The boys from biloxi, p.37
The Boys from Biloxi, page 37
To the right, and only a few feet away, was the defendant, Mr. Hugh Malco, who was wedged between his lawyers, Joshua Burch and his associate, Vincent Goode.
Keith glanced at the front row and smiled at Agnes, who was seated with her other three children. Behind them were two rows of reporters.
The excitement of the opening bell soon wore off as Judge Roach began pruning his jury pool. Though they had been carefully screened to exclude those over sixty-five and those who were ill, others stood with various excuses—job and family demands, additional medical concerns, and reservations about being called upon to impose the death penalty, should it come into play. About half admitted to hearing the news about the bombing of the Biloxi courthouse and the death of Jesse Rudy.
Keith resisted the urge to glare at Hugh, who scribbled nonstop on legal pads and looked at no one. A sketch from a courtroom artist would show the two men seated only inches apart and staring at one another, but it would not be accurate.
Judge Roach was methodical, at times painfully slow, and imminently fair with those who spoke up. By noon he had excused 30 of the 102 prospects, and the lawyers had yet to say a word. He recessed for a two-hour lunch and promised more of the same for the afternoon.
For an eighty-four-year-old, His Honor showed remarkable stamina. He picked up the pace when he allowed Chuck McClure and Joshua Burch to address the pool. They were not allowed to argue the facts or begin plotting their strategies. Their job during the selection process was to approve the jurors they liked and strike the ones they didn’t.
At 6:30, court was adjourned with only the first four approved and sitting in the jury box.
* * *
The Rudy clan and the prosecution team retired to a hotel, found the bar, and enjoyed a long dinner. The lawyers—Keith, Egan, McClure, and the Pettigrew brothers—all agreed that the first day went well. Agnes had been a nervous wreck in the days leading up to the trial and had balked at attending, but the children insisted, and during the day she became fascinated with the selection process. For years she had worked in the law office and knew the lingo, and she had watched Jesse try cases and was familiar with the procedure. Over dinner, she shared several observations about the remaining jurors. One gentleman in particular had bad body language and a permanent scowl, and this bothered her. McClure promised to strike him.
* * *
The last juror was seated at 10:45 Tuesday morning. Seven men, five women, eight whites, three blacks, one Asian. All “death qualified” as the lawyers say, meaning all had promised Chuck McClure they could impose the death penalty if asked to do so.
Death was in the air. It had brought them all together, and it would be discussed, analyzed, and threatened until the trial was over. Justice would not be served until Hugh Malco was convicted and sentenced to die.
Judge Roach nodded at Chuck McClure, but he was already on his feet. He stood before the jury and began with a dramatic “The defendant, Hugh Malco, is a murderer who deserves the death penalty, and not just for one reason, but for three. Number one: In this state it is a capital crime to murder an elected official. Jesse Rudy was elected twice by the people on the Coast as their district attorney. Number two: In this state it is a capital crime to pay someone to kill another. Hugh Malco paid a contract killer twenty thousand dollars to kill Jesse. Number three: In this state it is a capital crime to murder another person by using explosives. The contract killer used stolen military explosives to blow up the Biloxi courthouse with Jesse as the target. The proof is clear. It’s an open-and-shut case.”
McClure turned, pointed an angry finger at Hugh, and said, “This man is a cold-blooded killer who deserves the death penalty.”
All twelve glared at the defendant. The courtroom was still, silent. Though the first witness had yet to be called, the trial was over.
Hugh absorbed the words without flinching. He was determined to look at no one, to react to nothing, to do little else but doodle and scratch on a legal pad and pretend to be hard at work taking notes. He appeared to be in another world, but his thoughts were very much in the courtroom. They were a scrambled mess of questions like: Where did the plot go wrong? Why did we trust an idiot like Henry Taylor? How could Nevin rat me out? How can I find him and talk to him? How long will I stay on death row before I make my escape? He harbored not a single thought of being innocent.
