worried about her and reminded me that we did not know who was involved. His instructions were to stick with the story for now. Much as I wanted to tell her the truth, I was now stuck with my lie. Gene promised to call Laurence on Monday. After dinner with Jay and Roy, I went back to Beth. As soon as I opened the door, I could tell things were not the same; she was cold and indifferent. “I want you to take your things and leave,” she said. “Why?” “Because you haven’t been honest with me. You knew on Friday who those men were and you told me you didn’t.” She was right, of course. Our relationship was based on honesty — strange as that may seem, considering we were both being unfaithful to our spouses. I do not remember all that was said, but the end result was that I left. I could not believe what had just happened. I had lost Maria and now it looked like I would lose Beth as well. I thought our relationship was strong enough to withstand any misunderstanding. I would not give up this easily. I returned to her apartment and I could hear her talking on the phone as I approached the door. I knocked, and after a moment she opened the door. Her detached attitude had not changed. “Were you talking to Dan?” I asked. “Yes,” she said, walking away from me. “We can’t end it like this,” I said. “We have to talk it out.” “I need time to think,” she said. “Please leave.” I could see I was not getting anywhere, and I was not going to crawl. I went to her, took her in my arms and kissed her hard. I could feel her start to respond for a moment and then she pulled away. Deep within me, I knew it was over. 82

Part One “I’ll call you tomorrow,” I said, as I left. This time I did not go back. I can only imagine what was going through her mind. With all the negative press, added to my deception, she must have thought the worst. Her attorney probably told her to bail out or risk being pulled down with me. However, had the situation been reversed, nothing would have kept me from her side. The following day, my realtor told me he had a buyer for the office, at the price I was asking. The deal looked solid. I called Beth at school on Monday to share the news, but only her cold disinterested voice came through. I thought of the hundreds of calls we had shared over the past fourteen months. I could not believe the change; it was as though she had turned off a switch. I called her at her apartment that evening and got the same response. We spoke briefly. Finally, I said, “I think I’ve lost you.” “You may be right,” she said. That was the last time we spoke. Early Tuesday, Tim called to tell me he had heard a radio news report saying Caller had been arrested and there were sealed indictments at the court house. I was certain one was for me. The press covered the event with banner headlines. It was a living nightmare, like waiting for the other shoe to drop. Every time someone pulled into the driveway, I expected police at my door with a warrant for my arrest. Gene told me the prosecutor was playing psychological war games, knowing the effect it would have on me. It worked. He also told me that after talking to Laurence, he had sent Rich to Louisiana. Laurence was the attorney for the man I knew as Jerry Davies. When I asked for details, he suggested we wait until Rich returned — he did not want to discuss the case over the phone (a recommendation that later proved to have merit). My despair was increasing. Maria’s death, the negative media coverage, and my inability to counter with facts that would have provided answers, Beth’s refusal of support. . . Even my daily calls to Oakleigh were not enough to help. I lost sight of what was important and convinced myself that I did not have the courage to go on. I made arrangements to sell the boat to my agency manager and agreed to bring it to Red Bank and help him launch it on Thursday. On the evening of the 26th, I called home from a nearby shopping 83

Tunnel Vision center to check on Jay. He told me Rich had called from Louisiana and I was to call him back immediately. Rich told me he needed to stay down for a few more days and wanted to be sure it was all right, since I was paying the expenses. I told him to do whatever he thought was best. He brought me up to date on what he had learned. The most shocking bit of information was that the Jerry Davies I had hired was really someone called Jimmy McInerney — and Laurence was married to his sister. He told me there were two investigators from Ocean County, Mulligan and Reilly, down there and that he had overheard Mulligan tell a local cop, “All we want is the shooter and Rob Marshall.” It was clear they had decided I was involved. As we discussed the case, he said he thought that McInerney had let air out of my tire and then followed us. “They were after your winnings,” he said. “But why Maria, and not me?” I asked. “Think about it,” he said, “She saw him, you didn’t. You were lucky.” “Lucky! I wish it was the other way around.” Tim called Thursday morning to relay the latest negative media coverage. It seemed as though he was acting as a conduit for the police. He was. My manager and I had lunch in Red Bank, New Jersey, and afterwards we launched the boat on the Navesink River. In the back seat of the car was my attaché case with my tape recorder and some blank tapes, pictures of Maria and the boys, envelopes, stamps and fifty sleeping capsules. It was my plan to take a room at the Molly Pitcher Hotel in Red Bank after we finished. I said my last good-bye to the man who, sixteen years earlier, recruited me into the insurance business and taught me nearly everything I knew. His close friendship and supervision were the main reasons for my success. The $6,000 he gave me for the boat was to be used to cover a check I had given Gene. I wanted to be sure it got to my bank the following day. That meant driving to the post office at the other end of town, away from the hotel. To this day, I do not know why, but after mailing the check, I changed my plan to go to the Molly Pitcher, where 84

Part One no one knew me, and headed south. As I drove, I considered alternatives. Nothing came to mind until I got close to the Lakewood exit on the Parkway and I thought of the Best Western, the motel where Beth and I had spent so many hours together. Somehow it seemed like the perfect place to spend my last hours alive. While I was registering, I asked the day manager if Room 16 was available — a request I often made, because the room had a king-size bed. I had gotten to know the manager over the past year, and she always accommodated me when she could. I knew I had a lot of ground to cover. My primary concern was to give my attorney and brother-in-law, Jeff Doughty, as many instructions as I could think of regarding my financial and legal affairs. I got to the room around 4:00 PM. It took over seven hours to complete the tapes to Jeff, and one for each of the boys and my secretary, Vikki. During the course of the evening, I called each of them to tell them how much I loved them, knowing these would be my last words. I spoke to my friends, Tim and Sam, and tried to get through to Beth. All I could do was leave a final message on her answering machine: “I loved you.” 20 What I went through that evening was the most grueling and draining experience of my life. I started recording the tape to Jeff, first. Not only was he my estate lawyer, several days earlier he had agreed to help Gene with my defense, if that became necessary. I told him about Beth, how it all started and had grown into a relationship that was going to tear my marriage apart. I told him about our debts and how Maria and I were working to eliminate them. I discussed what might have been the reason for her death, based on my phone call with Rich, and my belief that the police undoubtedly thought I was somehow involved. “When I think back on the circumstances of our last meeting with our marriage counselor, and now realize that Maria knew everything but wanted to start over; that she loved me and was willing to forget everything. . . I think of how incredible she was, how much she loved me and how foolish I was to walk away from her — I miss her so 85

Tunnel Vision much — and as each day goes by it gets worse and worse. “You must communicate to everyone my love for Maria, in spite of our problems, and that I wouldn’t hurt her. . . “I’m convinced that, because of the circumstances surrounding Maria’s death, I will be indicted and the inevitable will happen — a jury of men and women who do not know me will find me guilty — and I will be sentenced to death. Not only can I not bear going through that, but the embarrassment for my family would be far worse than anything else I can think of. . . I want a little dignity to remain, if possible.” I spent some time telling him how to take care of the sale of the office, our loans, and the $3,000 unpaid marker at Harrah’s, and the disposition of all the affairs concerning the boys and our estate. “. . . So what I will do, at 12:45 (which is approximately the time we pulled off the Parkway three weeks ago to look at a tire I thought was going flat), is join Maria. I hope God forgives me for doing this, as I will be praying right till the end. “I’m so sorry for letting everyone down and not seeing it through. I’m especially sorry for the boys. “As I sit here looking at their beautiful faces, with their wonderful smiles — and Maria — her beautiful — everything — the love shining through. Jeff, you gotta help the boys. Somehow, the love has to continue.” I sat there looking at the pictures of my sons, crying as I struggled through a tape to each of them. “Hi Roy. As I lie here looking at your dear face with your mother right next to you — I can only think how much I love you and the fact that I have loved you almost as long as I’ve loved Mom. “Roy, I hope that, someday, you’ll understand why I just could not go through this ordeal. You know that I wouldn’t hurt Mom, but there’s so much stuff that people will try to make it seem as though I would. So, I’m taking the shortcut, Buddy, to be with Mom, I hope. I know where she is and I will pray to God this evening that He lets me be with her. “I know that makes it awful tough on you, because you’re left to deal with everything. But I know how strong you are and I know you can do it. You’re the oldest and the biggest and I want you to be strong 86

Part One for everyone. Be a leader. Finish school — ‘kick ass,’ as Chip says. Whatever you do, do the best you can do. . . give it everything. “Please be strong and never forget how much I love you — I love you so much.” After taking a few minutes to regain my composure, I made the tape for Chip. “Hello, Chip. I’m lying here, looking at your beautiful face. You’re so handsome — you’re getting so tall, so big. I’ll never forget that time a few summers ago when something happened to you and you started swimming like a dart. I looked at you and it was like someone was pulling you through the water with a rope. It seemed you had found the secret. Mom and I were so proud of you. I love to see you in the water. “I’m so pleased that you’re doing well at Lehigh. You must go back and finish — get your degree in architecture — you’ll be one of the best around, buddy, I know you will. “Tell your girlfriend that I love her. If you two end up together, you’re going to have beautiful kids. Just raise them with the same kind of love Mom and I raised you guys with . . . “Chip, I’m sorry for breaking the promise I made to you — please try to understand and forgive me. I love you so very much. “Please stay close to your family, they need you as much as you need them. “I told Uncle Jeff to make sure you had plenty of spending money so you can come home whenever you want, and maybe even visit your girl from time to time. “God, I love you, Chip — please love me.” The tape to Jay was the most difficult. He was only thirteen — our beautiful baby. He loved to pose for my camera and always had a bright smile for me. One of my fondest memories of him was on Christmas Eve, 1982, when we gave him an electric guitar. He took it to the rec room to practice for a few minutes and returned to announce, with a twang of strings and a slight lisp, “I’m gonna be a thtar.” “Hello Jay, my sweet Jay. You are so loving and beautiful. I’m sitting here, looking at your picture in the frame with Roy and Chip, and 87

Tunnel Vision Mom, and I think of how wonderful you were in the past few weeks. You came to me and gave me your love whenever it looked as though I needed it — and I did. “You are so strong. You have to go on now and continue being strong. Look to your family; Roy and Chip will help. Uncle Jeff and Aunt Mary will be there for you too, Jay. They love you very much. “I want you to continue your music. Mom and I had a dream that someday you’d be on stage — keep playing, buddy. Write a song for Mom and me; OK? Be sure to give Grandmom and Granddad lots of support and love. . . “Always remember, Jay, that I love you so very much. I’m sorry about this. I hope you understand. You must know that I would never hurt Mom; it’s just that I’m not strong enough to deal with this anymore. “Please be strong for me, Jay. Please work hard and always love me, as I love you.” It took a few minutes for me to settle down before I could call him at home and Chip at school. I tried not to sound like they were my last words, but I don’t know if I succeeded. I went back to Jeff’s tape and added a few minor details, stopping several times to make calls. “I’ve spoken with each of the boys tonight. They’re not aware of the latest developments and I think it’s best that you fill them in on what I know up to this point. “The money I wired to Louisiana was sent to an investigator recommended by Billy Caller. He was supposed to be very good. The objective was to do this without anyone knowing — that was the reason for getting someone from out of town. He came up in June the first time and I saw him again at Harrah’s the night Maria was killed. I gave him some additional money: $800. I found out from Rich that he was ripping me off. “The police have indicted Billy Caller and this fellow Davies, whose real name is Billy something, and I’m convinced that one of those sealed indictments is for me. “I hate the thought of what I’m going to do, because of the boys. I know it’s going to hurt them terribly, so please help them. They don’t deserve this, just like Maria didn’t deserve what happened. But Jeff, I 88

Part One want to be with her, and I pray that God will allow that because I can’t go on like this. “I love you all, especially Roy, Chip and Jay. Please thank everyone that helped, especially Oakleigh. Pray for me, Jeff — and thanks for everything.” The tape ran forty minutes and took over five hours to record. I put the tapes to the boys in my attaché case on the dresser, with my wallet and a letter I had written to Maria’s parents. To these items I added a note which read, “Please contact my attorney, Jeff Doughty,” with his phone number. I sealed Jeff’s tape and the contract for the sale of the office in a stamped envelope addressed to Jeff Doughty, Esq., at his office address, and wrote on the back, “To be opened in the event of my death.” When I got to the motel lobby, I asked the night manager for the location of the mailbox; he pointed to the front of the counter. I dropped the letters through the slot on the box and started to leave. “Cheer up,” he called to me, “It can’t be all that bad.” I guess my face showed my anguish. “Right,” I said. If he only knew. I returned to the room and emptied the contents of the sleeping capsules into a glass of Coke, stirred the contents with my finger and tasted what I had mixed. It was not too bad; I knew I would be able to get it down with no trouble. The phone rang for the third time that evening, each time with an apology for the disturbance. This time I left the phone off the hook. It was around 11:30 PM; my work was done. I turned on the TV and sat back on the bed with a pillow behind my head. I would wait until 12:45 PM, the moment Maria died while I lay helpless on the ground next to the car. The last thing I remember was watching Johnny Carson. I woke up to find the room full of people; they told me they were from the Ocean County Prosecutor’s Office. When I asked how they got there, the reply was, “Good police work.” My untouched Coke was still on the nightstand next to the bed.

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Tunnel Vision 21 I was taken to the Point Pleasant Hospital, wheeled into the emergency room, and hooked up to a heart monitor. Roy arrived shortly, followed by Jay and Tim. I was so happy to see them and so happy to be alive; it was as though I’d had an epiphany: I must survive for my sons. Kate and her husband, Clem, arrived later, followed by Gene and a psychologist, Dr. Mark Adler. After telling the doctor everything that had happened over the past fourteen months, we agreed that I would spend a few days at the Philadelphia Psychiatric Hospital. At midnight, I said good-bye to my friend Tim, and Jay and Roy. I will always remember with fondness my 6’3” son wrapping his strong arms around me and picking me off the ground. “Pray for me, Roy,” I said, hugging him back. He kissed me and said, “It’s not enough to just pray, Dad, you’ve got to believe.” My first reaction when I arrived at the hospital the following day was to marvel at the size of the place. It sprawled over a full city block at 51st and Market St. The irony was that it was located directly behind the former home office of Provident Mutual where I began my professional career sixteen years earlier. Roy and his girlfriend came for a visit the next day. When he walked into my room, he handed me a triple frame with photos I had taken of Jay, Chip and himself. Taped to the frame was a slip of paper with three simple words that brought tears to my eyes. “Remember what’s important,” was written in large block letters. How could I have forgotten? He also brought some of my business files. If I was going to get my life back together, catching up on my work was the best way to begin. Roy would be my main link to home and my biggest supporter while I was there. Gene visited several times. He told me he was trying to keep my spirits up. It later occurred to me that what he was really doing was protecting his golden goose. Rich joined him on one of the visits and he filled me in on what he had learned in Louisiana. Most important was a four-page written

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Part One statement he had obtained from McInerney confirming the fact that I had hired him as an investigator. He also told us that Caller had been questioned for over four hours by investigators from the Ocean County Prosecutor’s Office, trying to get him to admit complicity. Gene continued to assure me that everything would be all right. Later, when he and Rich were talking together, and I was standing off to the side where they couldn’t see me, I heard Gene say, “This will be a good one for us.” At the time, I thought he was referring to the outcome; now I realize he was talking about their financial rewards. The days at the hospital were interlaced with visits to the psychiatrist, but I had a lot of time to myself. During those lonely hours, I realized my feeling for Beth had not waned. In an attempt at restoring the integrity of our relationship, I composed a letter explaining everything. I waited a few days and asked Oakleigh to call her at school. “Beth was cold as ice,” she told me. “You think he did it; don’t you?” she asked. “It doesn’t matter what I think; everyone else thinks he did.” That was my last attempt at contact. I later discovered that she gave my letter to the prosecutor. She also gave them another statement. We would not find out why, until four and a half years later. The situation at home was becoming more distressing each day. With Chip back at Lehigh, Roy was the only one available to keep an eye on Jay, and most of the time he was either working or with his girlfriend Lisa. Fortunately, Jay spent hours with his friends and his guitar, “jamming” in the basement recreation room at home. I stayed in touch with them as much as possible; however, being separated was difficult for all of us. I could sense the strain when we spoke. The bottom fell out when Tim called to tell me Roy was going to admit himself into a psychiatric hospital. Apparently, he was thinking of taking his own life. While I was on the phone with Tim, Lisa’s mother came to Tim’s door with Jay. What I heard next made me feel as though what was left of my world was crumbling around me. “Jay took sleeping pills,” he said. I could hear the confusion in the background. Finally, Tim said, “He took ten or twelve children’s

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Tunnel Vision strength Libreium tablets, but he says he spit out most of them.” That was it. I was going home. Nothing else mattered but being with my boys. I packed my things and headed for Toms River. Jay was sleeping on the couch when I arrived at Tim’s home. He looked so helpless and beautiful; if anything ever happened to him, I truly would go crazy. Tim told me that, after talking with Jay, he felt he was simply looking for attention. It was a signal to me; he wanted me there with him. I walked into the living room and sat on the floor next to him. As I lay my head on the couch, he opened his eyes and smiled. “Hi, Dad.” “Hi, Jay. I’m home to stay.” “I love you,” he said. “I love you too, Honey.” He wrapped his arms around me and we fell asleep there, together. Roy checked himself out of the hospital the next morning and came home. I believe they both felt better knowing I would be there with them. I never should have left. Over the next few weeks, I tried to work and get myself back on track. I wanted to prepare a nice dinner each night the way Maria had done, but my abilities were limited. It was clear I needed help. The wisdom of the estate plan we had worked out was sound; all that was missing was the capital. The insurance companies would not pay the claims as long as I was considered a suspect. Friends continued to help now and then, but so much was missing without Maria. The first weekend of October was Parent’s Weekend at Lehigh. Maria and I had made reservations and had been looking forward to being there with Chip. Instead, Roy, Jay and I went up for the football game on Saturday and the family dinner that evening. It was the first time we had all been together since Maria’s memorial mass. The four of us sat at a table for five and immediately felt an emptiness. I could see the pain as I looked at my handsome sons, each reflecting his mother’s beauty in a different way, each dealing with the pain in his own private way. I went to several of Chip’s swim meets in the weeks that followed and we were able to spend time together afterwards. But much as we tried, we could not fill the giant void in our lives. Over the next several weeks, I answered the hundreds of sympa-

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Part One thy cards we received. Even President Reagan sent a note. Most memorable was the one I received from Paula, a dealer at Harrah’s. We didn’t know her personally, but she always gave us a pretty smile and hello when we were there. McInerney and the real Jerry Davies were indicted and arrested on October 17th, 1984. It was all very confusing; if McInerney was AKA Jerry Davies, who was the other Davies, and what was his involvement in all this? When I met with Gene and Rich, I found out Davies was a friend McInerney had used to pick up the money orders I wired to Shreveport. After our meetings in Philadelphia, Rich would bring me to Élan, a dinner club at the Warwick Hotel, where we would unwind over drinks. On one occasion, I met a 33-year-old divorcee named Sally, with whom I spent the evening sharing conversation and a few games of backgammon at the club. It was the first time I had spoken with a woman, other than my sisters, since I walked out of Beth’s apartment. I saw her several times before she moved to Florida in November. She became a friend and provided companionship during a very lonely time in my life. She was staying with a friend near Clearwater until she found work; the only problem was, she had no way to get around, and no money. I must be the biggest “touch” on the East Coast. Before I knew what was happening, I had offered to send her $1,000 to buy a used car. I had won more than that when we went to the Golden Nugget together, so I found it impossible not to help her. The next day, my clients and friends Ralph and Helen Smith called from Clearwater, Florida to offer their support and invited me down for the weekend. It seemed like just what I needed. I made arrangements with our old babysitter to stay with Jay and flew down with the money for the car for Sally. We then joined Ralph and Helen and their son, Shannon, for the weekend. Had I realized how much he and Jay had in common, I would have brought him with me. We spent the next day cruising the Intracoastal Waterway on a friend’s 30-foot trawler. It was my best day in over two months. I promised the Smiths that I would be back down with the boys after Christmas and hoped we could spend some time together. We never made it.

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My office building was sold on December 1. Roy and several of his friends helped me move everything to Vikki’s home, where we set up what was supposed to be a temporary office on her front porch. Oakleigh and I celebrated our birthdays by having dinner at The Meadows. We sat near the table where Maria and I had our last meal together. Shortly after being seated, I felt a wave of nausea come over me. As I stood up to get some air, I passed out in front of the table. I woke up with Oakleigh and the maitre d’ leaning over me. They offered to take me to the hospital, but I insisted I was fine and returned to the table. It was a very difficult evening. On the 16th, Roy and some of his friends had a small birthday party for me at the house. Oakleigh was there to keep me company and we celebrated her birthday, as well, but I felt terribly alone. The media was having a field day, running stories on the case nearly every day. It affected all of us. Roy punched out the windshield of his car in a fit of anger after getting a prank phone call. It was probably the same screwball woman who had called and harassed me a number of times several weeks earlier. Chip took out his frustrations in the pool at Lehigh, and was already setting records. Jay was becoming very accomplished on his guitar and spent hours practicing. It seemed everyone had an outlet, but me. I woke up to an empty house on a rainy and dismal December 19th. Jay had already left for school; Roy was staying with friends. I felt emptiness inside me as I arranged the Christmas gifts I had purchased for the boys and my family under the tree in the living room. This would be the first Christmas without Maria since I was seventeen years old. I had one final purchase to make for Jay. As I drove away from the house, I noticed two cars parked on the street adjacent to ours. As I passed them, they followed. Surveillance? I wondered. As I was returning to the house with the gift, one of the cars came abreast of mine and the occupant placed a flashing red light on his dashboard and signaled for me to pull over. The moment I feared had finally come. Gene had told the prosecutor I would surrender voluntarily, if they were going to arrest me. They didn’t have to do it this way. 94

Part One A state police cruiser pulled up behind the other car and a trooper walked up to my door and said, “Step out of the car, Mr. Marshall. You’re under arrest for the murder of Maria Marshall.” I was handcuffed and taken to the Ocean County Court House, less than a mile away. It seemed like the longest ride of my life. At the courthouse, a building I had been in only to meet prospective clients, I was taken to a small room where they unlocked one of the cuffs and relocked it around the leg of the chair I was sitting on. The police sat out of sight and made jokes about lethal injection, the method of execution in New Jersey. As I became aware of my surroundings, I noticed the room had three doors; one was open. I also realized that the chair I sat on had straight legs and I could slide the cuff down the leg, lift the chair and remove it, which I did. It would have been easy to slip out one of the doors and walk away. It occurred to me that that was just what they wanted me to do. Wouldn’t it look great at the trial, telling the jury that I made an escape attempt? I sat there for nearly an hour and did nothing. Finally, one of the officers came in and locked the empty cuff on a doorknob. Some time later, I was fingerprinted and photographed and taken to the jail, where I was strip-searched and given a green jumpsuit and rubber shower shoes. I called home, to find that everyone knew what had happened: it had already been on the news. I asked Roy to bring my glasses and a book to read when he came for my clothing. Gene had called and said he would be in to see me the following day. The ordeal had begun. 22 Prison The Ocean County Jail was built in the early 1960s and was designed to accommodate 120 men. When I arrived, there were over 200, many sleeping on the floor without mattresses. I was taken to cell Number One on the first floor, a 6 x 10-foot en95

Tunnel Vision closure with a built-in shower stall. The front wall consisted of tempered steel bars with a small opening to accommodate food trays. The standard stainless-steel toilet/sink was mounted on the back wall next to the bunk. The mirror bolted to the wall above the sink was so badly scratched I could not see myself, which, in retrospect, may have been a blessing. A single fluorescent light flickered its last hours of life over the bed. As I lay there, I became aware of the sounds of the jail. I was next to an iron-bar door that was unlocked electronically from the control booth down the hall. Each time they hit the switch to open the door, it sounded like a gunshot. WHAM! The yelling, screaming, swearing and loud TVs became a competing cacophony that bounced off the glazed brick walls with endless monotony. They told me it got quiet around midnight. A suicide watch was posted in front of my cell, but in spite of the horror, I had no such thoughts anymore. I was totally committed to my sons. The only phone available was on the wall near the control booth. After the evening meal, I was allowed out to call home. Tim was there with the boys. He assured me that everything was under control. “Everyone is behind you,” he said. “Oakleigh will be here tomorrow and will stay until Maria’s parents can get here.” “Thanks for all your help, Tim,” I said. “There’s a present for you and Sue under the tree. I hope you have a great time.” I had arranged for them to spend a nice weekend at the Adams Mark Hotel in Philadelphia. “Just hang in there,” he said. “It’s all going to work out.” However, the social stigma of remaining a friend must have been too great, because I never saw or spoke to him again. Roy dropped off sheets, underwear and a book that Ralph Smith had given me when I was in Florida. I read until I fell asleep. The following day, I was led past a gallery of photographers into the courtroom for the bail hearing. Roy and Chip were there with a friend. How I hated for them to see me like that. I sat with Rich while Gene went through the motions. Bail was set at $2 million! Within five minutes, I was on my way back to my cell. I met with Gene and Rich later and learned there would be a bail reduction hearing on Monday. “Start getting your finances together for bail,” Gene said. “Hopefully, I’ll be able to convince the judge to allow 10%.” 96

Part One “What does that mean?” I asked. “If he sets bail at $500,000, for example, you would be required to put up $50,000.” “I haven’t got that kind of cash,” I said. “Well, you better have Oakleigh start calling your friends. I’m also going to need $20,000 as a retainer.” “What about the $15,000 I gave you?” “That was a pre-indictment fee.” Roy and Oakleigh came to visit the next day. I was taken to a cage with a 6 x 12” window framed in a steel wall separating me from the visiting area. We spoke through phones wired to the wall. I had difficulty controlling my feelings. I wanted so much to hug them, to feel the comforting warmth of their bodies. I shook with taut emotion. When I returned to court on Monday, December 24, the boys were there with my insurance agency manager and another colleague, who would speak as character witnesses, if necessary. Cameras clicked incessantly. They must have taken dozens of pictures and invariably used the least flattering shot. One of the assistant prosecutors, Keith Farrell, presented evidence on the tire and Maria’s insurance, then introduced a 25-page statement by McInerney. Gene requested time to read it and the judge granted a short recess. Farrell was a former client I had been referred to several years earlier. I had taken him to lunch and ended up establishing an IRA investment account for him. When Gene returned he whispered, “McInerney gave them a statement saying you hired him to kill Maria. He made a deal!” I was stunned. I could only sit there while Gene requested the statement be sealed. The final blow came when the judge revoked bail and Farrell said the State would seek the death penalty. I saw Gene and Rich after the hearing. “McInerney is lying,” Rich said. “His statement contradicts everything he told me when I was in Louisiana.” “He’s a scumbag,” Gene said. “He fingered some guy named Larry Thomas as the shooter. That was the only way they would make a deal with him.” 97

Tunnel Vision “This guy is slick,” Rich said. “All those years as a deputy sheriff are paying off. He used you to buy his freedom.” “That’s not all,” Gene said. “He got them to let him enter the witness protection program.” I was numb. “Rich, I’m going to want you to go back down there as soon as possible and find out what you can about this guy, Larry Thomas. If my hunch is right, he was set up just like Rob.” He looked at me and said, “Don’t worry, I won’t have any trouble discrediting him.” “How soon will we go to trial?” I asked. “Probably six to eight months,” Gene said, “but that may be optimistic.” I groaned. “How are you doing with your finances? I can’t stay with this case without that retainer. Rich is also going to need money to go back to Shreveport.” That evening, one of the guards told me there was a vagrant in the jail who was so broke that he could not come up with $37 for bail. It was Christmas Eve. I called home and asked Roy to bring the bail money down for him. WHAM! In spite of the noise, I managed to sleep much of the day, with the help of cotton earplugs. When I was awake, my main goal was to get to the phone. Contact with my family was all I had left. Opening the letters I received almost daily was like finding buried treasure. The day began at 5:00 AM when a guard opened the “trustee” cell for the kitchen workers. Within a few minutes, they shuffled past my cell in dirty white pants and T-shirts, waving a sleepy good morning, looking like zombies from a grade-B horror movie. An hour later, a guard handed each prisoner a spoon, followed shortly by a trustee rolling a cart full of breakfast trays. Razors and a plastic mirror were passed around after breakfast, to be returned within ten minutes. Court proceedings started at 9:00 AM. Prisoners were taken to court in their green jumpsuits and returned to their cells later in the day. This routine continued until 4:00 PM, with an hour break for lunch. The trustees, who also cleaned the wing, brought all the meals. Each 98

