Missoula (24 page)

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fter Katie Burton was excused, Milt Datsopoulos called the first witness for the defense, Bob Eustace, a teacher at Big Sky High School who had coached football and basketball and taught health when Beau Donaldson and Allison Huguet were students there. Datsopoulos asked him, “Why are you here? Why do you think it’s important?”

“I think it’s gut-wrenching,” Coach Eustace answered, looking ill at ease, “that, you know, obviously, somebody has been violated and harmed….The things that I have seen from Beau, you know, he’s been trustworthy. He’s been respectful….He had empathy for others. So it seems very out of character that he would perform this type of act.”

Datsopoulos asked Eustace, “What are some of the characteristics that you’ve observed, some of the persona of this guy, that you think is important for the judge to consider?”

“I think what I saw, especially in the classroom or as a coach, [was] that he treated other people extremely well,” Eustace replied. “Obviously, we try to prevent bullying and stuff like that, but there’s kids who were younger and very small, and were bullied by kids who were older than they were. And, you know, Beau came in, stepped up, and protected those kids and made sure that they weren’t harmed….So, you know, I had a lot of respect for that.”

Datsopoulos said, “You and I spoke just once before today….And one of the comments you made during that conversation was that you really do not believe that Beau Donaldson should go to
prison, even though he admitted to a very serious criminal act here. Why do you say that?”

“I think that the Beau Donaldson I knew…,” Eustace said, “I wouldn’t think that he would reoffend. I think, you know, granted, you know, obviously this has escalated…and created huge amounts of problems and grief for…the victim’s family, and just a terrible situation….That’s why I say I think he has empathy, and that I would feel secure that he wouldn’t reoffend. So that would be my personal opinion on that.”

A few minutes later, Datsopoulos asked Coach Eustace if he believed “this type of crime” required some punishment.

“It’s one of the worst crimes I think a person can commit,” Eustace replied, “to be honest with you.”

This didn’t seem to be the response Milt Datsopoulos had been hoping for. Appearing flummoxed, he inquired, “Is there anything else you want to say, Mr. Eustace?”

Eustace launched into a rambling, largely incoherent riff. “You know, from the time that I’ve known Beau and known him well, I just thought that, you know, when I judge kids—and I try not to judge them. I try to lead them on and help them as far as school. But, you know, there’s some kids I’m really concerned with as far as what their course is, and where they’re going to end up….You know, Beau really never was in that category. And, you know, I would think that he would definitely be able to change his life around.”

“Are you concerned if he spends any significant time in prison that it could damage his prospects and who he is?” Datsopoulos asked.

“Well, my thoughts on prison is,” Eustace answered, “the fact is, you put a person in there because that person could harm somebody else in society….If I thought that he was going to harm somebody in society again, I would never testify for him.”

“Thank you,” Datsopoulos said. “I have no further questions.”

Prosecutor Fred Van Valkenburg began his cross-examination by asking, “Mr. Eustace, you think that this is one of the worst crimes that anyone can commit, but you don’t think Beau Donaldson should go to prison, even though he committed one of the worst crimes there is?”

“I think it’s a terrible crime,” Coach Eustace agreed. But he
suggested that one of the worst punishments a person could suffer was harm to his reputation, and Donaldson’s “reputation has been destroyed. You know, he’s got a felony. There’s no use for him to go back to school….What professional job can he get? You know, look what’s happened to his family….And I would definitely concur with the fact that he should get treatment…for chemical and sex offender.”

“Does Big Sky High School have rules?” Van Valkenburg asked.

“They do,” Eustace answered.

“And when people violate those rules, do they get punished?”

“We like to think so, yes.”

“Why do they get punished?”

“To keep order and to make sure that things run correctly.”

“And does that help other students who don’t violate the rules know that, if they do violate the rules, they might get punished, too?” Van Valkenburg asked.

Eustace tried to dodge the question by suggesting that because of the school’s confidentiality policy, most students would be unaware of any disciplinary action against other students. But Van Valkenburg kept pressing. “So if a football player gets kicked off the team or is not allowed to play, nobody knows that?” he asked.

Eustace continued to dodge: “I’m not saying that. I’m just saying we have teacher-student confidentiality, and that I can’t talk to students in my class.”

