No, Daddy, Don't! (24 page)
Authors: Irene Pence
“I would like to applaud you on your honesty,” he said, shaking her hand. “I’d have laid money that you would have covered for Fite.”
When the evidentiary hearing continued after the break, Paul Johnson called James R. Vineyard to the stand. Vineyard had been a Dallas police officer for twenty-five years and worked as a detective with the crime scene response unit. When Paul Johnson questioned the experienced officer, he readily admitted to having been inside the loft without a search warrant.
“What did you do when you first got there?” Johnson asked.
“Shortly after I arrived, I helped the others mark evidence and then took photographs. I’ve investigated hundreds of crime scenes like this. I thought that in good faith we were doing the right thing.”
His next statement lent credibility to Gigi Ray’s testimony. Vineyard asserted that he and Fite were inside the loft discussing whether or not to get a search warrant. Around 10:30, they decided that one was necessary and left to find a judge.
Chief prosecutor Howard Blackmon was on his feet, defending the officer. “This was an emergency situation. They had to check on the children. Besides, anything in plain view doesn’t need a warrant.”
Standing taller and raising his voice louder, Paul Johnson said, “The kids were obviously not in imminent danger. Besides, it was a chaotic scene. Nobody knew what they were doing. They were not maintaining the law. They had no right to collect evidence.
“I move to suppress all evidence collected at the scene,” Johnson said. “This was an illegal search. All evidence would include the bodies, the guns, and the bullets.”
The prosecution held its collective breath for Judge Warder’s ruling.
She began thoughtfully, “I believe that the police had reason to act immediately. And all evidence in plain view is admissible—bodies, guns, everything. The evidence can be admitted under the emergency doctrine.”
Paul stood, his face flushed, as he listened to the judge. She stated that, as there had been no itemization of seized evidence, Paul could not specify which bits of evidence had been moved or taken.
For the record, Paul objected that evidence was collected without a warrant and the judge nodded, noting his objection.
Johnson objected a second time. “The warrant wasn’t specific as to what they were looking for. It was just a fishing expedition.”
The judge noted the defense attorney’s second objection.
“Your Honor,” Johnson said, “my objections are for each piece of evidence that will be presented.” Johnson appeared to be laying the groundwork for an appeal.
Officer James Vineyard was recalled to the stand. The crime scene investigator admitted to having searched Battaglia’s truck around 2:20
A.M.
A.M.
“Did you have a search warrant to do that?” Johnson asked.
“I didn’t think a warrant was necessary. We were looking for weapons that were tied to the crime.”
The three prosecutors looked at one another. They had not completely resolved the issue of the search warrant for the loft—and now they had the truck to worry about. The prosecutors busily flipped through reference books, then found the precedent they were looking for.
After listening to Blackmon, Judge Warder agreed with the prosecution’s assertion that there was a motor vehicle exemption. “Evidence may be moved because it could become lost due to the movability of the truck,” she said.
Johnson also objected to that finding. His objections were stacking up for the appellate court.
When the prosecution had its turn, it moved to admit John Battaglia’s previous violations into evidence, including beating Mary Jean on Christmas Day and violating his protective order on April 17, 2001. Blackmon stated that Battaglia’s motive for the murders was his impending arrest.
Paul Johnson had an advantage when he stood. Everyone had to look up to him. He objected to the admissions because the victim (Mary Jean) in those cases was a different person than the victims in this trial. In addition, he stated that this information on Battaglia’s background might prejudice the jury.
Judge Warder disagreed. “I think these actions are highly relevant because they show a relationship.”
Howard Blackmon stood in front of John Battaglia to read his indictment and begin the trial. Battaglia was told to stand.
“John David Battaglia, on or about the second day of May, 2001, did unlawfully, intentionally, and knowingly cause the death of Mary Faith Battaglia by shooting [her] with a firearm, a deadly weapon, and during the same criminal transaction said defendant did intentionally and knowingly cause the death of Liberty Battaglia. . . .”
Battaglia listened to the indictment and appeared about to yawn. When asked, he entered a plea of “not guilty.”
The jury of seven men and five women entered the courtroom. The serious, unsmiling group ranged in age from their late twenties to their early sixties.
