Finding Amy (23 page)

Tommy's his usual fashion-plate self with a checked shirt and some kinda green tie. Matt's there, all smiles, with a crisp new haircut, the only one of us who doesn't take off his suit coat. Scott and Danny sit together, as always, smiling with pleasure as the foil is lifted off the spaghetti and meatballs and the air fills with the smells of spicy sauce.

Bruce Coffin's there, and Teceno and LeClair. Almost everyone who's worked on the case is crowded into the room.

“Tom,” I call, “turn that damned TV off.” The closed-circuit TV behind us is monitoring another interrogation. He snaps it off and for a little while, there's no police work. It's just us, doing what ordinary people do in December, getting together with good people and eating great food.

It was so nice I got my camera and snapped some pictures. Comfort food, I thought. So appropriate and just what we needed.

As Diane and Lucille left us to the noise and chaos of the detectives' bay, bellies full and comforted, I thought about how unusual the experience we'd just had was, and how typical of the Diane Jenkins we had come to know. In the midst of her own grief, she had taken the time to think of us.

In early January, detectives, prosecutors, and evidence techs met at the medical examiner's office for more discussion of the information about the gunshot wound gleaned from the reconstruction and testing of Amy's skull. Lab tests had confirmed chemical traces indicating that it was, indeed, a gunshot wound and identifying the entrance and exit wounds. The medical examiner explained the direction of the bullet suggested by the positioning and angles of the wounds, as well as other broken bones and a chipped tooth, which suggested that Amy had been struck with some object. The rest of the information available that day was grimly disappointing. There was none of Gorman's DNA on any of the dozens of items tested.
⁷

Gathered around the table in the medical examiner's conference room, we await more news from the lab and medical examiner. Words I'll never forget. No DNA! I can hear the air hiss out of Danny's lungs. Scott drops his head. Tommy shifts in his seat. I know Tommy expects more and is very good at hiding his emotions. Matt's head is red again, so stoic that if it weren't for that color, you'd never know he felt a thing. But we're all reeling.

How can there be no fuckin' DNA? We've worked so hard. We've been so careful. I think of the Stearnman logging twenty-five hours on Gorman's car. All the work Kevin McDonald did. All those exhibits carefully collected and sent to the lab. Those miserable hours in the cold at the grave site, sifting, sifting, sifting. Plucking out the tiny hairs. Goddammit!

Peggy Greenwald's voice goes on, explaining the toxicity results. Amy's blood alcohol levels high. The presence of GHB (gamma hydroxybuteric acid). What we'd been wondering about. Did she maybe drink too much under all that stress? Rubright getting harder to handle. Making passes? Did Gorman put something in a drink? We believe maybe he did. It would explain her uncharacteristic behavior. And then another kiss of death—my God that term fits here, doesn't it? That none of the results are meaningful because of decomp. Because alcohol and GHB can be products of decomp.

Scottie looks at his clenched hands and I know what he's thinking. What we thought every day Amy was missing—that vital evidence was being lost. If only we could have found her sooner.

It's not like we didn't try. But there is still hope in the testing and review of evidence collected. DNA is only one part. Unfortunately, because of TV,
CSI
, the news, movies, and misinformation, it tends to be the part that the public focuses on.

With Gorman in the Cumberland County jail, held on probation violations, attention turned to the question of how and when he would be charged with the murder of Amy Elizabeth St. Laurent. On January 2, 2002, Gorman admitted to technical violations of his probation and was sentenced to ninety days in jail. Before those ninety days were up, the detectives wanted to be sure Gorman was under indictment for murder.

In Maine, all homicides are prosecuted by the attorney general's office. As the focus shifted from investigation to prosecution, Deputy Attorney General William Stokes and Assistant Attorney General Fernand LaRochelle, who had been advising the detectives on the legal aspects of the investigation all along, began to play a central role. Young and Harakles had already been consulting on questions concerning the legality of proposed searches and the necessity for, and language of, the various warrants they had obtained. Now the investigators and the prosecutors began preparing for an indictment.

In 2002, Stokes had been with the attorney general's office since 1977 and had tried about seventy-five murder cases. The dark-haired, engaging Stokes is lively and dynamic. He talks with his hands and his whole body in staccato bursts, leaning into conversation with the eagerness of a born storyteller. He delivers his words in a Massachusetts accent tempered by his many years in Maine. Detectives describe him as a passionate litigator, extremely effective in argument, forceful and persuasive with judges, and appealing to juries. He thrives on a good fight and isn't afraid to take risks.

Fernand LaRochelle, by contrast, is a much quieter man. He got out of the University of Maine Law School wanting to practice public interest law, interned at the attorney general's office, and found a career. He has prosecuted at least 150 murder trials in his thirty-year career. Middle age finds him graying and lean, with a face both distinguished and intelligent. He is low key, soft spoken yet authoritative. He is careful and precise, generous with praise for other lawyers' and police officers' hard work, and has a deep understanding of the pain and conflicts of the families involved in any murder case, both the victim's and the perpetrator's. After more than a quarter century on the job, he has a profound respect and appreciation for having had the opportunity to do valuable legal work that serves the people's interest.

Detectives who have worked with LaRochelle say that while Stokes is the more outwardly passionate, there is nothing lacking in Fern's passion. As one detective put it, “When Fern comes out and the gloves come off and he addresses the jury … you really see his talent. Once he's decided to fight … he will fight, and it's a beautiful thing.”

Although they have both been trying homicide cases for many years, neither Stokes nor LaRochelle has ever lost sight of the particular responsibility their job carries. As the ones responsible for securing homicide convictions, they go into each trial feeling the heavy weight that comes with the necessity of procuring justice for the victim and closure for the families, as well as representing the interests of the people of Maine. So much, they say, rests on them. They also have a deep appreciation for the detectives' investment and interest in their cases. They understand the essential value of good detective work to a successful prosecution and how difficult it is for detectives to relinquish control of their cases to the legal process.