Van Valkenburg tried a different angle: “Did you learn anything about Beau Donaldson this morning?”

“I was heartbroken for Allison,” Eustace replied. “I’ll be honest with you: It was so hard to listen to that testimony. It was terrible, yes.”

“I have no further questions, Your Honor,” Van Valkenburg said.

“Anything further?” Judge Townsend asked Datsopoulos.

“Nothing more, Your Honor,” he replied, and then he asked if his witness could be excused from the courtroom.

“I’d like to ask him a question,” Townsend pronounced, to the surprise and visible dismay of both Milt Datsopoulos and Coach Eustace. “I didn’t hear an answer to either of the attorneys’ questions about ‘Do you think Beau Donaldson should be punished?’ ”

“Punished in what way, Judge?” Eustace inquired.

“I’m asking you whether he deserves any kind of punishment. And then if your answer is yes, I want to know what kind you think he ought to have.”

“I think that Beau can be a productive member of society,” Eustace said. “I think he can help society, and I think he could be a positive member of society. I think definitely I believe he should go through alcohol treatment, sex-offender treatment, and successfully complete those two treatments. For me,…prisons didn’t really [benefit] the person being incarcerated. Were they rehabilitated? I didn’t think so. So how many people have to go back, and go back? That worries me. I think Beau can be productive.”

“So,” Judge Townsend declared, looking peeved, “I still don’t think I have an answer to my question. You seem to be avoiding it.”

“Well,” Eustace said, “my thought is, if he was put on, whatever, suspension, or is sentenced—”

Cutting him off, Townsend interjected, “So he gets a free pass, is what you’re saying.”

“I don’t think it’s a free pass,” Eustace protested. “I think he should be made to come in and, you know, go through those treatments….Don’t we have a system that can monitor him and do that?”

“So he checks in once a month,” Townsend said. “He has to tell his probation officer where he’s living, and he has to go to treatment. You think that’s enough in this case?”

“If he violates that,” Eustace offered, “we can always send him to jail, can’t we?”

“You think that’s enough for what he did in this case?” Townsend demanded.

Eustace replied with a non sequitur: “The Beau I had previously known, to be honest with you, was a decent kid.”

“And so what you heard today doesn’t change your mind about who this person is?” Townsend asked.

Eustace started to answer with yet another dodge: “I am devastated with what happened with Allison. I can’t—”

Impatient with his refusal to answer her questions, Townsend interrupted to ask, “Was she your student, too?”

“I did not have Allison in class,” he said. But he told Townsend
that he taught sex education, “So I understand the implications of, you know, having sex without consent.”

Judge Townsend had begun to suspect that when Eustace had agreed to testify on Donaldson’s behalf, he’d been led to believe that the sex between Donaldson and Allison was consensual, and had no idea that Donaldson had raped Allison while she was asleep and then chased her down an alley. To confirm her suspicion, Townsend asked Eustace, “But you did not know, really, all the details before you showed up today—am I correct in assuming that?”

“I would say it’s a terrible crime,” Eustace prattled on, ignoring the question yet again. “I’m glad I’m not in your shoes. But it’s a terrible crime, and I think there’s no way Allison couldn’t have negative effects from that. You know, do our schools give kids second chances? We try to give them second chances. I don’t know, you know, what kind of second chance you give a person, you know, in this system. You know, do you put them in jail and he becomes a criminal? I don’t know. That seems, from my perspective, to be what happens in our criminal justice system.”

Realizing that Coach Eustace was never going to provide a direct answer to her original question—should Beau Donaldson be sent to prison for raping Allison Huguet?—Judge Townsend gave up. She allowed Milt Datsopoulos to ask Eustace a few softball questions, and then she told the coach, “Thank you, sir. You may step down. You’re excused.”

Allison Huguet was seated in the gallery with her family and her friend Keely Williams, trying to suppress the pain and bilious rage she felt as Eustace testified in support of Beau Donaldson. “It was incredibly unnerving that Mr. Eustace and other male staff from our high school came to the trial to support Beau,” Williams recalled. “It was like a kick in the gut to Allison.”

