On February 20, 1996, Detective Mancias didn’t have to show up for court. Instead, prosecutors and defense lawyers questioned Detectives Richard Hale and Bruce Harlan, the officers who initially took Busenburg and Martin into custody. Later in the day, Sergeant Timothy Gage took the stand. Like Mancias, he was grilled about the search of the apartment.
Finally apartment manager Dawn Trevino was brought to the stand. They quizzed her about the lease.
“I thought under the terms of the lease, the standard lease, that when a person gives motive of intent to terminate or move out, vacate, whatever, that they have to give you their new address, their forwarding address so you know where to send the deposit to,” said Chris Gunter.
“If they want their deposit back, that’s correct,” answered Trevino.
“[Will Busenburg] had not given you any notice—”
“No.”
“—of any new address, had he?”
“No.”
“Fact is, he was still responsible for the rent, was he not?”
“Yes, he was, under the lease.”
“You bet. And in fact, had Christopher Hatton walked [away from] the lease, you would have and could have gone after Will Busenburg for the rent, couldn’t you?”
“Could have, yes,” said Trevino.
“All right. Just because Chris Hatton told you [Busenburg] moved out—and by the way, he didn’t give you any of the circumstances about why he moved out, or where he moved, anything like that, did he?”
“No, he didn’t.”
“. . . On January fourteenth, William Busenburg had a completely legal interest, enforceable legal interest in that apartment, did he not?”
“Yes, I guess so.”
“All right. Had you received any complaints in, let’s say, the week before January fourteenth, about any unusual or strange goings-on in [that] apartment?”
“None that I recall,” answered Trevino.
“Any reports about gunshots being heard in that apartment?” said Gunter.
“No.”
“Any reports about screams coming from that apartment?”
“No.”
“Any reports—”
“I think she’s stated that she didn’t hear anything,” said Judge Mike Lynch, “so that includes screams and gunshots, doesn’t it?”
Twenty-three
On March 12, 1996, Chris Hatton’s grandparents, William Crutcher Hatton and his wife, Elsa, filed a Victim Information Sheet, a form enumerating the sufferings experienced by the family of the murder victim.
Mrs. Hatton wrote that she had not been harmed “in money ways. But in sorrow and pain of losing our beautiful grandson. My health must also pay the price of this great loss!”
Mr. Hatton wrote that he had suffered loss of sleep, had experienced nightmares, depression, lack of concentration, anxiety, job stress, anger, and that his family was no longer as close as it had been.
He stated that he had suffered monetary loss. Prior to Chris’s murder, said Mr. Hatton, he had been teaching college courses in business management and psychology at the Gatesville units of the Texas prison system. He had to quit the job, he said, because “I cannot support the criminal in education when at any moment there may appear in my class one of the murderers that took my grandson’s life!”
He also wrote of the devastation experienced by Brian Hatton: “The impact of this crime on my other grandson, Brian Hatton, has caused depression, fear, anxiety, poor grades at school and he had to return to Alabama.... This kind of impact on children is not acceptable in America. It’s time the criminal pays and not the victims of the crime. The criminal seems to gain celebrity status and the victim is forgotten. We cannot let this happen in our society today. This must change and the criminal must pay in full!!”
On March 15, 1996, Detective Mancias and three other officers drove north on Interstate 35 to the small community of Jarrell and the home of Raymond Busenburg. They were there to search for jewelry Will Busenburg and Stephanie Martin had purchased with Chris Hatton’s Kay Jewelers credit card.
“Our records show that the items were released to you,” Mancias said, as he stood in Busenburg’s doorway.
“What items are you talking about?” Busenburg replied.
“A gold necklace with a gold cross, a single earring with a diamond in it, and a men’s Paul Buguette watch.”
Busenburg walked into a bedroom, dug through a few boxes, scavenged through a jewelry box, then handed Mancias an earring and a cross. He said he couldn’t recall where the watch was. “My wife can probably remember. But my phone’s out.”
Mancias handed him a TCSO cell phone.
After hanging up, Busenburg reported that Fran Wallen had the watch. “She wanted it because she said she’d given it to Will. I don’t know of any other watch in the house that belonged to him.”
Mancias wrote out a receipt for the two items. As Busenburg accepted it in his hand, he looked up and said, “When’s my son’s case going to court? He’s taken me off his visiting list.”
An hour and a half later, Mancias rang the doorbell at the Martin home in Round Rock. “I’m looking for a ladies’ emerald ring and a ladies’ Movado watch,” he explained to Sandra Martin.
“I only know of one watch and ring that Stephanie has,” Martin said in her slow, deliberate, west Texas drawl. “I did get them, but they were given to Stephanie for Christmas.”
