04.Die.My.Love.2007 (35 page)

While the others were on the lookout for Piper in Virginia, in Houston, Kelley and Jamison, aided by local offi cers, were inside Piper’s house in Kingwood. Some of what they’d hoped to find was gone, including the two computers. But then, after talking with Carol Freed, Kelley would have been surprised to find them. Where the computer tower had been, the cords dangled untethered. Jamison took a photo of the gutted computer desk as evidence.

The officers didn’t walk out empty-handed, however.

As a result of the search, Jamison collected envelopes full of Piper’s documents, including copies of statements from the Jerry Walters Wells Fargo account, Piper’s black day planner, and two cell phones. He confiscated hotel- style miniature toiletries, hoping to tie them back to the Homestead Suites, two digital cameras, and a red carry-on bag and a black suitcase, fitting the description of the luggage witnesses said the woman they’d identified as Piper Rountree carried in Virginia the week of the murder.

However, it was the discovery a Houston detective made in the kitchen that most excited Jamison and Kelley. There, tucked inside a black beret wrapped inside a ball of dirty clothes, the detective found the red wig purchased on the wigsalon.com website. Except for the color, paprika, it was a twin to the Frosti Blond Stevie wig that, like the computer, had vanished.

At the University of Richmond that afternoon a memorial service was held for Fred Jablin in the Robins Pavilion of the Jepson Alumni Center. Two hundred fi fty people attended, many of them Fred’s students, former students, colleagues, and peers from across the country.

256 / Kathryn Casey

A cantor from the synagogue sang, and at the podium Joanne Ciulla talked of the man whose office had been next to hers for a decade. Many chuckled knowingly when she described the stacks of papers and journals in Fred’s offi ce.

John Daly, who’d flown in from Austin, recounted his memories of his old friend, the Fred who at Purdue studied under a green glass shade, intent on making his mark on the fi eld.

And he’d done so. In a letter read to the audience, Linda Putnam, Fred’s coauthor on the two books that set the standard in organizational communication, called Fred a dedicated scholar, a mentor of students, and a pioneer in his field. “Many of us in the field . . . feel as if we have lost part of our own lives,” she wrote. “He will be deeply missed for his dry wit, his serious dedicated pursuit of knowledge, and his friendly manner.”

As before, Michael Jablin and his wife were there with their two children and Jocelyn, Paxton, and Callie. During the ceremony, one of the professors walked down from the stage and handed each child a stuffed animal with a sash that read, someone at ur loves you.

Meanwhile, in the parking lot at the Henrico County Courthouse, down the street from the Henrico P.D. headquarters, Chuck Hanna was watching for Piper to drive up when he heard via radio that she’d already entered the courthouse vestibule accompanied by her brother, Bill, and another attorney. Minutes later, inside the designated courtroom, Owen Ashman sat in the gallery as Piper entered, wearing a somber black dress with a large silver crucifix on a chain around her neck.

How manipulative, Ashman thought.

From her vantage point, Ashman could see Piper and her brother with her attorney. When Ashman assessed Piper, she thought her face looked cold and chiseled. Yet when she DIE, MY LOVE / 257

rose to talk to the judge, Piper’s voice sounded frightened and vulnerable. Since Judge Hammond, the same judge who’d ruled in the divorce case, knew Piper would probably be arrested before the day was out, the hearing was nothing more than a formality. Twenty minutes later, after Piper’s attorney argued that with Fred dead the children should be turned over to their mother, the judge ruled: The children were safe with their aunt and uncle, and at least for the time being would remain with Michael Jablin, as Fred had asked in his will. Once the criminal investigation concluded, however, another hearing would be set to determine permanent custody.

As she listened, Piper’s shoulders sagged.

Moments later Ashman followed Piper and her entourage from the courtroom and out the courthouse front doors, where they brushed past the media and rushed to their car.

Minutes later they pulled out of the parking lot.