“It was extremely hurtful,” Allison agreed, her emotions boiling to the surface as she remembered the moment. “Eustace teaches sex education to high school kids. And he refused to say that Beau needed to be punished, even after confessing to raping me? I couldn’t believe what I was hearing. What kind of message does that send to his students?”

ALTHOUGH KAREN TOWNSEND
had been a judge for only three years, she’d earned wide respect from the Missoula bar for her fairness and legal acumen. Before being elected district court judge in Montana’s Fourth Judicial District, she’d served for eight years as chief deputy Missoula County attorney, under Fred Van Valkenburg, and had spent eighteen years prior to that working as a deputy Missoula County attorney. The challenge she faced at Beau Donaldson’s sentencing hearing—as her questioning of Bob Eustace suggested—was to arrive at a punishment that was proportional to the seriousness of Donaldson’s crime while at the same time providing an opportunity for his rehabilitation. The difficulty of reconciling these aims became increasingly apparent as the hearing continued.

The next witness for the defense was John Peterson, a Missoula drywall contractor who was a childhood friend of Beau’s father, Larry Donaldson. Peterson’s kids had grown up with Beau Donaldson and Allison Huguet in the Target Range neighborhood. Donaldson “didn’t seem to be a typical jock,” Peterson testified. “He didn’t act privileged.” From an early age, Peterson had made a point of having his son and daughter work for him. “I want them to understand what it’s like to actually have to earn a living,” he explained. For that reason, he’d hired their friends as well, including Donaldson: “Beau was always one of the first ones I’d call….My trade is a physical trade. He seemed to excel at it.”

Over the previous year, following Donaldson’s arrest, Peterson said he’d employed him on dozens of construction sites. “You couldn’t ask for a better employee. He’s very respectful to the other people that work with me, all the other tradesmen on the jobs….It’s hard to go somewhere where somebody doesn’t know Beau. And he’s always been greeted with handshakes and hugs. You know, it doesn’t seem to me that he’s a threat to society.”

“You’ve certainly heard this morning some frankly heart-wrenching testimony,” Milt Datsopoulos observed. “What do you make of that? Like Mr. Eustace, do you believe Beau should be punished for this?”

“Certainly,” Peterson answered, “I believe Beau should be punished for this….All those nice things I’ve just said about Beau, I can say about Allison….I’ve been to her birthday parties. I’ve coached
her in softball….This is an awful, terrible place to be right now. If I was Superman, I’d spin the earth around backwards, and I’d make all of this go away….Beau is a friend. I don’t want him to go to prison.”

“No matter what the court does today,” Datsopoulos said, “Beau will be leaving here in handcuffs. And at some point, he’ll be back in the community. When he’s out, would you rehire him as an employee?”

“Yes, I would,” Peterson replied. “We all know where Beau was headed, what he had in front of him. All those doors are closed. The only one that’s remotely cracked open is the one I have, you know, a tradesman….He’s a hard worker, and I could train him to do it. I don’t know what else to do.”

John Peterson was articulate and genuine on the stand—a very effective witness for Beau Donaldson. But Fred Van Valkenburg is a skilled litigator, and after Milt Datsopoulos sat down, Van Valkenburg began his cross-examination with a perfectly aimed strike. “Mr. Peterson,” he said, “at the very beginning of the testimony here, you told us you have a daughter?”

“Yes, sir,” Peterson replied.

“How old is she?”

“She’s twenty-six years old.”

“So, if Beau Donaldson had chosen to rape your daughter instead of Allison,” Van Valkenburg asked, “how would that affect your testimony today?”

“Well,” Peterson answered, “I’d be testifying as Mr. Huguet did, not as an impartial person. That’s apples and oranges. Allison Huguet and Kristen Peterson are two separate people.”

“I guess they are,” Van Valkenburg mused, “because Kristen didn’t get raped, did she?…But basically what you’re telling us is you’d have the same reaction Mr. Huguet did?”

“I’m sure I would.”

If Donaldson had raped Kristen Peterson instead of Allison Huguet, Van Valkenburg demanded, “that would tell you [something] a hell of a lot different about Beau Donaldson, wouldn’t it?”

“Hypothetically….I don’t know,” Peterson stammered. A moment later he conceded, “I guess, yes.”