Now they began the preparations to take the case against Jeffrey Russell Gorman to a grand jury for a murder indictment. At the grand jury stage, the prosecutors generally haven't interviewed witnesses themselves but rely on information from the police and police reports. In many cases, only the investigating officer or officers will go before the grand jury, outlining the basics of their investigation. Other times, prosecutors put much more of their case before the grand jury because they want to see how a jury of citizens at the actual trial might hear and judge the story. In the case of Amy St. Laurent, the decision was made to make a fairly complete presentation of the evidence to the grand jury.

The grand jury process is a secret process; other than the citizen members of the grand jury itself, no one is present except the presenting witness, the prosecuting attorney, and, in Maine, if authorized by the judge, a court reporter. No members of the public are present, nor is the suspect or his attorney. The grand jury, which is a very old legal institution, is called the “conscience of the community,” and it is this community that listens to the state's evidence and decides whether or not a person should be brought to trial. By law, for an indictment, a grand jury must consist of twelve to twenty-three persons. What the grand jury returns is known as a bill of indictment, what we call an indictment and what the lawyers call a “true bill.”

There were several reasons why the prosecutors wanted to present a more detailed case to the grand jury. For example, because the matter of timing on the night Amy St. Laurent disappeared was critical, they called all the other residents of the apartment where Gorman was staying to testify in order to give the grand jury a clear picture of who was where, at what time, and what they saw and didn't see.

The primary reason they wanted to take the case to the grand jury rather than getting an arrest warrant, however, was that they wanted to get Tammy Westbrook's testimony on the record. At that point, they had no direct information from the mother herself regarding Gorman's admission that he had killed Amy. They had heard the details of Gorman's confession from Westbrook's friend Mary Young. Tammy Westbrook had also shared the story with an Episcopal priest in Delray Beach, Father Fred Basil. Mary Young and Father Basil were both honorable and credible witnesses; however, legally, their testimony was hearsay.

Gorman's confession was useful as factual testimony— as an actual, firsthand admission that could be used to convict him—only if it came directly from the source to whom he had told it, his mother. Therefore, they needed to get the mother on record with what her son had said.

They knew, from prior attempts to appeal to Westbrook's conscience, that she wouldn't talk about her son's confession. Twice, Tommy Joyce and Matt Stewart had talked with her at her home. On December 27, when they returned her computer, they had felt they were close to a breakthrough. Joyce spoke about how laying it out was one of the things people use to get themselves through tough times, like prayer.

W
ESTBROOK:
I can't imagine him doing something like that.

S
TEWART:
He did and you know he did.

W
ESTBROOK:
No.

J
OYCE:
Because he's told you.

S
TEWART:
Tammy, you know the truth.

W
ESTBROOK:
You have to leave now.

J
OYCE:
You can get this out and you'll feel better.

W
ESTBROOK:
No. I want you to go.

S
TEWART:
Amy's mom no longer has her daughter because of what Russ chose to do.

W
ESTBROOK:
Savannah's right there. Please respect that.

S
TEWART:
Do the right thing, Tammy.

W
ESTBROOK:
No. She can hear.

S
TEWART:
The truth needs to come from you. It does. And you know that. I know you know it in your heart ‘cause you're a good person. I see it in your eyes.

J
OYCE:
You're a mother, and you care very much for your son, but you do know what is right, the ultimate right thing to do.

In the end, Westbrook hid behind her two little girls, telling the detectives to leave as they were upsetting “her babies,” so they left.

Scott Harakles had also had a conversation with Westbrook in which he almost connected. He was talking to her about doing the right thing, and she was pleading with him, “but this is my son.” By the time detectives sat down with Fern LaRochelle to discuss strategy before the grand jury, they knew what Tammy Westbrook's position was going to be: Make your case any way you can, but leave me out of this.

Mary Young had told them that bearing the knowledge of her son's confession was a terrible burden for Westbrook. She wasn't eating or sleeping. She was deeply tormented by the conflict between shielding her son from prosecution when he should be punished for committing a terrible crime and not wanting to be involved in the process that would result in his arrest.

It is not unusual, in the legal process, for a year or more to elapse between an indictment and the time the case comes to trial. The detectives and the prosecutors knew that time has a way of allowing people to deal with guilty and troubled minds. Given enough distance from the event, a person with guilty knowledge can rationalize it or find a way to cope so that the knowledge is no longer so troubling and intrusive. They also knew that memory can fade. The attorneys reasoned that it was critically important to get Tammy Westbrook to tell the story of her son's telephone call and confession while it was fresh and immediate and she was still feeling the full impact of its horror, in a forum where it could be recorded and preserved and she would be under oath.

It was possible that Westbrook might come into the trial and tell the truth, but the grand jury process was the moment when they felt they had their best shot at getting her to do so. Also, if she was ever going to say anything officially, it would probably be before the grand jury, a closed and secret proceeding, rather than a public trial, and she was far more likely to talk before her son was formally charged with Amy St. Laurent's murder.

Gorman's confession, with its details about hitting Amy and shooting her in the head and sometime later going back and burying the body, was by far the best evidence they had. Although the prosecutors could place Gorman with a gun, they did not have the gun. Despite months of searching, the police hadn't found the missing clothes or shoes. Despite the more than twenty-five hours that Portland evidence technicians had spent on Gorman's car, and the meticulous work at the crime scene, the state crime lab hadn't come up with any DNA or other forensic evidence tying Gorman to the crime. Therefore, it was essential to get the details of the confession recorded as soon as possible so that the attorneys could use that information for further investigation and preserve it for trial.