Part One month of work gave them eleven days’ credit to reduce their sentences and earned them a dollar a day for their commissary account. Non-ranking guards were called brown-shirts and were, for the most part, friendly. Two white-shirted sergeants and one lieutenant were on duty each shift, but generally stayed off the floor unless needed. At the end of the wing were two dormitory units, one for the trustees, and the other for 25 prisoners. Each had a day room with tables and a phone. There were additional one- and two-man cells adjacent to the dorms; all had men sleeping on the floor. The man McInerney had named as the shooter was being held in a single cell on the second floor. The suicide watch was lifted after two weeks and a 64-year-old Russian immigrant named Andrew Masharov moved in with me. He slept on a mattress on the floor. When I asked him why he was there, he said, “I get six months for drunk driving. Second offence.” I struggled to understand his thick accent. “I give car to daughter for Christmas,” he said. “Too expensive anyway. When I get out, I find woman who has car. “I get $30 a day retirement. Cost me nothing to stay here. Good deal, no?” I received a wonderful and inspiring letter from my brother later that day. He had gone through his own difficult times and encouraged me to look to the Lord for strength. That evening I joined the Bible study group, where I met Reverend Jim McColl. I had been introduced to Jim several years earlier, and spoke to him after the meeting. He returned every week for a personal visit. His counseling and prayers helped get me through those very difficult days. On January 10, the front page of the Asbury Park Press read, “Marshall Indicted.” The clock was now running. In theory, a trial is supposed to begin within 180 days of indictment. That was a joke in New Jersey, where most men waited over a year to get to court (some, over two). Gene and Rich visited later that day. We reviewed the case, making guesses as to what the prosecutor’s approach would be. “We’ll have full discovery next week,” Gene said. “There will be no guessing then.” 99

Tunnel Vision “What’s ‘discovery’?” I asked. “The rules of the court require that the State furnish us with every bit of evidence and information they’ve collected. We do the same for them. It lets each side prepare for the trial and eliminates surprises.” “I’m sorry for asking what must seem like obvious questions,” I said, “but this is the first time I’ve had any dealings with the law.” “That’s OK,” Gene said. “I want you to ask questions; you’re part of the defense team.” “The State will spend hundreds of thousands of dollars by the time this case is finished,” Rich said. “They will spare no expense to convict you.” “He’s right,” Gene said. “We have to neutralize and try to negate what their expert witnesses say, with experts of our own. All of this is going to cost money. I’m going to need $75,000 by Thursday.” “Well, I waived my rights to Maria’s insurance policies; why haven’t any of them paid the proceeds to the boys? They want to help any way possible.” “I don’t know,” Gene said. It would be several years before we learned why the some of the insurance companies dragged their feet. “I have a question that’s been on my mind,” I said. “There are other death penalty cases in here with only $100,000 or $200,000 bail. Why was mine revoked?” “They don’t want you to be able to help in your defense,” Rich said. After they left, I got back on the phone trying to get my finances together. I had to rely on Oakleigh for everything. There was virtually nothing I could do from jail. Eventually, I was able to get myself moved to a three-man cell, where it was a little quieter. Unfortunately, I was the fourth man; I got the mattress on the floor. The cell faced a corridor on an outside wall with several broken windows that allowed the cold wind to whistle into the cells. This cell had a small steel table with bench seats and a stall shower built into the corner next to the toilet/ sink. The walls were decorated with biker pictures and pin-ups. There was a clothesline, torn from a sheet, strung up along one wall, with towels and underwear hung up to dry. Books and games were piled under each bunk. This would be my home for the next ten months. One of my new cellmates was Henry, a 27 year old who, along

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Part One with his co-defendant, was facing the death penalty for the murder and mutilation of a friend. His bail was set at $200,000, but his family could not raise even 10% for a bond. Rich, a 22-year-old kid, was waiting to be sentenced on a fourth degree robbery — a theft of $30.00. Dennis was 19 and had graduated from high school with Chip. He was there because he and a buddy got drunk and set fire to a local police station. He was waiting for a bail reduction hearing. At night, the temperature dropped so low that we had to tie extra blankets along the bottom of the bars in an effort to keep the cold air from blowing into the cell. I finally loaned Dennis $150 to make bail. He never repaid me, but it was worth it to get his bed. Near the end of January, Rich went back to Louisiana and called Oakleigh to say he had good news to report when he got back. He had learned that Larry Thomas had taken his son to the dentist during the time McInerney said they were in New Jersey. Rich interviewed the dentist’s receptionist, who gave him the receipt book showing Larry himself paid for the visit and was given the receipt. He also spoke to a number of other people who would testify that Larry was in Louisiana on September 6, 1984. Oakleigh continued to be my link to the outside world. We corresponded often and her letters were like rays of sunshine on a dark day. I did not know until later that she saved my letters. The one I wrote her on January 28th describes my mood better than I can remember now. Dearest Oakleigh, Thanks for the beautiful card. I don’t know anyone who can express their feelings the way you do. I thank God everyday for you; the way things fell into place with you being able to stay here with Jay. . . I really love you and appreciate everything you’re doing for the boys and me. Try to enjoy yourself as much as possible when you’re here; everything I have is yours. By the way, I want you and Mary and Kate to take some of Maria’s things. As I told you several months ago, I don’t want them to end up going to strangers. I know Maria would want it that way. I pray for the strength to get through this; there is only prayer left. That’s all I have, that and you. All my love, Rob 101

Tunnel Vision Oakleigh comments: I struggled each week to make ends meet. Rob’s renewal commissions continued, but the First National Bank had placed a $1,600 monthly lien against them to secure an unpaid banknote. My plea for financial help from Rob’s friends was rebuffed. The only show of support was from John and Patty Dutch, the friends that Rob and Maria had visited on the Labor Day weekend before Maria’s death. They sent $500. Their ten-year-old daughter Roberta sent $10. I spoke to Rob every day and he guided me as much as possible, but I was alone. I went to the court-appointed estate administrator, Edwin O’Rourke, and poured out my heart. We had learned that Maria had hidden nearly $10,000 in her safe deposit box. That money could have gone a long way to pay for food and other expenses at the house. I got nowhere with him. Only later, we learned that he was Maria’s marital lawyer and that it was he who had recommended an investigator for her. He never bothered to advise me of the potential conflict of interest. We also learned he was a direct conduit to the prosecutor, and I had confided in him matters concerning Rob’s case. I tried to visit Rob as often as possible. Normal visits were limited to fifteen minutes, but on one particular evening when I brought Jay, there was no one else in the visiting room and they let us stay longer. Rob had two phones, one at each ear, and we were able to talk to him together. We talked about Maria and how much she loved her family, and how we all missed her. As Jay stood there listening, I saw a tear stream down his cheek. Then Rob started, and within a few minutes, we were all crying together. I was glad I could be there to help, but the boys needed their father. In February, I granted an interview to a reporter from The Observer, a local newspaper. On the 22nd, the front page headlines read, “Marshall Defense Fund Gets $20,000.” We did not reveal it then, but the contribution came from Maria’s father. He was supportive of Rob and a tremendous help. Gene was contacted by author Joe McGinnis, who expressed an interest in writing about Rob’s case. During his interview with me at the house, I heard the tape machine in his attaché case click off

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Part One while we were talking. He had promised me he would not tape the interview. After he left, I wrote to Jeff MacDonald to ask about McGinnis. Jeff was the Green Beret doctor who was the subject of McGinnis’s previous book, Fatal Vision. Jeff sent an envelope full of legal material supporting his breach of contract lawsuit against McGinnis. He warned us to stay away from him. Unfortunately, I had given him some of Rob’s diary notes to look over, with the understanding that he return them to me. When his book was published, I recognized some of Rob’s writing; it could only have come from the diary.

23 Vikki remained on Provident Mutual’s payroll, so I was able to continue serving my clients through correspondence and calls to her. Provident continued my expense allowance, so I was able to pay her a modest office rent for the use of her porch as an office, and the leases on the boys’ cars continued to be paid. As long as my clients kept paying their premiums, I would continue to receive conservative renewal commissions. They were the only source of income for Oakleigh and the boys. Gene threatened to quit unless we came up with more money. Fortunately, Maria’s father loaned us additional funds. We thought Gene would use some of it to hire a tire expert. We found out later that he kept everything for himself. Early in March, the Asbury Park Press filed a suit to have the McInerney statement unsealed, claiming First Amendment rights and the public’s right to know. In reality, what they wanted was the “right to tell.” I couldn’t see why the public had to know anything, just now. It would prejudice potential jurors and make it difficult to get a fair trial. Before the suit got to court, someone from Louisiana leaked a portion of the statement to the Philadelphia Inquirer and that started another avalanche of negative media coverage. Gene’s motion for a speedy trial fell on deaf ears. The State was in no hurry; and the longer the wait, the greater the strain on me and my family.

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The weather finally warmed a bit and my cellmates and I were able to remove the thermal underwear we had been living in to stay warm. April brought me a change of venue to Atlantic County. The trial would be in Mays Landing, in the court of Judge Michael Green. Gene said he would have preferred a northern county but had no control over the matter. The objective was to transfer the case to a location where the media coverage was not as intense; but as it turned out, the Atlantic County Press was covering the case as much, if not more, than Ocean County because of the tie-in to Harrah’s Casino. Jay continued with the guitar lessons I had started for him after Maria’s death. It turned out to be the best thing I could have done. He practiced constantly and was able to focus on something besides the obvious void in his life. Near the end of May, his school had a talent show. He and his group were scheduled as “Headliners.” I wrote him the following letter on the 31st: Dearest Jay, I’m so proud of you. I wish I could be there for your performance. I know you’ll be a big hit. Can I have your autograph? You should have a name for your group. How about “J.J. and the Rockets.” [“The Rockets” was his school nickname.] Keep up the good work at school. Remember, academics first. Please keep the lawn looking nice. Help your aunt as much as you can. And BRUSH YOUR TEETH! I love you and miss you terribly. I need a hug from you. All my love, Dad

After a phone call to Maria’s father in June, I wrote the following letter to Oakleigh. Dearest Oak, Doc told me that his sister-in-law, Lea Krupp, received an anonymous call from someone in the prosecutor’s office. Whoever called told her that Maria’s father was supporting his daughter’s killer and that he should stay out of Toms River. He was steamed. They also told her that Beth had a private meeting with

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Part One the prosecutor. I wonder what that was about? This is all the more interesting, since Lea’s phone is unlisted. I talked to Gene about this. He told me it was not uncommon for the prosecutor to try to undermine the defense. He also told me he didn’t want me to fill out the questionnaire from the newspaper. I was looking forward to the opportunity to eliminate some of the negative speculation that has permeated the media. It’s so frustrating not to be able to respond. He told me the pre-trial hearing is scheduled for September. Hopefully, the trial will be held shortly after. That would mean I could be home by Christmas. Wouldn’t that be great! I spoke to the boys right after Jay’s concert. They told me he was a big hit. The school videotaped the whole thing, so I’ll be able to see it someday. I’m sitting here in this cell, thinking about what I had. About Maria and how good that was. I miss that love, and I miss loving her. I think about how I was hurting her emotionally. In spite of everything, she hung in there and continued to love me all the more, while trying to keep us together. WHY? Would it have been so terrible to face reality? Wouldn’t she have been better off with someone else? I think she was terribly afraid of finding herself alone after twenty years of marriage. I just didn’t want the conflict anymore. I wanted the peace I thought I found with Beth. I wish I could have found it with Maria; I truly loved her. I don’t think I will ever find anyone like her. She would have made a great grandmom. Why did everyone turn against me? Is the press coverage that convincing? If only we could show what really happened. I guess we’ll have to wait for the trial to do that. That’s what Gene keeps telling me. But you know, I don’t think many people want to accept the possibility that I am innocent. Why? Is it because I destroyed the “perfect couple” image people had of us? Or is it human nature — people taking delight in seeing the successful fail and fall? I hope we can sort it all out somehow. I love you and the boys. I miss you all terribly. All my love, Rob

Meanwhile, Henry lost his trial and received life, with a minimum sentence of 30 years. He was replaced in the cell by Don, a 31-year-old man with an exceptional I.Q., and an ego to match. He had been arrested for running an illegal pyramid club. Working pro se, he managed 105

Tunnel Vision to arrange a plea bargain for “time served” and would be going home in September. While he was there, we talked the warden into installing a phone in our section. We could now make calls from 8:00 AM to 11:30 PM. It was like manna from heaven. What I did not realize until later was that this gave the prosecutor just that much more opportunity to monitor my calls. Gene was going to ask Judge Green for a bail reduction. In anticipation of the hearing, Maria’s father wrote the following.

7-11-85 Honorable Michael Green Court House Mays Landing, NJ 08330 Dear Judge Green: I am writing you on behalf of my son-in-law, Robert O. Marshall, who has been held without bail in the Ocean County Jail since December 19, 1984. I beseech you to grant him reasonable bail for the sake of my grandsons, who have experienced a life-lasting trauma. I deeply appreciate how they feel, as I had a similar loss when my mother and younger brother were killed in an airplane accident in 1921. I never completely recovered from this tragedy, and now I suffer another heartbreak with the loss of our only child, Maria. The boys desperately need guidance, understanding, moral support and most importantly, paternal love. I sincerely hope and pray you can find it in your heart to be merciful and understanding and grant Rob Marshall bail within his means. Thank you kindly for the consideration you may give this request. Respectfully yours, Vincent J. Puszynski, M.D.

Despite Doc’s impassioned letter, and others from my sisters, Judge Green denied bail on July 17. However, he dismissed the indictment of Billy Caller for lack of substance. Larry Thomas and I were to

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Part One be tried together. Shortly after the hearing, I received the following letter from my father-in-law. Dear Rob, I was surprised and disappointed to learn of the snags in the estate settlement. That complicates matters and places added anxiety on the whole financial situation. We had a visit from our Drexel Hill “pals” (Paul and Lea Krupp), which wasn’t entirely unexpected after the articles in the newspapers. Lea has been in close contact with a female reporter from The Philadelphia Inquirer, and even had her out to lunch. She has been on your case from the start and has been to see us several months ago, offering to keep us informed on the latest developments, but all the while she had her pen and pad ready to jot down some tidbit we might supply. The reporter was at the bail reduction hearing the other day and gave Lea the details, down to the fact that Chip was there with Meg. She also advised us we should not attend the trial, as we would be hounded by reporters, and further advised that I should retain a lawyer as we might be required to appear as some kind of witness, threatened to be torn apart by the prosecutor. I’ve never had to hire a lawyer and I don’t intend to start at this stage of my life. Rich told me of the possible multi-million dollar suit against Ocean County and said that was one reason why the prosecutor is so desperate to win. I would be surprised if Caller didn’t start his suit immediately. The New Jersey News reported that the prosecutor had a setback because of the dismissal of his indictment. Well, the hour is late and my eyes are giving out, which means closing time. I hope and pray that the confidence in your defense is merited. Love and Prayers, Dad

Near the end of the month, Rich told me that Gene was going to try to have the indictment against me dismissed at the pre-trial hearing in September. We had learned that the tape I mailed from the Best Western to my co-counsel, Jeff Doughty, had been seized by the investigators from the prosecutor’s office: a violation of attorney-client privi107

Tunnel Vision lege, as well as seizure from a mail receptacle, without a warrant. I had mixed emotions. If I were released on a technicality, there would always be a cloud over my head. Rich said, “You can’t lose a case that doesn’t go to trial.” He was right. I would take my freedom any way I could get it. Let my detractors spend time behind bars and see how quickly they jump at any chance for freedom. My family and I knew I was innocent and that was all that mattered. Just before leaving for the hearing, I had an opportunity to talk to McInerney’s lawyer from the Public Defender’s office, Larry Ravitz. He was going to testify for me on a procedural matter concerning the seizure of the tape from the Best Western. During our conversation he said, “Don’t worry, Rob; I know McInerney is lying to save his ass.” “I know he is,” I said. “Now all we have to do is convince the jury.” “Leave that to your lawyer,” he said. On the first day of the hearing, I was brought to court in my jumpsuit and shower shoes. Gene had to obtain an order from the judge directing that I be allowed to dress in a suit for the following days of the hearing. “It’s just another attempt to embarrass you,” he said. As I sat in the courtroom listening to the proceedings, Investigator Morgan, from the prosecutor’s office, took the stand. He exhibited an open tray and testified that that was the mail receptacle in use at the Best Western when I mailed the tapes to Jeff Doughty and Vikki. I leaned close to Glen and said, “That’s not the mail box that was there when I mailed those letters.” He looked at me and said, “Are you sure?” “I’m positive. I mailed those letters in a closed box. Oakleigh told me she and Rich went to the motel to interview the day manager and she showed them the mailbox. Rich took photos.” Morgan testified that he saw the message on the back of the envelope, “To be opened in the event of my death,” and was concerned for my well being, so he took the envelope. “The state is introducing the open tray to justify seizing your letter to Jeff Doughty,” Gene said. “Anything in ‘plain view’ may be legally seized.” To our dismay, the day manager also testified that she thought the tray was the mail receptacle in use when I mailed the letter, a direct 108

Part One contradiction of what she had told Rich. We had the night manager and the US mailman take the stand; both testified that the tray had never been in the lobby. Rich also testified as to his interview with the day manager, and introduced the photographs. We felt sure the judge would suppress the tape; clearly it was an illegal seizure of attorney-client mail from a US Mail depository. If we were successful, Gene planned to ask the judge to invoke the “Fruit of the Poisonous Tree” doctrine. The law states that anything that is derived from tainted evidence is also to be considered tainted, and is disqualified. He would request that McInerney be disqualified because the tape had been played for him before he made his statement to the prosecutor. By letting McInerney read the entire discovery file after they played the tape for him, they enabled him to piece together a scenario that matched perfectly with what they had. The following day Larry’s lawyer, Frank Hartman, submitted a list of witnesses who would testify that Larry was in Louisiana on September 6. He was hoping the list would be enough to convince the judge to either dismiss his indictment or at least grant bail. However, Farrell requested time to interview the witnesses. Wendy had driven up for the hearing, hoping she would be able to go home with Larry. Oakleigh, Jay, and Helen Smith were also there. Each wore a yellow rose I had arranged to send them. Paul and Lea Krupp sat silently at the back of the courtroom. On Wednesday, the 16th, Green ruled against us on all the motions. We couldn’t believe it. Gene could only shake his head and say, “He was afraid if he ruled in our favor, the State’s case would fall apart. You have to remember something, most judges were once prosecutors.” The final blow came when the trial date was set for January 14, 1986. So much for being home for Christmas. Gene tried to console me. “Look,” he said. “It’s going to be clear to the jury that McInerney is a lying scumbag. Once we present Larry’s witnesses, it will be obvious he lied to save himself. I plan to ask the judge to instruct the jury on the ‘False in one, false in all’ principle. In other words, if it’s obvious he lied about Larry, then they may assume he lied about you.” I was disappointed, but hopeful.

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Tunnel Vision 24 McGinnis was trying to worm his way into the boys’ lives any way he could. His mere presence was causing an upheaval within our family. He already had a contract with a publisher but found that he had no source of information other than what he could glean from the authorities or the press. Oakleigh spoke to each of the boys and sent Chip most of the material she had received from Jeff MacDonald. She received the following letter from Chip, dated September 29. Dear “Loved Ones,” I am in such a state of mind right now that I’m about an inch away from throwing my life down the drain. It’s impossible for anyone to understand how confused I am. First off: I am not trying to “blow off” my father or “make things worse.” He is the only semblance (besides my brothers) of family I (we) once had. I am simply stating the facts that I have been feeling for the past year. Roy, Jay and I, and every single person who knows about this case, do not know what really happened on the night of September 6. Only my father. And since he says he is innocent, I have to be behind him as a faithful son. But truly, I pray to God it’s the way my father says, for if it wasn’t, I would probably die at the knowledge. I don’t want the entire thing thrown out because there was a question about whether a letter was mailed in a box or a tray. Think about it; the murder of my mother left unanswered because the mailbox was enclosed. BULLSHIT! I don’t think I could ever live in our home again without finding out what really happened. Back to the McGinnis thing. Who are you to tell me who I can or can’t be friends with. I’ve talked to him a few times, plus he visited here last Saturday, so I don’t understand why everybody is coming down on me for talking to him. I am by no means stabbing anyone in the back! On the topic of MacDonald’s legal papers; I read every one of them and then I asked Joe McGinnis about them. He explained the entire thing to me, and I believe him. Who am I supposed to believe, a convicted murderer or a supposedly decent, honest man? For that is what I consider him. I must go with what I believe and feel. I consider myself a very good judge of character and an intelligent adult, not an adolescent who needs a scolding when they do or say some-

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Part One thing wrong. So maybe all of you can get off this thing of making me out as the bad guy, because I’m only trying to do my very best. I must apologize for my lack of phone calls, letters and visits, but you must realize that I have absolutely no time to myself anymore and find it very difficult to sit down and write this letter at 1:00 AM, with tears in my eyes. Jay, I love you more than you know, I really do. Remember that. Aunt Oakleigh, believe it or not, I love you too. We’ve had our differences and spats, but I love you. I know if it weren’t for you, we wouldn’t have a place to come home to. I’m sorry for any pain I’ve caused, but I want to be honest with you, my brothers, my father, and most of all, myself. And Dad, what more can I say but: I love you, and I love Mom. I just want to know what really happened. I Love You All, Chip

When I received my copy of the letter from Oakleigh, I read it and cried. I could literally feel the pain in his words. I understood. I would have preferred unquestioning loyalty, but I realized McGinnis was subtly undermining him. His naivety in regard to the legal system, and life, gave him a limited perspective on why his father had been charged with the murder of the person most dear to him. I would love to have been able to explain the reasons I was going to leave Maria. But how do you tell a son about the most intimate part of your life? About my lust and love for another woman? If I had been free, I would have tried, but not under those circumstances. Maria and I had what appeared to be the ideal relationship. I knew he could not understand why I would want to leave the “perfect woman” for someone like Beth. Someday, I hope my sons realize their father was only human, a man who made a mistake in not trying harder to work through the problems with his wife. At the time, I thought I had done as much as possible. It seemed easier to start over with someone else, someone who accepted me for myself. Ready access to a phone gave me the opportunity to talk with my family and friends on almost an unlimited basis. Helen Smith had sepa111

Tunnel Vision rated from her husband and we grew close through our phone calls and letters during those lonely days before the trial. We even talked about a future together, with Shannon and Jay. She was living in Florida and had plans to come up for a visit over Christmas. She asked if I could arrange for a contact visit instead of the normal window visit. That would mean I could get a hug and sit face to face without a window between us. Normally, contact visits were only given to prisoners who had been sentenced, and then only to family members. However, I had seen exceptions to the rule. I wrote to the warden and asked for a contact visit for my “future wife,” hoping that would qualify under the rule. The request was denied, and worse — it turned out to become a “coffin nail” at the trial. During one of my phone conversations with Helen, she made a point that struck a nerve. She said, “Don’t you realize that most people were more upset at your choice of Beth than the fact that you were having an affair? How long do you think she would have remained faithful to you?” Why is it that women can see these things so clearly and men cannot? Early in November, one of the insurance companies agreed to pay the proceeds of Maria’s policy to the boys. Unfortunately, it took several months before payment was made. Meanwhile, Gene quickly stepped forward with a revised contract. His base fee would now be $150,000, double what we had originally agreed on. Oakleigh was spending more time with her own family now; the strain was beginning to show. One of Jay’s friends offered to let him stay with his family, anticipating that our ordeal would be over in a few months. Later in the month, the new $22 million Ocean County Jail facility was opened and we moved into one-man cells with steel doors, and tempered glass replacing the bars. Even the visiting booth had a large glass partition. On Christmas Eve, Maria’s father came in for a visit with the boys. Because of the holiday, we had only fifteen minutes between us. It was the most difficult visit I can remember. When Jay came into the booth, he put his hands and chin on the counter and looked at me through the glass, neither of us saying anything. When I saw the first tear form and 112

Part One fall slowly down his sweet face, I lost it. The two of us just sat there and cried together. He finally said, “When’s this going to be over, Dad?” All I could say was, “Soon, Honey.” As each took their turn, I could see the emotion on their faces. They were trying to keep my spirits up, but I knew they were miserable at being separated on what should have been one of the happiest days of the year. Gene visited before he went on his vacation. He asked that I put together a list of people who would testify as character witnesses. With one exception, everyone I asked willingly agreed to help. Rich went back to Louisiana to reconfirm Larry’s witnesses and learned that two detectives from the prosecutor’s office had been down there trying to undermine them. On January 13th, I was transferred to the Cape May County Jail, a facility one hour south of the courthouse in Atlantic County. When I called Gene, he said, “I assume this is an attempt to keep you separated from Larry, which is stupid. They can keep you separated at the Atlantic County Jail. Don’t worry about it, I’ll talk to the judge tomorrow and get it straightened out.” The following morning we started jury selection. 25 The trial In anticipation of Beth taking the stand after lunch, there was an extensive sidebar conference where Farrell convinced Gene not to bring up other extramarital affairs in open court. The true motive behind this would not become apparent until much later. Someone from the prosecutor’s office had called Maria’s cousins to inform them that Beth was going to testify. Four members of the Krupp family were in court when she walked in. I wondered if she would look at me or give me any sign of recognition for the feelings that once existed. There was nothing; she was cold and aloof. She wore a conservative dress with her hair cut short. Her jewelry, as always, was silver. She confirmed our 14-month relationship and frequent meetings at the Best Western. When asked if we ever had a discussion about my debts, she said,

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Tunnel Vision “Well, there was a discussion about the extent of insurance and a statement to the effect that the insurance was extensive and would take care of the debts.” What she didn’t say, or intentionally neglected, was that we had that conversation after Maria’s death. “Did he ever tell you he was upset with her?” Farrell asked. “Well, to use his expression, she was hovering over him. She was aware there was a problem between them, and she was suspicious that there was a relationship between us. She was bombarding him with these suspicions to the point that he was very upset. In a conversation with me, he said something like, ‘I wish there was some way I could get rid of her,’ and he asked if I knew anyone who could do such a thing.” “What did you say, ma’am?” “I didn’t think he was serious. I told him there was only one person I knew who had been in trouble with the law; Joey MacArthur, from the beach club.” It is interesting to note that the State never questioned Mr. MacArthur to determine whether I spoke to him. Farrell spent the next hour getting her to describe the major events in our relationship. When he asked her to describe my demeanor on the afternoon before Maria’s death, she said, “He seemed subdued.” “Did you ask him why?” “I believe I did and I remember him telling me that he was annoyed because he was going to Atlantic City that night. He really didn’t want to go, but Maria insisted.” “And on September 21, 1984, were you at his home when Investigators Murray and Woodley came to the house?” “Yes.” “What did you hear Murray say to Marshall?” “He showed him two pictures and asked if he recognized the people.” “What was Marshall’s reaction?” “He appeared shaken.” “Did you have an opportunity to question him after Murray left?” “Yes. He said he didn’t recognize the names, and I complimented him on the way he conducted the conversation with the detectives.” “Now, moving ahead to Tuesday, September 25; what was your relationship with him, by then?” 114

Part One “I had come to the conclusion that I could no longer believe what he was telling me, and I didn’t want to continue the relationship with him.” “That’s all I have of this witness,” Farrell said, as he sat down. I sat there looking at her, wondering why I had once felt so strongly about her. She deliberately misrepresented and distorted important facts. Why? During the entire time she was on the stand, she did not look at me once. Gene stood up saying, “You’ve known Rob for about fifteen years; isn’t that true?” “Yes.” “Would you agree with me that his reputation in the community was that he was a decent man?” “Yes.” “And you would not have permitted yourself to get involved in a relationship with a man other than someone like that; is that true?” “Yes.” It sounded to me as though someone had coached her as well. “OK. Now in 1983, you were employed as a vice principal at a school; is that right?” “Yes.” “Were you a tenured employee?” “No.” “Can we assume that the standards of the school are such that if they thought you were doing something that would damage the reputation of the school, they might fire you? “Yes.” “Ultimately, did you quit or did they fire you?” “I quit last May.” “What do you do now?” “I’m self-employed. I sell aerobics wear and exercise clothing.” “Are you making as much as you were when you were a vice principal?” “Most definitely not. My income at school was over $30,000; I make little or nothing now.” “Why have you not sought employment with other school systems?” “It is my perception that I would not be welcome,” she said, angrily. 115