McClure allowed his words to echo around the courtroom, then launched into a windy narrative on the history of organized crime on the Coast, with a heavy emphasis on the Malco family’s central role in it. Gambling, prostitution, drugs, illegal liquor, corruption, all promoted by men like Lance Malco, now sitting in prison for his sins, and then by his son—his successor, his heir, the defendant. After decades of entrenched criminal activity, the first public official with the guts to go after the crime bosses was Jesse Rudy.
McClure spoke without notes but with a full command of his material. He had rehearsed his opening several times with his team and each version only got better. He moved around the courtroom as if he owned it. The jurors watched every move, absorbed every word.
He dwelt on Jesse and his frustrations in his early days as a prosecutor when he was a lonely warrior fighting crime with no help from law enforcement; his futile efforts to shut down the nightclubs; and his worries about the safety of his family. But he was fearless and never gave up. The people noticed, the voters cared, and in 1975 he was reelected without opposition. He fought on, trying one legal maneuver after another until he began to win. He became more than a thorn in the side of the crime bosses; he became a legitimate threat to their empires. When he put away Lance Malco, father of the defendant, it was time for revenge. Jesse Rudy paid the ultimate price for fighting the Dixie Mafia.
Keith had watched his father become a master in the courtroom, but he had to admit at that moment that Chuck McClure was just as brilliant. And he reminded himself of his own wise decision to sit on the sideline. He would not be able to be as effective as McClure, whose words evoked too many emotions.
McClure finished in forty-five minutes and everyone took a deep breath. He had brilliantly won the opening battle without mentioning the names of Henry Taylor and Nevin Noll. The dramatic testimonies of his star witnesses would seal the fate of Hugh Malco.
Joshua Burch quickly revealed his strategy, though it was no surprise. He had so little to work with. He said his client was an innocent man who was being framed by the real killers, lowlifes from the underworld who had cut deals with the State to save themselves. He warned the jurors not to believe the lies they were about to hear from the men who murdered Jesse Rudy. Hugh Malco was no gangster! He was an entrepreneur who ran several businesses: a chain of convenience stores, a liquor store with a legitimate permit, two restaurants. He built and managed apartment buildings and a shopping center. He had been working since the age of fifteen and would have gone to college but his father needed him as the family enterprises grew.
The murder of Jesse Rudy was the most sensational in the history of the Gulf Coast, and the State was desperate to solve it and punish someone. In its eagerness, though, it had sacrificed the search for the truth by pinning its case on the testimony of men who could not be trusted. There was no other direct link to Hugh Malco, a fine young man who had always respected Jesse Rudy. Indeed, he admired the Rudy family.
Keith watched the faces of the jurors and saw no sympathy, nothing but suspicions.
After Burch sat down, Judge Roach recessed for a long lunch.
* * *
In a murder trial, most prosecutors called as their first witness a member of the victim’s family. Though rarely probative, it set the tone and aroused sympathy from the jury. Agnes wanted no part of it and Keith thought it unnecessary.
McClure called an investigator from the state police. His job was to show the jury the crime scene and describe what happened. Using a series of enlarged photos, he walked the jury through the blast and the resulting damage. When it was time to show photos of the victim, Keith nodded to a bailiff who walked to the front row and escorted Agnes, Tim, Laura, and Beverly out of the courtroom. It was a dramatic exit, one that Keith and McClure had carefully planned, and it irritated Joshua Burch, who stood to object but decided not to. Calling attention to Jesse’s family would only make bad matters worse.
Keith stared at the floor as the jurors cringed at four photos of Jesse’s badly mangled and dismembered body stuck to the wall.
A pathologist testified as to the cause of death, though his testimony wasn’t needed.
An expert from the FBI lab spent half an hour explaining the impact of detonating five pounds of Semtex in a small room the size of an office. It was far more than necessary to kill a man.
After the first three witnesses, Joshua Burch had not asked a single question on cross-examination.
So far the proof had been delivered in straightforward, matter-of-fact testimonies. McClure kept it short and to the point. The photos spoke for themselves.
