Wasted (25 page)

 

 

“Now, she wanted to sell in Club 404. Had that ever happened before?”

“It happened once,” said Kim.

“Okay. Could you tell the jury about that?” said Cox.

“Regina and I and Justin went into Club 404, and Justin had some packets of crystal meth in his—they come in little Ziplocks—and put them in his sock, and we walked in and Regina knew everybody there, and so she would get one of her friends and then they would come over, they would give her the money and Justin would give them the drugs, but it didn’t last very long.”

Cox glanced at Thomas. “Did he like doing that?”

“No.”

“Why?”

“He didn’t want people to know what his face looked like.”

She talked about seeing a shipment of crystal meth for Justin arrive at Justin’s father’s apartment in South Austin. She told the court that the shipments had stopped after they had gotten back from Cancun because Justin’s California connection, a man named Rochon, had thought it too dangerous. By then, she was hooked on drugs and needed them daily, said LeBlanc, but Thomas couldn’t get the drugs she needed.

“And so Regina and I—I started to hang out with Regina more and doing more cocaine with her because she had cocaine dealers around Austin that she knew.”

 

 

“What would y’all do during the day?” said Cox. “I mean, is that all you did?”

“We went shopping, sometimes. We[’d] usually wake up, call Diva, get drugs. She liked to drive when we would get the drugs. We’d do some drugs, we’d drive around, either hang out at Diva’s or, you know, go to the mall, but mainly what we ended up doing was coming back to her house and staying in her room and just doing them there in her room.”

“Was Justin around you all during this time?”

“No.”

“Where was he usually?”

“He was usually in Del Valle.”

“At his father’s place?”

“Yeah,” she answered.

“Was Regina paying for all the drugs?”

“Yes.”

 

 

“Did your appearance change at all because of the drug use?”

“I lost about thirty pounds.”

“How about Regina?”

“She lost probably like fifteen. She was starting to lose a little weight. She was more, she was more bigger-boned than I was, much stockier. So she didn’t lose weight the way I did, but . . .”

“Were you eating much?” asked Cox.

“I ate a lot of ice cream.”

“Do you have any idea what you weighed in June of 1995?”

“Eighty pounds.”

“What do you weigh now?” said Cox.

“Hundred and twelve,” said Kim.

 

 

She talked about her fights with Regina Hartwell.

“When you would fight about money, what was that involving?”

“It was involving—” she paused, “she would take offense if she offered to do something for you and you said, you know, ‘You really don’t have to do that, you know, I appreciate it but, you know, you don’t have to.’ She would get really offended at that. I would say it to be polite, you know, that is what I was always taught, to be polite to people so that they wouldn’t just think you were just, you know, taking advantage of them, but she took that to, she took offense to that because she thought that you were not accepting a gift from her, and if you weren’t really excited then you were offending her.”

“Did your fights ever get physical?”

“No.”

“Did you ever hit Regina?”

“No.”

Did you ever threaten to kill Regina?”

“No.”

Cox paused for a very, very long time. “Now, you said that Regina—I’m sorry—Justin was spending most of his time out at Del Valle. Had y’all stopped dating or . . .”

“No,” said Kim, “we hadn’t stopped dating. It’s just when Regina and I were done doing our drugs it was usually at night time because we used all day long, and then I would tell her that I was going to see Justin in Del Valle and I would go see Justin in Del Valle, and when I’d wake up there I always wanted to go back in town because I didn’t like being in Del Valle. But he didn’t like to go back in town. So I would usually just go back to town by myself, and then Regina would call and then we’d go get drugs and start it again.”

LeBlanc then pointed out on a map of South Austin her apartment, Justin’s cousin Josh’s house, and Regina’s apartment.

Just over an hour into LeBlanc’s testimony, the court recessed for the day. It was 4:25 p.m.

With each passing day of the trial, the jurors bonded. They couldn’t talk about the case, so they talked about themselves—what they’d done with their lives, what they liked to do, who they were, their beliefs, their morals.

They talked over breakfast snacks they brought to share each day—sometimes coffee cakes, sometimes doughnuts, one time breakfast burritos. It was their special time together, like husbands and wives who make a point of sharing morning coffee and conversation. Often, Judge Fuller joined them.

“How are you?” the amicable judge always made a point to ask. He was a man who wore Wrangler jeans and mowed his own ten acres of land. “Are you comfortable?” He was the type who got asked for help, as if he were an employee, as he shopped in Wal-Mart. “Is there anything you need?” It proved to the jurors beyond a reasonable doubt that he cared. It proved to them that he cared about them as human beings—something that mattered in a case that so destroyed humanity and human kindness among friends. All of that made them comfortable in making a very important decision together.

Gregg Cox looked at Kim LeBlanc and subconsciously squeezed the pen he always kept in his hand.

“Now, toward the end, in the last week or two before her murder, did you ever have arguments with Regina about Justin?”

