Helzer Skelter

~o0o~ The Prosecutor had been giving opening remarks for almost five hours and showed no signs of wearing down. He's a gifted public speaker, perhaps the best in the Contra Costa County District Attorney's office, now holding the jurors entranced with his legal rhapsody. His presence was captivating, the definition of looming large.

Most of his remarks were aimed at laying out in an organized-and at times even clinical-manner the evidence the twelve jurors and four alternates seated could expect to hear in the first of three phases of the proceedings. It was a chronological outline of what Hal Jewett-this case's representative of the People of the State of California-anticipated he would prove.

Hal held between his thumb and forefinger a substantial gold wedding band, a ring that had lain unexplained on the edge of the witness stand for the entirety of his opening, a distraction meant to worry the curiosity of his audience. He held it up to the light of the windows, squinting against the sun and in concentration, at once. He opened his mouth and his body moved forward almost imperceptibly, signs that he was about to break this uncomfortable silence. But then his face twisted in emotion and the choke in his throat rendered him momentarily without a voice.

He dropped his shoulders and blew out deflation, an effort to collect himself. Then in a controlled voice, his words not much more than a stage whisper, he asked, "What do you think they found on the floorboard of Selina Bishop's car?" His voice so low it  compelled the undivided attention of everyone in the room, "Ivan Stineman's wedding ring."

Ivan and Annette's daughters, anguished women who took up their place of dubious distinction behind the Prosecutor day-after-day, wiped their glassy eyes. I looked away, cognizant that my job was made more difficult by acknowledging the emotional hell all five of the victims' loved ones were going through. Stay detached, focused, I reminded myself. On this, the first day of the guilt phase for Justin Helzer, I had no idea how important, nor how impossible that admonition would prove to be over the 10 months of trial that followed.

"Why?" Mr. Jewett plaintively implored. Now he was shouting, his teeth clenched in barely-restrained rage. He closed the gap between himself and the defendant in three long, threatening strides. Justin Helzer and Hal Jewett locked eyes, perhaps for the first time in the four years between the commission of these horrifying crimes and this day, and held a very personal man-to-man stare. "Because this man," and he stabbed an accusing finger at the air, "Justin Alan Helzer put it there." Thus began the trial on April 30th, 2004.

~o0o~ In some ways, it was the good fortune of the parties to our case that 40 miles south of Contra Costa County, Scott Peterson was being tried for the murder of his pretty wife and their unborn son and the media coverage of the Helzer brothers' trials neared insignificant. To have every detail flamboyantly splashed across newspaper headlines, analyzed ad nauseum on talk radio, and the subject of information crawling across the bottom of televisions, makes it more difficult to find a pool of people unaffected one way or the other by the stain of journalistic bias from which to pick a jury.

Criminal trials have gained increasing attractiveness to the media since the advent of Court TV. Trial analyzers trot out lurid details of those cases chosen for high profile by the celebrity name attached to them, and apparently, the sensationalism of a manure salesman from Modesto who murdered his wife. Lines between the entertainment industry and the justice system have gotten smudged. We seem intent on knowing which side of political issues actors and rock stars come down, and are enamored with electing folks whose face value at the box office is the most compelling part of their resume.

Allowing the media to influence our every decision of what to wear, what to eat, who to elect to public office and what is the truth undermines critical thinking. We connect to the umbilical cord of information via our televisions and our phones and are dosed endless messages. I have long been exasperated by the notion we have granted high-profile criminals their 15 minutes of fame, just the elixir they were seeking for their otherwise hollow and pathetic lives.

The dichotomy here is the paltry media attention paid the Helzer case inured to the benefit of Court and counsel by offering these men a fair and impartial jury. But the meager interest in this less headline-worthy case was, to me, a kind of disrespect to the victims and their loved ones. That people in the community where the crimes were committed did not even know the victims' names-Annette and Ivan Stineman, Selina Bishop, Jennifer Villarin and James Gamble-but were entranced by jury selection for the Peterson trial was borne of a lack of media focus on a case with similarly Machiavellian details to that of Manson's murders some 35 years before.

I wanted the senses-jarring account of what the victims endured at the hands of Helzer to be the topic of discussion over nail appointments and cocktail sausages. I wanted the eventual death verdicts to draw cheers of victory or upraised fists of protestation from the crowds assembled outside the courthouse in anticipation.

However, I go unrequited. I can only say, Taylor's story is that of a classic charismatic psychopath and his minions, a man every bit as good looking and bright as Scott Peterson. He drew together a wicked "trinity" to help execute his baleful plan. He kidnapped an elderly couple, extorted their life savings, then murdered them as they lay side-by-side on the bathroom floor. He murdered the daughter of a great blues guitarist when she no longer served his purposes. He cut their bodies up with a reciprocal saw, packaged them into garbage bags, and disposed of them in the Sacramento Delta like the trash they were to him. He murdered two others as they slept, their connection to him thin as spider silk. As is the way with religious zealots, he justified his scurrilous deeds in the name of divine revelation from his God of how to spread his brand of peace and love throughout the world.