Chief prosecutor Howard Blackmon stood before them to give his opening statement.
He began by relating that Mary Jean’s relationship with the defendant was marred by abuse culminating in the ultimate act of revenge.
He recounted the telephone call during which Mary Jean had been forced to listen to her girls being murdered. Blackmon mentioned the message that Mary Jean had heard the next morning. “John Battaglia told his girls how very brave they were, and how evil their mother was.”
Blackmon led jurors along the path Battaglia had taken that night. He graphically itemized the shots that killed the children, then described John’s night on the town: the girl, the drinks, the tattoos.
He concluded by saying, “Officer Dane Thornton was the first officer to stop. He was the first to see the horror of that scene. Now you will see what he saw.”
The defense offered no opening statement.
The big, solid frame of Officer Dane P. Thornton entered the courtroom through double doors at the far end opposite the judge’s bench. His head tan and shaved, he stood erect and walked with purpose. The veteran officer frowned throughout his entire testimony. There was just no way to appear pleasant and tell what he had witnessed. It had cost him three nights’ sleep when it happened, and now he had to relive it. He described Mary Jean flagging him down, the arrival of Officers Murray and Rojas, their decision to kick down the door, and then their grisly discovery. He also detailed the massive manhunt for Battaglia that had lasted almost six hours.
Three days previously, on the Friday before trial started, an evidentiary hearing had been held. At that time, Paul Johnson had kept Officer Thornton on the stand for over an hour, pelting him with questions about that night. He had criticized him for initiating an illegal search and seizure merely on the word of Mary Jean, a hysterical mother. But during the hearing, Thornton had stood up to Johnson and had apparently won his respect—for after Thornton’s trial testimony today, Johnson had no questions for the officer.
The prosecution called its next witness, Mary Jean Pearle.
F
ORTY-THREE
ORTY-THREE
Mary Jean Pearle hadn’t slept a wink the night before the trial. Even with all the incriminating evidence against John Battaglia, she felt a consuming dread that something would go wrong and he wouldn’t be found guilty. Even if he were found guilty, he might not get the death penalty. She had promised her girls justice. Everything was resting on her testimony today.
Dressed in a conservative black-and-white-print dress covered with a black jacket, Mary Jean looked tired when she entered the courtroom.
Responding to Howard Blackmon’s questioning, she described her early life in Dallas, her many years of working in her mother’s antique shop, and her more recent management of her rental properties.
Mary Jean talked about her marriage to John Battaglia, and the arrival of the children. As Exhibit 12, the prosecution offered a colorful 18-by-24-inch photo of the girls at their elementary school carnival. It showed them hugging and grinning, crinkling their flower-painted faces.
The prosecution ventured into emotional territory as they began to question Mary Jean about her children.
“Liberty was in her third year of ballet,” Mary Jean said. “She danced like a swan compared to all the other children. She wanted to be a prima ballerina.” As she struggled to say “prima,” the first tears of her testimony began filling her eyes. “She had the best personality of anyone in the family and that’s saying something for this family.” She stopped to inhale and steady her breathing. “She had lots and lots of little friends . . .” More tears rolled down her cheeks.
Mary Jean mentioned that she had been Faith’s first-grade room mother and had promised Liberty to be her first-grade room mother also. “But Liberty didn’t make it to first grade,” she said, squeezing her eyes shut. She had to stop talking for a moment.
Discussing her involvement with her children, she said, “Monday was ballet, Tuesday was violin, Wednesday was at the Y . . .” Everyone could see that the girls were her entire life. She didn’t date because she didn’t want to give John anything to blow up over.
She described how verbally abusive John had been during their entire nine-year marriage. “He got even meaner after he lost the RTC case. He screamed at me all the time after that, and that’s when we separated.”
Mary Jean was afraid that their relationship was turning toward physical violence, so she sought a protective order.
Her hunch proved correct. Mary Jean described her Christmas beating. As she sat at the witness stand, she pantomimed her physical motions during the fight—leaning down, ducking her head, and trying to fend off Battaglia’s blows. The jury stayed with her every word.
“He pushed me to the floor,” she said, ducking almost under the witness stand. “He started kicking me with his heavy shoe. Over and over again. And I only had on pajamas!”