“Yes,” said Kim, “I did.”

“Okay. Why? What was the reason you argued?”

“The reason was mainly because she didn’t want me going out with a drug dealer and she and him [sic] started to really not get along, at all.”

“So did he sort of feel the same way about her?”

“Yeah, he didn’t like the idea that she paid for my rent and she was in my life. It was a different situation.”

“Was he jealous of her at all?”

“Yeah. She could buy me things he couldn’t. She could do things that he wasn’t able to do.”

She talked about her last argument with Regina—how she had told Regina she was going to go back home. She talked about her last phone conversation with Regina, during which Thomas and Hartwell had argued, Regina had threatened Justin, and Justin had said Regina had said—

“Hearsay,” objected the defense.

The jury was sent out of the courtroom.

LeBlanc was questioned further, and Judge Fuller said, “I’m going to allow her conversation as to what happened but not as to . . . I think that’s all right, whatever she told him, and I think whatever he told her. And the Court will allow that. But, listen, before you frame those, file those cases away,” he said to Cox, referring to Cox’s legal backing for the ruling, “let me look at them up here. That’s my ruling, but I might as well get educated. If that’s all right.” He turned to LeBlanc. “Do you understand?”

“No,” she answered.

“Well,” replied the Judge, “you don’t have to.”

“Cool,” said Kim.

Judge Fuller laughed.

The jury returned to the courtroom, and Cox continued his questioning of Kim LeBlanc about the telephone argument between Hartwell and Thomas.

But LeBlanc’s answers weren’t revealing what Cox wanted. He looked to Judge Fuller. “Judge, I don’t think she’s understanding your ruling from earlier. May we approach?”

“I’m trying,” said Kim, urgently. “I really am.”

“I know you are,” comforted Judge Fuller.

“I think,” said Jim Sawyer, his voice sandpaper rough, “the proper procedure, simply, the attorney—”

Cox interrupted.

“—may I finish?” Sawyer interrupted, too. “I think the attorney should frame his question and the witness should answer if she can. Clearly, if she can’t, another question is in order. I don’t think we need huddles and instructions. I object.”

“What did he say?” asked LeBlanc.

Judge Fuller looked at her. “It’s lawyer talk.”

Soon, the questioning resumed, and LeBlanc continued telling the court about Justin’s and Regina’s telephone argument, Justin’s anger, and Kim’s and Justin’s trip to Del Valle to get the duffel bag, trench coat, and camouflage paint.

“Did he ever specifically say he was going to kill her?”

“He did in my apartment.”

She told about their trip to Jim’s coffee shop, the Valium she had taken to sleep that night, seeing Thomas leave the next morning, and his return to her apartment.

“What did you notice about him?”

“I noticed that he had blood on his arm and on his upper body. I didn’t look at his lower body. I just looked at his upper body.”

“Did he say anything to you?”

“No. He did, yeah, eventually he did. He said that it was done.”

She talked about seeing the cut on Justin’s hand, how Thomas described Hartwell’s death, about the burning of the corpse, about their run to the Heritage Inn, about scrubbing the rust stain in Regina’s apartment, about making the missing-person report, and about going to the police station.

“What did you tell your parents and the police about Regina?”

“I had told them that she had taken advantage of me against my will, and that Justin had known about it, and was, and had killed her for that reason because he was trying to protect me.”

“Was that the truth?”

“No.”

“Why did you say that?”

“I thought I really loved him and I wanted to protect him.”

“If you wanted to protect him, why did you tell them anything?” asked Cox.

“Well,” said LeBlanc, “because I thought that I was going to spend the night in jail, and my parents were telling me that they already knew everything anyways, and that pretty much what I was doing is I was admitting to how much I knew in order to keep myself out of prison because they’d already known everything and that, you know, I could either go along, I could either tell the truth or I could pretend like I didn’t know anything, but they already knew.”

“Okay. Why did you put this particular twist on it? Why did you say that Regina was bad to you?”

“I wanted to protect Justin, and my stepfather was in the room, and I had just gotten done with several weeks of cocaine use and got kind of confused between who did what to me against my will. It was what was on my mind in that room.”

“Did you think that by making it sound like Regina had done something to you that they would go easier on Justin?”

“Yeah.”

 

 

Cox neared his final questions for Kim LeBlanc. “Are you still in drug treatment at this time?”

“I am no longer in a treatment facility,” said LeBlanc. “I am maintaining a program through therapy, meetings, you know, the whole nine yards.”

She often curled up with her twelve-step books while in her attorney’s office.

“You have a job now?” said Cox.

“Yes, I do.”

“Without saying where you work, what line of work are you in?”

“I’m in early child care.”

A gasp filled the courtroom. Then the room went silent with shock. Even Justin Thomas looked up, stunned.

Thomas believed Kim didn’t like kids. She had refused to discuss children with him.

“Are you afraid of Justin Thomas?”