Tunnel Vision “You sound a little bitter. Are you bitter about this?” “I’m not happy about it. I’m not happy about appearing on this witness stand.” “When you were first interviewed at the prosecutor’s office, do you remember telling them that Rob had not told anyone about your relationship?” “Yes.” “Isn’t it true that you had told several friends about the relationship, and Rob was aware that you told them?” “Yes.” “OK. Now, was it not your desire to try to figure out a way that the two of you could leave your respective homes and make it appear as though your relationship came about after you left and had not been going on while you were living with your spouses?” “That’s very true.” “Tell me, have you been reading about what’s been going on in this courtroom and are you aware what other people have testified to?” “Yes.” “You mentioned that you met Rob at several locations; did you ever meet him in any picnic area?” “No.” “OK. You spoke of a conversation you had with Rob where he supposedly said he wanted to get rid of his wife; do you remember where and when it took place?” “During a phone conversation when I was at school, sometime at the end of 1983.” “What else was said during that conversation?” “I don’t recall, but I know we changed the subject. It was dismissed as being an outburst that was bizarre, outrageous, not to be taken seriously.” “Now, you and Rob were friends of a lawyer by the name of Jed Chapman; is that right?” “Yes.” “Do you remember a time when you had a conversation with him with regard to your relationship with Rob?” “Yes. It was probably in March of ’84 at a country club dance.” “What did he say to you?” “He told me that Maria had come to see him regarding her suspicions about us, and he asked me if it was true. I denied it.” 116

Part One “OK. Now, you met Rob on one occasion at a place called The Quarter Deck Motel; isn’t that true?” “Yes.” “Do you remember one particular incident when someone opened the door at a very inopportune moment?” “Yes.” At that point, Gene turned to me with a look of acknowledgement. We had discussed this important moment and agreed it was imperative to have Beth establish that it happened. Without her confirmation, there was no way I could prove that it took place. “When did this happen?” “In the summer of ’84.” “Were you both concerned about the possibility of an investigator and that someone may have taken photographs?” “Absolutely.” “That would have created problems for both of you and your job; isn’t that true?” “I would say especially me, with my job.” “Now, you continued seeing Rob after Maria’s death, didn’t you?” “Yes. By then my position had been clarified by my lawyer and I was no longer concerned about any involvement in the suspicion that exists.” “Was it during this time period that your lawyer was having discussions with the people prosecuting this case?” “Not to my knowledge.” “Did you get any assurances from your lawyer that the prosecutor was not looking at you as a target in the criminal investigation?” “No. They caused me to feel that I could be connected to the case if the finger was pointed at Rob.” “OK. Now please tell the jury how and why you made arrangements to see Rob on the 15th of September?” “It was by telephone. I asked him to come to the apartment because, at that point in time, I had become isolated from my family and so-called friends. I was alone and feeling very much in need of support.” “When you reached out for some emotional support, did he give it?” “Yes, he did.” “You have a lot of other friends besides Rob, don’t you?” 117

Tunnel Vision “Not anymore.” “In other words, the one person on this earth that you could contact at that point for some kind of emotional support was Rob Marshall. There was no one else available to you; not your husband, your children, a parent, an in-law, no one?” “That’s absolutely correct.” “Where did you want him to meet you?” “At the apartment in Ortly Beach.” “When he came to you, did you sit and chat?” “I don’t remember.” “You’re telling this jury that you were isolated and looking for emotional support and you don’t remember what happened?” “No, I don’t,” she snapped. Gene looked over at me and raised his eyebrows. Funny how she remembered only what was convenient. “Isn’t it true that Rob purchased $3,000 worth of silver bars during the course of your relationship, and you put them in your safe deposit box?” “Yes.” “And there was a place in Barnegat you were going to rent together; were you going to split the rent?” “Yes. Everything we had at that point, including our bank account, was split fifty-fifty; my money and his.” “OK. Now, you had a mutual friend, Max Klausner; wasn’t he struck and killed after pulling over on the Parkway to change a tire?” “Yes. Everyone knew the circumstances of his death.” At that point the judge noted the time, and recessed the trial until Monday. Over the weekend there was a good deal of discussion between my family and me about how Gene should deal with Beth when she returned. Everyone felt he was too easy on her. He assured us he would get tough. When she walked into court Monday morning, it was obvious she was annoyed at being back. I’m certain Farrell had told her she would be on the stand for only a few hours. Gene spent a good deal of time repeating many of the questions he had asked her in the first session. He finally broke new ground when he asked her if she liked Maria. “She was not someone who I needed to like or dislike. She was an 118

Part One acquaintance.” Gene looked startled and said, “Is that how you determine whether you like someone — if they’re an acquaintance?” “No. What I’m trying to say, Mr. Zeigler, is, we had contact on a very limited social level in such a way that our conversations were not extensive and it was not necessary for me to like or dislike her.” Beth had declared war; she was not going to allow Gene to get the best of her. He again started to ask questions he had already covered, and Farrell objected. It seemed as though he did not know where to go next. Finally, he asked her about the discussion we had about the custody of the children after our separations. “When Rob left Maria, she would take care of the three boys; was that the understanding?” “Yes.” “Well, obviously then, in order for Maria to take care of the children, she would have to be alive; wouldn’t she?” “Yes.” “OK. Now, on the afternoon of September 6th, did Rob tell you he didn’t have a comp for dinner that night and would have to pay for it himself? Wasn’t that the reason he didn’t want to go to Atlantic City; but he went anyway?” “I didn’t remember that until you said it now. Yes, I think he said that.” “Didn’t you also know that they had a comp to see Kenny Rogers at the Golden Nugget a few days later?” “He told me he did.” “OK. Did you ever call Rob at his home?” “I never called Rob at home.” Another lie. I wish I had thought to tell Gene about the times she did call. It was one of those calls that had triggered Maria’s suspicion. Then he went on to force her to name the people she had told about our relationship. She tried to protest to the judge, but he required her to answer. She was fuming. “When did you tell Rob that you’d told those friends about your relationship?” he asked. “I don’t know.” “What year did you tell him?” 119

Tunnel Vision “I don’t know.” “What month?” “I don’t know.” “Where were you when you told him?” “I don’t know.” “What was his response?” “He was unhappy that I had told anyone.” “Where were you?” “Mr. Zeigler, I do not know.” I felt like kicking him. Maybe this was his way of getting tough, but it seemed to me that he was making himself look like an ass. Again, he went back to areas previously covered, and again Farrell objected. The judge agreed. The situation was becoming embarrassing. Gene was getting nowhere with Beth. I could see no graceful way out, so I told him I needed to use the restroom. The judge mercifully called a recess. When we returned, Gene asked her why we were not planning to leave our spouses at the same time. “It would have been much more disruptive. We were trying to minimize the sensational aspect of our relationship and the pain we were going to inflict on people.” “I have nothing else,” Gene said. Farrell had a final question. “Mr. Zeigler asked you if you were bitter and you said that was not the word you would use. What word would you use?” “Angry and disappointed,” she said. As she left the courtroom, I could not help feeling that Gene had failed in his mission. It seemed to me that it was he who got the worst of the encounter. I also wondered if things would have been different had I told Beth the truth. I have thought of that often. There is an old law school axiom that says: jurors make their decision based not on the evidence but on which lawyer they like best. If true, this is probably the point at which Gene lost that contest. 26 On any other February 14, I would have cleared my schedule, made breakfast in bed for Maria, and had a wonderful day with her. 120

Part One We always had lunch together and then went somewhere special for dinner. This Valentine’s Day, I would be alone with a baloney sandwich. Farrell had representatives from each of the insurance companies testify as to the amount of coverage we had purchased. When a vice president from Banner Life took the stand, Farrell tried to prove I had allowed my coverage to lapse, keeping only Maria’s in force. I anticipated he would do this when I read in discovery that that was what he had told the grand jury. I wrote to each of the insurance companies in April of 1985. After Gene got him to admit that I received a commission equal to 50% of the premium, which effectively cut the cost of the coverage in half, he introduced the letter I had given him. It confirmed my premium had been paid during the 30-day grace period (an effective way to stagger the premium payments) and that there was no gap in the coverage. I could see Farrell do a slow burn. A representative from Provident Mutual testified that I had purchased a $100,000 policy on Maria on September 10, 1982. He confirmed to Gene that the policy was three days short of the two-year contestable period and the claim would be denied because I had signed the application for Maria. I signed her name, with her knowledge and consent, on many occasions while working late in the evening after she had gone to bed. Had her death occurred after the 10th, the company would not have been able to deny the claim. He also admitted Provident’s term rates were not competitive. The annual premium was $221. The same coverage with Banner Life, two years later, was $96. This was one of the policies that was going to be replaced by the insurance we purchased on the eve of Maria’s death. Farrell ran out of witnesses and we adjourned for the day. Before we left, Gene made arrangements to have the tire examined by the expert he had finally hired. It cost $2,000 to fly him in from Florida, only to have him say he could not help us because of the piece cut out of the sidewall. I wanted him to test one of the other tires, but there was no way we could get it to him and have it tested before the end of the trial. Now there was no way to refute the State’s position. This was a serious error. The agent from whom we purchased the mortgage insurance testified that we purchased $130,000 on each of us and that we could have 121

Tunnel Vision applied for more if we had wanted to. Most important, he said that he met with me at the house around noon on September 6, the time McInerney said I was with him at the Roy Rogers Restaurant on the Parkway. Gene asked him if he could provide us with a copy of the medical exam that was done on me. It would have shown normal blood pressure readings of 130 over 80. It certainly would not have been normal if I had been on the phone just fifteen minutes earlier, talking with McInerney about killing Maria, as he claimed. “Judge,” Gene said, “I’ve been trying to get this exam form. The company is in South Dakota. I was wondering if there was some way we could get it?” “Why don’t you send Rich Kohl,” Farrell said, with a sneer. “I have no authority to make orders to a company in South Dakota,” Green said. He was wrong. And we never did get that form. In a hearing before the judge, with the jury excused, Farrell said, “It’s the State’s position that Defendant Marshall had no intention of committing suicide. That this was an effort on his part to exculpate himself. I submit that the contents of the tape substantiates the State’s position.” The tape I made to my attorney and brother-in-law, Jeff Doughty, was allowed into evidence and played for the jury. When the tape ended, Farrell called Investigator Morgan, who testified that it was he who had taken the letters I mailed at the Best Western. Gene spent considerable time going over the legality of seizing the letter from the lobby mailbox. He might as well have saved his breath; we had lost that argument at the pre-trial hearing five months earlier. A huge error. When Frank took over, he asked Morgan why he had taken the envelopes from the mailbox. “I was under the impression that Mr. Marshall might be about to take his own life.” “After seeing that alarming message on the envelope, did you call an ambulance?” “No.” “Is there any reason why it took you over an hour before you entered his room to see if he was alive?” 122

Part One “No, sir.” So much for concern about my well-being, I thought. He showed Morgan a photograph of the lobby of the motel and asked him to circle the open mail tray he claimed was supposed to be there. When Frank sat down, he turned to me and said, “There is no mail tray in that photo.” Farrell then announced the State was going to rest. Oakleigh comments: With the State’s case behind us, we all breathed a sigh of relief. What we had seen and heard had not convinced any of us that Rob was in any way involved in Maria’s death. McInerney was totally unbelievable. It was clear he took advantage of the opportunity to read the State’s discovery and made up a false scenario that fit the available facts. We also knew Beth had misrepresented salient facts that Gene assured us he would correct when Rob testified. We were also hoping for some positive media coverage; what we had seen so far was not objective. Wendy and I were there every day, sitting directly behind the defense table. Jay was there as often as I would allow him to cut school. Kate and Mary came when they could. Roy and Chip cut classes as often as their schedules would allow. They too wanted Rob to know the support was there for him. It had been decided that Maria’s parents would not attend. Neither was well and, considering Dr. Puszynski’s recent stroke, he was advised to stay home. However, Rob knew he remained supportive; they spoke on the phone as often as possible. What we did not know then was that someone from the prosecutor’s office had remained in continuous contact with the Krupp family throughout the trial. There was absolutely no support from that segment of Maria’s family. They had accepted the prosecutor’s theories and were convinced of Rob’s guilt. Rob had spent thirteen agonizing months in jail waiting for Gene to present his case. It was time without physical contact; time lost forever to cold concrete and steel.

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Tunnel Vision 27 The first witness for the defense was the mailman who picked up the mail from the Best Western. We spent several hours rehashing the seizure of the envelopes from the mailbox — an exercise in futility. However, when we left the courtroom that day, Farrell made a telling comment to Larry. “Those bastards told me there was a tray there.” It was the first indication that he realized he had been lied to by his investigators. I quickly got the feeling Gene did not know how to coordinate the defense witnesses. Several times, Rich told us that he was running things and not to worry. But it was Oakleigh who spent a good part of her evenings calling witnesses to have them appear the following day. My friend and colleague Craig took the stand and explained why term insurance rates were so incredibly low in 1984; that it was possible to replace existing policies with new ones at a much lower premium — which was exactly what I was attempting to do. Farrell asked him if Provident would have approved a million dollars of coverage on a non-working spouse. “One would have to provide information explaining the reason,” Craig said. “That would be true for anyone.” Farrell had a built-in bias; he could not understand the need to insure a wife. When the judge asked Frank if he wanted to ask any questions, he said, “Yes. I used to be an insurance agent and I can’t resist. “Would you tell us what C-L-U means?” “Chartered Life Underwriter. It’s a professional degree similar to C-P-A for an accountant.” “And Rob was a C-L-U; wasn’t he?” “Yes.” “Now, a knowledgeable person, a C-L-U, might want to buy insurance from Banner Life for a third of the cost of Provident term life; wouldn’t that be true?” “Yes.” “Thank you. That’s all I have.” We could not utilize Craig to his full potential because Gene had not submitted his name as a possible expert witness. We wanted to call Dr. Henry as a fact witness on casino comps 124

Part One and the credit system, but Gene had forgotten to add his name to the witness list. We could only use him as a character witness. Banner Life finally paid the proceeds of Maria’s policy to the boys, and they immediately donated it to the defense fund. Oakleigh was at last able to pay Rich and Gene their fees and help pay the expense of bringing Larry’s witnesses up from Louisiana. We also agreed to help Wendy make their late mortgage payments before they lost their home to the bank. Larry’s first witness was the dental receptionist, Angela Leon. Frank showed her the appointment book she had given Rich when he was in Louisiana. “Do you see the name Brian Thomas?” Frank asked. “Yes,” she said in a soft voice. “To whom did you make out that receipt?” “Larry Thomas.” “And what was your practice with regard to making out a receipt; who did you make it out to?” “To the person who pays,” she said. “Now, this morning I showed you a report of what the prosecutor’s investigators said occurred when you spoke with them. What did you tell me, after you read it?” “I told you that they changed my words.” “What did they say about you appearing here in New Jersey?” “That they didn’t want me to testify.” Larry’s son, Brian, testified that Larry took him to the dentist on September 6, and had dinner with him that night. Farrell had no questions. When Mike Genner took the stand, Frank pointed to me and asked him if he had ever seen me. He looked at me and said, “No, sir.” “When you were here with McInerney, in July, did he ever say anything to you about being hired by someone who wanted his wife killed?” “No, sir.” “Now, tell the jury about the conversation you had with Jimmy McInerney about the woman who was killed in New Jersey.” “Well, he had come to my house. He was pretty upset and he told me he’d got himself in some trouble. He said he could get out of it with 125

Tunnel Vision a little help. Having been a police officer, he understood what was going on.” Farrell asked him, with a sarcastic tone, if he made the drive to Atlantic City with McInerney to visit the casinos. Genner simply said, “Yes.” Wendy was next. I could see she was ready to do battle by the way she walked to the witness stand. “How many times have you driven from Shreveport to visit Larry in New Jersey?” Frank asked. “Approximately twelve times, straight through every time.” “What’s the best time you’ve been able to make?” “Driving real hard — 28 hours.” Frank went through each day from September 6th to the 10th, and Wendy was able to pinpoint exactly where Larry was. He had never been far from her side, the entire time. On cross, Farrell said, “Larry asked you to marry him on November 13th; isn’t that right?” “He sure did,” she said with a broad smile. “Was that to keep you from testifying against him?” She looked at him and said, “I’m up here aren’t I? And the reason he asked me then is because he had just gotten divorced.” “Is that right?” Farrell said with a snide tone. “That’s right,” she shot back. “Now, ma’am, isn’t it a fact that you’ve been staying at the Marshall house for the past several months?” “That’s correct,” she said. On redirect, Frank said, “When you stayed at the Marshall house, you served a function for the family, didn’t you?” “Yes. When Oakleigh went home to see her family, I stayed there with Jay, the youngest son, so he wouldn’t have to be by himself.” “Has Oakleigh, Jay, Mr. Zeigler, Mr. Marshall, or anyone else asked you to say one word in this courtroom about Mr. Marshall’s guilt or innocence based on the fact that they extended northern hospitality to you?” “No, sir.” “That’s all I have. We call Larry Thomas, your honor.”

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Part One The first thing Frank asked was, “Larry, did you kill Maria Marshall?” “No, sir,” he said firmly. “What’s your occupation?” “I’m a mechanic, always have been.” Over the next 45 minutes, Larry contradicted everything McInerney had said. Farrell had been tapping his pencil impatiently. When Frank finished, he stood up and said, “After your arrest, there was an extradition hearing; right?” “Yes, sir.” “And you’re telling this jury that you didn’t have your alibi witnesses tell the judge they had the wrong guy?” “I asked my attorney down there about that and he said, all the New Jersey authorities had to do was prove to the judge that I was the man you wanted up here.” “Have you paid that lawyer yet, sir?” Farrell said, incredulously. “He was a Public Defender.” “That’s all I have,” Farrell said, sitting down. Oakleigh walked to the stand, looking confident but nervous. We made eye contact as she sat down. “Did you go to Rob’s home on September 21, 1984?” Gene asked. “Yes. He had been very depressed after Maria died. We had been talking every night and it seemed like he needed some cheering up, so I went there for the weekend.” He walked her through the events that led to the meeting with the police at the house. When he asked her to describe my demeanor after they asked me their questions, she said, “He was fine, no different than before.” “Were any photographs shown?” “No.” Farrell asked her, “Did you ever tell your brother to look at those photographs?” “He wasn’t shown any photographs,” she said, firmly. “He said he wanted to have his lawyer present before answering any questions.” Frank asked if she thought it was unreasonable for a person under suspicion to ask to have his attorney present. “Certainly not; that’s what they’re paid for.” 127

Tunnel Vision Farrell interrupted, yelling, “Especially when your wife has been killed and you didn’t have anything to do with it, you still run out and hire a lawyer.” Gene objected and the judge agreed. But the point was never made that the first thing Beth did was call her lawyers when she was picked up on the way home from work on the day of Maria’s death. After we adjourned for the day, Gene came to see me at the jail to tell me he wanted me to take the stand the following day. When I asked him if he was going to stay to help me prepare for the cross examination, as he had promised, he told me he could not, because he had driven Frank to court and he was waiting in the car. His response to my concern was, “Don’t worry, you’ll do fine. Just be yourself.” This would end up being a case based on credibility. McInerney had spent the last thirteen months being catered to by the prosecutor’s people, with a private cell in the police administration building. He had his own TV, unlimited phone access, and weekly trips to a food store to buy snack food and soda. He knew the system and used it to his advantage. This was my first experience with the criminal court. I did not share Gene’s confidence. 28 “Good morning,” Judge Green said as he took the bench. “Would you call the next witness.” “The defense calls Robert Oakley Marshall,” Gene said, as he stood up. I tried to look as confident as possible as I walked to the witness stand. Inside I was a wreck. Gene spent the entire morning and part of the afternoon taking me from my birth in Long Island, New York, to my suicide attempt at the Best Western. He covered most of the pertinent facts of the case with meticulous precision. Many times, Farrell arrogantly shouted objections in an attempt to disrupt the proceedings. Just before the lunch break, Gene introduced the country club receipt that proved I was having lunch with Maria and Roy, and not with McInerney. When we returned, there was a note from Jay on the table by my chair. It read, simply, “Dad, I love you. Jay.” We then presented the Capital Needs Analysis charts I had used

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Part One to determine the insurance needs for Maria and myself. Remembering Gene’s instructions, I spoke directly to the jury and testified truthfully. Occasionally, I would look over at my sons and sisters sitting in the front row. Their looks of hope and encouragement were evident. At mid-afternoon, the tapes I made for the boys at the Best Western were played for the jury. After they were marked for identification, Gene looked at me and said, “I have one last question. Did you have anything to do with the death of your wife?” I looked at the jury again and said, “Absolutely not! She was the mother of my children.” “Nothing else,” Gene said. Farrell had been nervously tapping his pencil on the pad of paper in front of him. He walked to an easel that had been standing next to the bench and said, “Sir, I’m going to put some figures up here that represent your debt. If you disagree, let me know so I can subpoena the people from the banks who gave me these figures.” Gene objected, “That’s not the way cross-examination should be conducted.” “I’ll withdraw it,” Farrell said. He backed off and took it one step at a time, Bitler and having me confirm each loan. When he asked about the two bank notes, I asked if I could qualify my answer. “Go ahead,” he said. “It was the bank’s practice to let me renew the notes, so I wouldn’t have to pay them off unless I wanted to.” “Just a minute,” he yelled. “Did you ever renew the note?” “Please don’t yell, Mr. Farrell,” the judge said. He continued, without apology. “And the $80,000 you borrowed for your office building is due at the end of three years; agreed?” “At that time, it could have been renegotiated for other terms. The mortgage was supported by the rents collected on that office building,” I said. “Did you ever renegotiate it?” “It wasn’t due until April of 1986; we never got to that point. I sold the office in 1984.” Appearing disconcerted, he went back to his notes. “You told us you had an income of $130,000; what does that represent?” 129

Tunnel Vision “My income for 1983.” “Your Checking Plus balance as of August of ’84 was at minus $5,000; you were over-drawn. Do you accept that figure?” “That should really be on the loan page. I wasn’t overdrawn. That’s a misstatement, Mr. Farrell.” “You write checks on the Checking Plus account, don’t you?” “No. You submit a request for an advance and the money is deposited in your checking account and then you can write checks against it. It is not considered an overdraft. It’s a loan. That’s why it’s on the wrong page.” I don’t know if he was intentionally trying to mislead the jury or he simply didn’t comprehend. In any case, I corrected him each time. When he started to ask about the tapes, I interrupted and said, “Are you going to include my assets and investments on your list? They’re considerable.” “Your lawyer can do that,” he snapped. “Now, you told Mr. Treppe over the phone that you wanted the mortgage coverage right away because you were going on vacation; but you didn’t have plans to go on vacation; did you?” “My plans for the following week were to leave my wife, which is why I requested the examination and the policy to be written on the 6th.” I could see he was frustrated at not getting the answers he wanted. “Tell this jury what occurred on September 6th for you to all of a sudden buy that $130,000 coverage.” “It would be helpful if you would turn to the page on the chart where you listed the insurance; could you do that?” “No.” “No?” I asked, incredulously. “I’m trying to do this clearly.” “Just a minute,” said the judge. “It’s a question that can be answered with words.” “All right,” I said, resignedly. “I had purchased insurance from two other companies before I received the card in the mail from Mr. Treppe. He advised me that I could purchase the coverage from him for less. The new policy was supposed to replace the others we had previously purchased.” “What made you think of buying life insurance for Maria on September 6?” 130

Part One “Her birthday was March 13; she was 42. Most insurance companies work on a nearest-age basis. On September 14, she would have been 43 and the coverage would have cost more.” At that point the judge called a recess. During the break, Frank suggested that I not argue with Farrell. “Try to answer his questions yes or no,” he said. “He doesn’t cross-examine, he bullies,” Rich said. When we returned, Farrell continued. “Sir, I show you the Midland policy you purchased on September 6. You did not list any other insurance policies in force other than the two $500,000 policies. Why did you not list the other policies?” “Because the other policies were to be replaced by the Midland policy.” It must have been clear that he was not going to gain any ground in this area, and he changed the subject. “Isn’t it true that within the past several months, you called Causeway Ford and attempted to buy a Datsun 280Z?” “My call to them was to purchase a used car for my sister Oakleigh, as a Christmas present, to thank her for her help in the past year.” “You forged Maria’s signature on the. . .” Gene objected, “He already admitted that he signed her name, with her permission.” “I withdraw it,” Farrell said. This ploy was commonplace with him. He would make an inflammatory statement, then withdraw it, knowing the jury would not forget what he had said. As Gene said, “You cannot un-ring the bell.” We went through each of the policies Maria and I had purchased; showing that several were dated near the times McInerney had come to New Jersey. Here was an area that should have been reviewed with Gene before I testified. I had forgotten that my reason for buying the policies when I did was that, if I learned from my investigator that Maria had hired a lawyer, I would make the break first. Applying for insurance afterwards would have been impossible. “Did you ever come to the prosecutor’s office and ask how the investigation was going?” “No. I was told by my attorney not to contact you.” “Did you tell any of the officers at the scene that Maria sat up as 131

Tunnel Vision you went through the Barnegat toll booth?” “I certainly didn’t tell them she was asleep; we had a conversation.” “Did you tell any of those officers that Maria yelled, ‘Oh my God!?’” “They didn’t ask me if she said anything.” “Sir, that woman was asleep, was she not?” “No, she was not.” “Do you agree with me that you could have stopped anywhere along that ramp at the picnic area?” “I would have been on an incline and would have blocked the entrance to the picnic area if a trooper wanted to use it to make a U-turn.” “When that car pulled in, did you hear anyone run towards you?” “No.” “And you were struck with such force that you lost consciousness; is that what you’re telling this jury?” “Yes.” “The only damage found on that tire was the slit in the side-wall; right?” “Yes.” “Are you telling this jury that whatever hole existed that caused the tire to lose air, just by coincidence was covered over with that slit made in the side-wall?” “I’m not suggesting that at all.” I wanted to tell him that I thought the air was let out of the tire before we left Atlantic City, but I remembered Frank’s warning and said nothing further. Before Farrell could continue, the judge adjourned for the day. I begged Gene to stay and spend a little time preparing for the next day. Again, he told me he had to drive Frank home and not to worry, I would be all right. I was not so confident. When I called home that evening, more than one person said it appeared as though something had “taken the wind out of my sails” during the afternoon session. I should have followed my instincts and confronted Farrell at every opportunity. Roy was in court during my testimony and wrote the following letter, which I received a few days later.