During the afternoon recess, Agnes and her family returned to the front row. They would never see the horrible photos of Jesse. Keith had seen them months earlier and would be haunted forever.
Drama arrived with the fourth witness, former air force sergeant Eddie Morton. McClure cleared the air immediately and established that Morton had been court-martialed and was serving time in a federal prison. Morton described his side business peddling military explosives to various buyers over a five-year period. He admitted gambling problems and a fondness for hanging around the strip clubs in Biloxi, and about three years earlier had made the acquaintance of one Nevin Noll. On July 6, 1976, he left Keesler with five pounds of Semtex, drove to a club called Foxy’s on the Strip, had a drink with Noll, and collected $5,000 in cash. The two went outside to the parking lot where Morton opened his trunk and handed Noll a wooden box containing the explosives. In February of 1977, he was contacted again by Noll who wanted more of the explosives.
Morton’s testimony was mesmerizing and the entire courtroom was captivated.
On cross, Joshua Burch made it clear that the witness was a convicted felon, a thief, a traitor, and a disgrace to his uniform and country. He attacked Morton’s credibility and asked him repeatedly if he was promised leniency in return for testifying. Morton steadfastly denied this, but Burch hammered away.
Like all great trial lawyers, Burch maintained his composure and never seemed to lose confidence in his case. But Keith had seen him in action before and knew that some of the cockiness was gone. His client was a dead man and he knew it.
Hugh managed to keep scribbling and never looked up, never acknowledged the presence of anyone else in the courtroom. He never whispered to his lawyers, never reacted to a word from the witness stand. Keith glanced at him occasionally and wondered what the hell he was writing. His mother, Carmen, was not in the courtroom and neither were his siblings. His father was surviving another day in prison, no doubt eager to get the daily newspapers.
Keith and Chuck McClure had strategized for hours about which witnesses to use. One idea was to subpoena some of the other criminals from the Strip and have a field day with them on the witness stand. The goal would be to prove motive. They hated Jesse Rudy and there had been plenty of bad blood. Their greatest idea was to haul in Sheriff Albert “Fats” Bowman and rip him to shreds in front of the jury. In the end, though, they agreed that the facts were squarely in the favor of the prosecution. They had the evidence and the witnesses. No sense in muddying the water. Play it straight, hit hard and fast, and get the conviction.
* * *
Wednesday started with a bang when McClure announced the State’s next witness, Mr. Henry Taylor. For the occasion, he had been allowed to shed his orange jailhouse jumpsuit and took the stand in a starched white shirt and pressed khaki pants. McClure had spent two hours with him the night before and their back-and-forth was well rehearsed.
Taylor was eager to cooperate, though he knew that for the rest of his life he would keep one eye on the rearview mirror. To a hushed crowd, he told the story of being contacted by an intermediary in July of 1976 with an inquiry about a “job” in Biloxi. A week later he drove to Jackson, Mississippi, and met with an operative named Nevin Noll. They came to terms and shook hands on the contract killing of Jesse Rudy. For $20,000 cash, Taylor would build a bomb, drive to Biloxi, follow Mr. Rudy until he knew his movements, deliver the bomb to his office, and detonate it at the right time. Noll said he had a source for military explosives and could handle the delivery. On August 17, Taylor arrived in Biloxi, met with Noll again, was briefed by him on the best time to do the job, and took five pounds of Semtex. The following evening, he broke into the courthouse, then into the office of the district attorney, and scoped out the site. On Friday, August 20, at noon, he entered the courthouse dressed as a UPS delivery man carrying packages, went to the office, spoke to Mr. Rudy, and left a package in a chair by his desk. He made a quick getaway but things got complicated when he passed Egan Clement, the assistant DA, returning from lunch. He did not want her to be collateral damage, so he quickly detonated the bomb. The blast was far more than he expected and knocked him down the stairwell, breaking his leg. He managed to get outside in the chaos but couldn’t walk. He passed out and was transported to the hospital in Biloxi where he spent three long days plotting an escape. He eventually returned home and thought he had dodged a disaster.