The waiting police, including Hanna, allowed Bill Rountree to drive off with Piper beside him before following in four unmarked cars. As they drove, the police cars moved into position: one car in front, one behind, and one on each side. When Bill stopped at a light on the intersection of Stillman and Broad Streets, Hanna and the other offi cers had him boxed in. They turned on their lights and sirens. It was what’s called in police parlance a “dynamic vehicle takedown.” When Hanna looked over at Piper, she appeared starkly white, the blood drained until her skin shone an unnatural white. Before even being told to, while still in the car, she put both hands up in the air.

Hanna and the other officers exited their cars, weapons drawn, and opened the car doors. Piper and Bill climbed out.

“What’s going on?” Bill asked.

Piper said nothing. Hanna looked at her, all in black with 258 / Kathryn Casey

the large silver crucifix dangling around her neck, and said,

“Ms. Rountree, you’re under arrest.”

She didn’t ask any questions, including what she was being charged with. Instead, Piper lowered her head and cried softly. Hanna couldn’t help but think she looked defeated.

“Look, there’s a lot of news media around,” he said. “You can get in my car and we’ll drive you back to headquarters to talk there.”

“Okay,” Piper whispered. “Thank you.”

Minutes later, in a second-floor interview room, Piper Rountree was read her rights.

“I want my attorney before I talk with you,” she said.

“Who’s your attorney?” Hanna asked.

“Murray Janus,” Piper said, naming the man many considered the dean of criminal law in Richmond.

An hour and a half later, Janus, a slightly built, genteel man, arrived and went in to talk to Piper. When he emerged, he walked back up to Hanna. “Ms. Rountree will not be making any statements,” he told him.

“That was that,” says Hanna. “From that point on, she never talked with us again.”

In Houston, the search warrant had been fully executed and the Kingwood house was secured. Meanwhile, Coby Kelley and Breck McDaniel were on their way to the Village Women’s Clinic to arrest Tina Rountree on a felony charge of tampering with evidence. Inside the clinic, they asked the receptionist to get Tina. Moments later she came out, looking not at all surprised.

“She acted like she knew we were coming,” says Kelley.

They allowed her to take off her jewelry, including her Rolex watch, and leave it with the receptionist, and then walked her outside and put her in the back of a waiting squad car. At Houston P.D. headquarters, they brought her DIE, MY LOVE / 259

to the same interview room where two days earlier they’d questioned Carol Freed.

“Listen, you’re here for a reason. We have evidence,” McDaniel told Tina. “You’re not the main player, but what you did was wrong. If you’re found guilty, you have a lot to lose, including your state nursing license. You could avoid all this. If you have evidence that can help us, you want to cooperate and get ahead of this.”

Tina looked at them, a nonchalant look on her face, appearing not the least concerned. “I want to speak to my attorney,” she said.

When the attorney arrived, Breck explained again that it wasn’t really Tina police wanted, and that they’d be interested in working out a deal with her if she was cooperative and would supply evidence and testimony against her sister.

“This is a third degree felony,” Breck told him.

The attorney went in and talked to Tina, then came out and said his client had nothing to say.

Investigator McDaniel handed the attorney his card.

“We have a lot of evidence. Every day that goes by we’ll need Tina less and less,” he told him. Warning him that Tina needed to cooperate while she still had something to offer, McDaniel told him what he’d told Tina: “She wants to get ahead of this thing.”

“My client may talk to you, but not today,” the attorney answered.

With Tina in jail, Kelley and McDaniel decided it was a good time to approach her boyfriend, Mac McClennahan.

They called him, and when he answered the phone, they said they wanted to have a meeting. Mac replied that he wanted to call his sister, the lawyer. She was the one who called back. “Mac would like to talk to you,” she said. “But my friend from law school is going to be there with him.”

* * *

260 / Kathryn Casey

That night Mel Foster watched a television news segment about Piper’s arrest, accompanied by clips of her in her somber garb with the heavy silver crucifix around her neck, leaving the custody hearing. Mel couldn’t help but think back to when the Jablins had first moved in behind her.

Piper had always been eccentric, but they’d seemed happy.

Who could have predicted any of this would have happened?

she wondered.

In Houston that same night, at Charles Tooke’s house, the telephone rang.

“Hello there,” Charles said. “What’s new with you?”

“Well, I’ve been arrested,” a glum Piper said. At that, they were both silent.