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Part One Dear Dad, How’s it going? Just OK at this end. You really sounded awesome today, you surprised the crap out of me! Nothing but good vibrations. I was just thinking about those tapes they played in court and tried to picture what life would be like if you had succeeded in your stupid attempt. I was picturing this and came to the conclusion that, even though I haven’t had much contact with you lately, as far as father-son relationships go (like the last fourteen months or so), if you weren’t around, I would really have been screwed. You know, I saw a clipping in the newspaper the other day. It was about a guy found not guilty of something. It kind of caught my eye. I can’t wait till this crap is over. I hope I don’t sound like a jerk in court. I’m so nervous I could puke! Keep hanging tough. I love you, and stuff. Love always and always, Roy

On the morning of February 26, I took the stand for the last time. Farrell continued his badgering. “Do you recall when I put on the board your savings and checking accounts? You didn’t have much on hand; correct?” “That’s not true.” “Where’s the other money?” “There’s stock that you didn’t list.” “Which you sold.” “No, not all of it.” “How much did you sell?” “Between $6,00 and $7,000; but there’s close to $40,000 worth of stock.” “Well, that’s how much you paid for it. It’s not worth that now.” “Some of it is worth more,” I said, expecting Gene to object. He said nothing, in spite of the fact Farrell was making unsupported statements. We should have had my stockbroker testify to support my testimony. He was never called. He then asked me about a conversation with Tim Gomes that was supposed to have taken place at the hospital after my suicide attempt. Gene asked for a discussion at side bar. “Judge, I have not been provided with discovery on this.” “I don’t have any discovery,” Farrell said. “It’s my own interview. 133

Tunnel Vision When I bring these people in, I’ll give you my notes, if I can find them.” “We’re entitled to them now,” Frank said. “If I go out and do an investigation on my own, he’s not entitled to them,” Farrell protested arrogantly. “If it’s related to a statement by the defendant, it should be provided prior to any further questioning,” the judge said. Farrell resignedly walked to his desk and returned with several pages of notes he had taken during the interviews with Rick Leever and Tim Gomes. After the sidebar conference, Farrell attacked the calls I had made to Caller. Of the 29 calls made over three months, nine of them were logged at one minute. Those were the times Caller was not in. AT&T charged for a full minute even if you hung up after ten seconds. All the calls were made from my office or home. When he asked about the call I made from the pay phone at the 7-Eleven, he said, “That’s not on the way home; you would have had to go in the other direction to go home; wouldn’t you?” “That’s not correct.” He knew damn well it was on the way home. When he questioned me about the lunch at the Club on the 6th, he said, “You didn’t get to the country club until 1:45 in the afternoon; isn’t that correct?” “That’s wrong,” I said. He knew he had a problem with McInerney’s conflicting testimony and was trying to make repairs. “Isn’t it a fact, sir, that you didn’t love Maria for at least twelve months before her death?” “That’s not true.” “You’d have us believe that you miss your wife, and you loved her?” “Terribly.” “Hold up your left hand,” he said. “Is that the wedding ring Maria gave you?” “Yes.” “Who told you to wear that ring, Zeigler or Kohl?” Gene objected but Farrell continued, “Is that ring a reflection of just how much you love and miss Maria?” “They took this ring from me when I was arrested, and I got it back because they allow me to wear it here.” 134

Part One “Can you explain to me sir, why her ashes are still in a brown cardboard box in the desk at the funeral home?” There were audible gasps from the gallery as Gene objected. “Your honor, the prosecutor is using inflammatory statements to unduly inflame the jury.” Green overruled the objection. “The reason her ashes have not been buried is because we had planned for the family to go to Florida during the Christmas break. We were going to bring the ashes with us and bury her where she wanted. I was arrested before we could go.” He then brought up my request for a contact visit with Helen Smith. “Didn’t you tell your kids that Helen was just like Mom, you’re really going to like her; didn’t you say that?” “I may have said that over the phone.” I wondered how he knew, since the boys hadn’t spoken to him. We had suspected there was a tap on either the jail phone or the phone at the house. Maria’s father told me that the person who was calling the Krupps had said he knew what we were going to buy him for Christmas, a subject I had discussed with Oakleigh only over the phone. I discussed this with Gene and he asked for an in-court representation that there was no phone tap. Farrell denied there was, of course, saying he got much of his information driving around on Saturdays and Sundays; a statement he later admitted was a lie. “When you were in Florida, did you buy a car for a friend named Sally?” Farrell continued. “Yes. I gave her a thousand dollars so she could buy a ’61 Oldsmobile.” At that point, the jury was excused and Gene asked the judge to declare a mistrial, because Farrell had used information in his crossexamination that had not been provided in discovery. The motion was denied, but Farrell was not allowed to call Rick Leever or Tim Gomes as rebuttal witnesses. During the lunch recess, I repeated to Larry something Gene had told me early in the trial. When I asked him how we would know how we were doing, he said, “There usually comes a time in the trial when something happens, it’s like a door opens or closes; you’ll know when it 135

Tunnel Vision happens.” I told Larry I felt that ,in the last ten minutes of crossexamination, my door had closed. After lunch, Farrell had a few more questions and ended by asking if I ever told Beth that I had hired an investigator. “Yes,” I said, “In a letter I sent her when I was at the hospital in Philadelphia.” 29 When Frank took over on redirect, it was as though a giant weight had been lifted from my shoulders. He covered my assets and established that I had never missed or been late with any of my loan payments, and that I certainly was not insolvent as Farrell had suggested. He went over every point Farrell had misrepresented and allowed me to explain each one to the jury. He also made the point that, while I was insuring Maria, I had increased my own coverage to almost $2 million. “When you told the jury about the analysis you did, I recall your wife was about $190,000 on the negative side, so you would have needed that much to get the estate back to even; is that correct?” “Yes.” “So you needed the additional insurance coverage to produce the kind of income that you felt should be available to support your loss of income by reason of the new responsibilities of caring for your children as a single parent. Is that correct?” “That was our concern, but there was one additional ingredient — if I may interrupt?” “Yes.” “That was to provide a sum of money to care for Maria’s parents. They’re in their seventies and we wanted to be sure there would be enough cash available, should they need help.” “OK. Now tell me, was the cost of the insurance a concern to you?” “Yes, that’s why we bought term instead of whole life.” “Term is the cheapest form of life insurance, isn’t it?” “Yes. The way I usually explained it to a client was: term is like 136

Part One renting a house as opposed to buying. You don’t create any equity when you rent.” “Now, regarding the Provident policy that was issued in 1982, the contestable period would have expired on September 10, 1984; is that correct?” “Yes.” “And that’s one of the policies on which you signed her name; is that correct?” “Yes.” “If you had, as the State contends in this case, a deliberate plan to kill your wife at a preconceived time, would you agree with me, in terms of insurance knowledge, that it would have been a hell of a lot smarter to do it after the 10th of September instead of on the 7th?” “If that were my plan, it certainly would.” “Now, I want to talk to you for a moment about. . . I’m going to put it in quotes, ‘the suicide attempt.’ It is the State’s position that it was a staged attempt, but you understand that it was for real; you were not kidding anybody?” “I’m embarrassed to say it, but yes, it’s true.” “Now, let me ask you, did you know that the police had you under surveillance when you were planning and attempting this suicide?” “No. I didn’t know until they walked in the room.” “If, as the State suggested, this was a fictional suicide attempt to generate a story you could use later, would you explain to me how anybody was going to find that letter in order to help your defense, if no one knew you were there?” “Oh, I see your point. In other words, if I had walked out of the room?” “Yeah. You packed your briefcase and tapes and went home; who was going to have that story the State says you made up?” “Well, no one, because the envelope I mailed to Jeff Doughty said, ‘To be opened in the event of my death,’ so no one would.” “Of course. If this were a contrivance, it would have no logic; would it?” “No.” Thank God for this man, I thought. He was undoing all the damage Farrell had taken two days to do. “I have listened to those tapes you made; were you speaking from 137

Tunnel Vision your heart?” All I could do was nod as I briefly recalled the horrible ordeal of that evening. “In that tape to your son, Chip, you said, ‘I know I’m breaking the promise I made to you.’ Do you remember that?” “Yes.” “What was that promise you made to him?” “I had told him I was at my wits end; I thought I wanted to join his mother. He made me promise that I wouldn’t do that.” I had to stop for a few seconds as I thought of that moment. “That’s what it was.” “OK. Now, you told Mr. Zeigler that at some point you consulted an attorney by the name of Frank Casciano; was that subsequent to your office being searched?” “Yes. I called him the same day.” “And there came a time when you met Mr. Zeigler; is that correct?” “Yes.” “Do you remember the questions the prosecutor asked, about why you didn’t make inquiries about Jimmy McInerney?” “Yes.” “Did you make any inquiries about Mr. Zeigler?” “No.” “Was he recommended by someone?” “Yes.” “Did you pay him money by way of a retainer?” “Yes.” “Did Billy Caller recommend Jimmy McInerney? “Yes.” “Did you have confidence in that recommendation?” “Yes, because of the friendship that had developed and his relationship with our neighbors, the Merinos.” “Now, you waived the rights to the insurance on Maria; what was your reason for doing that?” “Well, my income had dropped and my children needed income to live, and we needed money to pay for my defense.” “Have you been receiving help, paying for those expenses?” “Yes, from Maria’s father. Without his help we would have gone down the tubes a long time ago. He loaned us over $50,000 to get 138

Part One through the last fourteen months.” “OK. Now, yesterday, the prosecutor asked a series of questions that had to do with insurance transactions that coincided with the dates McInerney came to New Jersey. Were there transactions on other dates that did not coincide with his visits?” “Of course, at least a half dozen.” “Sir, I want to ask you, as a reasonably intelligent man, would it have occurred to you that perhaps the most stupid thing you could do, if you were going to kill your wife on September 6th, would be to buy a policy on that date?” “It didn’t occur to me before, because I wasn’t planning, in any way, a conspiracy to have my wife killed. It certainly has occurred to me since.” Frank covered a few more areas and closed by asking. “Do you know of anything that might suggest that Larry Thomas conspired with Jimmy McInerney, or anyone else, to kill your wife?” “Absolutely not,” I said. Gene had a final question. “You told the prosecutor that those hours at the Best Western were one of the four most traumatic times in your life. What were the other three?” “Waking up and finding my wife dead on the front seat of the car was number one. Going home later that evening and having to wake up Roy and Jay and tell them. And then later that day, driving to Lehigh to tell Chip.” Farrell made an attempt to recover some of the ground he had lost with a few sleazy questions. “Maria’s father’s going a little senile, as I understand it; isn’t he?” “That’s a medical conclusion,” Gene objected. Farrell withdrew the question. “Isn’t it a fact, sir, that the $50,000 he gave you was because of his love for his grandchildren and it had nothing to do with you?” “No, that’s not true. He would not have given me that money if he thought I was in any way involved in this.” “Is he in court today?” “No, he is not. His health would not allow him to be here.” “How about Maria’s mother?” “She is emotionally unable to be here.” 139

Tunnel Vision “But she supports you; is that your testimony?” Gene objected, but then told me to answer the question. “Yes, she does,” I said. “That’s all I have,” he said, scowling. I was emotionally and physically drained. I wanted to crawl into bed and sleep for a week. 30 During the recess, we discussed Frank’s re-direct and agreed that he had repaired most, if not all, of the damage Farrell had done on cross. The consensus was that he was desperate and would do anything to win. When we returned, Jay was called as a witness. However, because Gene failed to provide discovery notes regarding the conversation we had when I called him from the Best Western, Farrell objected and Jay was limited to telling the jury that I sounded upset. I looked at his hopeful face with tears welling in my eyes as he left the stand. He looked back and said, “I love you, Dad.” I could barely speak with the lump in my throat, “I love you too, Jay.” Chip, too, was not able to discuss the conversation we’d had when I called him during the lonely hours of that horrible night. Frank asked him if I sounded like I was saying good-bye. “Yes,” he said. As he left the stand, he looked at me and said, “I love you too, Dad.” Doctor Adler, the psychologist Gene brought to the hospital after my suicide attempt, testified next. Again, because Gene had not provided the State with discovery, his testimony was limited to the fact that we met and spoke. Gene had not bothered to interview the five men I stopped on the Parkway immediately after I regained consciousness at the Oyster Creek picnic area. He called Detective Pistacchi, hoping the judge would allow him to tell the jury what the men had told him. Pistacchi said he had destroyed his notes, and Farrell objected, saying anything he said would be hearsay. The judge agreed, and we got nothing from him. Several months after the trial, while sifting through a copy of the discovery material, I located a copy of Pistacchi’s notes. They had obvi140

Part One ously not been destroyed. As I sat there listening to my totally inadequate defense, I realized we could lose the case because of unnecessary procedural error. I recalled Gene’s pitch when he had me sign his fee agreement. “I can promise you this,” he said, “I will not make any mistakes.” Now I know why there are so many nasty jokes about lawyers. Before we adjourned, Gene handed Farrell a copy of the statement McInerney had given Rich when he was in Louisiana. He told the judge he would have Rich explain why it was delayed. The next day I walked into the courtroom with my red manila file, with a big I LOVE YOU message to my sons on one side. Rich testified that he went to Louisiana as a result of the call from McInerney’s lawyer, Moe Laurence. When he arrived, Laurence took him to a Holiday Inn and introduced him to Jimmy McInerney, AKA Jerry Davies. It was at that meeting that McInerney gave Rich the statement that had been missing until now. When Gene asked him if he had communicated the contents of the statement to me when I called him on September 26, 1984, he said, “I did not.” “Tell the jury; what was McInerney’s position with regard to whom he was with when he came to New Jersey in September of 1984?” “Initially, he took the position that he was with no one. After I got to know him fairly well, he was talking about Peggy, a dancer and stripper from Shreveport.” “Did he ever tell you he came up with instructions from Rob Marshall to kill his wife?” “No.” “Finally, was there an incident that you witnessed in Shreveport where McInerney did something to Ocean County Investigator Mulligan’s rented car?” “Yes. McInerney let the air out of the right rear tire.” Farrell got to his feet talking. It was obvious he couldn’t wait to sink his teeth into Rich’s backside. “Tell us why you went to Louisiana?” “Moe Laurence wanted to talk to a representative of Rob Marshall,” he said calmly. “Mr. Zeigler subscribes to the theory that investigators investigate and lawyers lawyer. He sent me, because Mr. Laurence wanted to talk to someone in person.” 141

Tunnel Vision Farrell began asking questions about the four-page statement McInerney had given Rich in Louisiana. Basically, it outlined the true details of my relationship with McInerney, closing with: “At no time during any conversation that Rob Marshall and I had was it ever requested, suggested or intimated that he would like to dispose of his wife.” When Farrell asked where the statement had been since September of 1984, Rich said that the statement became mixed up with other documents when he moved to his new residence in March of 1985. “Isn’t it a fact, sir,” Farrell yelled, “that you made it your business to make sure this scenario by McInerney disappeared?” “That is not a fact, sir. It is right here in this courtroom and that speaks for itself.” As Farrell sat down, Frank rose and said, “Sir, after you were retained by Mr. Zeigler to work on this matter, were you investigated by the New Jersey State Police?” “Yes, I certainly was; at the request of the Ocean County Prosecutor’s Office. And I was given a clean bill of health as a result.” We were close to the end. That evening I called home and talked to Oakleigh and Jay on one of the extension phones. I asked her to place a three-way call to Roy at the apartment he was sharing with three other students near Villanova. I knew he was nervous about taking the stand and I wanted to bolster his morale. I thanked him for reminding me about going to the Club for lunch on September 6, and said, “It’s a shame you were sleeping late that morning, it would help if you could say what time I left the house to go to the lumber company.” “I’m not going to lie for you, Dad,” he said. “Roy,” I said, surprised, “I’m not asking you to lie. I want you to get up there and tell the jury exactly what happened that morning.” Oakleigh, still on the line at the house, joined in, saying, “Roy, it’s not necessary to lie. The insurance agent already testified that he was with your father here at the house at the time McInerney says he was with him at the Roy Rogers.” The next morning, our last witness took the stand. “Please state your name,” the court clerk said. “Roy Marshall.” “Roy, did there come a time on September 6, 1984, where you and 142

Part One your mom and dad had lunch together at the Toms River Country Club?” “Yes.” “Can you tell the jury approximately what time you got up that particular morning?” “My mom woke me at 11:30.” “And when did you leave the house?” “Around noon.” “How long were you there with your mom and dad?” “About an hour.” “Can you describe his demeanor when you were with him?” “Normal, table-talk conversation.” When Gene asked him about the visit to the house by the prosecutor’s people on September 21, he said, “I asked my dad if I could sit with him while they talked, and he said, no problem.” “What was his demeanor after they asked their questions?” “He warned them before they asked their questions that he was instructed not to answer, but they asked him anyway. They just bounced off my dad.” “Now, have Maria’s parents been supportive of you and your father?” “Very. I wouldn’t be in school if it weren’t for them.” “Was there ever a question between you and your brothers and your father about what was to be done with your mother’s remains?” “Yes. We were supposed to go to Florida in December of ’84 and we were going to take the remains with us. My mom always said she wanted to be buried under a palm tree. We were going to do that for her — but it never got to that.” “Why?” “My dad was arrested before we got a chance to go to Florida. We’re going to take care of that as soon as this is over.” Farrell had no questions. As my 6’3” son stepped off the stand, he said, “I love you, Dad.” “I love you too, Roy,” I said with a cracked voice. I was so proud of him. That was it. After nearly eighty witnesses and six weeks of testimony, all that remained were the summations. We adjourned until Monday. 143

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As I reviewed the trial in my mind, several key issues stood out. The State had made a number of false assumptions which they could not establish in court. In Farrell’s opening remarks, he said they would prove that my suicide attempt was staged to provide favorable evidence. Frank was able to show that I could not have known the authorities would be there to remove the tape from the mailbox and that it would have been mailed to my attorney and remained sealed. Farrell told the grand jury and the trial jury that I had lapsed my life insurance while keeping Maria’s in force. We proved that was not true. We made a major error by not having an expert do a road test on one of the other tires to establish that it could have been driven on with low pressure and not show rim and tire damage. Gene had been given copies of Detective Pistacchi’s notes, taken at the scene, which confirmed that I told him I drove in to the picnic area on a partially flat tire. He claimed he destroyed the notes, when in fact we had copies in the discovery file. We forgot they were there. Farrell accused me of being overdrawn and financially desperate. We should have had representatives from each bank, my stockbroker and accountant, testify as to my financial situation. Fortunately, Roy had reminded me about our lunch together on September 6. With the insurance agent’s testimony that I was at home at noon and with Roy afterwards, we could show that I could not have been with McInerney on the Parkway, as he claimed. Finally, there were Larry’s witnesses that placed him in Louisiana at the time McInerney said he was with him in New Jersey. Hopefully, the jury would see McInerney had lied to save himself. Unfortunately, in summation, Gene would only be able to use the issues we had proved during the trial. I hoped they would be enough. I was awakened the next day with an urgent message to call Oakleigh. She told me that Maria’s father had suffered chest pains and had been taken to the hospital. We made a three-way call to Philadelphia and were told he was resting comfortably. My sons visited him later that day and had an encounter with the Krupps. They told me that Paul Krupp had called Farrell to tell him about Maria’s father and later told Chip that Farrell had said he was 144

Part One going to “Blow the case wide open on Monday.” I told Gene about Farrell’s comment when he visited me to go over the material he would cover in his summation. We should have taken the remark as a warning shot for what was to come, but Gene was totally preoccupied with what he would say in his closing argument. 31 The courtroom was jammed. My brother Pete had driven eight hours from his home in upstate New York. He was there with my sisters and my sons, full of prayers and hope for a successful conclusion to this terrible family ordeal. Reverend McColl and his wife had come to show their support, but couldn’t get a seat until the afternoon session. Mobile TV trucks from Philadelphia circled the courthouse like land-based vultures; their satellite dishes pointing to the sky were connected to a myriad of cameras all pointed at the defense table. Before we started, Gene leaned over and told me that he and Farrell had agreed not to interrupt each other during the summations. It would soon become painfully clear what he had in mind, when he made his comment to Paul Krupp. His proposal to Gene had set the stage for the ultimate blow. Frank was up first. “Let me tell you why you should reject the testimony of Jimmy McInerney,” he said. “First, he has no integrity whatsoever. . . Secondly, he has an enormous motive to lie. . .” He did a masterful job of bringing together all the points he had made during the trial. When it came to explaining the law, he broke it down so the jury could understand. “Now, the court is going to tell you about a legal principal you may find interesting. It’s called, ‘False in one, false in all.’ The judge will tell you that if you find a witness lied about something material in the case, you may reject all his testimony. “You may say, well, just because a fellow lies about ‘A’ doesn’t mean he lied about ‘B.’ Well, I got to reflecting about that. One time we took my grandfather out to dinner and he ordered beef stew. He took a piece of meat and suddenly made a terrible face. He spit that bad piece of meat into his napkin. There might have been another good 145

Tunnel Vision piece of meat in the stew, but he realized that, if there was one bad piece, then there was no sense taking a chance on finding something good in it; you might as well reject it all. That’s the principal of false in one, false in all. “Our society has always held to the principal that it’s better that a thousand guilty people go free than one innocent man be convicted. “There’s nothing in this case but the testimony of a man scarcely worthy of belief that could possibly link Larry Thomas with the murder of Maria Marshall. . . . And because you do not want to convict an innocent man, I’m sure when you return with your verdict, that verdict will be ‘not guilty’.” After a short recess, Gene rose and addressed the jury. He too used an analogy to describe a point of law: the burden of proof. “How many times have you watched a football game and seen your favorite team march all the way down to the five-yard line and drop the ball? “In this particular case, if the State goes all the way to the fiveyard line but can’t get the last five yards, then your duty will be to acquit.” He spoke for an hour, bringing together all the pieces that had been constructed during the trial. “What’s the worst kind of corrupt individual that can stink up a courtroom from the witness stand? It’s a cop that’s gone bad — because he knows how to manipulate the system. . . . “McInerney sat down and had a ‘discovery conference’ where the State laid out their case for him. . . . and then he makes his statement. What’s the likelihood that that statement is going to be inconsistent with the evidence?” He held up the lunch check from the country club and said, “When you look at this, you’ll notice it says, ‘Made copy for Marshall, February 4, ’86.’ That’s last month! We just located this last month. The slip also says, ‘Copy made for prosecutor’s office, February 6, ’86.’ They got this two days after we got it. “McInerney didn’t know about this when he made his statement. The one thing he didn’t know was that Rob Marshall, Maria, and his son Roy, were at the Toms River Country Club, because the prosecutor didn’t get this until February 6, 1986. “We heard from Beth Brachfeld. . . . She mentioned the conversa146

Part One tion she had with Rob where he supposedly said he wanted to get rid of his wife. She says this took place during a phone call when she was at work. Rob says they were in a motel room when she made the remark during what I would call pillow talk. ‘Wouldn’t it be nice if Daniel and Maria weren’t around?’ Is it more likely that something like that was pillow talk, or something that was said over the phone at her place of employment? “She also said something else that drives a stake into the heart of the State’s case. When I asked her about the children, she said the only way their relationship would work was if Maria was alive. She had to be alive to take care of Jay; Beth wasn’t going to do it. . . . “I tell you right now, under the circumstances of this case, knowing the principles of law that you must apply, knowing what the evidence is and knowing the lack of evidence, there should be no doubt in your mind that you must acquit Robert Marshall and send him back to his children. “Thank you.” Rich leaned over and whispered, “I told you we’d be playing tennis together this spring.” As we walked out of the courtroom for our lunch recess, everyone was smiling. My sons and my family were standing, giving me a thumbs-up sign. Even the reporters and court clerk had smiles on their faces. If the jury were able to vote right then, I knew we had a winner. However, the prosecutor gets the last shot at the jury and Farrell knew he had to undo everything Frank and Gene had taken all morning to establish. Oakleigh had been giving one of our escort officers a dollar each day to buy us sodas to replace the warm milk we were given to drink at lunch. Our baloney sandwich and Coke that day seemed like the best meal we’d had in a long time; the nightmare was almost over. The boys had strung yellow ribbons in the driveway at home, anticipating my return. The Christmas tree was still standing in the living room with presents wrapped and ready for a long overdue day of sharing. I would have my family back and Larry would be going home with Wendy. When we got back to the courtroom, Gene told me, “Look at him while he’s talking. Don’t lower or shake your head at anything he may 147

Tunnel Vision say. Remember, he’s going to do his best to make you look like dirt. Keep your chin up; OK?” Rich was to my left. “This is the worst part,” he said. “Just hang tough.” Farrell rose and faced the jury. “After listening to the two defense attorneys sum up, you have to be asking yourself if all the State’s witnesses got together and conspired in an effort to frame these two defendants. If that’s what you believe, then you find them not guilty. “I submit to you that that’s an insult to your intelligence, and the State is appealing to you to use your common sense. . . .” He went on to claim several facts not in evidence. Gene did not object; Farrell had carte blanche. “ . . . If that deal had not been made with McInerney, he would be right here with them and you would not have been privy to the plans, meetings and conversations, and you would have gone into the jury room hard pressed to find these defendants guilty. And six months from now, they would all meet in Louisiana and whack up the insurance as per the contract. . . .” Gene said nothing. “Jimmy McInerney was on the stand for three and a half days and I challenge anyone to show me one major inconsistency.” He picked out several facts, such as the phone calls to Louisiana and our trips to Atlantic City, and said that was evidence that the State’s case was valid. “1.5 million worth of insurance on a non-working spouse; that’s ludicrous! When the defendant talks insurance with his fancy financial charts, it’s like he’s trying to sell you a policy. He was too smart for me when I cross-examined him on the insurance aspect. He’s a C-L-U, that’s why.” He continued, with deliberate emotion. “. . . And that policy taken out on September 6 was supposed to replace other policies; do you believe that? . . . . “How would Morgan know enough to go back to the Best Western to look for that tray he took the letters from, if it wasn’t there that night? What is he, psychic?” No, I thought, he’s a liar. He found a tray in the storage shed that had been used years earlier when the motel first opened. “And regarding the mailman; maybe all mail depositories look the 148

Part One same after awhile, I don’t know. But I do know that tray was there the evening the defendant checked into his favorite room.” Gene was silent. “And this one kept me up half the night,” he said, looking at his yellow pad again. “Thomas’s alibi witnesses. They said they saw Larry driving down the road in his truck. If you believe that testimony then you find these defendants not guilty. . . . “This defendant is a coward,” he said pointing at me. “He’s selfcentered, he’s desperate, he’s materialistic and he’s a liar. He’s such an outstanding citizen that no juror in their right mind would accept the testimony of Jimmy McInerney. “When I cross-examined him, it was like pulling teeth. You saw his cash flow that I put on the chart; minus $240.” Again, Gene did not object to this blatant misrepresentation. “He doesn’t wear his wedding ring until the day of the trial, and he tells me they wouldn’t give it to him at the Ocean County Jail. Were they afraid he was going to hang himself with it? That’s an insult. . . . “And he has the audacity to bring his boys to testify. That’s obscene. And for that, there’s a place in Hell for him. . . . “Ladies and gentlemen of the jury, your function is to keep the system sacred and decide the case based on your commonsense. If you keep that in mind, there is only one possible verdict in this case, a verdict of guilty for both defendants. “Thank you.” I sat there stunned. He had spent an hour saying everything he could think of to inflame the jury and Gene had not said a word. Worse was that my sons had to endure listening to the verbal abuse as well. Before anyone could speak, the judge called counsel to the bench. Gene objected to the comment about the insurance proceeds. “First of all, my client relinquished his rights; there has been testimony to that effect. Second, whatever happens in this case has no bearing on any claim regarding the insurance. My initial request is for a mistrial. If a mistrial is not in order, then I think the jury should at least be instructed. He’s given the impression that if they acquit him, he gets the insurance — and that’s not true.” Green had a glazed look on his face as he listened. “Well,” he said, 149

Tunnel Vision “I’ll instruct the jury but I see no basis for a mistrial.” He excused the jury and called a short recess. I could see and feel the change in the courtroom; the smiles were gone, eyes were cast downward. When we were alone in the holding area, I told Larry, “After that summation, if I was on that jury, I think I’d ‘convict’.” When we returned, the judge said he would charge the jury the following day. Gene again asked for a mistrial based on the improper comments made by Farrell. “Counsel is not supposed to indicate they have personal knowledge of a fact. His personal comments about my client were clearly a prejudicial and highly inflammatory appeal to the passion and prejudice of the jury. His ethical responsibility is to seek justice, not just convictions. When you take everything collectively, there is no question but that a mistrial should be granted.” Frank interrupted, “Your honor, I do not join in that motion for my client and would ask for a severance, if it be granted.” Judge Green said he would instruct the jury on the misstatements of fact and denied the motion for a mistrial. When Gene asked the judge to tell the jury that the “place in Hell” remark was improper, Farrell interrupted, arrogantly yelling, “No!” “You ruled it was,” Frank said to the judge. After some equivocation, Green told the jury the remark should be disregarded. We recessed until 9:30 AM the next day. “He still didn’t tell them it was improper,” I said to Gene. “What else do you want me to do?” he said. When I returned to the jail at 5:00 PM, the “place in Hell” segment was being aired on TV. Everyone was glued to the set. Oakleigh and the boys tried to bolster my spirits when I called home, but I could feel the impending doom in their voices. Farrell’s summation had affected everyone. The judge’s charge to the jury took 45 minutes. We had anticipated a strong explanation of the “False in one, false in all” principle; what we got was a watered down version that had no impact at all. His final statement to the jury was, “The most important thing for you to consider is your commonsense.” Both Gene and Frank made objections, particularly to his refer150

