“All right. This Caucasian female, you said, and a black male, where was the female positioned?” Pendergast questioned.
“She had her back against the custodial building.” “Okay, and where was the black male in relation to
her?”
“He was standing front of her, facing her.”
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“When you first looked out, could you tell what was going on?”
“Not really, there was body movement by both people and I seen a lot of vapor, ’cause it was cold that night.” “Did you, I mean, what did you think was going on when you first looked out?”
Watts’s attorney, Ron Kaplovitz, raised his voice: “Objection. Speculation.”
Judge Kuhn agreed. “Sustained.”
“All right, after you looked outside, did something cause you to go to another window?”
“I was, I was concerned. Something just didn’t seem right, so I went to my bathroom window.”
“All right. And is your bathroom window on the same side of the house?”
“Yes, it is.”
“And what did you do at the bathroom window?” “Looked out again and I seen mostly the same thing,
a lot of body movement and vapors.” “What did you do next that you recall?”
“What I sort of remember is going back down the same viewpoints I had just went up, just to keep an eye on what the situation was going on,” Foy replied.
“And did you see anything different at this point?” “Nah, it was basically the same thing. A lot of body
movement. A lot of vapors.”
“When you say ‘body movement,’ what do you mean by ‘body movement’?”
“Shuffling. Just shuffling back and forth, like this.” He reenacted by shuffling his own feet behind the witness stand. “Just shoulder movement.”
“What did you do next?”
“From there I went to, I went out of my alcove through my living room, through my dining room, and out to my
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kitchen and I looked through that window because it was a more straight-on view.”
“Okay, straight-on view into that service drive?” “Yes.”
“All of these locations that you recall going to, were they all windows that were on the same side of the house?” Pendergast inquired.
“Yes, they were.”
“All right. And when you looked out of that kitchen view, what did you see at that point?”
“Basically, same thing, and I only stayed there for a brief, a very brief time and, uh, went out to my porch. I went out my back door to my back porch.”
“Tell the members of the jury, when you walk out onto your back porch, do you have a clear and direct view into that service drive?”
“Yes, I did.”
“Tell the members of the jury what you saw when you went out onto your back porch.”
“I walked onto the back porch, kept the back door open and the screen door open, I held it open, and while I was watching, same body movement was going on. At this point I seen the black male raise his hand and bring it down from the top to down, like a downward motion.” He graphically demonstrated by raising his hand up and slicing downward with it.
“One time?”
“One time.” He nodded.
“After you saw the black male do that, can you tell the members of the jury what happened next?”
“I yelled to my wife, not in these exact words, ‘Call the police! Call the police! Hey, call the police!’ And I just kept trying to keep an eye on what was going on.”
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“What happened after you yelled in to your wife to call the police?”
“The black, the woman came out of my view.” “When you say, ‘came out of [your] view,’ what do you
mean?”
“She dropped to the ground.” Watts still looked nonplussed.
“All right. What happened next?”
“I went around.” Foy began to choke up on the stand. “The black male started walking away from the scene toward his car.”
“Okay, and was his car . . . do you need a minute? Do you want some water?”
“Yeah, please.” One of the courtroom assistants handed him a tiny Dixie cup–sized paper cup with water. Maybe enough for two gulps. He took his sip and resumed. “Okay.”
“So, you said the black male began walking toward his car?”
“Correct.”
“Was that car in a position where it was actually closer to you than the area where you had seen the black male and the white female together?”
“Yes,” Foy asserted.
“As the black male was walking toward his car, how was he in relation to you?”
“I had a view, he was, at all the time that he was walking, he was walking directly close to me, so I had a view of his left side.”
“All right. Did you get a frontal view at some point?” “Yes, I did.”
Watts calmly watched Foy as the testimony was revealed. He had his left hand on the left side of his face, with his
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index finger pointed up beside his cheek, his middle finger under his nose, and his thumb holding up his chin. “Can you tell the members of the jury the entire time he was walking toward his car, was he walking toward you?”
“Yes.”
“Okay, and what were you doing?” “Just watching him.”
“Tell the members of the jury, was there anything unusual about his behavior, demeanor, as he was walking toward you?”
“Yes. This man was in no hurry,” Foy testified in bewilderment. “He just, like, he just dropped off his laundry,” he stated while shaking his head back and forth. “He had just walked casually back to his car, no hurry, and it was like nothing ever happened.”
“All right. As this individual is walking toward you, did you get a clear and direct view of his face?”
“Yes.”
“What, if anything, did you observe when you looked at him?” Pendergast questioned.
“When he walked around the front of his car to his driver’s door, he had to stop to open his door, I noticed that he had something long in his hand, which I thought could either be a knife . . . and we both locked glances,” he recalled as he looked at the jury.
“You both what?”
“We both locked glances with each other.”
“Was there anything significant about locking glances with him?”
“We held it for what I thought was eternity. But he, he was cold. He had no feeling in his eyes. He was just dark,” Foy stated exasperatedly.
“Objection,” Kaplovitz proffered.
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Judge Kuhn responded, “Sustained.”
“Okay, what significance struck you about his face?” “Again, no emotion.”
“All right. Did you notice anything about his eyes?” “Evil.”
“Objection. Speculation,” Kaplovitz interjected. “Well, it’s his impression. The court will let it stay,”
Judge Kuhn overruled.
“Now, I know it’s been twenty-five years later, and I know we’ve had another court proceeding, do you think you would recognize the same person years later if you saw him again?”
“Yes, I would.”
“Okay. Now I’d ask that Mr. Watts take off his glasses at this time.”
