Kidnapped by a Client, page 25
JUDGE JOHNSON: Anything further?
MR. HART: No, Your Honor.
Listening to Morrison made me furious, but I was mindful of my body language and expressions since the TV cameras were focused on me. He’d blathered on about how he saved someone’s life in jail, how he found Jesus. Sometimes I think Jesus has already returned and is living among the prison population since every single one of those guys seems to have met him when it comes time to stand and wait for their punishment to be meted out by a judge. Morrison’s spurious comments about his good works while awaiting trial were too much for me to ignore. Before I could stop myself I turned to Marti, who stood between the cameras and me, and said, “Really? He’s reading Watchtower? He’s a Mormon now?” She rolled her eyes sharing my disgust. On the drive home we laughed at how of all the things he said, that was the thing that irritated me. And, Watchtower is Jehovah’s Witnesses, not Mormon.
Then it came my turn to address the court. When Gordie said to speak from the heart, I took it literally. I didn’t write notes to speak to the jury or for the judge. I didn’t need them. It felt like the syllables tumbled over my tongue to rush out of my mouth. This wasn’t as hard as the first time, but it was still a far cry from easy.
JUDGE JOHNSON: Mr. Shaw.
MR. SHAW: As far as on the Commonwealth’s behalf, the jury recommended the sentence of life. I think they recognized the danger done and the danger imposed in the future. And unfortunately, the words at sentencing when somebody’s facing life in prison, we’ve got to take them at face value, but the jury understood the nature of the offense and made the recommendation. The Commonwealth would ask that the Court impose that life sentence and now so allow Ms. Muse to speak and address the Court with regard to her concerns.
JUDGE JOHNSON: Okay. Ms. Muse.
MS. MUSE: Thank you for letting me speak. It’s been a long five years, and it’s nice to feel like I have a voice that I can share things with you and tell you what this is like. I would ask you to sentence him to—to life, and I don’t know if it’s possible, but—if there’s anything you could do so he could never have parole, I would ask that you do that.
And it’s not a lack of forgiveness. It’s not vengeance or hatred. It’s just that I—I miss—I miss living without fear. I don’t—I don’t remember what that was like. I know that you heard me speak to the jury about what it feels like always having a gun in my purse or in my car or sleeping with a loaded gun by my bed and just not being able to enjoy simple things like keeping my doors open and enjoying a breeze or walking around outside by myself.
I hope that what Mr. Morrison said is true. I hope that he found God, and I hope that he feels forgiveness, and I do believe that God forgives anyone and anything and—and has the ability to love us deeply. But we don’t get to ignore the consequences of our actions just because we find Christ, and Christ would not ever suggest that. I hope for his sake that he does live a different life, but the life that he has lived up to this point has yet, to my knowledge, done anything to contribute to society other than to take from society and to hurt people. I was his tenth felony conviction. There’s a long line of victims before me, and there will be a long line of victims after me if he’s released. Ever. Ten years, twenty years, it doesn’t matter. He doesn’t have any skills to live in society.
Six days he waited, bought illegal drugs and got [a] weapon and formulated a plan. [He] came to my office, and he kidnapped me. I am certain that his goal was to stab me to death after he raped me, and I am certain that he will do that if he ever gets the opportunity. I wish that I could live and think that he doesn’t want to hurt me. I wish that I could live that way because it is—it is so painful and so difficult to live your life every day knowing that someone else doesn’t just want to hurt you, but they planned it, and they tried, and only by some miracle I survived. I wouldn’t be here if it was up to him. This would be a murder case, not a kidnapping case. And the risk is too high.
His entire adult life has been felony after felony after felony, and he’s been given opportunity after opportunity to be put back out into society and to be productive, and he chooses not to. Those are his choices. I’ve had no choice in any of this. The only choice that I have had is to learn how to fight and learn how to shoot a gun and learn how to make sure that the day he gets out that I am ready to fight back, harder than I fought back last time. That’s my choice—to work and to constantly be prepared to plan my entire life around his. This man has total control over my future. He and this trial [have] dictated whether or not I become a mom, whether or not I move to Georgetown and live on my family farm—all these things that I want to do that I don’t do because I can’t. And there is nothing that he can say today to give me any confidence that he will ever be anything other than what he has been his entire life. I hope for him—I do hope for him that he changes, but I don’t believe, and I don’t think this Court can believe, that I’m somehow safe now just because he says he’s read some Mormon literature and he’s found God.
I am asking you to honor the jury’s recommendation. I know they deliberated for a long time, and I know that they think this is the right thing to do, and if you would please, Judge Johnson, you’re the only person who can give me the safety and peace and hope for a future and time that I can recover and take a deep breath and learn how to live and—and move forward. Every moment that he’s in prison is a moment that I get back. This is technically—maybe it’s his sentencing date, but this is mine too. I have been living for this day for five, long years. And I cannot wait to hear what you have to say because then I get to know what my future looks like. Do I have the rest of my life to enjoy? Do I have ten years or fifteen years? I literally beg you to please sentence him to life and give me mine.