Part One ence to commonsense. While that would seem like a normal comment to make, in this case it echoed exactly what the prosecutor had said. All motions were denied. The four alternates were withdrawn, leaving the final twelve to determine the verdict. They left the courtroom at 10:30 AM. We sat in the cramped 6 x 8 foot conference room with Gene and Frank, discussing the trial strategy. Frank said he felt a quick decision would be bad. Just before lunch, a court officer opened the door and said he thought the jury had reached a decision. My heart was in my throat and a rush of adrenalin coursed through my body, causing a wave of nausea. He returned a few minutes later, to tell us that they only wanted to go to lunch. I started to breath regularly again, but the lump in my throat remained throughout lunch. At 4:30 PM, the jury asked if they could recess for the day. The attorneys had agreed that sequestration was not necessary; however, the judge had them escorted to their cars. On Wednesday morning, March 5, Larry and I were waiting alone in one of the conference rooms. At 11:00 AM, a court officer opened the door and told us the jury had reached a verdict. We had been warned that there would be extra security in the courtroom. When we walked in, there was a solid wall of officers behind the defense table. I turned around to look for my family; what I could see through the mass of bodies were faces frozen in fearful anticipation. As the jury walked in, I looked at their faces for some indication of a favorable decision. There was none. Not one juror looked in our direction. In my heart, I knew the worst. Gene confirmed my feelings when he said, “It doesn’t look good.” When the verdict sheet was passed to the judge, he looked at it and said, “On the first count of conspiracy to commit murder, we find defendant Robert Marshall guilty. We find defendant Larry Thomas not guilty.” There was a soft groan from the spectators and I heard Wendy cry out. I looked around and saw Jay crying, his tender face buried in my brother’s arms. Chip was slumped over with his face in his hands. As the verdict was read, one of the alternate jurors shook his head in disbelief. It was clear he did not agree. Gene spotted it too, and said, “I can’t figure that guy; I was happy he was chosen as an alternate, now

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Tunnel Vision it looks like he would have worked for us.” The judge excused the jury and said he would advise them when we would start the penalty phase. When Larry was discharged, Wendy ran into his arms, crying with relief. After the jury left, the court officers started to escort me from the courtroom. I did not make it past the door. All I remember was feeling like I was going to fall over. I sat in a chair and woke up on the elevator with smelling salts in my face. After paramedics checked me, I was put on a stretcher and carried to a waiting ambulance. I kept my eyes closed and tried to block everything from my mind, but I could hear cameras clicking as we left the building. After an EKG and physical check-up at the Atlantic City Hospital, we returned to the courthouse. At 1:45 PM, we began the penalty phase of the trial — something which we had never discussed and for which we were in no way prepared. During this phase, family members and other witnesses may be called to give testimony in an effort to avoid the death penalty. To quote Gene from a speech he gave at a seminar several years later, “In a death penalty case, it’s the defense lawyer’s job to do anything, including getting on your knees to beg for your client’s life.” No witnesses were called: no family members, no friends. We moved directly to the summations. When the jury returned, the judge explained the one aggravating factor, that of being found guilty of murder by payment or promise of payment. The two mitigating factors were that I had no prior record and that I was a law-abiding citizen. The judge told the jury that if they unanimously found that the weight of the one aggravating factor outweighed the two mitigating factors, the sentence would be death. If not, the sentence would be life with a 30-year minimum before being eligible for parole. Gene spoke for fifteen minutes and closed with the following gem: “All I can say is this, I hope that you’re each able to reach whatever opinion you find in your own heart; and whatever you feel is the right thing to do, we can live with it.” Easy for him, I thought. He goes home when this is over. Farrell took ten minutes and closed by saying, “I cannot see how

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Part One those mitigating factors come close to outweighing this aggravating factor. Maria Marshall had no prior criminal history. She was civicminded, and this defendant did not give her the option of thirty years.” Less than ninety minutes later, we got word that the jury had reached its decision. “That’s a bad sign,” Gene said. “If they reached a decision this soon, it usually means the death penalty.” “You’re full of good news today,” I said. As we returned to the courtroom, I noticed that almost no one had left. I could see that Oakleigh and Jay were gone, which was just as well. However, Pete, Roy and Chip were there in the front row. The court officer handed the verdict sheet to the judge and he read, “We find that the aggravating factor outweighs the mitigating factors.” The jury was excused and advised not to talk to the media. Before the sentence was pronounced, the judge asked if there was anything I wanted to say. He caught me off guard, but I managed to say, “Only that I am innocent of these charges, Your Honor.” “Very well,” he said, without skipping a beat. “Robert O. Marshall, I sentence you to the punishment of death as required by law. I direct that you be kept in solitary confinement until April 25, 1986, on which day the commissioner is authorized to execute the sentence in the manner provided by law. “Under the law, you have the right to appeal this sentence. Any such appeal would have to be filed within 45 days.” As I was taken from the courtroom for the last time, I turned briefly to my brother and said, “Take care of Jay, Pete.” “I will, Rob,” he said.

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32 In 1982, at the urging of then Senator Frank Casciano, the State of New Jersey re-instituted capital punishment. In 1991, Justice Alan B. Handler of the New Jersey Supreme Court estimated that it was costing the state $10 million a year to keep the death penalty in place. By the end of 2000, 46 men and 2 women had been sentenced to death; nearly half were black men. Two were Hispanics, and 19 were white men. Of the total, 21 had their death sentences vacated. Ten received new penalty-phase trials resulting in 6 life sentences; 4 were returned to death row and are appealing again. Two received new trials, which resulted in new convictions but life sentences. One case was totally thrown out as a result of a plea-bargain — testimony in exchange for freedom. Two men died, meanwhile, of natural causes, and one was killed during a fight with another death row prisoner. Six sentences were upheld. The remaining few are in various stages of appeal. 33 I arrived at the New Jersey State Prison at Trenton at 8:30 PM, after an 80-mph race from Mays Landing. After a physical exam, EKG and X-ray, I was escorted to the CSU (Capital Sentence Unit) on the second floor. 155

Tunnel Vision I could feel the oppressive silence as I walked into the unit for the first time. Faces appeared in many of the cell-door windows as I walked unsteadily to Number 6, a center cell on the main floor. The door was opened electronically and I entered the barren space that would be my home until I either won my appeal or was executed. The cell was 7’ x 12’ of concrete block, with a 6” x 36” window in the steel door and a 6” x 48” window on the outside wall, facing a yard area. There was a 6’ metal counter along one wall, with the standard toilet/sink, opposite the bunk. An empty, bright yellow plastic footlocker sat on the floor next to the bunk. As I sat there trying to accept the reality of where I was, I heard a voice calling me. It took me a moment to realize that it was coming through the air vent over the sink. I climbed up on the rim of my toilet, and spoke through the vent to the prisoner in the next cell. He told me what to expect, and was helpful in getting me settled. As we spoke, one of the guards pushed some commissary snack items through the 6” x 16” food-port — enough to get me through the first week, until I was able to buy my own supplies. I had not asked for anything. I learned that this was something done by some of the prisoners to help new arrivals. When I called home, I found everyone was still in a state of shock; we all cried together. My main concern was for Jay. Pete was there and assured me he was being taken care of. In spite of Oakleigh’s threat to die if I did not win, she vowed to keep fighting until it was over. A few weeks after my arrival, I met with Assistant Public Defender Jill Burch, a graduate of NYU Law School. She had been a law clerk in Middlesex County before joining the Public Defender’s office. She turned out to be a brilliant and dedicated advocate. Her assistant, Liz Russo, was from Temple Law School; both were married to attorneys. They advised me that they could not represent me unless I was indigent. I assured them that I had signed all my worldly possessions over to my sons. The first thing they did was order the 4,000 pages of trial transcripts, which would have to be read and analyzed before anything could happen. In the meantime, they would submit a motion for a stay of execution which, they assured me, would automatically be 156

Part Two granted. Oakleigh came for a visit the following week. I was escorted in waist chains by three guards to a caged visit booth on the first floor. Thick glass separated us, but nothing could stop the flow of love. She brought me a typewriter and magazines, and had arranged to have a 13-inch TV and a portable radio shipped to me. Being allowed only two 15-minute phone calls each week, contact with the outside world was mainly through my letters. The typewriter became my tool of communication. The mail I received in return was like a sweet gift. Roy wrote the following letter in mid April. Dear Dad, I know this is long overdue but I never know what to say in letters. This may sound crummy but (even though it didn’t work out in our favor), I’m very relieved this whole thing is over, for awhile anyway. I know I’m a ham and all, but I didn’t like being the center of attention, at least not that way. Last night, I was thinking about the time I was watching the news with Melissa and some of my friends, the day of the verdict. I couldn’t believe they were talking about my father. You, dear old Dad. Everyone was crying except me; I couldn’t cry anymore. I just sat there blankly staring at the TV. No matter what channel I turned to, it was still there. It was like a nightmare. That weekend, I went up to New York with Melissa and stayed at her sister’s house to get away from it all. Would you believe that we were riding the subway together at rush hour, and I looked across the train at this guy reading the paper (The New York Times, to be exact), and I saw a picture of Mom. Practically everyone on the train was reading about it. I couldn’t believe it. Thank God Melissa was there; I really lost it. Dad, I think I liked things better when no one knew who you were. That’s all for now. I love you. Love always, Roy

I could feel his pain, and would have given anything to be able to take it away; but there was nothing I could do. In April the Asbury Park Press printed a two-page background article in its Sunday edition, authored by Steve Geigerich, the same guy who had covered the trial. The reporter had gone to great lengths to interview a number of people whom I had once considered friends. A 157

Tunnel Vision former classmate complained that I had submitted a professional photo of Maria for the Villanova Senior Prom Queen contest that was to be judged by a popular fashion magazine. Maria was crowned at the Senior dance. The photo was a copy of her yearbook picture. Another classmate, who had been in our wedding, complained that our wedding invitations named me as an Ensign in the United States Navy. Maria, who had taken care of all the arrangements while I was away in flight school, had mistakenly omitted my Reserve status. I was accused of intentionally misrepresenting myself. Others even put a negative spin on the “post-NROTC drill” gatherings at my parents’ home, where a number of us met for drinks and sometimes spaghetti dinner. Our rec room often served as “party central” for my classmates and their dates, where I provided Johnny Mathis music on my homemade stereo. Hometown acquaintances found fault with my approach to business and my competitive attitude towards tennis, going so far as to complain that I took a sip of Coke while changing sides during the match. No one mentioned that I always brought enough for my opponent. It seemed that the author of this article was desperate to portray me in as negative a way as possible. But I was more surprised at how eager my former friends were to slander me in such petty and spurious ways. When the weather turned warm in May, I went outside for the first time. When exiting my cell, I was required to walk out backwards and naked, with my hands over my head. I sat on the pavement with my back to the wall and let the sun warm me as it ascended in the eastern sky. The yard area was large enough to accommodate a basketball and handball court with exercise bars off to one side. The perimeter fence was crowned with coils of razor wire and was under constant surveillance by guards in a tower looming 80’ overhead. Conversation with other prisoners quickly turned to the courts and their feelings about how recent decisions would affect us. Eventually, we settled into a game of pinochle. When we returned to the wing, we were required to strip before entering the cell. Our clothing was searched and tossed on the floor, as the door shut with a clang. The attitude that prevailed among most of 158

Part Two the guards that worked in CSU allowed little room for individual personalities. We were treated as “non-people.” Any sign of intelligence from a prisoner was looked on as a threat and was treated with disdain. My cell was searched once a week. I waited in an empty cell while the guards looked for contraband and weapons. When I returned ten minutes later, I rearranged the things that had been disrupted and went back to my routine. Of the eighteen men and one woman here, many were on heavy medication. With nothing to look forward to, it seemed like they were waiting to die; I was waiting to live again. To our dismay, Billy Caller was convicted in June. During the trial, the State took the paradoxical position that Jimmy McInerney was not a credible witness. Judge Green sentenced Billy to life with a 30-year minimum. Something was terribly wrong here. By the end of the summer, I had met nearly everyone in the unit. There were a few who never left their cells except to shower, and that only rarely. Most seemed normal, but I could feel the rage seething within them. In September, a 12’ x 12’ chain-link cage was constructed in the center of the wing. We were allowed out each evening for 90 minutes, in groups of four, to play cards or chess. Only a few of us took advantage of the opportunity. During the warm summer months, prisoners from General Population (GP) were allowed family contact visits in the small grass yard area just below the windows of our wing. Mothers and girlfriends brought their children to join their fathers for a few hours together in the late afternoon. Watching was a painful reminder of the emptiness within me. Prisoners in GP, even those convicted of murder, had full privileges within the prison: contact visits, food packages from home or a vendor, full commissary (as opposed to the restriction that was imposed on ours — no canned foods), and they were allowed to work or attend educational courses. When a CSU prisoner asked a Department of Corrections representative why we were not allowed to enroll in correspondence courses, the response was, “Why should we spend the money, when we’re going to execute you anyway?” 159

Tunnel Vision Of all the restrictions we had to deal with, lack of physical contact was the most difficult to endure. Roy came for a visit in October. He walked in with his mop of curly blond hair and a bright smile; he looked wonderful. Near the end of the visit, we talked about the trial and my hopes for a reversal. Finally, he said, “You know, Dad, you never looked me in the eye and told me you didn’t do it.” “I didn’t think I had to,” I said, “but if that’s what you want, I will.” After I told him, he looked back at me for a beat and said, “I believe you, Dad.” “I love you, Roy.” “I love you too, Dad.” How I would have loved to have been able to hug him. By November, McGinnis was poking around trying to find a way into our family. Knowing he would approach Jeff Doughty, I wrote and asked him not to grant any interviews. However, Jeff likes being the center of attention. He spoke with McGinnis and a week later told me he would no longer help me with my personal legal affairs. By year’s end, Roy and Chip had purchased a condominium in Toms River and put the house on the market. I cried when I learned that they had rented a huge trash container and nearly filled it with things from the house that they did not want to keep. Jay was powerless to stop them. However, my relationship with my sons was still strong, and they each promised their continued love and support. We all wanted to be together as a family again. New Year’s Eve 1986 came and went quietly. Alone. 34 One of the most frustrating elements of prison life is the complete disinterest shown by the majority of guards who run our lives on a dayto-day basis. They have total control and many take advantage of their position; the job gives them the authority they lack in their personal lives. In fairness, there were a few exceptions — men who showed enough compassion to allow me to keep my sanity. 160

Part Two But it is no wonder we hear “CODE 33” (inmate fight) calls almost daily over the public address system. “CODE 66” calls are announced now and then, as well: suicide attempt. Tension builds to a point that some men strike out at whomever happens to be near by. That may explain why so many end up in trouble soon after they are released from prison. Added to that built-up rage is the lack of education and no job. When a man has no family to help him, no job, no hope, what does he do? How does he live, or even exist? One solution would be mandatory education — requiring a proven level of education or technical training before parole eligibility. Then a man would have a future. When I spoke to Jill in January, she told me she had read and made notes on two-thirds of the transcripts. She was shocked at McInerney’s obvious lies. Even at that early stage, she felt my conviction would be reversed. Several days later, during a call to my sister Mary, she repeated a comment Frank Hartman had made to her after the trial. He said, “I could have won that trial for Rob.” I could not get that thought out of my head. On February 10, 1987, Maria’s father had another stroke, and died in his sleep. Whenever I think of him, I remember the many late nights we shared together after I brought his daughter home from a date. Maria would fall asleep on the couch and I would stay up with him and watch old war movies on TV. He was a self-made man who, except for his college years and service during World War II, lived his entire life in the same house in the Polish-American section of northeast Philly. He earned his medical degree from William and Mary College on a football scholarship, although he was 5’9” tall and weighed 170 pounds, soaking wet. Early in March, Vikki sent me a newspaper article announcing Larry Thomas’s lawsuit against Ocean County. The article quoted a comment McInerney had made to Larry after he returned to Louisiana: “I got myself in a tight spot and had to lie my way out.” The suit was for $10 million. I had been paying Vikki a small income from my renewal commissions, to help her until she could find work. However, the commissions had dwindled to such a low point that I could no longer pay her. I wrote Chip and asked if he would send her a few hundred dollars and 161

Tunnel Vision to buy me some stationery supplies. After doing nothing for several weeks, Roy called Vikki and asked if they were legally responsible for my expenses. He added to the insult by asking Oakleigh to send him copies of the receipts for the money she had spent while staying at the house taking care of Jay. I could not understand this change in attitude. Someone had influenced them. McGinnis! I was so angry, I wrote the following letter: Dear Roy & Chip, In the past few months you’ve spent over $130,000 on the new condo, $30,000 on cars and thousands of dollars on new furnishings. I asked you for $500 and the best you can do is ask if you’re legally required. SHAME ON YOU! I thought you might at least have learned to be generous. God knows I was, with you. You could learn from Jay; he was willing to sell his guitar amplifiers to help me. God bless him. No, you’re not legally responsible for my expenses but you might consider it morally. I know you’ll do what you want. I hope you do the right thing. Love, Dad

I hoped the letter would have a positive effect. I got my answer a few weeks later. Chip’s letter was devastating; the essence of it was to write me off. He told me he accepted the verdict and wanted no further contact from me. Now I knew how Maria’s parents must have felt when they learned of their daughter’s death: I felt as though I had lost my son. It took several hours and a phone call to Oakleigh before I regained enough composure to write to Roy in an attempt to restore the lines of communication. I received no reply. Ultimately, it occurred to me that my older sons’ survival instincts overrode family loyalty. In their effort to survive alone, they took the easy route and accepted the verdict. Not having to concern themselves with me made life easier for them. I could almost sympathize; but I think they lost more than they gained. Chip’s friendship with McGinnis did allow us to tie up a loose end, however. We learned that Frank Casciano spoke to the prosecu-

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Part Two tor before the trial and asked that Beth’s past affairs be kept off the record. Assistant Prosecutor Farrell was the source. That explained his little deal with Gene, not to bring up “prior affairs” during Beth’s testimony. When Prosecutor Schiller’s term of office expired, Senator Frank Casciano sponsored him for a judgeship. Jay and Reverend Jim came for a visit in April. Since Oakleigh had gone back to her own family, Jay was now living with one of his school friends. He looked great — tall and slim, with deep blue eyes and a mop of curly light brown hair. I knew he had his own ideas on what he wanted from life. I hoped that Maria and I had been a strong enough influence to keep him straight and true. The more I slept, the less I had to deal with reality; I slept a lot. When I was awake, not an hour went by without a thought of Maria. Stirred by the stimulus of scenes on TV or a picture in a magazine, memories of the things we did together flooded my mind. There was one memory in particular that I replayed often. Maria had grown up spending her summers at Margate, a small resort town just south of Atlantic City, New Jersey, in a rented house two blocks from the beach. She loved the ocean the way my family loved Crystal Lake in Michigan. Our maternal grandfather, Oakley Valentine Weeks, designed and built a summer cottage on the east shore of that lake in 1927. He had been a successful furniture designer, until the Depression. After the stock market crash, all that remained of his sizable estate was the house on the lake, which he fortunately had put in Grandmom’s name. Crystal Lake, once experienced, is a place you never forget. As the name suggests, the spring-fed lake water is pure and clear. Oval shaped, with a shallow cove on the south shore, the deep three-by-nine mile lake is nestled into the hills of northwestern Michigan. In the morning, the sun flashes off the placid water like shimmering arrows. During the hot summer days, the wind blows in from Lake Michigan, just a mile to the west, breaking the calm. By evening, the wind has died down and the sun sets on the western shore, lighting up the lake like a Christmas tree. Located on the southeast corner of the lake is the quiet town of Beulah, population 800. During the summer months, the town over-

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Tunnel Vision flows with people from every part of the country who fill the motels and summer cottages. The year before my parents sold the cottage, I was able to convince Maria’s father to let her spend a week there with us at the end of the summer. I was trying to describe the clear blue water as we topped the hill overlooking Beulah. I heard her gasp when she saw the lake through the trees; we rode the last few miles with tears in our eyes. I did not have to say another word. I wanted her to experience the things I had done during my summers as a child. We walked along the beach to town and had milkshakes at the corner drugstore, where the shakes were so thick the spoon stood straight up in the mix. We wandered down Main Street and into the hardware store with what seemed like a limitless selection of fishing paraphernalia in little bins stacked on the floor and along the walls. A few doors down was the A&P, where the aroma of freshly ground coffee drenched the air like mist on a foggy day. Next door was the 100-seat movie theater with decades of chewing gum stuck to the underside of the old wooden seats, probably needed to hold them together. On the corner, Woolworth’s 5&10 store still sold items for a dime. I showed her the 8-lane bowling alley where I used to set pins to pay for gas for the 16-foot outboard Dad bought from a neighbor for $350. We had dinner and cherry pie à la mode at my favorite restaurant, The Cherry Hut, and later that night we took the boat to a secluded beach, where we built a fire on the sand and had sandwiches and Cokes under an umbrella of stars. I remember how she loved the cottage and the huge stone fireplace at the far end of the open-beamed living room. We spent our evenings listening to radio music and necking on the over-stuffed couch that faced the flames. After we were married, I tried many times to convince her to take a vacation there, but it wasn’t until August of 1984 that we returned with the boys. I realized later that the trip was her attempt at creating distance between Beth and me. Unfortunately, I already had tunnel vision; it was too late. In August, the New Jersey Network aired a documentary on the case. Chip attended the screening and told the media, “Twelve people found him guilty, so he’s guilty. If he gets a new trial and is found not

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Part Two guilty, he’ll get his family back.” By the end of the year, Jay was living with Donna Bradley, a young woman he had met at the condo complex, where he was living alone most of the time. It was not difficult to understand his need for love and attention; Donna helped fill the void in his life. 35 This place was not without its lighter moments, although they were too few and far between. Bobby Black, the man in the next cell, had a fetish. He had accumulated 50 bars of Ivory soap and 35 tubes of Crest toothpaste. When I asked him why, he told me he wanted to avoid the price increases. I typed up an official-looking memo from the Administrator, advising that the FDA had issued a warning stating that Crest toothpaste, among other items, had been found to be cancer-producing and were being removed from the commissary list. It further stated that existing supplies should be discarded. I gave the memo to Benson, one of the guards, explaining the joke, and passed a copy to Milo Zel, the man in the next cell, including a note to play along with the gag. Half a minute after Benson gave Black the memo, I heard him say, “Oh, Shit! I’ve got $30 worth of this stuff in here.” Zel chimed in, egging him on, while Benson picked up on the cue. He asked Black if his gums had been bothering him lately. “As a matter of fact, they have,” Black said. Benson brought a plastic trash bag to the cell and told Black he’d better throw away all the toothpaste, and even provided him with a pair of plastic gloves so he would not contaminate himself. I was standing at my door laughing so hard my sides hurt. Benson finally told him to take another look at the memo. It was dated April 1, 1988. There was not too much to laugh about in CSU, but that day was an exception. Early in May, I received a very moving letter from Jay declaring his love for Donna and their plans to get married on May 26. Rev. McColl performed the ceremony. Renée Marshall was born in July: my first grandchild. The pictures Jay sent showed her to have a chubby face and 165

Tunnel Vision a full head of hair. How I longed to hold her. Jeff Doughty had been appointed trustee of Jay’s estate and set up a monthly income from the trust account. Jay was working with a roofer to supplement his income. Also late in May, Oakleigh told me that Larry had lost his false arrest civil case against Ocean County. Wendy told her even the judge was surprised. That same month, a group of prisoners from General Population attacked a couple of guards in the main yard, causing the entire prison to be locked down. We remained locked in until each cell was searched for weapons. No phone calls, no yard or showers for nearly two weeks. It seemed that my emotional lows were directly related to the time between calls to Jill. She told me Farrell had admitted to someone that he knew he went too far in his summation and felt I would get a new trial. However, one of my Public Defender attorneys, Liz Russo, resigned to work for a private law firm and would be replaced by Bette DeMaio, a former schoolteacher and graduate of Seton Hall Law School. She was 29. There had been ten extensions so far; Liz Russo’s leaving would cause further delays. In November, Rolling Stone magazine ran an excerpt of McGinnis’s book, Blind Faith. True to his style, there were many errors and misrepresentations. Most upsetting to us all was the fact that Jeff Doughty had spoken to McGinnis. When we questioned him about the interview, he said McGinnis had distorted what he had told him. As Christmas approached, I thought back to the wonderful holidays I used to share with Maria. With my work for the year finished by mid-December, she would return to our bed after getting the boys off to school. She would usually bring orange juice and hot buttered English muffins, and we would watch GMA together. Downstairs, the house was covered with the Christmas decorations Jay insisted be put up the first week in December. The tree was tucked in a corner of the living room, frosted lights reflecting their colors off dozens of ornaments collected over the years. Under the tree were the family presents; Santa’s would be delivered on Christmas Eve. I will never forget those wonderful days with Maria. She was so full of love, so proud of her family. There has been a hole in my heart since her death. It will take a long time before we will be able to look 166

Part Two back and see what good has come from all this. I think my brother Pete had the best answer. He said, “Maybe God took her because she was suffering too much here.” Considering the way I was behaving the last few months of her life, he may have been right. As I looked around my cell on New Year’s Eve, I noticed hand prints on the wall by the window and paint worn off the floor by the door. These were subtle reminders of the men who were here before me. They too must have suffered the frustration of being caged in, with no way out. A light snowfall ushered in the new year. 36 After the holidays, I was quietly informed that I was on “knockoff.” This meant that the first and second shift guards would not pass magazines or commissary items to or from my cell. They were annoyed because I had convinced the administrator to give us extra time on visits and phone calls during the holidays. This only fostered more effort on my part to ask for additional privileges for CSU prisoners. Eventually, I was able to get a number of changes implemented, including daily phone calls and showers, and an increase in our rec time. Of course, these accomplishments brought additional sanctions against me, but I couldn’t care less. Tony Rizzo, my next door neighbor, died on January 5, 1989. He was taken to the clinic with chest pains at 2:30 AM, and never returned. He was 62 years old. Many times he would struggle to stand on the toilet so we could have a conversation through the air vent, on some topic he felt strongly about — usually the environment (which he felt was doomed) or the legal system (of which he was an avid student). He had removed the thin mattress from his metal cot and slept on the floor. The cot became a bookshelf for his massive files and legal books. Now, there were no more calls through the vent; no “Yo, Rob. . . ” Tony had become a friend in a place where friends were hard to make. I would miss him. Jill sent me the early reviews on Blind Faith. Most were what I had anticipated, but there were a few surprises. The book was written 167

Tunnel Vision mainly from the point of view of Roy and Chip. As expected, it was distorted and misrepresented, serving McGinnis’s purpose to show me as guilty, without any redeeming virtues. The book alluded to collusion between Frank Casciano and the Prosecutor, Al Schiller, creating a fresh burst of media attention. The New Jersey Law Journal carried a front-page story about Casciano’s problems and the possibility that he would sue for libel. However, the experts seemed to agree the publishers had insulated themselves sufficiently by changing his name and with the disclaimer they had printed in the front of the book. Nevertheless, Casciano did not run for re-election to the New Jersey Senate when his term was up. I could sense excitement in Jill’s voice when I called her in April. She told me that Wayne King, a New York Times reporter, had read Blind Faith and called Beth’s lawyer to ask if he had made any kind of deal for her with the prosecutor. To everyone’s surprise, he admitted he had received a guarantee of immunity if she would agree to testify for the State. No wonder she was so reticent on the stand with Gene. Mr. King immediately contacted Jill with this revelation. She was in the process of pursuing the matter when I called. We had not been provided this information in discovery. When she received confirmation from the Ocean County Prosecutor, she filed a motion for an evidentiary hearing in front of Judge Green to get sworn statements on the record. She then convinced a prominent trial lawyer, Rick Lehrich, to handle the hearing. The entire staff at the Public Defender’s Office felt this issue alone could be enough to overturn my conviction. She had also received a little item from the boys’ estate lawyer, Jay Wachtman. He came across a memo from an Equifax investigator handling the settlement of Maria’s insurance. The memo stated that Detective Murray, of the prosecutor’s office, had asked him to delay the payment of the proceeds. This explained why Oakleigh and the boys had waited so long when they needed funds so desperately. There was heavy media coverage on the filing of the motion for the evidentiary hearing near the end of May. Several days later, I received a transcript of a habeas hearing, from someone in General Population. There was no letter or explanation, only two phone numbers. After I read the material, I knew why. 168

