In the past, I've been able to share with you guest posts by first time crime bloggers, true crime authors, and families of victims of crime. Tonight, I bring you a guest post by a first time observer of a criminal trial.
The trial in question is that of Liz Carrol, foster mother to Marcus Fiesel, a little boy cruelly bound and left to die in a closet.
Anonymous Guest Poster:
The trial in question is that of Liz Carrol, foster mother to Marcus Fiesel, a little boy cruelly bound and left to die in a closet.
Anonymous Guest Poster:
A First Time Observer
The trial of State of Ohio vs. Liz Carroll opened and I wanted to go.
I had watched the news articles and videos when he went missing. And when his foster mother held her news conference, I felt there was something off. She told of how Marcus went missing at the park and she spent a lot of time begging for someone to come forward and prove that he was there with her. She told of how Marcus loved her, telling of how Marcus was her foster son, but was like her own. And she told of what good parents she and David were.
I wasn't surprised when they said someone had come forward and had led them to his body, nor was it a suprise to me when they arrested David and Liz Carroll. A lot has come out in the news since that time, about foster care agency, about the Carroll's, and the woman who was staying with them as David's girlfriend, about the crime and the cover up.
It had it all. The sex scandal, the murder of a child. The story was covered in the media more extensively than any other crime I can remember in the area. Many of the major media had special sections of their sites devoted to the murder and to the search for justice. There was live video streaming of the trial and the only trial blogs that I can remember being written by the media. So it wasn't that I couldn't get the news on the trial. I could.
But the child, the crime....I wanted to attend. Going to court for any reason is intimidating. Even going as an observer. The large imposing building, the formality, the mystery of what they really do there. What is the etiquette, how do you dress? And why would I go? Was it curiosity? Was it the excitement? Or was it the true sense of closure and justice I sought?
I didn't go. I read the articles, I followed the trial blogs the media offered. I watched the live video. Each day I thought about going and didn't.
The main witness testified, and I really considered it. She was the person who had first given the story to the police. She was the person who led police to where Marcus' body was destroyed. I felt she had knowledge prior to the act, she had had the ability to prevent Marcus' death and she did nothing. The Carroll's blame her for the crime. And it was then I knew why I wanted to go to the trial so badly. I wanted her to look out at the room and know that despite the fact that she was not charged, that people knew and were upset and angry at the Carroll's and at her.
The trial that day was packed and by the time that I decided to go, there was no room left. But knowing what I wanted her to understand, clarified why I felt the need to go. And I didn't want just her to know, I wanted Liz Carroll to know also.
So I went back the next day.
Knowing there would be metal detectors, I had prepared by making sure I didn't have any change in my pockets, I didn't take my cellphone, made sure I had no metal. I got caught by the metal detector. My keys. I put them in the little basket and went through again. My little belt buckle. Took that off and went through ok.
A big building and I didn't know where to go. But when I asked, I was given directions. In the courtroom, to be honest I was busy observing. The gallery wasn't packed, but it was full. Some were family of the Carroll's, some were reporters, but many were observers like me. Several of them chatted, it seemed they may have been coming to the trial longer.
The judge came and everybody rose then sat again. The jury was brought in and everybody rose. It wasn't reverent like a church, but more quiet like a library or a movie theatre. It was formal, yet observers came and went as necessary. It wasn't dramatic like on TV, no shouting or waving of arms. Quiet, thoughtful, respectful stating of the facts. There was no drama, you had to listen attentively or you missed the important facts. Between witnesses, there were sometimes recesses and the jury was led out of the room, sometimes they put on the 'white noise' so the prosecutor and defense attorney could confer with the judge with some privacy. The 'white noise' sounded a bit like a TV that had lost the signal. Uniforms were present, but were unobtrusive. The attorneys of course wore suits, as did some of the reporters. Some of the reporters and most of the observers wore casual clothing. Just average people.
When the jury was sent for deliberation, I left. And as I drove I thought about what I had seen and heard in the courtroom. And I again questioned my role as an observer. And as I drove I turned on the radio station and a country song was on about an abused little girl who died. I had to pull over to cry. I went to show my involvement, and I went to show my outrage. I went to show that it mattered.
Will I do it again? Yes, I believe I am more likely to do it now than I ever was. It is one thing to sit at home and watch the news and tell your family and friends what you think about the crime, about the justice system and the punishment. But being there shows how the crime affects people. It shows that someone cares, and it shows your involvement. But it shows even more than that. It shows your belief that a crime against another affects us all. And it makes the justice system that is facing the accused a bit more personal and more important. After all, if no one cared- no one would show for the trial.