Part of me felt Judge Johnson was going to sentence Morrison to life—he already had in 2007. Even knowing that, I stood in front of him with my body quivering, voice shaking, listening to every word. As he walked through the basis for his ruling, I held on to every syllable.
JUDGE JOHNSON
JUDGE: Mr. Morrison, you’re before this Court after having been found guilty of kidnapping first degree and persistent felony offender first degree. Is that your understanding of why you’re before the Court?
DEFENDANT: Yes, Your Honor.
JUDGE: It’s my understanding that you’ve had the opportunity to speak with your attorney about your current legal situation?
DEFENDANT: I have.
JUDGE: You’ve had the opportunity to address the Court regarding your particular sentence in this case. Is there anything about this proceeding that you don’t understand?
DEFENDANT: No.
JUDGE: The jury in this case, based upon the kidnapping first degree enhanced by the persistent felony offender first degree, recommended life in this case. I’ve had a chance to listen to the testimony during the course of this case.
I’ve also had the opportunity to review your prior criminal history which indicates you’ve been found guilty of burglary third degree, criminal possession of a forged instruments, theft by unlawful taking, criminal mischief, alcohol intoxication, persistent felony offender, terroristic threatening, exploitation of an adult.
There are different reasons for incarceration in our system and it looks like up to this point, the reasons for incarceration for you have been in hopes that you’d be rehabilitated.
Due to the amount of time each charge has carried, everyone understood you would be back out in society and you would have the opportunity to make the changes that would be necessary to live a normal life within this society. The Court finds those opportunities have failed. I heard testimony from your expert who came here to testify that you manipulated police officers, Ms. Muse, and you even attempted to manipulate your own expert. That was his clear testimony and not only was he an expert in his field, he was an expert in his mini field of manipulation. And his expert testimony was that you attempted to manipulate him. Quite frankly, Mr. Morrison, I find that you are the most manipulative person that’s been in my court.
DEFENDANT: Yeah. I can believe you would say that.
JUDGE: Excuse me.
DEFENDANT: I said I understand.
JUDGE: You’ve made statements today you have realized everything is not about Larry. Now how much you believe that I don’t know. The crime in this case is one in which you’ve taken a great deal out of the victim. Obviously, the crime is very serious. I truly believe the jury weighed the testimony and took time to deliberate what the sentence should be. I agree with the jury that life imprisonment is warranted not only for this charge but because of your long history of not being able to be a productive citizen. A citizen that is not going to continue to violate the rights that each of us are supposed to be able to enjoy. You’ve taken those rights away from Ms. Muse and from many victims in the past and it is going to stop. And it is going to stop here today. I am going to impose the sentence of life. I will recommend to the parole that they think very seriously and deliberate as to whether or not you should be entitled to parole. The testimony I’ve heard tells me very clearly that you are manipulative, and you intend to harm other people. My recommendation to the parole board is they seriously consider that any decision they make regarding probation—when you qualify for it- may come back to harm the victim or other people that took place in this process.
Is there anything else that needs to be taken care of at this time?
MR. SHAW: No, Your Honor. Thank you.
MR. HART: No, Your Honor. Thank you.
JUDGE: Thank you all.
When he pronounced the life sentence, I immediately turned to Marti, buried my head in the crook of her neck, and openly sobbed.
MARCH 25, 2011
Morrison’s appellate lawyers filed his appeal directly to the Kentucky Supreme Court which is a matter of right for any sentence twenty-years or greater. I wasn’t in the courtroom during the trial for anything other than my testimony and the closing arguments, so I had no idea how strong the appeal might be. More waiting. The legal system rarely resolves a case like this. You may get a reprieve, but there are always appeals, parole, probation, but rarely an end. Not until someone dies.
Two weeks later, I woke up to notice a giant patch of gray hair on my hairline. My weight plummeted, I had flu-like symptoms, and I was weak. Somehow I had survived five years in the legal system, but now that the trial was over, my body began to fall apart.
CHAPTER 26
THIRTEEN CALLS
JUNE 20, 2012
I logged onto the Kentucky Supreme Court website to check for a ruling in my case. Over the past two months, I’d periodically checked the website to see if the decision on Morrison’s appeal had come down. Nothing yet, but I knew it could be any day.
My friend Vickie called from New York City, and we discussed plans for a visit. She asked what I was doing, and I told her a quick check to see if the ruling had posted online. We continued talking as I scrolled down the page and saw the styling of my case under the newly released cases section. I stopped listening—and breathing—at the same time. I clicked to open it and barely whispered to Vickie, “It’s here.” She immediately stopped talking.
I opened the document and read, “Memorandum Opinion of the Court Affirming.” I gasped, held my breath and moved the mouse to the end of the document to confirm I understood it correctly. “Appellant’s convictions and sentence are affirmed.” My mouth fell open, and I dropped the phone. Somewhere my mind registered Vickie was still on the other end of the call, but it didn’t matter. Everything went limp. My body fell forward, off the couch and onto the floor. Tears, sobs, and pain roared out, purging six years of living in fear. The sounds that erupted from me were indescribable. It sounded like I was dying. But actually I was living.