Part Two The brief dealt with an alleged discovery violation by an assistant prosecutor from Essex County in 1976. The assistant prosecutor was none other than Keith Farrell. I sent it to Jill, who made a copy and sent it on to Rick Lehrich. Once the court granted the motion for the hearing, Rick began talking to prospective witnesses. Only former prosecutor Schiller refused to cooperate. I guess he was too busy being a judge. Casciano denied having spoken to Schiller and his lawyer refused to allow him to answer questions about Beth. Hmm. When Rick spoke to Farrell, he denied having told McGinnis that Casciano spoke to Schiller, and also denied knowing about the immunity. When he called Jeff Doughty to confirm the conversation, Jeff suddenly had amnesia. The only person who could confirm the conversation was McGinnis, and he could not be located. The hearing went as expected. Rick said it was clear the State was trying to make it seem like an unintentional mistake. Only Farrell’s assistant admitted he had seen the documents, but did not think it was his responsibility to acknowledge their existence. After a four-day hearing in August, Judge Green ruled that the failure to disclose the immunity was not intentional, thus denying our motion for a new trial. However, everything was now on the record and could be included as part of my appeal to the New Jersey Supreme Court. Billy Caller’s appeal to the appellate court was denied the following week. We were all stunned. Jill had told me that his lawyers were confident his conviction would be reversed. After an absence of more than three years, Chip came in for a visit in September. He looked wonderful — tall and clean-cut, in a white shirt and tie. The first thing he did was apologize for writing that hateful letter. We spent the remaining time talking about his life. He had become the head swim coach at Lehigh University and loved his work. I believe he wanted to share his accomplishments with me, because he had completely divorced himself from everyone else in his family except Roy and Jay. He had not even made an effort to visit

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Tunnel Vision Maria’s mother. In spite of all he had, I saw a very lonely young man. That was the last time I spoke to him. In November, Roy was interviewed on the set of the NBC miniseries, Blind Faith. The interview was tastelessly done at the scene recreating Maria’s death. I could see the anguish on his face and felt so badly for him. He seemed like a confused young man who had given up his family for substitute friends who would desert him when the movie was finished. The worst part of the interview was hearing him say that I had asked him to lie when he testified. For some reason, he had convinced himself that I had. I could see McGinnis behind this as well. When I learned Robert Urich was cast to play my part in the movie, I sent him a copy of the Statement of Facts from my appeal brief, with a letter asking him to please read the true facts of the case. In later promotional interviews, he acknowledged that he had heard from me. There was a subtle change in his demeanor, making me think that he may have been troubled by what he read. The tabloid TV show Inside Edition aired a ten-minute segment on the case at the end of the month. It was objective, but they misrepresented the piece by showing me crying — during McInerney’s testimony. They had spliced in my reaction to hearing the audiotapes when they were played in court. Now that Jay was eighteen, he could visit me alone, without an adult chaperon. He came in just before Christmas. I had not realized how mature he had become. I missed sharing his life with him. While I refused to read Blind Faith, Oakleigh did, and filled me in on most of the distortions. One that must be addressed is McGinnis’s statement that I graduated from Villanova with a 1.9 grade point average. I readily admit that I didn’t set the world on fire as a student, but I did manage to meet the minimum 2.0 requirement for graduation. I entered the last semester of my senior year with a 1.96 and calculated that I would need a 3.2 in my final semester to get my diploma. I knew what I needed in each course, and gave all my professors postcards and asked if they would mail me my final grades as soon as they knew what they would be. I had my orders to flight school. My parents had gone into debt to give me a 1961 metallic blue T-Bird convertible as a graduation present. 170

Part Two Maria would graduate in a few days and we had started making plans to get married in December. Everything was in place to begin the rest of my life. All I needed to do was graduate! The cards arrived as expected: a couple of As, mostly Bs — and then my world crashed in flames. I had received a D in my Marketing course. I couldn’t believe it. I had gone into the final with a solid C and felt I had done well in the final exam. I frantically called the professor and explained my situation, and asked if he could change the grade to the C I needed to graduate. He declined. As a final thought, I asked him how I had done in the final exam. He checked his records and told me, “You got an 85.” A solid C. I said, “How could I end up with a D when my records show I went into the final with a C?” He was silent for a few moments and then asked me to call him back in ten minutes. I said a silent prayer and recomputed my grades, and had my father double check them. They added up to 79. I nervously called my professor back, literally shaking as he answered. “Mr. Marshall,” he said, “are you trying to tell me I made a mistake?” “Yes, sir.” I said. “Well, you’re right. I forgot to average in a ‘91’ make-up test grade. I’ll go down to the records office and have the grade changed. You will receive your diploma. Congratulations. I hope I didn’t inconvenience you.” “No, sir. Thank you.” I hung up the phone and let out such a yell that my parents talked about it for years. I climbed into my Thunderbird and picked up Maria at work. We celebrated with Philadelphia cheese-steaks and spent the evening discussing our future. With God’s help, I had made it. 37 The Appeal After nearly four years of preparation, the 143-page Statement of Facts (the narrative portion of the brief) and 200 pages of legal issues were presented to the New Jersey Supreme Court in early January of 1990. Jill and Bette brilliantly covered 28 separate issues, starting with 171

Tunnel Vision the change of venue to Atlantic County, just fifty miles south, “where the likelihood of prejudice from extensive publicity was equal to that in Ocean County.” The next five issues dealt with the inadequate jury voir dire (questions to the jury during selection). Points seven and eight dealt with the seizure of the envelope containing the tape I mailed to attorney Jeff Doughty on the evening of my suicide attempt. The argument was built around the issue of seizure from a US Mail depository without a warrant. Bette argued that McInerney’s testimony should be barred at retrial, because without the tape his cooperation would not have been secured. (At Caller’s trial, McInerney had testified that he decided to enter into the plea agreement because the tape made him look bad.) She also argued that the investigator who prepared the search warrant to open the envelope misrepresented Jeff Doughty’s status by referring to him only as my brother-in-law, and had not bothered to mention that the envelope was taken from a mail depository. The next several points dealt with minor errors, the most significant of which was the court’s refusal to allow cross-examination of McInerney about a fraud he had perpetrated on his own insurance company. Jill took 54 pages to argue the 116 separate instances of prosecutorial misconduct. In her opening remarks she wrote, “The conduct of the assistant prosecutor who tried this case manifested an appalling willingness to violate the rules of fundamental fairness and professional propriety in pursuit of a conviction. The State’s representative launched a personal crusade against Mr. Marshall that extended to his attorney and investigator.” In dealing with his summation, she wrote, “In the 42 pages of transcript taken up by the prosecutor’s closing argument, there are at least 67 improper comments.” In points 26 and 27, she made a strong argument that the verdict went against the weight of the evidence. “A careful review of the record reveals that the jury was clearly mistaken with regard to Robert Marshall’s complicity in the murder of his wife. “Jimmy McInerney could not tell the truth if his life depended on it. Indeed, it would appear his life did depend on his lying, for the State

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Part Two would not give him that shocking deal if he was [considered to be] the shooter. “Prior to making his formal statement, McInerney was shown the evidence that the State had gathered; he was thus able to supply details consistent with the case the State was trying to make against Robert Marshall. . . . “McInerney admitted that his purpose was to ‘rip Marshall off for as much as he could.’ On the night of the murder, McInerney could have seen Mr. Marshall walk away from the blackjack table with over $6,000. That would have doubled the amount he had so far received from Mr. Marshall. Thus, it is extremely plausible that McInerney intended to commit robbery against Mr. Marshall that night. “Had McInerney let air out of Marshall’s tire while it was parked at Harrah’s lot, by placing a pen in the valve stem (a trick he performed on at least one other occasion) in order to cause Marshall to stop on the way home? The State’s chemist testified that such tampering could not be detected. “It strains credibility that [Marshall] would have sought the name of a hit man from an individual he had just met. If Caller did not know what was going on, it is equally ludicrous that Mr. Marshall would have asked a former cop and total stranger to kill his wife without first determining whether he was recording the conversation. He signed his name on the first money order and made every long distance call to Caller and McInerney from his office telephone. It is inconceivable that an educated and successful businessman such as Robert Marshall would have conducted this whole scheme in such an extremely stupid fashion as the State claims.” On the issue of ineffective assistance of counsel, Jill concluded, “Besides not introducing mitigating evidence and not pleading for the defendant’s life, counsel completed his total abdication of his role as an advocate by allowing the judge’s impermissible instructions to go to the jury unchallenged.” In the final point, she argued, “If any of errors 1 through 28 are deemed harmless in isolation, their cumulative effect resulted in a trial that was fundamentally unfair.” There was a separate 36-page brief dealing with the hearing on the

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Tunnel Vision immunity issue. At the hearing, Investigator Murray testified that, “As of September 27, 1984, it was impossible to rule out Beth Brachfeld as a suspect.” The prosecutor had admitted that the immunity papers were placed in a “non-discoverable file,” which meant that whatever was contained there would not be turned over to the defense. In her closing paragraphs, Jill wrote, “Despite the fact that Schiller and Murray knew that the agreement with Brachfeld could be used to impeach her credibility, they claimed they never mentioned it to anyone else in the prosecutor’s office. “Keith Farrell admitted that he lied to the jury in his summation about his personal role in the investigation of the case. He testified that he viewed his role as prosecutor as requiring him to be biased against every defendant, and he admitted that he was worried that the jury might acquit Mr. Marshall. “It is universally recognized that when immunity is exchanged for testimony, witnesses may be so influenced by their hopes and fears that they will testify to anything desired by the prosecution in order to obtain a grant of immunity. “If it had not been for the relentless media interest in this case, the promise to Brachfeld would not have surfaced, even though an assistant prosecutor was aware that this significant document was not provided to the defense. It is submitted that the prosecutor’s conduct during this prosecution was unconscionable and that this error, alone or in combination with the numerous others that permeated the trial, requires a reversal of Robert Marshall’s conviction.” When I walked into the attorney/client visit room after the oral arguments on January 13, Jill and Bette were grinning from ear to ear. “It went better than our wildest dreams,” Jill said as I sat down. We spent the next hour reviewing the arguments that had been presented before the New Jersey Supreme Court earlier that day. It seemed clear that we had a winner. Later that evening, New Jersey News ran a segment showing Justice Garibaldi speaking to the assistant attorney general about the immunity. “I find it unbelievable that the Ocean County Prosecutor forgot to give those papers to the defense,” she said. The Public Defender was so convinced that I would get a new trial that Jill convinced Rick Lehrich to take the case and work with her as 174

Part Two co-counsel. I could not think of a better combination. The NBC mini-series Blind Faith aired on two nights during the February sweeps. I did not watch. Much as she hated to do so, Oakleigh did watch and told me what I already knew. McGinnis’s flawed portrayal was shown to the audience in living color. The Public Defender paid for a four-county phone poll of viewers who had watched the movie. The study showed bias in favor of guilt in the southern counties as opposed to a more objective feeling from viewers in the northern counties. Hopefully, we could use the results to convince a judge to move the new trial out of Atlantic County. All we could do now was wait for the decision from the court. Keeping myself busy was the key to survival. I wrote 15 to 20 letters every week and read incessantly. Among my reading material were several boating magazines. It is my hope to one day have a live-aboard boat, one sturdy enough to allow me to actually experience the cruises I have dreamed about during these lonely times. During my reveries, I often stop and realize that Maria is part of the dream. She loved the azure waters and pristine beaches of the Caribbean Islands. How I would love to be able to take her there again. The natural progression of these thoughts is to return to the many crossroads that brought all this about; those decisions and events that changed my life forever: moving from Wisconsin to Pennsylvania, where a band member would introduce me to the girl I would later marry; joining the NROTC at Villanova, which led to a commission in the Navy Reserve, which led to flight school at Pensacola. Just before flying home for Christmas leave in 1963, I had lunch with a student I never saw before or since. We talked about our future plans — mine in multi-engine craft, his in helicopters. His ultimate goal was to land a job with one of the big helicopter manufacturing companies. “You have to know how to fly them if you want to sell them,” he said. That made sense to me; I shifted my training to helicopters. After Maria and I were married, we had time for a one-week honeymoon in Puerto Rico and then returned to Pensacola together. I completed my advanced training in aerobatics, formation flying, radio navigation and carrier landings at Whiting Field in the T-28, a 1425horsepower monster that was also used by the Vietnam Air Corps as an

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Tunnel Vision attack plane. After four additional months of training in helicopters, Maria pinned Navy wings on my uniform at a small ceremony in December, 1964. The Navy captain who presided at the ceremony told us something that stayed with me throughout my flying career. “Gentlemen,” he said. “Now that you have earned your wings, don’t think you know all the answers. Instead, think of them as your license to begin to learn.” A few hours later Maria (three-months pregnant) and I were headed north. I had received orders to HC-2, a helicopter search and rescue squadron stationed at Lakehurst Naval Air Station, just seven miles from Toms River. My life was on a track that would lead from dream-fulfilling contentment to gut-wrenching tragedy. During Easter week, Reverend Bob Henninges and Sister Elizabeth from the Chaplain’s Office arranged the first religious service to be held in CSU. These dedicated people made an effort to visit us every week. It was a pleasant distraction to be able to talk with them, even if it was through the food-port. One warm day in August, six guards were attacked by inmates in the main yard. As a result, the entire prison was locked down again. Whenever we left our cells, two guards hovered nearby in flack jackets and helmets, as if we’d had some connection with the incident. One week later, the grassy picnic area beneath our unit was paved over and converted into a small yard. The big yard was also paved and divided into smaller sections. A small basketball court now replaced the only respite from the concrete and bricks that monopolized our view. In September, the boys agreed to give me the Country Club bond and my car, in anticipation of winning my appeal and the new trial. The bond and car would be sold to help me get started with my life. The money would be held in an escrow account until my acquittal. Some idiot reporter picked up on the bare facts of the arrangement and twisted the story to make it seem as though my only concern was to have my car back and rejoin the Club. By the end of 1990, the number of men in CSU was down to nine and the media was raising hell. They accused the high court of not being in favor of the death penalty. With each reversal of sentence or conviction, the cries grew louder.

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Part Two 38 Jill called the unit on January 23, 1991 and asked the guard to have me call her. The long-awaited decision on my appeal would be announced the following day. She would pick up the decision from the court at 10:00 AM and immediately call Rick. I was to call him at 10:30 AM. Before I could call, one of the men on the unit heard the news on the radio and reluctantly informed me that my conviction and sentence had been affirmed. I went numb and felt physically ill. I called Rick just after he spoke with Jill. He was outraged and could not understand what had happened. Jill told him the court found “harmless error” on every issue. I cancelled my scheduled visit with Jill and Bette and crawled into my bunk, where I stayed all day. By 6:00 PM, I had built up enough courage to call Oakleigh and Jay. We mourned together. When I spoke to Jill the following day, it was clear that she was still upset. She too had cried. She tried to reassure me that I still had a good chance in the Federal Court. “We all feel the court used your case to show the public they were not opposed to the death penalty. You’re white, middle class and from the ‘establishment’ — just what they needed as a test case. The Federal Court won’t be under the same pressure.” Even the Ocean County Prosecutor had expected a reversal. When he heard the decision was due, he instructed one of his investigators to make plane reservations to Louisiana to find McInerney. Rick decided he could no longer afford to stay on the case at the rates the Public Defender paid. First Assistant Public Defender Jane Vanderzell, a successful trial lawyer, joined the defense team and would serve as the lead counsel. I met with her in April. She had just finished reading the trial transcripts and was outraged at how badly Gene had handled the trial. She would immediately start working on the PCR (Post Conviction Relief) appeal. However, before we could argue for PCR, Jill and Bette would submit the Proportionality Review (a study that compared the aspects of my case to others of a similar nature). If that was successful, 177

Tunnel Vision my sentence would be vacated and we would continue to fight the conviction in the Federal Court. I was not optimistic; the same court that affirmed my conviction and sentence would make the decision on the Proportionality Review. By August, sentence and case reversals had reduced the 24-cell CSU wing to just four prisoners. It was very quiet. At the end of the month, we were moved to a 5-cell unit that used to be a “psych ward.” The cells were freshly painted and clean. However, the ceiling was 15’ high and the windows were 8’ off the floor, and frosted. When they were changed to clear, a few weeks later, the yellow yard-light shone through the window, throwing a shadow of the coiled razorwire on the wall. The days dragged by. Renée was three years old and I had not yet met her. I was not eager to have Jay bring her to visit me, only because I did not want her to have any memory of me being here. We talked on the phone when I made my weekly call to Jay and Donna. “I love you, Grampa,” she said in a sweet little voice. It was difficult to stay in control when we spoke. Her pictures reminded me of Maria at the same age. By the end of the year, Jay had hired a lawyer to take control of his trust, and he and Donna opened a children’s boutique in the town where they lived. Watching family television shows that aired at this time of the year reminded me of our own cozy home at Christmas. One of my fondest memories was our Christmas in 1978, after Provident Mutual held the “Leader’s Association” meeting in California. We decided to take the boys and make the most of the trip by flying to San Francisco and then driving down the coast to Newport Beach. During a visit to Fisherman’s Wharf, we visited an art gallery that had several of Leroy Neiman’s color lithographs on display. Maria fell in love with a beautiful piece depicting two swimmers in the water, entitled, “Freestyle.” I wanted to buy it for her, but she insisted that we had spent too much already. I secretly took a business card from the owner and, after we returned home, I called the gallery and arranged for them to hold the print until I could send them a check. The picture arrived just in time for Christmas. I don’t know if Maria suspected, but when she saw it, she wept with delight. “Freestyle” hung in our family room and was a 178

Part Two pleasant reminder of our wonderful family trip to California. The brief for the Proportionality Review was filed in midDecember. The report showed that my character fell well outside of the norm for a death penalty case. It also showed that Ocean County had twice as many capital indictments as any other county in New Jersey. Atlantic County had the highest percentage of death sentences — a double whammy. The oral argument was scheduled for January 1992. 39 At 5:30 AM New Years day, 1992, an electrical fire gutted Oakleigh’s home. They barely made it out alive. Everything was lost, including what little I had left that was stored there. Fortunately, insurance replaced the house and furnishings. However, 25 years of memories went up in smoke. I met with Jill and Bette on January 21, after the oral arguments for the Proportionality Review. They said it went well, but the court seemed confused at the vast array of statistical material and gave no indication of their feelings. In May, I watched in horror as Roger Coleman, a Virginia man on death row, went public in a last ditch effort to save his life. His story made the cover of TIME magazine and he appeared on Nightline and The Phil Donahue Show. From what I saw and heard, it was clear there was serious doubt about his guilt. On the morning of the scheduled execution, the governor told Coleman that the only way he would consider staying the death sentence was if he passed a polygraph. Considering the stress he was under, it was not surprising that he failed the exam. He was executed that night. I had been trying to convince Jill to allow me to take a polygraph. I did not want to find myself in the same situation as Coleman. She was not in favor of the idea, mainly because of the concern that someone would inform the media I had taken the exam. If the results were anything but positive, the mere fact that we did not disclose the results would imply that I had not passed. However, I was convinced that I would pass, and that this would help restore my relationship with Roy and Chip.

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Tunnel Vision I contacted Attorney Frank Hartman and asked him to give me the name of a qualified examiner. The exam was set for late on the morning of July 2. I had not told anyone what I was doing. I woke up in a bed at St. Francis Hospital later that day. I was informed that just before the exam was to be administered, I passed out cold. When I was returned to CSU, I discovered that some idiot from the Department of Corrections had informed the media of my intentions, along with my medical status. My fainting spell made the front page of every newspaper in New Jersey, as well as the evening news on area TV. So much for confidentiality. Jill sent me a copy of a study on polygraph exams done by The Office of Technology Assessment in Washington, DC., which concluded, “In some cases there is what might be regarded as a substantial error rate. This is particularly so for innocent subjects.” When I spoke with her, she said, “Our advice is that you not take the exam at this time. It’s not admissible in court in any event, and in your emotional state, your chances of passing are remote. The best time to do this would be after your conviction is overturned.” I was terribly frustrated, but I agreed to wait. At the end of the month, the New Jersey Supreme Court released its decision on the Proportionality Review. As expected, they affirmed my sentence, ruling that the statistics were insufficient to reverse. In December, a Certiorari Petition was filed with the US Supreme Court — a request to rule on the Fourth Amendment issues in the case. Specifically, the seizure, without warrant, of the tape I mailed to Attorney Jeff Doughty. The petition was denied two months later and the defense team immediately started working on the Post Conviction Relief appeal. During this phase, every detail of the trial and everything leading up to it was scrutinized and analyzed. It was the last rung on the State appeal ladder. On December 3, 1992, the New Jersey State Constitution was amended to provide that the death penalty could be imposed on anyone who committed a homicidal act that caused serious bodily injury resulting in death. This change broadened the scope of the law and would vastly increase the number of cases eligible for the death penalty. Our numbers were about to increase.

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Part Two 40 I had one of my happier moments on the phone with Jay, right after New Years, 1993. I had given him a chess set for Christmas and we were able to play over the phone during one of my extended holiday calls. During the game, the current hit song, “I Will Always Love You,” by Whitney Houston, played on the radio. I told Jay, “It doesn’t get much better than this, for me. Whenever I hear this song I think of Maria.” My calls to Jay and Donna were the highlight of my daily week. He kept me updated on Roy and Chip, and I was able to chat with Renée (if she had not already gone to bed). During one of those calls, he told me that Jay Wachtman, the lawyer who had been handling the insurance settlement for the boys, had charged them $190,000 for his work. I was shocked. I wrote a letter to Judge Clyne, the overseer of Maria’s estate, and complained about the outrageous fee. In his reply, he suggested that Jay contact the Ocean County Fee Arbitration Board, which he did. After several hearings, the board required Wachtman to return $52,000 to the boys. During the hearings, Jay learned that Jeff Doughty had received a $62,000 “finder’s fee” from Wachtman, which had not been disclosed. Jeff reached a settlement with Jay, rather than put his license at risk by having a complaint filed with the local ethics board. By the end of January, the number of CSU prisoners had increased to five, and we were moved back to the original 24-cell unit. For a time, there was a threat of double-bunking us, but with the large number of death penalty cases pending, it was obvious that that would be a shortterm solution. During the May TV sweeps, ABC’s Prime Time aired a segment dealing with anorexia. The piece ended with Roy giving the principal figure, Karen, an engagement ring. Janena Kerns, the actress who played Maria in the TV movie Blind Faith, had introduced them. Karen had played her daughter in a sitcom. Early in July, Oakleigh underwent surgery for ovarian cancer. The doctors removed a melon-size tumor and twelve inches of her lower intestine. She was 23 pounds lighter after the operation. Following the 181

Tunnel Vision surgery, she spent six months on chemotherapy to kill the remaining cancer. In mid-August, a number of motions were filed with Judge Green, resulting in the State being required to turn over several hundred pages of discoverable material that had not been given to us before the trial. Green also ordered Investigator Reilly to provide a statement explaining why McInerney was in the witness protection program before he entered into his plea agreement with the State. Near the end of the month, Jill gave me a copy of the PCR petition. There were 102 discovery violations, 230 claims of ineffective assistance of counsel, 73 errors in jury selection, 10 new issues on the admission of the tape, and a couple dozen miscellaneous issues. Most interesting was a newly discovered memo obtained from the prosecutor’s “work product file,” which documented an interview with the owner of the Best Western Motel. The memo was signed by Lt. Mulligan and stipulated that the only mail depository in use at the motel in 1984 was the closed box. If we had had this memo at the pre-trial hearing, Judge Green would have been compelled to exclude the tape, and possibly McInerney. The newly discovered memo allowed us to raise the issue again in the PCR appeal. On the issue of ineffective assistance, what stood out were Jill’s comments concerning Gene’s failure to develop a strategy. Throughout the trial, it seemed as though he was “shooting from the hip,” confident he would be able to handle each witness without preparation. Jill wrote, “The [mere] fact that trial counsel stood up and asked questions of the witness does not indicate he was prepared to do so.” From a list of 130 witnesses, the State called 50 to the stand at the trial. Not one was interviewed by the defense before walking into the courtroom. Larry called only eight witnesses; six were alibi witnesses that testified they saw him in Louisiana at the time McInerney said he was in New Jersey. His wife and son were the other two. Of the 40 witnesses on my list, we called 19. Most of them were never interviewed or even contacted. Of those who were called to testify, few were interviewed beforehand, and those, only briefly. Because Gene had not provided his notes in discovery on the few he did interview, they were barred from testifying in any helpful way. Dr. Adler, the psychiatrist Gene brought to the hospital after my sui182

Part Two cide attempt, was not allowed to explain to the jury his conclusions: that my attempt was real, and not a ploy to create exculpatory evidence as the State maintained. We paid Gene $134,000 and Rich $44,000, and not one expert witness was called to testify. After an unsuccessful attempt to have Judge Green recuse himself, and allowing time for the State to file its brief, the PCR hearing was finally scheduled to begin in December 1994. Over the years that I have been here, I have received many letters from people interested in the case. Some were students who were studying the case as part of their Criminal Justice course in school. Others were people who were just curious and had questions. In every instance, I offered to answer their questions by sending them a copy of the Statement of Facts, which Jill wrote as part of the first appeal to the New Jersey Supreme Court. I only asked that they send me ten stamps to cover the mailing cost. In every instance, the facts caused them to rethink what they had seen or read in the media or the book. A few became friends and continue to correspond on a regular basis. One such writer was a young man named Tom, a Criminal Justice student, who needed material for an essay to complete his course. He later wrote to tell me that he managed to convince his professor and a good portion of his class that there was serious doubt about my guilt. We have been in regular correspondence ever since. I wrote several articles against the death penalty, which were printed in his name in several area newspapers. He became irreplaceable in his help, giving Oakleigh a break; she was still in chemotherapy. 41 1-1-94 My Dearest Family, I’m sitting here on the first day of 1994, munching on a few iced oatmeal cookies (a new addition to our commissary list). This has accomplished several things: first, they virtually replaced my craving for chocolate, and second, made me loose as a goose. Although I do sneak a few M&Ms now and then. This New Years soliloquy is prompted by a question Jay asked during our

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Tunnel Vision last phone call: “How many magazines do you read?,” and to pass along, to those who may not be aware of my day-to-day routine, just how my days are structured and occupied. My first problem is to decide where to start, only because my day starts at different times depending on how late I am able to stay awake in the evening before my eyes ache from reading, which invariably determines how long I sleep — usually with an aching back from this foam mattress. Fortunately, the ache subsides within an hour or so and the other persistent aches attributed to my age take over. However, before I do anything, I say my morning prayers, including a prayer for each of you, and then do my Bible study, followed by a light exercise routine. Last night, after watching some of the New Year’s Eve celebrations on Letterman and Leno, then trying without success to find a movie to fill the void, I did a crossword puzzle, read a bit, tried the TV again (to no avail) and finally, after sponge-mopping the dust balls from my floor and generally tidying up my 7’ x 12’ living space (most taken up with my bunk, desk/counter, toilet and storage boxes, leaving me with about twelve square feet of actual walking space), I collapsed under a double thickness of blankets and immediately fell asleep. I usually dream several times during the night; some I manage to remember and write down, thinking they might eventually become the inspiration for a story. When I look at them in more lucid moments, I realize that most are meaningless ramblings that I eventually trash. However, I’ve saved a few with the hope that I will eventually be able to remember the vivid dream that compelled me to make the note in the first place.