After the attack, she said it got quiet. Mary Jean looked up from the stand as if she were looking for John. “He left Laurie with us and just took off.”
She described her black-and-blue face, the hair she lost because John pulled it out, and all her other bruises. She complained that when she filed a criminal complaint against John, he only received probation. A few women on the jury shook their heads. She recalled that he was still on probation the night he killed the children.
Fifty minutes into her testimony, Blackmon guided her to the most emotional part: the call to the loft. Mary Jean described hearing Faith’s voice, and that when she heard her scream, “No, Daddy, no, don’t do it, please,” she knew something terrible was happening because Faith had never said “no” to her daddy in her entire life. Mary Jean exploded into tears and pounded the witness stand with every “no, Daddy” she repeated. Then she beat out the sound of each gunshot by slapping the stand over and over again.
She described her dash to the loft. She told that she found the street empty and wondered where the police and ambulance were. Her frustration soared anew in the courtroom as she itemized every tragic revelation of the night.
Mary Jean described what it was like to return home the next morning and listen to Faith’s recorded voice. That tape was played for the jury. Then she related how she had entered the children’s room and listened to Battaglia’s last message telling the girls how brave they were. The prosecution played that tape also. While it ran, every member of the jury glared at John. His chilling words made it obvious that all the pain John had inflicted that night was directed at Mary Jean. The girls were only tragic pawns in his scheme.
Wisely, Paul Johnson had no questions for Mary Jean.
Jennifer Esparza, the Highland Park 911 operator, was probably uncomfortable being called to testify. She had spent several weeks of the previous year trying to defend her handling of the 911 call.
The prosecution wanted to play the complete taped call for the jury. Paul Johnson objected, saying it would only be a second chance for Mary Jean to influence the jury.
The judge decided to run the tape outside the jury’s presence; then the defense could object to various sections.
Esparza was heard saying that they [911] had had several disturbances with Battaglia. Her words made the call seem routine as she downplayed the emergency. On the tape, the full impact of Mary Jean’s anguish could be heard in her sobs, her screams, and her cries.
When Mary Jean’s taped voice screamed, “Oh, no, they’re dead!” many of her friends in the courtroom bowed their heads, hair hanging over their faces as they cried.
After the airing, Johnson objected to several parts, calling it hearsay. He wanted the tape revised rather than simply muted during those sections because otherwise the jury would know that information was being kept from them.
The first day of the trial drew to a close. Paul Johnson still appeared vigorous. He never seemed to tire of jumping to his feet, objecting, and nitpicking anything that could hurt his client.
During the trial, Mary Jean, her mother, and Michelle Ghetti were cloistered in the witness waiting room. Mary Jean had to remain outside the courtroom in case she was called again. Friends attended the proceedings, then reported to Mary Jean what evidence was being presented at the trial.
Before the second day of trial, Paul Brauchle, the assistant defense attorney, went to the front of the courtroom where Exhibit 12, the photograph of the smiling girls at the carnival, was on display. He picked up the picture and placed it facedown on the desk next to the court reporter’s station, out of the jury’s view.
Both dressed in black, John Battaglia’s father and stepmother entered the courtroom with John’s youngest brother, Trevor. They were soon joined by the writer the Battaglias had hired to chronicle their perspective of the story.
No bailiff had to bring the courtroom to its feet as Judge Janice Warder entered. She was already at her bench, busy working on legal papers and jotting down notes.
The court reporter came in and noticed the girls’ photo. She picked it up and promptly returned it to its proper place in front of the jury.
At the beginning of that day’s session, the judge warned that the testimony and evidence would be graphic. She cautioned the spectators that if they felt they could not handle the presentation, they should leave now. She wanted no outbursts.
Jennifer Esparza, the Highland Park 911 operator, was recalled to the stand. The argument over the tape hadn’t been resolved. It had not been re-recorded as Paul Johnson had requested, so he was trying to have the entire tape disallowed. As a compromise, the judge allowed the first part of the tape to be played, omitting the part where Mary Jean expressed concern that John might kill her mother. After the tape was aired, Jennifer Esparza was excused.