16

Three days after Piper Rountree’s arrest, on November 11, Kizer, Ashman, Janus, his associate Taylor Stone, and Piper were all in front of a judge, discussing the possibility of bond. The formal charges were read: fi rst degree murder and the use of a firearm in the commission of a crime.

In the courtroom, Janus made a passionate argument, saying that Piper was the mother of three children who needed her even more after the loss of their father. The Christmas holidays were coming up, and she should be with them. He asked the judge to give her a high bond and force her to surrender her passport, to order her to stay in Virginia and not return to Texas until the trial. Janus talked of her medical problems, including the removal of her spleen as a child, which left her vulnerable to infection while in the county jail.

“Ms. Rountree’s children are three good reasons why she’s not going anywhere,” Janus pleaded.

“This woman has no ties to Richmond,” Kizer said when it was his turn. She’d hid from law officers, taking a room at the Houstonian, when they wanted to talk with her. He recounted the crime, stressing how Piper had disguised herself as her sister and used false identification. What was there to stop her from disguising herself again, this time to flee Virginia, even the country, and not return for trial?

262 / Kathryn Casey

Before the hearing ended, the judge had ruled in favor of the prosecutors. Piper Rountree, he said, was not eligible for bond and would remain in jail until the trial, scheduled to begin February 22 of the coming year, 2005.

In Richmond and throughout the state, Murray Janus was well known. Voted by the
Virginia State Business
magazine as the state’s top criminal defense attorney, he was considered a true Virginia gentleman, a se nior statesman of the Richmond courts, and a refined man who collected art and supported local charities. Although slight in stature, in the courtroom Janus was a strong presence. Juries liked his straightforward approach and his sometimes self-deprecating sense of humor, and other attorneys admired him. Even the Henrico commonwealth attorney respected Janus. “He’s a tough but a fair opponent,” says Kizer. “We have no quarrel with him.”

Over the years, Janus had often been called on to represent Richmond’s elite, and his cases were legendary, from ABSCAM to the Dalkon Shield litigation. In many ways, Janus and Fred Jablin were alike. They both had brilliant minds and had risen to the top in their fields. Like Fred, Janus came from modest beginnings. In Janus’s case, his parents ran a Richmond variety and hardware store. Neither Fred’s nor Janus’s parents had gone to college. In fact, Janus was the first in his family to go on to higher education. Also like Fred Jablin, Murray Janus began his career studying under a powerful mentor: Robert Merhige Jr., his se nior law partner, who went on to become a judge and preside in the 1960s over the desegregation of Richmond’s schools. And like Fred, Murray Janus loved his work. “I’ve never had a boring day yet,” he says. “Every time I think I’ve seen it all, done it all, something new comes through the door.”

What came through his door in November 2004 was an offer from Piper Rountree’s family, who were willing to DIE, MY LOVE / 263

pick up Janus’s substantial retainer to have him defend her.

Piper had tried to hire Janus as her attorney before, in the midst of her divorce, and he declined. Janus didn’t like to take divorce cases other attorneys began. This time, with Rountree facing a murder charge, he accepted.

To help him on the case, Janus enlisted the aid of Taylor Stone, a young associate in his firm. Like Janus, Stone, a dark-haired, intense man who’d left a six-year career as a stockbroker to enter law school, was a Richmond native. A distrust of authority had persuaded him to practice law. In college, Stone had been a Deadhead, a follower of the rock band the Grateful Dead, and he’d retained a bit of an edge from those years, never quite trusting police. “I get turned off by twenty-two-year-old kids wearing badges,” he says.

When he graduated from the University of Richmond law school, Stone applied to work with Janus for one reason:

“He’s the best in the business.” He found Janus fatherly, yet tough. “When he gets a client off and that client messes up again, he gets upset with them,” says Stone. “He wants them to turn around their lives.”

When it came to Piper Rountree, Stone had heard about the Jablin case on television and wasn’t surprised when Rountree ended up on their client roster. “Working with Murray, you get used to seeing cases in the headlines and then having the accused walk in the fi rm’s office door,” he says.

The Piper Rountree case would be a trial by fire for Taylor Stone, the first murder case he’d help defend.