The witness had the undivided attention of the courtroom, and McClure took his time. He backtracked some of Henry’s movements and fleshed out the story. He asked the judge for permission to have the witness leave the stand and step over to a table in front of the jurors. The jurors and lawyers, and everyone else who could strain enough to see, watched with fascination as Taylor arranged the pieces of a fake bomb. McClure asked questions about each piece. The witness then put the bomb together, slowly, carefully, while explaining the dangers inherent with each move. He set the firing switch and explained what happened when the detonation button was at a distance. He gently placed the fake bomb in a wooden box and pretended to seal it.
Back on the witness stand, Taylor was asked by McClure how many bombs he had detonated. He refused to incriminate himself.
Burch came out swinging and asked Taylor if he was confessing to a capital murder. He bobbed and weaved a bit, said he wasn’t sure about the capital element, but, yes, he had killed Jesse Rudy for money. He admitted taking a plea deal with the State in return for his damning testimony, and Burch hammered away relentlessly. Why else would a man admit to a crime punishable by death if he had not been promised a lighter sentence? The cross-examination was riveting, at times breathtaking.
Burch landed blow after blow, picking at every small discrepancy while embellishing the obvious, and finally left little doubt that Henry Taylor was testifying to avoid severe punishment. After two hours of the barrage, Taylor was near the breaking point and the entire courtroom was exhausted. When he was excused, Judge Roach announced a recess.
The time-out did nothing to lessen the drama, and it only intensified when Nevin Noll took the stand. McClure began slowly with a series of questions that told the narrative of Noll’s long, colorful history in service to the Malco family. He was not quizzed about his other murders. Such testimony would be problematic in many ways, and McClure did not want to discredit his star witness. There was no doubt, though, that Noll had never avoided violence in his various roles as bouncer, bodyguard, enforcer, bagman, drug-runner, and part-time club manager.
Noll never looked at Hugh, and Hugh never stopped his incessant scribbling.
When his thuggish history was thoroughly confirmed, McClure moved on to the killing of Jesse Rudy. Noll admitted that he and Hugh had discussed eliminating the district attorney as soon as Lance was arrested. Their conversations went on for weeks, then months. When they learned that Jesse Rudy was investigating the contract killing of Dusty Cromwell, they decided it was time to act. They felt as though they had no choice.
“Who made the decision to murder Jesse Rudy?” McClure asked, his question echoing through the hushed courtroom.
Noll took his time and finally replied, “Hugh was the boss. The decision was his, but I agreed with him.”
Given the green light, Noll contacted a couple of his acquaintances in the Dixie Mafia. No one wanted the job, regardless of the money. Killing a public official was too risky. Killing a high-profile DA like Jesse Rudy was suicide. Eventually he got the name of Henry Taylor, a man he had heard of in the underworld. They met and agreed on the contract, $20,000 in cash. Hugh got the explosives from Eddie Morton at Keesler.
Absorbing the matter-of-fact details of the plot to kill his father was difficult for Keith to sit through. Again, he was thankful Chuck McClure was in charge and not him. In the front row, Agnes and her daughters wiped their eyes. Tim could only glare with hatred at Nevin Noll. If he’d had a gun he would have been tempted to charge the witness stand.
When the story was finished, McClure tendered the witness and sat down. The courtroom felt exhausted and Judge Roach recessed for a two-hour lunch.
* * *
The afternoon belonged to Joshua Burch. Thirty minutes into a long, brutal cross-examination, he firmly established that Nevin Noll was a career thug who’d never held an honest job and had spent his adult life beating and even killing others in the Biloxi underworld, all in service to the Malco family. Noll never tried to downplay his past. As always, he was cocky, arrogant, even proud of his career and his reputation. Burch eviscerated him and made it plain to all that the man could not be trusted. Burch even waded into the death of Earl Fortier thirteen years earlier in Pascagoula, but Noll stopped the line of questions cold when he said, “Well, Mr. Burch, you were my lawyer back then and you told me to lie to the jury.”