Regardless of when I fall asleep, we are all awakened by a sharp rap on the door at 6:10 AM, when the first-shift guards come on duty. Their purpose in this barbaric ritual, we’ve been told, is to determine if we’re still alive. Comforting, but nonetheless an annoyance, since I’m often in the middle of a dream I never get to fulfill. Once awake, I make a quick trip to the toilet and slip back under the covers to await the breakfast tray, which varies from day to day, but not from week to week. Monday: cold cereal and warm toast. Tuesday: toast and a vile version of chipped beef. Wednesday: oatmeal and warm toast. Thursday: eggs and toast, etc. I try to eat a little and creep back in bed before I wake up completely, hoping I can reclaim sleep. The homemade earplugs I use help keep out the incessant blaring of the public address announcements that begin at 6:00 AM and continue throughout the day. On those mornings when sleep eludes me, I switch on the TV and watch Good

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Part Two Morning America. On warm weather days (at least 60 degrees and sunny), I will go to the yard from 10:30 AM to 12:30 PM to walk and exercise, limited as it is. On alternate days, I sleep or read until the lunch tray is slid through the food-port at 11:00 AM. I save as much as possible for late night snacks and try again to sleep, or in the alternative, read until the second shift begins at 2:10 PM. We shower at 2:30 PM and I type until the dinner tray arrives at 4:00 PM. With luck, I will receive some mail, which I devour and answer immediately. That usually keeps me busy until 6:00 PM, when I go to evening recreation, which is held in a 12’ x 12’ chain-link cage that was constructed on the wing to give us a little more time out of our cells. The only other event that I look forward to is my daily phone call to a friend or family member — my only chance for verbal communication other than the limited conversation I have at evening recreation, or in the yard. The remainder of the evening is taken up with TV — a movie, if I can find one, then the news and Leno or Letterman. I end the day by reading Popular Mechanics, National Geographic, Money, Islands, Readers Digest, three boating magazines and one financial newsletter, in addition to the novels (which I read continually). The key to maintaining my sanity is to stay busy when I’m not sleeping. So, my loves, keep writing, keep on taking my phone calls, and keep praying, which helps give me the strength to deal with this nightmare. Thank you for all you’ve done. I love you dearly, sweet family. Have a wonderful New Year. All my love, Rob

Early in April, Judge Green dismissed virtually all of the issues on ineffective assistance, his justification being that the issues had already been adjudicated in the main appeal. On the remaining issues, he required that affidavits be submitted before he would deal with them in open court. In May, Bette filed a motion for a new trial, on the basis of newly discovered evidence that would show that Investigator Murray was lying at the remand hearing when he testified that he was not aware that Beth had been given immunity. 8-1-94

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Tunnel Vision Dearest Jay, I want to reinforce something I said to you on our last phone call. Some of my happiest memories are of the things we did together when you were growing up. Remember the time I blew-out your hair after giving you a bath? You ran downstairs to show Mom, Roy and Chip, and we all laughed till we cried. There’s a picture of you with your “big hair” in one of the family albums. You were just two and a half years old. I’ll always remember our Trivial Pursuit games, especially the one where you came up with the answer to: “What is the northern-most country in South America?” You, Roy and I were playing Mom and Chip. Neither Roy nor I had a clue, but you told us you had just studied that in school and we went with your answer; and you were right. Do you remember the answer? Then there were the stickball games in front of the house. Your swim meets. Our trips to Barnegat Inlet on the boat; I’ll never forget the smile on your face when I let you take the boat out by yourself. And the word games we played when we drove to Philadelphia to visit Grandmom and Granddad. Remember the time we were trying to guess an “L” word and you came up with, “Lawood”? I laughed so hard I thought I was going to drive off the road. These are just a few of the memories of you, Jay — of my family as we grew together. The point of this letter is to remind you that each of the things you do with your daughter will be important for her now and in the future. Treasure the time you have with her; someday you will be able to smile as you recall those happy moments. Don’t be overwhelmed with your effort to be successful. That will happen if you work hard. There’s nothing wrong with wanting to achieve, but don’t lose sight of what is most important now: your family and your relationship with the Lord. I made a lot of mistakes, but I thank God I took time to enjoy you. Take lots of pictures and video along the way. And remember, having a child doesn’t make you a parent any more than having a guitar makes you a guitarist; you have to work at it. One last thought. Probably the most important thing I did was to give Maria every Friday; that was our day to do whatever she wanted. We had breakfast in bed, went to lunch, did some shopping (Mom’s favorite activity), went to a movie or hit the beach. Anything to be with each other. You may not be able to give Donna a whole day right now, but find time to be together somehow. If you do, each moment you have together will strengthen your love for each other, as well as your marriage. I love you, Jay. I wish you every happiness and all the success you deserve.

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Part Two Give Donna and Renée a BIG hug and kiss for me. All my love, Dad

In September, Chip became engaged to Lois, a Bethlehem, Pennsylvania tennis club pro. Soon after, she started to write to me. Her letters were warm and friendly and it was clear she wanted a relationship with Chip’s father. I hoped she would have a positive effect on my son. Roy married Karen in October. The event was covered by several of the tabloid TV shows and magazines. Chip was the best man. It was painful to watch, knowing I could not be there. I could see that Roy was happy, but I wondered what each of my son’s lives would have been like if nothing had happened to Maria. On Halloween weekend, Renée told me that she lost her first tooth and got a silver dollar when she put it under her pillow. Jay later told me she tried for another dollar with the same tooth the following night. She sounds so sweet when we talk. Gene testified on the first day of the PCR hearing in December. He took so long trying to cover his ass that he had to return for two additional days of testimony. Jane crossed swords with the pompous little Assistant Attorney General, Len Roberts. He strutted and shouted when he had the floor and played with the hair he had stretched across his bald pate when he was listening. Jane later told me that she felt Roberts had “Short Man’s Complex.” He stood 5’3” in lifts and obviously hated the fact that Jane looked down on him at 5’10”, in her 3-inch heels. Jill had told me that they didn’t feel Green was going to rule in my favor; after all, he would be overturning a conviction from his own court. However, it was important to get everything on the record for the anticipated appeal to the New Jersey Supreme Court. After I finished testifying on the third day of the hearing, Jill told me we were going to have to come back after the holidays to finish. Before I left, she told me that the court had reversed my “neighbor” Joe Bennett’s death sentence, giving him double life. Bennett and I got off to a rocky start after he arrived here in 1993.

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Tunnel Vision He was a former army enlisted man who had received combat training during his tour of duty in Germany. Several times during our evening recreation, he would joke and threaten me. After a few serious comments, I leaned close to him with a pencil in my hand and said, “I don’t appreciate your bullshit threats. If you’re going to do something, do it, but I want you to know that you’re going to get hurt because I’ll take this pencil and ram it in your eye.” He took a long fifteen seconds to think about that and then smiled and said, “Hey, I was only fooling around.” We tapped fists (the prison handshake) and went on with our card game as though nothing had happened. I didn’t have any more trouble with him after that. 42 1-1-95 Dear Dad, I’m sorry for not writing this sooner but I could never find the right words. I don’t know if I can find them now, but last night I promised myself I would try. I want to start by thanking you for all your help; you gave up a lot for us. You can be sure I will be there for you; count on it. I also want to thank you for being the father you’ve been all through my life. When I watch the old movies you made, it brings back a lot of vivid memories, like ice-boating in the mouth of the river. Those were some really neat shots of the boat sailing into the sunset. I never really looked at them the way I do now. There was the skiing, too. You were following me down the slope and I didn’t have any poles; I guess I was pretending to be an airplane. There was also a shot of you sitting on a fold-up chair by the wading pool at the country club. I was in the pool, knee deep, watching Mom film the shot, then I turned and splashed you a little and you started laughing at my devilish little act. I was probably about two. What I really saw in those reels was the love you had for me. Both you and Mom were special people, especially to your sons. I’ll never forget those times. I was very fortunate to have had them and I thank God every night for the childhood upbringing I had, and my parents. I now see that love transcended onto me with Renée. I see how much you love me by example. Know that I love you the same. I wish all the time that you and Mom could come over and be with Renée, with all of us. I can picture Renée getting anxious, waiting for you to arrive.

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Part Two I hope someday Renée will look back on me as a father the way I look upon you. I’m praying that I can have the chance to be there for you like you’ve been for me. Thank you again for all you have done for us. I love you, Jay

I went back to court on the 5th to finish the PCR hearing. The only positive highlight in the ordeal was that the head of the security detail, Sergeant Witcher, bought me a cheese-steak sandwich and a Coke for lunch each day. But even that did not outweigh the agony of the 90-minute trip to court, bouncing on bumpy roads in the back of a security van with bad shocks. At 3:00 PM, after preliminary arguments and testimony, Jane started her lengthy summation. Green had that “glazed look” on his face, about thirty minutes into her dialogue. She spoke for an hour, before telling him she was only halfway through her notes. Knowing we were going to return in a few weeks, I called Jane the following day in an attempt to coax more enthusiasm from her at the next session. She became furious; how dare I criticize! In hopes of cooling her off, I wrote the following. Dear Jane, I'm sorry if my comments offended you, it was my intent to be constructive, not hurtful. Let me explain further. I realize it would be impossible to remain completely enthusiastic throughout the summation, but it seemed at times that you were reading as opposed to speaking. I'm not referring only to the case law but some of the issues as well. Maybe it's just that I've heard and read it all before that it seems dull, but apparently some of the people in the courtroom picked up on it as well because comments were made by some of the media and it was reported on NJN News. So it wasn't just me. Even Judge Green stopped making notes after thirty minutes. I hope you realize that I have always recognized how committed each of you have been to my case. I hope you can accept my comments in the spirit in which they were intended. The last time I didn't participate in my own defense, I

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Tunnel Vision ended up here! See you on the 25th. Thanks again. Sincerely, Rob

When we returned, Jane was brilliant — but it was all to no avail. On January 31, Judge Green denied all of our motions as well as Post Conviction Relief. My defense team immediately started working on the appeal to the New Jersey Supreme Court. When I talked to Jane a few days later, she told me the feeling seemed to be to get the State appeals behind us and move into the Federal Court, where everyone felt I had the best chance at a reversal. Chip and Lois were married on April 29. The reception for 150 friends and family members was held at the Woodland Hills Country Club in Bethlehem, Pennsylvania. Roy was the best man, Jay an usher. A few weeks later, I received an envelope full of photos and a wedding announcement from Lois. It was a beautiful event. When I spoke to Jay on the Sunday after the wedding, he told me that Maria’s mother had died the previous Wednesday. The boys had gone to the services on Friday morning. The only other people there were Maria’s cousin, Wally Krupp, and his wife, Betty. It was Wally who had introduced Maria to me when we were in high school. When I spoke with Renée on her sixth birthday, she said, “Grampa, are you ever going to come here?” Through the lump in my throat, I replied, “You bet I will, Honey. I’ll be there just as soon as I can.” Without skipping a beat she said, “I’ll bet, when you come, I won’t be here.” “Don’t worry,” I said, “I’ll wait for you.” Renée Marshall has grown into a bright and pretty child. Jay and I have talked about bringing her here for a visit but, as much as I want to see her, I do not want it to be in this setting. Hopefully, I will be able to visit her soon. Later in August, the 220-page PCR appeal brief with a 500-page appendix was presented to the New Jersey Supreme Court. The 12-

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Part Two page Statement of Facts summarized over 500 claims we felt were still unresolved. The brief concluded, “This court should set aside the defendant’s conviction and remand the matter for a new trial. In the alternative, the court should order that the defendant be given full access to the State’s file and permission to interview the jurors, and remand the matter to a different judge for a full evidentiary hearing, including the claims dismissed by the lower court, the claims discovered as a result of access to the State’s files, and investigation into jury misconduct. “Alternately, the court should address the merits of all claims dismissed on procedural grounds to permit the defendant to litigate them in Federal Court.” The State filed its reply brief sixty days later and the oral argument was scheduled for January. In the meantime, I continued to wait. To help pass the time, I devoured my magazines and wrote to a number of major boat manufacturers, requesting full-color brochures, which I used to decorate my cell. I had also amassed a collection of stick-on labels and bumper stickers, just for fun. Because we were not allowed to attach anything to the cell walls (lest it conceal an attempt to tunnel into the next cell), I stuck them to the back of my steel door. I thought I was very clever in the deception, since the door slides sideways when opened, hiding the stickers from the guard during a cell search. Then one day while I was in the yard, the guard in the booth closed the door on the guard doing the search, as a joke. This revealed my colorful collage, which I was ordered to remove when I returned. What stickers I could save, I glued to the few cardboard boxes I use to store my meager possessions. 43 Jane and Jill presented the oral arguments for Post Conviction Relief to the New Jersey Supreme Court on January 16, 1996. Two weeks later, the court asked for 250 additional pages of brief. They had originally limited the brief to 150 pages. No one seemed to have a definitive explanation for the request. We could only hope it was a positive sign. In an effort to focus interest on the abolition of the death penalty, the ten men waiting in CSU mailed the following letter to over thirty religious leaders in New Jersey:

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Tunnel Vision This letter is being written by the undersigned, each of whom is under a death sentence in the State of New Jersey. It is our hope to enlist your support and assistance to augment a campaign to repeal the death penalty in this State. We feel that if the public knew the facts regarding capital punishment, they might think differently and voice their objection to the State legislature, hopefully in the form of a petition. It is widely believed that Americans overwhelmingly favor the death penalty. Actually, the opposite is true. A recent Kansas poll showed that most people favor a life sentence without parole, with restitution. We believe the same would be true in New Jersey. We need those people to speak up now, before it is too late. The following facts are relevant: 1. It has conclusively been established that execution is not a deterrent to murder. Most states that do not have the death penalty have a lower murder rate than those that do. 2. In 1992, the New Jersey Supreme Court pegged the cost of a single death penalty case at $7.3 million. The cost of imprisonment for forty years would be less than $900,000. 3. New Jersey has spent over $100 million since capital punishment was reinstated in 1982. A lot of prison cells could have been built with that money, not to mention the jobs that would have been created. 4. The death penalty simply creates more victims: the innocent parents, spouses, children and loved ones of the individual being executed are added to the list of mourners. 5. Between 1930 and 1990, over 4,000 persons were executed in the United States. Of these, over 2,100 were black. During those years, AfricanAmericans made up less than twelve percent of the population. 6. Since 1900, more than four innocent people have been convicted and sentenced to death each year. They were the lucky ones who were saved. We will never know how many were executed. We know that politicians use the death penalty to rally support for votes, but we believe that they are using the issue not to exact justice, but to exhort vengeance: something that should be left in God’s hands. The late Justice Thurgood Marshall once wrote: “I cannot agree that the American people have been so hardened, so embittered, that they want to take the life of one who performs even the basest criminal act, knowing that the execution is nothing more than blood lust.” The religious community has got to

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Part Two make this distinction clear. We hope you will help make this happen. We write to you with hope and expectation that you are able and willing to call the churches you represent to accountability concerning this issue. Fifty one other civilized countries have already abolished capital punishment. Now is the time to initiate an appropriate effort here. We hope you will join us and do what has to be done to rectify this egregious stain on our society before it is too late. Thank you. Very respectfully, [CSU inmates]

I hope I someday have a chance to speak to people who favor the death penalty, to tell them a life sentence without parole is far worse than the mercy of death. The newly passed Counter-Terrorism Bill, signed into law on the anniversary of the April 19 Oklahoma City bombing, added yet another hurdle to getting a new trial. If the State did not reverse, the new law permitted federal judges to overturn State proceedings in only three circumstances: “If the decision of the state court was contrary to clearly established federal law as determined by the United States Supreme Court; if it involved an unreasonable application of clearly established law; or if the State’s factual determination was not reasonable.” The legislative counsel for the ACLU said, “It’s a disaster. The bill marks a historic expansion of federal law-enforcement authority at the expense of civil liberties. To top it off, the bill would virtually insure that a person wrongly incarcerated would not get his day in court to prove his innocence.” In an effort to cut food costs, the prison administration streamlined the food services operation and, in the process, cut the food portions to the bone. To quote one of the administration staff people. “We’re feeding you just enough to keep you alive.” Since we could not buy canned items from our commissary, nor receive monthly food packages from home or a vendor, CSU prisoners were limited to “junk food.” To call attention to the problem, eight of the eleven men in CSU started a hunger strike (I could not participate because I am borderline hypoglycemic). After ten days, the administration agreed to add several 193

Tunnel Vision nutritious food items packaged in plastic containers to the commissary list. We considered this a major victory. Jay Jr. was born on April 3. I was able to hear him demanding his bottle when I called Sunday evening. I could tell Jay was bubbling with pride; much as men love their daughters, it seems all fathers want a son. Matt Marshall was born to Lois and Chip on October 15. By the end of the month, Chip had moved out and filed for divorce. I remained in contact with Lois and tried to provide solace and understanding. James Boyde, a black prisoner, died from an aneurysm one week before his Proportionality Review was to be heard in court. This was particularly significant because the issue of jury bias was part of his appeal. His lawyers had determined that New Jersey juries were ten times more likely to give the death penalty to a black defendant. Before the year ended, the court decided to order an independent study to verify the statistics. In a statement to the press, the Public Defender said he felt the issue was serious enough to strike down the death penalty in New Jersey. In February, 1997, Roy and Karen had their first child. I had to read about it from a tabloid clipping someone sent to me. Roy had isolated himself in California, and was not in touch with Chip or Jay. No one had an explanation for this strange behavior. In October, Adam Rice returned from his trial for another murder in Philadelphia. He told me he didn’t do this one, and was sure he would win. However, during the trial, the commonwealth produced someone who lied under oath, saying that Adam was involved. He was convicted and given a life sentence. Conditions were so bad at Holmsberg Prison (where Adam had been housed) that it was condemned. The prisoners were moved to another facility. During the four-year wait to go to trial, Adam fell on the way to the shower and broke his hip. The doctor who was supposed to repair the hip put a pin in his knee, which left him permanently disabled; he had to use a walker to get around. A few months later, they took him to the hospital, gave him a shot

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Part Two that knocked him out, and then pulled all of his teeth. The reason? they felt it would keep his temperature down. He sued and won settlements on both cases. Added to his problems were chronic indigestion, an ulcer and cataracts. While in Philadelphia, he announced that he’d had enough and wanted to end the appeal process. The court appointed a tough little lawyer named Allan Zegas, who fought the New Jersey Public Defender for eighteen months to give Adam the right to die. The results surprised everyone. While anyone would normally sympathize with Rice’s condition, the concern was that, if successful, he would open the door to New Jersey’s execution chamber, a door that had been locked since 1962, and would pave the way for our now conservative high court to continue what he would start. Nearly everyone ignored him, except Sister Liz from our Chaplain’s Office, and me. We had become friends and I played cards with him every night at evening recreation. My thinking was, he needed a friend — or there would be no reason to change his mind. Sister Liz visited with him nearly every week, but he wouldn’t budge. The men in CSU were not happy. In spite of the cancer raging within Oakleigh, nothing could get in the way of the building of the retirement home she and Doug had planned in the hills of Lancaster County, Pennsylvania. They sold their house to their son and his new wife for a bargain price and used the equity to pay cash for the new house. They moved just before Christmas. The A-frame was nestled into the side of a hill, completely surrounded by trees that grew right down to a lake, 300 yards from the porch. I could hear her pain when Oakleigh and I spoke on the phone, but she was happy to be living the dream they had shared for two decades. My 240-page habeas petition was filed in November. Federal District Court Judge Barry Cuestro got the case. We heard he was intelligent and thorough — neither the most liberal nor the most conservative. The State had ninety days to file its reply brief and we had another sixty to file ours. My lawyers were hoping the judge would order court hearings that would allow us to call the witnesses Judge Green had denied in the PCR. We were hoping for a quick answer from the court. 195

Tunnel Vision We waited. 44 Chip and Lois got back together in 1998, but not before their contentious breakup found its way into the front page of the Trentonian, a newspaper that was just the right size for the bottom of bird cages all over central New Jersey. Jay’s life was changing as well. The marriage he entered into at age 17 was now over. He shared custody of his children and continued to be active in their lives; he loved being a father. That summer he met a special lady, Marybeth, a divorcee with three children. Oakleigh’s cancer was causing fluid to form in her abdomen. By the end of the summer, she and Doug decided it would be best if she went back for additional surgery. At the end of October, she made it home from the hospital, and never left her bed. She couldn’t keep anything down but liquids. Doug moved her bed close to their bedroom window, where she could look out onto the porch and the salt lick they had placed in the yard for the deer that visited regularly. We continued to talk every Tuesday, as we had done since I was convicted. By early in December, as our birthdays were approaching, she could only manage ten minutes. In her frail sweet voice, she said her last good-bye, although I wouldn’t accept it at the time; my tough little sister had to get well and see me through to the end of this nightmare, as she had promised. “Don’t worry, Rob,” she said in a whisper, “I’ll always be there for you. When I can’t anymore, Doug promised me he would take over until I’m well again.” “Don’t you leave me,” I said through the lump in my throat. “I need you. We all need you.” “I love you, Rob. Happy birthday.” “Happy birthday, sweetie. I love you too.” The next voice I heard was Doug’s. “She’s falling asleep, Rob. I think we should let her rest.” “Okay,” I said, “I’ll call over the weekend.” That was the last time we spoke. When I called Sunday morning, Doug was in tears. He was barely able to tell me, “Bug died in her sleep 196

Part Two at 6:00 this morning, Rob.” I literally collapsed to my knees as I cried, “Oh, Jesus.” The rest of our brief conversation was a blur. I knew there was nothing I could say to comfort him. We said good-bye with a promise to talk again in a few days. I was not allowed to attend the services, so I grieved alone. Already, I missed the strongest influence in my life since Maria’s death. We were hoping to hear from the court, but there was not a hint of a decision from anyone. Adam Rice was getting attorney visits from the lawyers at the Public Defender at least once a month, trying to convince him to continue his fight. He always kept them guessing, but I knew from our talks that he had already made up his mind. His family left the decision up to him. After one of his legal visits, he told me his lawyer repeated a comment that he had heard at the office: my own lawyers were apparently expressing doubt that I would be granted habeas relief and a new trial. When I called Jane, she denied that anyone had said anything, and convinced me again that she was planning not only on getting a new trial but winning it, as it should have been the first time. When I asked if the Public Defender would hire a good “street lawyer” familiar with federal procedures to review my petition, I got an abrupt “NO. We can’t afford it.” So I settled down again and continued waiting patiently. When another of Rice’s lawyers repeated the same comment the following month, I wrote to Alan Zegas and asked if he would be interested in joining my defense team. He was, and came in for a visit as soon as I could get him approved. We agreed to each write our own carefully worded letter to Dale Jones, the Chief Public Defender. Again we were denied. Again Jane placated me with a visit, assuring me that the rumors I was hearing were distortions, not to be believed. After all, how could anyone know what Judge Cuestro was going to do? There was nothing I could do but pray she was right. In October, I received an anonymous letter that blew my mind. I sent it to Jane, expecting her to send one of the office investigators to Louisiana. Essentially, the letter (typewritten in capital letters on yellow lined paper) said that McInerney had been seen in New Jersey with 197

Tunnel Vision one of the trial lawyers; that he admitted he had lied about my involvement in Maria’s murder; and that the Ocean County Investigators helped him formulate his confession. Unfortunately, there was nothing to corroborate his visit. Jane called the trial lawyers, Frank Hartman and Gene Zeigler, and both denied having seen McInerney. Jane refused to take it seriously; I couldn’t accept that it was a hoax. Considering what was at stake, I felt it should be checked out in person. Nothing was done. 46 Bailey Vincent was born to Roy and Tracey in March of 1999. Again I found out via a clipping sent by a friend. Roy had not sent an announcement to anyone in the family. Jay was ready to start his own frozen food sales business. He bought a truck and a cooler, and freezers to store the food in a rented garage; and The Home Grocer was born. He continued playing his guitar and was writing his own music. I heard him play over the phone; he was very good. His friends compared him to his idol, Eddie Van Halen. How I wanted to see him play! I was frustrated. By April, Jane still had done nothing about the possible lead from Louisiana. After Adam repeated another negative comment about my case from his lawyer, and after discussing my options with several friends, I decided to write to Judge Cuestro. 4-5-99 Honorable Joseph E. Cuestro U.S.D.J. P.O. Box 2097 Camden, NJ 08101 Re: Civil Action # 97-5618 Dear Judge Cuestro: Shortly after my conviction in March 1986, I was advised that I was eligible for a pool lawyer for my appeal because the State’s chief witness, Jimmy McInerney, had been represented by a New Jersey Public Defender. I decided to waive my right to the pool lawyer and to utilize the Public Defender. Now, it

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Part Two appears that McInerney has entered the picture again, this time as a potential exculpatory witness. I received an anonymous letter dated October 2, 1998 (copy enclosed), telling me that McInerney had spoken to one of the trial attorneys here in New Jersey. I sent the original letter to my lawyers, who spoke to each of the trial lawyers (Gene Zeigler and Francis Hartman), both of whom denied having heard from McInerney. However, my lawyers did not attempt to contact McInerney, which, considering the potential value of the information received, seemed the very least that could be done. Ergo, the conflict. Obviously, if the letter is legitimate, it would validate my innocence. When I spoke with Jane Vanderzell on March 10, 1999, she admitted that they had intended to contact McInerney or his lawyer but had “not gotten around to doing so.” She promised she would — but I have received nothing to indicate this has been done. Early in 1998, I asked the Public Defender to consider adding a pool lawyer to my defense team to add fresh perspective. When I wrote to Dale Jones asking that he consider adding additional counsel, my request was denied. I, and many others, have read every page of every appeal brief filed over the past thirteen years and we all conclude that the Prosecutorial Misconduct, Ineffective Assistance, Brady Violations, and Cumulative Error should be enough to warrant a new trial. If my lawyers have lost faith in their original convictions, then it is time to replace them. I beg Your Honor’s assistance in the matter. Your help will be greatly appreciated. Thank you. Respectfully, Robert O. Marshall

I wrote a follow-up letter when I received the Public Defender’s report confirming that contact had been made with McInerney and his lawyer, who denied having spoken to one of the trial lawyers. The investigator had phoned it in, not bothering with face-to-face meetings. On April 15, Judge Cuestro advised me by letter that my request for new counsel was denied, because I hadn’t been able to substantiate my claims. In August, the New Jersey Supreme Court granted Adam Rice the right to end his appeals. A two-shift suicide watch was established in front of his cell. For the next several weeks, Rice was kept busy with

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Tunnel Vision interviews from staff psychiatrists and administrators, asking him everything but what he wanted for his last meal. Sister Elizabeth spent all of her free time with him, pleading that he continue to fight for his life, emphasizing how it would surely affect the rest of us if his execution were allowed to go forward. Then one afternoon during a visit with Sister Liz, he abruptly changed his mind. I don’t know what she said to him, but suddenly they were both crying and holding hands through the food port. If anyone had reasons to want to end his pain, it was Adam Rice, but he chose to live. To fight. He had become a friend and I was pleased that he had done the right thing. Two weeks later, the Public Defender hired Alan Zegas to assist them with Rice’s new effort to have his sentence overturned. The same people who told me they couldn’t afford to hire a pool lawyer to review my habeas somehow found the money to hire one for Rice. September 7 was the 15th anniversary of Maria’s death. It was also the day the exterminator arrived to fog each cell with a chemical to wipe out the roach infestation. I had more than my share, a by-product of using cardboard boxes for storage. Most of the unit had gone to the yard. I stayed in to play cards with Adam Rice in the recreation cage. Andy Rigsby and Allen Hoyes (two blacks) joined us, followed shortly by Mo Mudding, a 200-lb white biker gang member. As soon as he walked in, he looked at Hoyes and said, “Let’s do this.” They ran at each other like runaway trains and ended up on the concrete floor behind one of two stainless steel tables with attached stools bolted to the floor inside the cage. Hoyes, easily 280 lbs, ended up on top and began pummeling Mudding in the face with his fists, until I could see him go unconscious. The public address system blared a “CODE 33” as Hoyes got up and started kicking Mudding in the face. Within seconds, there were at least twenty guards in the unit. I thought they would bust the gate to the cage and subdue Hoyes. At that point I attempted to intercede, as it was obvious Hoyes was not going to stop. “Come on, Allan, he’s had enough.” I said, approaching him. He warned me away, by turning and pushing me back. 200

Part Two “Stay out of this, or you’re next,” he said. I backed off and stood next to Rice and we watched in horror as Hoyes climbed up on the stool of the table and jumped with both feet on Mudding’s face. We could hear groans from the gaggle of guards who gaped from outside the chain-link barrier. One guard yelled, “Do something, Rob.” Again I attempted to approach. This time Rigsby pulled me back, saying, “Don’t get involved in this, Rob, you’ll only get hurt. Those guys were after us.” I didn’t know who he meant until later. After each attack on Mudding’s inert figure, Hoyes would rest for a few seconds, giving the appearance that he had finished. Then he would climb up on the stool and launch himself on Mudding’s face with a bone-breaking crunch, again and again, kicking him in the face between each jump. To my horror and amazement, the gate remained closed. After what seemed like an eternity, a voice of authority called to Hoyes to stop. At that point, Hoyes and Rigsby embraced and gave each other the “Brotherhood Salute,” a closed right fist thumped firmly across the chest. Hoyes looked up at Bunting, another black prisoner who was standing at his door on the upper tier and yelled, “You’re next.” So this was to be Mudding’s partner, had he made it to the cage. Mudding was lying in a spreading pool of blood that oozed from every orifice in his face. Blood was splattered ten feet in every direction. The gate was finally opened and Hoyes was ordered to back out. His hands were cuffed behind him and he was taken from the unit. I was next, followed by Rigsby, and finally Rice in his wheelchair. We were returned to our cells, where I watched as they took dozens of photos and then dragged Mudding out of the cage and placed him on a gurney. He was quickly taken from the wing to the clinic, where he was pronounced dead. Within an hour, my cell door opened and I was cuffed and taken to the small office in a corner of the unit. Two officers from Internal Affairs had set up a video camera and asked if they could record a statement from me after I was “Marandized.” Knowing this was probably going to end up in court, I told them I would like to talk with my lawyer before I made any statement. I was returned to my cell, where I was 201