“Yes, I am.”

“Are you telling this jury the truth?”

“Yes, I am.”

“And just briefly, first of all, let me ask you, do you see the person that you know as Justin Thomas, the person that committed this murder, in the courtroom?”

“Yes, I do.”

“Could you point him out and identify for the jury by something he’s wearing?”

“Point him out?” said Kim.

“Yes. And describe something he’s wearing, please.”

“He’s right there. Justin Thomas.”

“What’s he wearing?”

“What’s he wearing. He’s wearing a white shirt, burgundy tie with—”

“That’s enough,” said the Judge. “Let the record reflect . . .”

Court recessed at 10:35 a.m.

 

 

Jim Sawyer stared at Kim LeBlanc. “Ms. LeBlanc, Jim Sawyer is my name.” His gravelly voice was nice, polite, easy-going, respectful. “When I’m asking you questions, if I ask you one that confuses you or you simply don’t understand it, if you’ll let me know, I’ll rephrase it so that it’s clear to you before you answer it.”

“Yes,” said LeBlanc.

“And if you feel the question is unfair, if you’ll simply let me know, I will try and rephrase it so that you can deal with it fairly. Is that an agreement?”

“Yes, sir.”

Sawyer, a man who, like Thomas, had gone into the military because of troubles on the street, ended his politeness.

“First of all, when you were finally indicted in this matter, in April, I think, of this year—is that right?”

“I believe so.”

“So about three or four months ago, the State of Texas didn’t oppose you being released on a personal bond, did they?”

“That is correct.”

“So you haven’t been down at the jailhouse waiting on trial, have you?”

“No, I only spent about one day in the jail ... in a holding cell while I was indicted, I had to walk through—”

“And then it was these prosecutors that took you in front of Judge Wisser and got you the immunity for the testimony that you would give here?”

“I was with John Carsey and the prosecutor.”

Sawyer didn’t mention that it was the same Judge Wisser who had granted Cathy LeBlanc her divorce.

“And then Judge Wisser gave you a grant of immunity that you understand means basically anything you told the jury today and anything that it might lead to, that that evidence could never be used against you in any other proceeding?”

“My understanding of it was that what I said here would not be used against me at my trial.”

“No one had explained to you that any evidence that might be uncovered as a result of that testimony could likewise not be used against you?”

“That is not my understanding of it.”

“It would be a benefit if that were true, wouldn’t it, ma’am?”

“Yes,” said Kim, “it would be a benefit.”

 

 

“Has it been explained to you, ma’am, that a statement that a person gives while under the influence of drugs can’t be used against them as evidence? Has that been explained to you?”

“Cannot be used against me?”

“Yes.”

“No, that has not been explained to me.”

“If it is true that that in fact is the law, that is, that the statement which you give while under the influence of drugs can’t be used for any purpose because you’re not of clear mind, why then, you would have realized a secondary benefit today, wouldn’t you?”

“Realized a secondary benefit of what?” asked Kim.

“I’m going to object,” said Cox. “He’s asking her legal conclusions about issues that have not been litigated.”

“Oh, no,” said Sawyer. “I think I’m asking her about her understanding of the deal that doesn’t exist.”

Judge Fuller interrupted. “But, as I understand, she does not recognize what she said.”

 

 

Sawyer looked straight into Kim LeBlanc’s brown eyes. “But it’s your contention today that there has been no deal between you and the State of Texas?”

“That is correct,” answered Kim.

“But you understand, don’t you, that it’s going to be up to the prosecutor to make a recommendation about what would be appropriate punishment in your case. You know that, don’t you?”

“I don’t know who makes a recommendation to who.”

“You know that there’s going to be a recommendation, don’t you?” said Sawyer.

“No, sir, I do not.”

“You don’t understand that there is a possibility that someone might grant you probation instead of sending you to trial?”

“No,” Kim said angrily. “I was told that I needed to be honest because I’m going to go to prison. That’s what I was told.”

“And so,” said Sawyer rather facetiously, “you’re up here just testifying out of the goodness of your heart, not trying to gain anything from it.”

“Regina was my friend.”

“You’re here because of your friend and the terrible feelings you now have about her very terrible murder,” Sawyer whined. “That’s why you’re speaking to the jury.”

“That is correct.”

“It’s not because you think that your performance in this trial and the punishment this man might receive, if he’s convicted, would influence the State of Texas in how it might treat you. You’re not even thinking about that, are you?”

“No, I am not.”

“You’re a truth-teller, ma’am?”

“When I’m sober.”

“Yeah, sober.” Sawyer’s voice was sarcastic.

“When I’m sober,” said Kim, “I am a truth-teller.”

“You only lie when you’ve had drugs.”

“Well,” she answered, “when I’m on drugs, it’s more than likely probably a lie.”

Sawyer shook his body to let the jury know his disgust. “But never,” he said, “under oath in the presence of the jury.”