A Mother's Trial (47 page)

Priscilla came to the oral argument, then, with the same optimism with which she had faced each stage of the proceedings. When Jonathan Purver, casually dressed for court in dark pants, blue shirt and tie, and a light tan corduroy jacket, rose and took his place before the panel, she leaned forward, her lips pursed in concentration, to listen to her attorney.

As he had been instructed, Purver limited his discussion to the issue of diminished capacity instruction. Presiding Justice John Racanelli acted as timekeeper and did not speak during Purver’s initial presentation. But Justices Joseph Grodin and Norman Elkington questioned Purver closely.

“As a tactical maneuver, the defense attorney did not ask for diminished capacity instructions,” Elkington pointed out. “Was this not an admission that Priscilla Phillips was not suffering from diminished capacity?”

“I believe that’s irrelevant,” Purver replied. “I cite
Cedeno.”

“If the defense attorney had been reasonably competent, he would have asked for diminished capacity instruction,” Judge Grodin added. “Since he didn’t, he obviously didn’t want it. If the court gave such instructions when the defense attorney didn’t want it, wouldn’t
that
have been grounds for appeal?”

“I believe the judge has the obligation to give those instructions
sua sponte
when there is evidence of lesser and included offenses,” Purver replied.

Judge Elkington broke in. “In
People
v.
Newton,
it was established that unless a distinct tactical purpose appears to the contrary, the trial court is bound to instruct on lesser and included offenses. But if a tactical purpose existed, as in this case, that’s all that’s necessary.”

“Well, the defense attorney was in a difficult position because the state introduced the defendant’s mental condition. The attorney has to be consistent in his defense.”

“I don’t see why he couldn’t have asked the judge
in chambers
to issue diminished capacity instruction, then,” Grodin said.

“You’ve used up your time, Mr. Purver.”

Linda Ludlow, a lawyer with the attorney general’s office, stood for her presentation. A woman in her forties, with her hair pulled back into a severe bun, tortoise-shell glasses, and no makeup, she looked like a spinster school mistress in her camel suit and dark turtleneck. Her first remark drew a scathing response from Judge Racanelli.

“Priscilla Phillips was not suffering from diminished capacity at the time of the crime,” she began.

“What about Dr. Blinder’s testimony that anyone doing such a thing would have to be emotionally ill?” Racanelli interrupted angrily.

“Obviously a person is abnormal to do this,” Grodin commented gently.

“Everyone always makes the point about curious and bizarre crimes that a person would have to be crazy to commit them,” Linda Ludlow responded evenly.

“Poisoning an infant is evidence of mental disease,” said Racanelli, his voice hard with emphasis.

“I believe that Munchausen Syndrome implies that you know what you are doing; that is part of the syndrome itself. A diminished capacity instruction would not be applicable because the nature of the syndrome is such that the poisoning is intentional,” Linda Ludlow answered.

“Don’t all crazy people act intentionally? That does not affect their craziness,” Racanelli retorted. “Your time is up, Miss Ludlow,” he added, after some further argument. “You have one minute for rebuttal, Mr. Purver.”

Jon Purver rose and took his place behind the podium facing the judges.

“The jury could have convicted on lots of things, but they chose to convict on the least offense possible—the least except involuntary manslaughter, that is—and they could not convict on that because no diminished capacity instruction was given. Obviously the jury was taking the defendant’s mental state into mind. Thank you.”

It was 10:48 and the oral argument was over. Priscilla took Steve’s arm as they made their way out of the courtroom.

“What did you think?” Steve asked.

“I think that one judge, Elkington, has made up his mind that Ed made a tactical decision against asking for diminished capacity. So he’s a negative vote. But the other two—I couldn’t  tell,” Priscilla said.

“I’m optimistic. You can never predict the outcome of oral arguments, of course, and I don’t like to try. But I think Jon did a good job. I think we have a reasonable chance,” Ed said. He did not add that he had been sitting directly behind one of the law clerks and had seen the proof sheet on Priscilla’s case. If they affirmed, Priscilla would be back in prison to serve out her term. But he had seen the preliminary decision: it was to reverse her conviction.