Mancias handed Martin a consent to search form.
Sandra Martin almost signed it, then hesitated, backed away, and walked into her house. Moments later Robert Martin stood in the doorway.
Again Mancias explained what he needed.
“I’d prefer you get a search warrant before coming into my home,” said Robert Martin.
“I have a search warrant.” Mancias handed it to Martin.
Soon Sandra Martin walked out of a first-floor bedroom and gave the detective a ring and Movado watch.
Ten days later, Mancias walked into Kay Jewelers in Highland Mall, a mall located only moments from Stephanie Martin’s apartment. He handed a photo lineup to manager Larry Maxwell.
“It’s been over a year since they were in the store,” said Maxwell. Still, he managed to narrow his choices of Will Busenburg to two, then one. The photo he picked wasn’t Busenburg. The photo he almost picked was.
He then narrowed his choices of Martin to two, then one. Again the photo he chose wasn’t Martin. The one he almost chose was.
By April 10, 1996, the bluebonnets were in full bloom in Texas as defense attorneys and prosecutors gathered in District Judge Mike Lynch’s court for the fifth and final pretrial hearing. It was to be an unusual day.
Texas DPS polygrapher Peter Heller took the stand. The Martin team did not want to hear this testimony—not when the expensive private polygraph test that Robert Martin had paid for was not being admitted alongside the state’s test.
“Let me direct your attention back to July 28, 1995,” said prosecutor Frank Bryan. Bryan was a thin, bespectacled, wavy-haired brunet with Republican leanings and political aspirations. “On that day, did you administer a polygraph test to a person named Stephanie Martin?”
“Yes,” said Heller, “I did.”
Slowly, awkwardly, and appearing unprepared for his testimony, Sergeant Heller led the precisely prepared prosecutor through July 28, until Bryan asked Heller to enumerate the relevant questions that the polygrapher had asked Stephanie Martin.
“Were you physically present when Chris was shot?” answered Heller. “Did you personally shoot Chris? Did you see Chris get shot? Did you ever pull the trigger of the gun that was used to shoot Chris?”
“All right. What happened when you administered the test using those questions?”
“Using those questions—came out with deceptive response, or a deceptive test.”
Heller went on to recount Martin’s explanation for her failure of the polygraph test. “She stated that she got out of her vehicle, went up to the apartment, which was contrary to what she had said earlier—she had said she had never left her vehicle—and looked through the window.”
She said she saw Busenburg, Heller reported, who told her he’d shot Chris. Later that night they returned to the apartment and stole some of Hatton’s possessions, said the officer. “And this was to get even, she said.”
He went through the decision by Martin and Busenburg to burn the body. He emphasized, “She never did admit shooting the victim, or—she did admit the plan was to kill him. She had been convinced by Will that he was a member of the CIA and that this was part of some government killing. After talking with you, with assistant district attorney, I—we ended the interview.”
Ira Davis stared hard at the state’s witness. “I couldn’t help but notice earlier, before we started this pretrial, that you were having a conversation with a woman that I’ve identified as Holly Frischkorn, I believe.” His gaze didn’t leave Heller’s face.
“That’s correct,” Heller replied, unperturbed.
“Can you tell me what your relationship with her is?”
He explained that he once patrolled the county Round Rock was in and knew Frischkorn from her Round Rock police duties.
“So you were aware of the facts of this case prior to doing the polygraph exam?”
“No,” the sergeant answered. He said he’d heard that the victim was a relative of a Round Rock officer. “That’s all I knew. I didn’t know it was her until about two months ago. My captain said something about some pretrial case and said, ‘That’s something you worked on.’ And I said, ‘How did you know that?’ And he said through—Holly had called or talked to him. That’s all I knew.”
“It’s your testimony that you had no idea who Chris Hatton was prior to doing the polygraph?”
“No, I didn’t,” Heller stated simply.
Davis wouldn’t let it go. He grilled the state’s witness, trying over and over to prove prejudice. He never outright proved anything.
“How many questions did you ask during the examination?”
“Ten.”
Davis seemed less concerned about the actual polygraph test than he did about the conversation that ensued after Heller had scored the test.
“So you go back in. What’s the first thing you say [to Stephanie Martin]?”
“We have to explain. I have to tell her the results.”
“I understand you have to tell her—is the first thing you did when you went back in, wad up the piece of paper, throw it on the floor, and accuse her of being a liar?”
“No.”
“Well, what’s the first question you asked her when you went back in?”
“I have no idea.”
“You didn’t write that down?” said Davis, acting appalled. He knew that in front of a jury, it would be the DPS officer’s word against the former stripper’s.