Melissa Lowder, the first of Mary Jean’s friends to arrive at the lofts, was the next witness. She was smartly casual in a green sweater and gray pants. Calmly, she portrayed the part she played in calling 911, going into the loft, and identifying the children.
Howard Blackmon questioned Melissa about her knowledge of John Battaglia.
“I’ve known him since our oldest children were in kindergarten. We socialized quite a bit as couples.”
“Did Mary Jean ever describe John as bipolar?” Blackmon asked, trying to preempt the defense on the issue.
“We never discussed it,” Melissa said.
Under further questioning, Melissa described John as a great dad when their children were in kindergarten, but how, toward the end of Battaglia’s marriage, she had heard about the very heated discussions that he had with Mary Jean.
Melissa said she was afraid to walk anywhere with Mary Jean for fear that John Battaglia would come by and take potshots at them. She also mentioned John leaving phone messages calling Mary Jean a “fucking pig.”
When Paul Johnson cross-examined, he said, “There were hundreds of phone calls from John asking Mary Jean to give him visitation with the girls. A hundred phone calls and only one with “fucking pig.” You’re only aware of the calls that John made that were rude?”
“I’m only aware that John called and made obscene remarks,” Melissa told him.
When Melissa was excused, John Battaglia’s probation officer, Debra Gibbs, was sworn in. She was a no-nonsense looking woman with short dark hair. Under Blackmon’s questioning, she described her meeting with John Battaglia on April 30, two days before the murders. She had told the defendant that his file had been requested by the court, and had warned him that it probably meant his probation would be revoked.
“What was his reaction to that news?” Blackmon asked.
“He became very angry. Said his ex-wife was always trying to get him in trouble.”
“How angry?” Blackmon asked, prodding her on.
“Intensely angry. Raised his voice. He had anger in his eyes.”
Blackmon turned the witness over to the defense. Paul Johnson continued his habit of standing next to the witnesses when he asked questions.
Johnson handed Gibbs the report she had written after her meeting with Battaglia on April 30. “Is this your report about the probationer?”
She squinted to read it, then nodded.
“You didn’t mention any reaction by Battaglia in your report. Did he make any threats?”
She had to agree that none were listed in her report.
“When you were talking today,” Johnson said, “you made him sound much more angry.”
With Johnson inferring she was saying things she really hadn’t experienced, she looked relieved to be excused.
Detective James Vineyard from the crime scene response unit again took his place in the witness chair. With his experience, he appeared relaxed in a courtroom setting. He was very precise, giving the exact location of the loft. “At the intersection of the I-45 overpass and Interstate 75.”
He had the facts down cold. He talked about going to the loft that night. He had drawn a large floor plan of the loft, and he pointed to where the girls were found, where guns were located, and anything that would give the jury a better idea of the layout. Then he had the lights dimmed and began showing slides taken of the crime scene. Using a laser, he guided the jury through the assortment of shotguns and revolvers, bullet casings, and clutter strewn around the loft.
The most chilling point of the trial came next. He showed pictures of the girls. First there was Liberty. He flashed a slide on the screen showing her lying face down in a pool of blood, her toes turned in. In the next slide, Liberty’s body filled the entire screen, adding to the impact of the image. An officer from PES had picked her up in her frozen position. Blood covered her features and obscured them.
Many people in the gallery gasped. They had not been expecting anything so graphic, even though the judge had warned them. One sobbing woman stood and left the courtroom.
Vineyard then showed the jury slides of Faith. Facedown. Blood. A young life wasted before it ever really began.
The Battaglias sat somber-faced, making no attempt to shield their eyes from the grisly photos. John Battaglia looked on with interest, as if they were someone else’s children, someone else’s murders. Members of the jury stared at him, most with frowns. When Liberty’s bloody face had first appeared on the screen, a young male juror in the front row grabbed the rail of the jury box, looking ready to leap over and attack Battaglia.
Blackmon presented the revolvers, casings, hair and tissue samples, and all the slides into evidence. The dozen long guns and four pistols taken from Battaglia’s loft were stacked around the base of the judge’s bench. The courtroom looked like an arsenal.
With regularity, Paul Johnson objected to every bit of evidence that was photographed before the warrant arrived, saying it violated the Fourth Amendment on search and seizure. With equal regularity, the judge overruled his objections.
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