7

The Riverside freeway was clogged with morning commute traffic. Steve swore loudly as a car darted in front of his VW camper, cutting him off. Beside him on the high seat, Priscilla checked her watch.

“He
would
have to say nine o’clock. If only he had said twelve or one, we wouldn’t have had to struggle with all this,” she said angrily.

“Take it easy, Pris.” Steve reached for her hand. She was tense and hadn’t felt well for months. Her problems had started last summer during the visit with the Dodsons, who had moved to Idaho. Jerry wanted a quiet private practice in a rural, small-town setting, and he had found an ideal situation in Pocatello.

Priscilla had come down with stomach flu while they were there. Jerry thought it was aggravated by stress. Pris had diarrhea that just wouldn’t quit and she couldn’t force down enough fluid. All of a sudden she had landed in the hospital on an IV suffering from dehydration.

“Priscilla, it’s all right to be upset,” Jerry soothed, certain that her medical problems reflected her emotional state. “Things are pretty precarious for you right now.”

“But I’m worried about being sick. If Josh found out he’d say it was Munchausen’s, that I’m doing it to myself.”

“That’s nonsense,” Jerry said. “It’s okay to lose control of your body once in a while. It doesn’t mean you have Munchausen’s. If you go through life dreading illnesses because you think it’s a symptom of Munchausen’s then you’re going to be in real trouble. I’ve seen you in every sort of situation, Priscilla. You and Steve and the boys. I know how you relate. I know what sort of person you are. You don’t have Munchausen’s—I’m sure of it.”

Steve had been reassured—Jerry did that for you. Still, Pris did not get well. They had come back from Idaho at the end of the summer and she had returned to work, fighting the low-grade fever that apparently persisted no matter what she did. Dr. Werschky could find nothing wrong.

“I’m going to put you in Marin General for some tests,” he had finally told Priscilla a couple of weeks ago. Steve agreed.

“Keep it quiet,” he told the doctor and their friends. “We don’t want Josh Thomas or Lindquist hanging around.” If they knew, they’d say it was deliberate, the timing coming as it did. But the test had showed no cause for the fever.

The camper picked up speed. It was brand-new; the old one had finally collapsed. They had debated whether to buy a new van or look for something more affordable. Finally, they had decided to go ahead with a camper: they might have to live in it one of these days. They were going to have to sell the house soon to pay their debts. The house had a third mortgage on it now, a move they had made to assure eventual payment to Ed. The three of them had finally settled on a figure. They had pretty much plucked the sum out of the air. It didn’t approach the true amount. Ed had poured hundreds of free hours into the case. His clock had stopped months ago now.

“Hurry up, we’ll be late,” Priscilla said.

“We’ll get there, hon.”

“Hey, Dad, there’s the campgrounds.”

“That’s right, Jase.” The boys were holding up, at least, though they were tired from the hectic Thanksgiving and then the hurried weekend trip down to Disneyland.

“There’s the country store.”

“Yeah, I see it, son.” Steve turned right at the corner. Nothing was marked around here. If you didn’t know where you were going, you’d never find the place. But there, finally, was the entrance. Steve checked his watch.

“Report at nine,” the judge had said. Well they had made it. Priscilla had never missed a court appearance, never been late, not even to jail. Steve stared at the high chain-linked fence topped with barbed wire that ringed the California Institution for Women.

Priscilla had lost the appeal.

EPILOGUE

1

Reverend Jim Hutchison always dated his final break with Steve and Priscilla Phillips from the time of Marietta’s diatribe at Aldersgate United Methodist Church in June 1978.

Despite Marietta’s criticism, he believed that he and the church members had in fact been as supportive of Priscilla as they were able. Any lack of support was due to their failure to understand how to proceed. She was accused of no mere traffic violation, but of murder.