I eventually made my way back to the phone. Vickie cried and celebrated with me.
After I settled down, I read the opinion in its entirety. It was a unanimous decision, but the justices cited several issues that would otherwise constitute reversible error, including how the prosecution used Arnett to enter my drug tests into evidence instead of someone from the lab. Since West didn’t object and acknowledged the drug allegations were lies, the Kentucky Supreme Court decided it was harmless error. They found several other instances of appealable error by the prosecutor but labeled them harmless error only because West failed to preserve the issues. Judge Johnson was unable to respond to these errors at trial due to West not raising the issue. I had a new appreciation for Mr. West. Maybe now I liked West a little more. Maybe he really didn’t want Morrison back on the street. But I was speculating.
I thanked God for this outcome, for a break from the system until he is up for parole in fourteen years. Then it starts again.
After the Kentucky Supreme Court handed down their decision, I started living my new normal, but in many respects, it looked and felt like my life before. I was always mindful of my surroundings and prepared to address a threat, but since it had become second nature, it didn’t feel much different than how I had navigated life before. At least I didn’t carry a gun to take my trash out or go to the grocery anymore. I had traveled to Indianapolis, one of my favorite places to get away for a quick trip, but this time it was for work. It was a gray day in March with the nights coming far too early. After my meetings, I grabbed some takeout and headed back to my hotel to avoid the cold weather.
I sat in my room, finishing up a project, and clicked the remote to turn on a news channel. That was unusual for me since I prefer to work in quiet. A local crime report caught my attention. Something in the story triggered my intuition, and I moved the mouse off my work document to open the Internet.
I did a quick search for Morrison—and found that, according to a website run by the Department of Corrections (DOC), he was scheduled for early release in 2016.
I scoured the page, looking for anything that might indicate a glitch. Nothing. He was parole eligible ten years too soon!
How did this happen? I had no idea. Thank God the news program spurred me to check. I started calling. No one would be in their office after hours, but I left messages everywhere I could. I called the prison and then each department within the prison. I called the administrative office of the courts. I called the DOC.
Too many thoughts ran through my mind for me to sleep. I called the front desk to request a late checkout. I knew I had to get this resolved before I drove home. As soon as the clock showed 8:00 a.m., I made all the same calls again.
Not one person would help me. Everyone I reached said if he was scheduled for release, then it must be accurate. I firmly but politely explained that a life sentence means more than ten years. They were releasing him ten years too early by anyone’s calculation.
Shocked by how many calls I had to make, I started to keep count. By my twelfth call, my voice was clearly stressed. I started with, “I know I sound upset, and I am, but not with you. I need your help. Please.” Then I described what was going on.
This particular man was not helpful at all. He just kept repeating what was on his screen.
“Can I send you a copy of the court order and sentencing documents?” I asked, thankful I had copies on my computer.
“No, I can see them on my end.” He was unwavering in his refusal to resolve this problem.
“How does it make sense that someone sentenced to life is scheduled to be released after serving only ten years?”
He responded as if bored and speaking to a small child. “Ma’am, sentencing guidelines are very complicated.”
“I am willing for you to explain it to me.” The tension in my voice expanded.
“Like I said, it is very complicated. I had to attend a two-week class to understand how it works,” he said, as if believing this would shut me up.
“That’s great. With all that training, you are the perfect person to explain this to me.” I deliberately curbed the sarcasm that dangled precariously on the tip of my tongue.
“You won’t be able to understand it,” he said, very matter-of-fact.
Now I was done. “I’m a practicing attorney. I read and comprehend the tax code, secure transaction statutes, and have yet to be stumped, so I am confident that I can understand the sentencing guidelines,” I said in my God-to-Moses voice I use when training my dog. Finally, I asked for a supervisor and got a contact number. That was the most help this guy had given me.
I called the supervisor, praying he would think this through with me, not just dully repeat what was on the screen in front of him. I started by telling him I was in need of his help, that this was my thirteenth call with no resolution. I explained the problem and offered to send him a copy of the court order and the sentencing documents. He started saying the exact same things the twelve prior employees had told me. I could hear his keyboard clicking as he pulled up the same documents. I was explaining to him that a life sentence demands at least twenty years before they were parole eligible when I heard . . .
“Humph.” Then a longer, “Huummmph,” followed by a long exhale. Pause. “You are right.”
Longer pause. Neither of us spoke. I could picture this man, staring at his screen in disbelief, while I waited quietly.
I heard more clicking of the keyboard. Then, “You’re right. I’ve got the court documents in front of me.”
“Thank you for taking time and looking at this. You are my thirteenth call, the seventh at the DOC, and no one else has helped me.”
“I’ve reviewed the documents, and Morrison should not be eligible for parole until March 2026.” He sounded like he couldn’t believe what he was saying.
“What happened? Why was he scheduled for release?” I asked, hoping to figure this out to make sure it didn’t happen again.