Coral Watts removed his glasses even before the judge could respond. He seemed annoyed by the request and glared at Joseph Foy. His wide, penetrating eyes resembled a shark’s eyes right before a feeding frenzy. Many observers in the courtroom believed that if Watts could have killed with his eyes, Joseph Foy would have been his first male victim.
“Mr. Foy, do you see the person that you saw that night in this courtroom today?” Pendergast asked.
“Yes, I do,” Foy stated, even though it looked like he was in the last place on earth he wanted to be.
“Okay, and would you please point to him and describe what he’s wearing?”
Foy, who had avoided looking directly at Watts during the majority of his testimony, shivered and twitched as he gazed in the direction of the defendant.
“The gentleman over there, blue vest (actually, black vest), blue shirt, glasses,” he said as he pointed at Watts.
“Does he look the same today as he did then?”
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“Eyes do.”
Watts placed his glasses back on his face and resumed his chin-resting-on-hand position.
“All right, now, just so the jury understands, at some point later, did you make identification?”
“Yes, I did.”
“All right, so the identification of the defendant isn’t based on something twenty-five years later?”
“Not at all.”
“You indicated that you locked glances with the defendant, what happened next?”
The witness took his second and remaining gulp of water from the Dixie cup. “The defendant got into his car.”
“From the time he got into his car, the entire time he’s walking toward that car, was he walking closer and closer and closer and closer?” The assistant attorney general stepped out behind the podium and comfortably leaned against its left side.
“Yes, he was.”
“All right. How did he come around his car and get into his car?”
“Like I said, he came around the hood of the car, to the door, stopped, we looked at each other, he got into his car and started it up.”
“And he had something which you believed to be a knife in his hand?”
“Correct.”
“By the way, did you speak with a sketch artist the next day and have her draw composites?”
“Yes, I did.”
“And did you tell her about that night?”
“Yes. Basically, an overview of what happened that night.”
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“All right. After the defendant got into the car, he did what?”
“He started the car up and actually sat there and let it warm up.”
“Okay. What happened next?”
“After what seemed forever, he started to back down the alley with his lights out.” Foy gave his Joker smirk. “And in no hurry.”
“What did you do?”
“Once the car was out of view, I jumped down off the porch, and by this time my wife had came to the back porch and I started heading toward the fence.”
“The fence, in your yard?”
“Yeah, separating the alley and my yard.” “And did you go over to the body?”
“Not at that point, no.” “Why not?”
“Scared,” Foy admitted. “I’m sorry.”
“Scared.”
“Now I’m gonna jump ahead. You indicated that you met with a sketch artist the next day?”
“Yes.”
“And what did you do when you met with the sketch artist?”
“I tried to help her as much as I could with the description of the male, the black male that night.”
“And did you tell her about going to a number of areas and making a number of observations?” the prosecutor questioned.
“As well as I could, yes.”
“All right. Do you remember if you told her if he had a knife?”
“Yeah, I believe I did.”
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“Did you tell the sketch artist that you’d be able to identify him again if you saw him?”
“Definitely.”
“And that was back in 1979 correct?” “Yes.”
“The day after the murder.”
“Yes.” Foy sighed as he somehow managed to squeeze out a third sip of water from the Dixie cup.
“So you said you were scared, you went into your yard, but you didn’t go over. What happened then?”
“I believe that’s when the patrol car showed up.” “What happened after the patrol car showed up?” “The patrol car pulled into the alley and he got out of his car and I said, ‘I think there’s a body sitting, laying over there,’ and that’s when I hopped the fence and we both headed toward the body.”
“What happened next?”
“We walked up there, he shined the light down and he shook the body and said ‘Okay.’ He started getting excited. He goes, ‘I want you to go sit in the back of my patrol car,’ and he led me back to his car.”
“Mr. Foy, from the moment that you looked out the second time and saw this black male, this white female, this car parked in the alley, did you ever see any other person in the vicinity of the alley or the service drive?”
“No.”
“Earlier, when you looked out the first time, did you see any other person in the back alley or service drive area?”
“Not at all.”
“You said when you walked over and the officer shined the light, just roughly, what did you see?”
“I see the body laying there, with a large pool of
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blood.” Foy squirmed around in his chair. The memory made him uncomfortable.
“Did you see any injury?”
“Uh, no. Not that I remember. I just, ahh, looked and that was it.”
“And you did the sketch the next day . . .” “Yes.”
“. . . or the sketch artist did it with your information?” “Yes.”
“Did you ever look at a lineup back then?” “Not that I believe. No.”
“For the next two years, following that incident this night, did you ever look at a lineup?”
“No.” He shook his head.
“Did you ever identify a subject?” “Prior to ’82?”
“No, for the next two years?” “No.”
“I want to direct your attention to roughly two years after this incident. In 1982, did something pertaining to this night in 1979 happen?”
“Uh, yeah. I was, uh, working at Faygo at the time and I came home and, you know, I would usually turn the stereo on, keep the volume on the TV down and my wife had just cooked dinner and I was just watching, listening to the music, eating, and the only thing that was on was the
Nightly News
.”
“What happened next? The
Nightly News
was on. . . .” “I seen a, they had a story on, I seen a black male being led into the courtroom. As soon as he was into the courtroom, I looked at my wife. ‘Paula! Paula! Here’s that man that killed that woman in Ferndale!’ She came running in there,” he related his story in an excited manner to the members of the jury.
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“And Paula was your wife at the time?” “Correct.”
“Are you currently married to her?”
“No, I am not.” He smiled at the jury and began to chuckle.
“Mr. Foy, when you saw that footage and said, ‘Paula, Paula, come here. Here’s that guy that killed that girl,’ were you referring to the girl the night of December 1, 1979?”