“I don’t write down what I say or do when I walk back in. It changes from person to person,” said Heller.
It would also be the word of a DPS officer who had been seen earlier talking to the deceased’s mother figure, Holly Frischkorn.
“And you didn’t observe Sergeant Mancias or Investigator Mancias making any notes in the interrogation of her after the exam, did you?”
“I don’t know. He’s behind—in the observation room.”
Davis looked straight at the officer. “Are you telling us, Sergeant Heller, that he never came back in there and asked any questions at all during the time you interrogated her after the test?”
“I don’t know.”
“You don’t remember that?” said Davis, incredulous.
“I don’t remember.”
“You don’t remember both of you questioning her?”
“It’s not uncommon,” said Heller, “but I don’t remember it.”
Davis battered Heller with questions until the attorney steadied his blue eyes on the DPS witness. “How many times did you accuse her of being a liar?”
“I don’t know.”
“You did accuse her of being a liar?”
“I’m sure.”
“And more than once?”
“I have no idea,” Heller calmly responded.
Davis paused for a moment. “Okay,” he said softly. “Did she indicate to you that she passed a polygraph examination on these things?”
“I believe she said she took one. I don’t know if I ever—I think I did know that she passed one. That’s correct.”
Davis stifled a snicker that was about to ooze out of him. He pictured his words, as if they were the glint of a new knife. “Is that when you told her that she must have passed that because her attorney paid off the polygraph examiner to pass her?” Davis was referring to himself.
“I don’t remember saying that.”
“You don’t recall saying that at all?”
“No.”
“That wouldn’t be an interrogation technique or question you might ask somebody to rattle them?”
“No.”
“You wouldn’t—”
“However, she—the indication here is that Doug Farris gave the test. And I might have made the comment that that wouldn’t be the first time that we have overturned his cases.”
“Maybe you said something more along the lines that wouldn’t be the first time that an attorney had paid him—”
“Objection,” yelled Frank Bryan. “Asked and answered. Irrelevant.”
“Sustained,” said Judge Lynch.
The judge turned to look at Chris Gunter, Busenburg’s attorney who had been waiting and listening patiently.
“Mr. Gunter,” said Judge Lynch, “do you have any questions?”
“Just a couple of brief questions, Judge.”
Bryan glanced at Gunter, then stared at His Honor. “Judge,” said Bryan, “I’m going to object to any questions by Mr. Gunter. His client has no standing in this matter.”
“Overruled,” said Lynch. “Ask your questions at this time.”
Gunter was a somewhat small man with thinning blond hair and bright-blue eyes that could pierce like a laser. “Sometimes,” said Gunter, “I see in polygraph reports where the answer is deceptive. Other times I see it’s inconclusive. What was your judgment about her answers?”
Heller again replied deceptive.
Gunter asked Heller if he was satisfied with Martin’s explanation for her deceptive rating.
“Oh, yes. Yes,” said Heller.
Gunter wanted to know if that explanation explained away her deception on the question “Did you shoot Chris?”
“To that question, no. Nothing she said changes that.”
“Or how about to the question ‘Were you physically present when Chris was shot?’ ” said Gunter.
“Objection,” called Frank Bryan. “Relevance.”
The judge disagreed.
The polygrapher stated again that Martin changed her story to say she had been at the apartment, listening at the window.
“Did she say she was in the apartment?” said Gunter.
“No. She never would say that she was in it at the time of the shooting.”
“And the question ‘Did you see Chris get shot?’ A no answer to that. Was that ever explained by her—”
“No.”
“—afterward?”
“No, it was not,” said Heller.
“And the final question, ‘Did you pull the trigger of the gun that shot Chris?’ A no answer to that. Did she give any satisfactory explanation of that?”
“No.”
“That’s all I have,” said Gunter. “Thank you.”
The state was about to do something unusual.
Travis County Assistant District Attorney Allison Wetzel stood, her red hair in strong curls. She was a prosecutor who wanted to pursue the strongest case. Frank Bryan was a prosecutor who wanted to pursue the truth.
“State calls Frank Bryan,” said Wetzel.
Judge Lynch looked over at the defense table. “Any objection. . . .”
Frank Bryan interrupted, stating that Ira Davis had talked about calling the prosecutor as a witness. “. . . And I think Ms. Wetzel and I decided it would just be better for me to go ahead and take the stand.”
Seeker of truth may have been Bryan’s reputation in the District Attorney’s Office. But with defense attorneys, he was renowned for being black and white, right and wrong, no in-betweens.
Still, he was taking the stand to determine whether the state had made a deal with Stephanie Martin, a deal that Ira Davis worried that the state was reneging on.