Tunnel Vision eventually able to contact Jane. I thought I might surprise her with the news of the deadly fight, but she had heard it on the radio on the way back from lunch. We decided she would meet with others in her office and decide the best thing for me to do. When I called back two hours later, we had both reached the same conclusion; say nothing at this time. By the following day, I realized that the fight was a set-up. Allen Hoyes was on Administrative Segregation (AdSeg) status because of an altercation with Goodwin, one of the unit guards, several months earlier. He should not have been allowed in the cage with anyone else. Mudding always went to the yard. This time, he stayed in, knowing he would end up in the cage with Hoyes. I suddenly recalled a conversation I had with him in the yard several weeks earlier. Hoyes had a habit of ranting loudly about things that bothered him; he would yell from his food-port for fifteen or twenty minutes. This must have annoyed the hell out of Mudding, as his cell was next to Hoyes’. When I asked him, half joking, if he was going to do something about the noise from his neighbor, he said he was going to take care of the problem. When I reminded him that Hoyes was in Adseg, he said, “Don’t worry, I’ve taken care of that.” I didn’t think any more about it until after the fight. Goodwin and his partner had allowed them to be in the cage together. Mudding was a confessed cop killer, Hoyes was a major annoyance. They didn’t care who got hurt. The unit was locked down while the administration decided what to do. We thought there would be changes in the staff, but their solution was to restrict to four the number of prisoners that went to the yard, and two for indoor recreation. There were no changes in the staff or their procedures. It remains to be seen if criminal charges will be imposed. Judge Cuestro set a date for motions on December 10. Jane told me the judge wouldn’t stop talking; she gave him a lot to think about. After the US Supreme Court decided how the new habeas rules set under the counter-terrorism bill were to be interpreted, we anticipated that Cuestro would decide what he could and would do. In my never-ending attempt to keep myself busy, I created a hobby for myself: the building of picture frames from colored paper 202

Part Two torn from any magazine with colors or patterns that I could cut and weave into the desired format — something I had learned from a former CSU prisoner who was now fighting his conviction in G.P. In order to cut the paper to the right size, I broke the head off a straight pin and slid it backwards into a pencil eraser, allowing it to extend 1/4”, making a “craft tool” I could use to score and cut the paper. I had made several hundred frames, planning to mail them out at Christmas, when I got busted for a weapons charge: the pin in the eraser. I spent three days in an empty cell until my case could be heard. The charge was reduced to “Possessing an Altered Object,” and I was returned to my cell. My lawyers filed an administrative appeal, which was denied. Several local papers sensationalized the story, claiming I had been caught with weapons in my cell, not bothering to explain the details of the pin in the eraser. Just before Christmas, Jay and his lady, Marybeth, found a house and moved in together with her children. The place included four garages: plenty of room for the four freezers needed for Home Grocer. I received several letters from Beth over the next few months and was able to speak to her on the phone; she sounded like a very sweet person. I watched TV as the major cities of the world celebrated the beginning of the new millennium on New Year’s Eve. The hype of the Y2K Bug passed quietly, without it rearing its ugly head. 46 By the beginning of 2000, the word was out that I was a potential witness against the wing guards who set up the deadly cage fight. The changes were subtle (some of them, anyway). Others were more obvious, from cold food to deliberately messing with my paralegal visits and phone calls. Shortly after the rec cage incident, Hoyes was moved to a firstfloor corner cell that had been enclosed — a metal cage was built around the last two cells and shower. Any movement outside that enclosure required special handling: cuffs, ankle chains and extra guards. The metal key to the cage was attached to a 1” x 4” aluminum plate which, along with other wing keys, was worn on the guard’s belt. Every step taken by the guard drove those keys together; they jangled like loud and annoying sleigh bells. Some officers deliberately wore that

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Tunnel Vision damn key to push our buttons. Goodwin stood in front of my cell and rattled the key-set in an attempt to irritate me, but I wouldn’t give him the satisfaction of complaining. In this environment, little things pile on top of each other until you want to blow. I wore my earplugs a lot. In June, an event took place that had the potential of changing the status quo of the death penalty across the country. A study of capital punishment from The Justice Project was published on-line and in newspapers nationally. Entitled, A Broken System: Error Rates in Capital Cases, 1973-1995, by James, S. Liebman, Jeffrey Fagan, & Valerie West, June 12, 2000, it has been summarized as follows. The report addresses the rationality of the death penalty system as a whole. It asked whether the mistakes and miscarriages of justice known to have been made in individual capital cases were isolated or common. The answer provided in the study of 5,760 capital cases and 4,578 appeals was that serious error substantially undermined the reliability of capital verdicts. More than two out of every three capital judgments reviewed by the courts during the 23-year study were found to be seriously flawed. The results reveal a death penalty system in which lives and public order are at stake, yet for decades has made more mistakes than would be tolerated in far less important activities. They reveal a system that is wasteful and broken, and needs to be addressed. Nationally, during the 23-year study period, the overall rate of prejudicial error in the American capital punishment system was 68%. In other words, courts found serious, reversible error in nearly 7 of every 10 of the thousands of capital sentences that were reviewed during that period. Capital trials produce so many mistakes that it takes three judicial inspections to catch them, leaving grave doubt whether we do catch them all. After State Courts threw out 47% of death sentences due to serious flaws, a later Federal review found “serious error” — error undermining the reliability of the outcome — in 40% of the remaining sentences. Of the 2,370 death sentences thrown out due to serious error, 90% were overturned by State judges. A substantial number of those judgments let through to the Federal stage are still seriously flawed.

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Part Two High error rates put many individuals at risk of wrongful execution; 82% of the people whose capital judgments were overturned by State post-conviction courts due to serious error were found to deserve a sentence less than death when the errors were cured on retrial; 7% were found to be innocent of the capital crime. This much error, and the time needed to cure it, impose terrible costs on taxpayers, victims’ families, the judicial system, and the wrongfully condemned. And it renders unattainable the finality, retribution and deterrence that are the reasons usually given for having a death penalty. When life without parole is proposed as an alternative, support for capital punishment drops more often below the majority.

This was fast becoming a hot issue. It remained to be seen what politician, if any, would adopt this righteous cause. Two weeks later, my habeas decision was released by the Federal District Court. Judge Cuestro denied all of our motions: for discovery, an evidentiary hearing, and Habeas Corpus. His final statement said, “Because this court finds that petitioner has not made a substantial showing of the denial of a constitutional right, no certificate of appealability shall issue,” meant that we would have to request that the Third Circuit Court agree to hear my appeal. The “Memorandum for Certificate of Appealability” was filed in August. It was supposed to be limited to 15 pages; mine was 75, with a motion for an over-length brief (the argument being that my issues were simply too voluminous to be covered within the normal limit). Under the Anti-Terrorism and Effective Death Penalty Act of 1996, an unsuccessful habeas petitioner is required to make a substantial showing of the denial of a constitutional right in order to obtain a Certificate of Appealability. We had to demonstrate that the issues were “debatable among jurors of reason”; that a court could resolve the issues in a different manner; or that the questions were sufficient encouragement to proceed further. Jill opened the petition with the most comprehensive and concise overview of the case I had seen to date.

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Tunnel Vision Overview of the Case Appellant was convicted of hiring someone to kill his wife. Three others were indicted for the same crime. Although Appellant and Larry Thomas, who was charged as the principal, were tried together, Thomas was acquitted. Appellant fainted after the jury returned its verdict. He was rushed to the hospital. Less than three hours later, he was back in court and, after a 25-minute penalty phase, was sentenced to death. The entire trial was a travesty of justice. Appellant’s own counsel did practically no investigation or preparation before trial, and at trial, failed to subject the State’s case to adversarial testing, failed to mount a defense, and failed to protect his client’s constitutional rights. The circumstantial evidence presented by the State could have been effectively neutralized had trial counsel investigated, interviewed witnesses, and presented available testimony in defense of his client; it also could have been neutralized if the State had complied with its discovery obligations. The State withheld discoverable material, including a promise of immunity to a major witness, repeatedly violated the rules of professional conduct in the courtroom, disobeyed orders of the court, ignored the rules of evidence, and generally engaged in tactics designed to violate Appellant’s constitutional rights. In short, the prosecution treated the trial like it was a game, one it had to win at any cost. The penalty phase was, if possible, even worse. It was “as though Marshall had no counsel.” (N.J. 1997, J. O’Hern dissenting). Counsel neither investigated nor presented a case for life. He produced no evidence, made virtually no attempt to influence the jury’s sentencing decision, and ended his brief remarks by saying, All I can say is this: that I hope when you individually consider the death penalty, that you’re able to reach whatever opinion you find in your own heart; and that whatever you feel is the right thing to do, we can live with it.

These jurors, to whom counsel blithely entrusted Appellant’s life, were the same men and women who had indicated on questionnaires that they could impose the death sentence, but whom counsel had declined to question regarding the circumstances under which they would be able to impose a life sentence.

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Part Two Appellant was convicted on the word of Jimmy McInerney, a former deputy sheriff from Louisiana. McInerney, who was also charged with killing Maria Marshall, received a shockingly lenient deal from the State in exchange for his testimony (he pleaded to conspiracy, and the State agreed to drop the capital murder charge and seek a maximum sentence of five years in prison with no term of parole ineligibility) claimed that he was the middle man in this alleged murder-for-hire scheme. He told a story about Thomas, another Louisianan, shooting Maria Marshall at a picnic area on the Garden State Parkway, early on the morning of September 7, 1984, after her husband pulled off the highway to check a tire he felt was losing air and possibly going flat. The couple had spent the evening at a casino in Atlantic City, as they often did. Appellant, who has steadfastly maintained his innocence, contended that his wife, who was shot twice in the back, must have been killed by unknown assailants or robbers who struck him on the head and rendered him unconscious as he was examining the tire. He freely admitted having hired McInerney, but insisted that it was solely to investigate whether his wife had hired an investigator to uncover his extramarital affair, and not for the purpose of having his wife killed. McInerney’s largely unsubstantiated testimony did not convince the jury, which acquitted Thomas while convicting Appellant. It was plausible, under the evidence, that McInerney was aware of the casino winnings the Marshalls had with them that night, that he let some air out of the Appellant’s tire while the car was parked at the casino, and that McInerney, alone or with another, followed the Marshalls to the picnic area, where he killed Maria Marshall because she saw him while he was perpetrating a robbery. In its decision on Appellant’s direct appeal, the New Jersey Supreme Court did not paint an accurate picture of the trial, partly because inconsistencies and implausibilities in the testimony of McInerney, the State’s main witness, were virtually ignored. Before McInerney told the State of New Jersey the story that saved his life, he was shown what the State had so far uncovered in its investigation, and was thus able to make much of his story fit that investigation. In his dealings with Appellant, McInerney claimed to be “Jerry Davies,” which resulted in the real Jerry Davies, an innocent acquaintance of his, being indicted for Maria

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Tunnel Vision Marshall’s murder. McInerney claimed that Marshall hired him to kill his wife, but also claimed that he never intended to kill her, that he only intended to “rip off” the Appellant for as much as he could. Yet, in order to secure the deal from the State, he had to name a shooter other than himself, and he claimed to have brought Larry Thomas to New Jersey, and to the picnic area on the Parkway, to kill Maria Marshall, after supplying him with rubber gloves and the murder weapon. McInerney was cross-examined over the course of four days; the vague tale he spun during his short direct examination repeatedly unraveled as he was questioned about the details. McInerney, whose motive to lie was enormous, did not give the same answer twice, if he answered at all, concerning details such as the amount of money he received from Appellant over the course of his several trips to New Jersey; when he received the different sums of money; the circumstances of his first meeting with Appellant; his supposed dealings, arrangements and meetings with Thomas; the purchase of rubber gloves from a local hardware store at 11:00 PM on a Thursday night; and the timing and circumstances of his supposed meeting with Appellant to select a murder site. The unintelligible testimony on the timing of that meeting was especially significant, because when McInerney reviewed the State’s evidence prior to telling the story that relieved him of a capital murder charge, the State had not yet learned that at the time McInerney would claim he was with Appellant, driving up and down the parkway looking for a murder site, Appellant was at the Toms River Country Club having lunch with his wife and oldest son. The State theorized that Appellant wanted his wife out of the picture to permit him to start a new life with Beth Brachfeld, the married woman with whom he had been involved for 14 months. Ms. Brachfeld, a vice principal at a high school, was another important witness for the State. Her testimony that Appellant wanted to “get rid” of his wife appeared to be unblemished by a deal, involvement in the case, shady conduct or inconsistencies, unlike McInerney’s testimony. Unbeknownst to the jury and Appellant, however, Brachfeld was testifying under a promise of immunity from prosecution (her immunity was unknown until it was mentioned in an article in The New York Times in 1989). Another piece of important evidence, admitted at trial over

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Part Two counsel’s objection on multiple legal grounds, was a taperecording Appellant prepared for Jeff Doughty, an attorney married to his sister, who handled some of his legal business. Appellant made the tape three weeks after the murder, while checking into the motel where he had been meeting with Brachfeld. Appellant had placed the tape in an envelope, addressed the envelope to Doughty at his law office, affixed the envelope with postage, and written on the back, “To be opened only in the event of my death.” He placed the envelope in the motel’s outgoing mail depository. On the tape and in his testimony, Appellant stated that he had gone to the motel to commit suicide; [however, he had] fallen asleep, and then awoke when law enforcement authorities entered the motel room. The State contended that Appellant never intended to take his life, but created the “suicide tape” as a false exculpatory statement. This theory never explained how Appellant would have known he was going to be placed under surveillance at the motel or how he knew the authorities would intercept his mail. In addition to providing Doughty with the details necessary to tie up his business and personal affairs, Appellant acknowledged on the tape that he had hired McInerney to investigate his wife, that he had paid him $6,300, including $800 just hours before the murder, and that he suspected McInerney was responsible for his wife’s death. The prosecutor used the tape as further evidence of a conspiratorial relationship between Appellant and McInerney by comparing it to an exculpatory statement created by McInerney shortly after the murder. The tape contained other remarks detrimental to Appellant’s defense, and the prosecutor used it to cross-examine him. McInerney subsequently testified, at the trial of co-defendant William Caller, that the tape had induced him to become Appellant’s accuser. The tape thus played a key role in Appellant’s prosecution and conviction. Appellant was a highly successful seller of insurance and other financial planning tools; at the time of his arrest in late 1984, he was servicing 400-500 clients. He had provided his family with a comfortable lifestyle; he was planning to send his three sons to college, and he anticipated providing his wife’s aging parents financial support as well. As a seller of insurance, for whom premium costs were reduced by the commission he earned, Marshall believed that term life insurance was an inexpensive means to

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Tunnel Vision cover these family financial obligations in the event the family’s income was disrupted due to his death, or diminished by his inability to generate the same level of income should something happen to his wife. After analyzing their financial needs, between October 1983 and September 1984, Appellant increased the insurance on his life to $1.7 million, and purchased the bulk of the insurance that was in effect on his wife at the time of her death, $1.45 million. The State theorized that the increase in the amount of life insurance gave Marshall an additional motive for plotting his wife’s demise, namely to obtain payment on these policies. Marshall’s counsel, Eugene A. Zeigler, did little if anything to corroborate Appellant’s explanation for the increase in life insurance — that a “term war” was taking place in the insurance industry during which the price of term insurance had dropped by more than half — or to explain to the jury that Marshall’s method for determining desirable amounts of insurance was a legitimate tool that he had been taught by others in the business. The “insurance” motive was tied to the State’s theory that Appellant had amassed a debt in excess of $300,000, which he hoped to eliminate with his wife’s insurance proceeds. It was brought out by Thomas’s attorney, through Appellant, that three-quarters of this “debt” consisted of a first and second mortgage on Appellant’s residence ($48,800 and $128,200 respectively) on which he made monthly payments, and the mortgage on his office building ($79,700), paid for by the rent from the building tenants, and that the mortgages were current. Appellant’s attorney, Zeigler, however, produced no evidence to corroborate the testimony regarding the mortgages and remaining indebtedness miscalculated by the prosecutor, and produced no testimony regarding Marshall’s financial situation. In fact, Zeigler was totally unprepared to counter the prosecutor’s cross-examination of Appellant based on hundreds of pages of financial records which had been subpoenaed by the State, unbeknownst to the defense. Another aspect of the State’s case against Appellant that was not adequately challenged because of Zeigler’s failure to demand proper discovery and to investigate or prepare for trial was the State’s claim that Appellant had not experienced car trouble on the night of the murder, and therefore had no legitimate reason to turn off the highway in the middle of the night. McInerney testi-

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Part Two fied that he picked Thomas up at the scene after Thomas shot Maria Marshall. He saw Thomas squat down beside Marshall’s car, and then heard air hissing out of a tire. The State produced testimony that the tire was found to have a slit in the sidewall, made by a knife, and that the tire did not appear to have been driven after it was cut. Appellant never claimed that the tire was cut before he drove it; it seemed to him that something else had been wrong with the tire, but the State had destroyed the tire while examining it, thereby preventing the defense from establishing what caused Marshall a problem while driving. It came out during the trial that McInerney had let air out of tires on cars driven by New Jersey investigators when they were in Louisiana, using the valve stem, and that Marshall’s car, with which McInerney was familiar, was accessible to him while Marshall and his wife were in the casino that night. A key factual issue at trial was whether Maria Marshall was awake when she was shot. The State contended that she was lying across the front seat of the car sleeping, negating the possibility that she was shot by a robber whom she saw and could later identify, which could explain why she was shot and Appellant was not. Appellant testified that although she had earlier put her head in his lap and may have gone to sleep, she awoke and sat up when they approached a toll plaza about three miles before the picnic area. McInerney testified that he was parked near the toll, and saw the Marshall vehicle come through the toll with two people sitting upright in the car. Shortly after the jury returned its guilty verdict, the penalty phase began. Twenty-five minutes later, the jury found that the aggravating factor of murder-for-hire outweighed the two mitigating factors. Appellant was then sentenced to death. The New Jersey Supreme Court, on direct appeal, found that fourteen errors occurred at Appellant’s trial, and identified seven additional flaws in the proceedings. Despite these findings, the court concluded that reversal of Appellant’s conviction and sentence was not warranted. On post-conviction review, the State Supreme Court affirmed the denial of post-conviction relief, and ruled that Appellant had failed to establish prejudice on his ineffectiveness of counsel claims, even though he had been denied the opportunity to present the facts that would have established such

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Tunnel Vision prejudice. Because the majority of Appellant’s claims of ineffective assistance of counsel raised in his State petition for postconviction relief were dismissed by the court without affording appellant the opportunity to present testimony, and because the State Supreme Court ruled that the claims should not have been dismissed on procedural grounds and then ruled on the merits of those claims without remanding the matter for an evidentiary hearing, Appellant’s Petition for Habeas Corpus presented grounds for relief that were not procedurally defaulted, but on which facts were not developed in State Court. Although the District Court found that Appellant was not at fault for failing to develop facts and that an evidentiary hearing was not barred by law, it concluded that Appellant failed to satisfy the requirements for a hearing. In that ruling, as well as in denying Appellant habeas relief, the District Court ignored the facts set forth in the Petition, which would have changed the outcome of the proceedings, had they been presented to the jury. The debatable claims presented in Appellant’s petition were: That the State Court’s decision that Appellant did receive effective assistance of counsel had no factual support. 2) That counsel failed to investigate and present evidence supporting innocence, and thereby demonstrated inadequate performance. 1)

3) That an evidentiary hearing on claims of ineffective assistance of counsel be granted. 4) The State’s failure to disclose its promise not to prosecute Beth Brachfeld. 5) The violation of the sanctity of the US Mail when attorney-client mail was seized. 6) That the District Court’s denial of the review of search and seizure claims was wrong. 7) The State’s failure to disclose arrangements regarding McInerney’s status as a State or Federal informant. 8) The district court’s denial of a motion for discovery precluded the development of the claim that the State withheld favorable evidence. 9) The denial of a hearing to prove the willful nondisclosure of the State’s promise not to prosecute Brachfeld. 212

Part Two 10) The prosecutor’s suggestion that an innocent man does not hire an attorney. 11) The prosecutor’s misconduct during examination in the guilt and penalty phase. 12) The imposition of the death penalty in the absence of additional aggravating factors. 13) The conviction and sentence were obtained through the accumulation of constitutional error. In summary, Jill wrote: Appellant urges that the District Court’s perfunctory treatment of his petition for Habeas Corpus provides an independent basis to grant a Certificate of Appealability because, according to prior law, a death sentence cannot be carried out by the State while substantial legal issues remain outstanding. So far, a Federal Court has not given appellant’s non-frivolous claims of constitutional error the attention they deserve.

In the pages that followed, Jill meticulously covered each of the main points in fine detail. The prevailing feeling was that our request would be granted. However, the State had twenty days to file a reply. We knew they would make every effort to undermine each of my claims. Even if I won the right to appeal, there was no guarantee the court would ultimately grant relief. That would be up to a three-judge panel of the Third Circuit Court. We would get our answer in February, 2001. The change in political power in New Jersey brought about several changes in the Office of the Public Defender. Jane Vanderzell was moved off my case and into the Juvenile Division. Rather than be demoted, Jill Burch resigned and took a job with the New York Public Defender, Appellate Division. My initial reaction was shock. After all, who could possibly take over for Jill, who had been working on my case from the beginning? She ate and slept with this case for nearly 15 years. Early in March, I met Alan Hirsch, a graduate of Rutgers Law. He was assigned my case and would begin the process of familiarizing 213

Tunnel Vision himself with the facts. He brought with him the news that the Third Circuit had agreed to hear ALL my habeas issues. Our brief would be due by July 6th. He also handed me a brief he wanted to file, claiming that Green had misstated the law in the penalty-phase instructions, “which so denigrated the option of a non-unanimous verdict that any reasonable juror would have believed that unanimity was the preferred verdict.” He concluded, “This argument was never raised on defendant’s behalf, thus the jury was neither informed of nor free to exercise the option of returning a non-death verdict. Consequently, a new penalty phase trial should be ordered.” He further claimed that there was ineffective assistance of appellate council by Jill Burch, for not raising this issue on my direct and PCR appeal. The big hurdle would be convincing the court to re-visit an issue that should have been argued during the main appeal or Post Conviction Relief phase, years earlier. In June, 21 months after the cage killing, Allen Hoyes went to trial for the murder of Mo Mudding. Hoyes claimed self-defense. He said he was aware of Mudding’s history as a member of the Warlock motorcycle club. (He had killed his girlfriend and served time in Pennsylvania, where he killed a fellow prisoner.) Hoyes’ lawyer, Roy Gold, argued that Hoyes used deadly force because he feared he would become another victim of Mudding if he allowed him to live. The prosecutor said it was cold-blooded murder and called our previous administrator to bolster his case. The Administrator said prisoners in Administrative Segregation were allowed to co-mingle with others. The current Administrator said that was not the case and that Hoyes should never have been allowed in the cage with other prisoners. He also said he was told by the D.O.C. Commissioner not to punish the guards responsible. There were two guards in the control booth on the day of the fight. The female guard testified that she heard the male guard yell to Goodwin that Hoyes was on AdSeg status, as he was coming down the stairs. She said Goodwin ignored the warning and told them he was going to put him in the cage. The male guard denied he said anything, although Adam Rice and Hoyes remembered hearing the warning. The male guard made Sergeant. The female guard has been on 214

Part Two “traumatic stress” disability since the incident and has not returned to her job. Goodwin and his partner have not been reprimanded. Our yard and indoor rec remain severely restricted, including not being allowed to hold religious services in the cage since the incident. On June 22nd, Hoyes was found not guilty. He will stay on AdSeg status for three years. On July 24th, our friend Rev. Bob Henninges succumbed to the cancer that had been ravaging his body, and died in his sleep. He had become a friend when I needed one most. We would all miss him. On a sunny day in early August, I was lying on the concrete apron of our yard watching the planes and choppers that flew over the prison. There was a military airfield nearby and many of them were old military aircraft I could identify. While I had accumulated most of my hours in helicopters, occasionally a fixed-wing plane flew over and I was taken back to the many hours I’d spent watching launch and recovery operations from the deck of the carriers I’d served on when I was in the Navy. On this particular day I heard the distinctive engine sound of a T28, the single engine trainer I’d flown in various stages of training at Pensacola, Florida. My last flight in a T-28 took place on another clear, warm August day in 1964. The day I “hit the boat.” Every Navy pilot is required to make six carrier landings as part of his training. I had just completed three weeks practicing “touch and goes” at a remote outlying field in Alabama, 30 miles west of Pensacola. Our flight of six launched and headed to the Gulf of Mexico where we would rendezvous with the carrier Lexington. We flew in formation, with our instructor flying chase. We spotted the carrier, steaming on calm waters, working with another flight of jet trainers from Brownsville, Texas. From 5,000 feet, the boat looked like a postage stamp on a shimmering field of blue. Once the jets finished, we were vectored into the pattern around the Lex. I dropped my landing gear, and lowered my flaps, speed brake, and tail hook. Opened the canopy and reduced airspeed to 57 knots. Not 56, not 58, but 57 knots. Our instructor had landed ahead of us and took up his position as LSO (Landing Signal Officer) on the port side aft, near the “mirror,” the Fresnal light system that was designed to reflect a beam of light from the flight deck to provide a glide-path we 215

Tunnel Vision could follow from 500 feet to the deck of the carrier which was steaming at 30 knots into the wind. He talked to each of us as we made our approach. He could tell if we were high or low, fast or slow, just by the attitude of the plane. I couldn’t help but remember him telling us about the student who, just a few weeks earlier, had forgotten to lower his flaps. As he turned on final, with his LSO yelling in his ear, he stalled and crashed in the gulf. There was no room for error here. I double-checked to be sure I was in the correct configuration and lowered my nose as I approached the glide-path. The LSO called my plane number and talked to me as I flew down the reflected beam of light. Once over the flight deck, he gave me the cut signal and I dropped to the deck, catching the third wire. A perfect landing. What a rush. I was directed to the bow, and launched into the wind to make five more landings. I could now understand why Navy pilots loved to fly off carriers. It was dangerous, especially on black, moonless nights; but done well, it was the best kind of flying. You couldn’t help but have an overwhelming feeling of accomplishment. After the last man made his sixth landing, we rendezvoused at 5,000 feet above the ship and waited for our LSO. Once he joined up, we returned to Pensacola and retired to the Officers’ Club, were we celebrated our success. I lost track of most of my flight after that — I started my rotary-wing training two days later. I often wondered how many of them survived Vietnam. As expected, Judge Green denied our request to re-visit the jury charge issue that was missed on my direct and PCR appeal. We would now appeal that issue to the New Jersey Supreme Court. In the meantime, my law student friend and a private investigator, Maria Palumbo, made contact with Larry Thomas in Alabama. After several calls and hours of phone conversation, Larry told them he had information from an investigator important enough to get me a new trial. However, we were encountering several roadblocks. The Public Defender made it clear they could not retain a private investigator who was not connected with the office. I retained Frank Hartman, who agreed to hire her, but even that was not good enough to satisfy the prison administration. We would have to communicate by mail, unless we could find another way to get her approved. 216

Part Two The Public Defender promised they would look into the Alabama connection “as soon as possible.” And there, as of this writing, the matter rests. Me, I continue searching for that beam of light that can guide me to a safe landing; I hope it comes before it’s too late.

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In the same collection: Letters from Prison. Voices of Women Murderers by Jennifer Furio The New Predator: Women Who Kill — Profiles of Female Serial Killers by Deborah Schurman-Kauflin Team Killers. A Comparative Study of Collaborative Criminals by Jennifer Furio

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