Jim had suddenly realized the contradiction in his own behavior since the arrest, and what he had to do. He remembered the parable of the prodigal son, and its key statement: that it was not until the son
came to himself
that he could acknowledge his sin. Unless Priscilla reached such a point, support would not help her. Jim’s insight carried its own problems because as a pastor his duty was to help and care for people, but he believed that to continue aiding Priscilla would be to reinforce her act of denial. He could not do it, despite some pressure from friends of the Phillipses. If he had to lose several parishioners, so be it. Acting on a suggestion from his district supervisor, he talked with Reverend Dave Steele of Christ Presbyterian Church and asked Steele to take in the Phillips family.

In September 1981, Jim returned to school to study for a Ph.D. in Medical Ethics at the San Francisco Theological Seminary. He continued, as before, to counsel and minister to the congregation at Aldersgate. The work on the new church went forward as scheduled.

On the afternoon of December 19, 1982, the new Aldersgate Church on top of the hill was dedicated by Bishop Wilbur Choy. The modern, pentagon-shaped church with its vaulting, beamed ceiling of rust-colored wood, was filled with worshipers. Outside in the clear sunshine, the church grounds afforded a three-hundred-sixty-degree view of Terra Linda. On one side, directly below the church, was Kaiser Hospital, which had donated the flowers for the first service.

As Jim reminded the congregation on this opening day, Kaiser could claim responsibility for the debt-free condition with which Aldersgate began its service in its new site. Without Kaiser assistance, there would have been no church.

Jim expected imminent transfer. His appointment to Aldersgate exceeded what was customary. The new church was built and dedicated, and it now seemed right to move on. He still thought often of Priscilla Phillips and he believed himself to be part of her Christian life despite her incarceration. When her parole board met for the first time in April 1982, to consider setting a parole date, Jim learned that Steve had been soliciting supportive letters from the community—to be mailed to the board—urging Priscilla’s early release. Jim felt compelled to write a letter counteracting the positive mail. Although his was the only negative letter received, apparently it helped to achieve its desired effect. The parole board had not set a date, ordering Priscilla to present herself again in a year.

Priscilla Phillips would not be salvaged until she came to herself. Jim knew that absolutely. Back in the arms of family and friends who would reassure her and soothe her, she would have no reason to face what she had done. Perhaps in prison the realization would be forced upon her.

2

Priscilla Phillips’s conviction marked the rise of Ted Lindquist’s star in the San Rafael Police Department. He received a commendation and the congratulations of the chief. Soon afterward he was promoted to the position of detective in charge of crimes against persons.

In 1980 he developed an interest in the Police Association and was elected vice-president. The next year he was made president. Within months he was embroiled in a losing battle to pass a binding arbitration initiative for the police and fire departments.

In 1982, he ran unopposed for a second term as president of the PA and became involved, this time more successfully, in another long labor dispute with the city. In September 1982, Ted won a 19.6-percent salary increase for the police department plus an agreement by the city to pay $180,000 in back wages. He was equally successful in department matters, helping to solve a complicated murder-for-hire case involving a man with bizarre medieval fantasies about taking over Marin County. Six months later, Ted was promoted to sergeant and transferred, by departmental regulation, to patrol duty.

As for the Phillips case, Ted had not forgotten it. He knew Priscilla Phillips saw him as some kind of black-robed avenging angel, but this he disputed. What she had done was terrible—the ultimate betrayal, even—but Priscilla herself? Priscilla had been overdue and he had caught her, that was all. Protestations of innocence meant nothing to Ted. He had seen too many of the guilty sincerely explaining away the evidence left by their bloody handprints to take such assertions seriously.

In addition, Ted saw deep-rooted, repeated insincerity in Priscilla. Although she claimed repeatedly that her prison sentence primarily punished her sons, in fact she often courted the limelight, opening old wounds and subjecting her children again and again to renewed publicity. She had granted one newspaper interview after her release on bail—in which she detailed the harshness of prison life—and another on the eve of her reincarceration. She seemed unable to let the story die.

Ted never doubted Priscilla Phillips deserved her punishment. He knew it would not bring back that little girl buried under the Japanese plum tree in Novato.

3