The Witness as Target

By Michael S. Serrill

Facing threats, many citizens fear to testify

To Homicide Detective David Calhoun, it seemed at first like a rock-solid case. A minister and his two children had been walking by a Houston motel last month when they saw three men spill out of one of the rooms. Two of them were shooting the other while he begged for mercy. The churchman saw the murderers clearly and Calhoun knew that he was going to make a "super witness." But then the minister was paid a visit by two men, once at his home and again outside Houston police headquarters on the day he was to identify one captured suspect in a lineup. Suddenly, the best part of the detective's case had dissolved. "Shaking so bad it looked like he had St. Vitus's dance," as Calhoun put it, the minister explained that he feared for his children's lives and could not cooperate.

The clergyman thus became one of untold thousands of Americans who every year refuse to testify as witnesses in criminal trials for fear of retaliation by suspects or their associates. The cases of fearful witnesses that come to public attention usually involve mobsters or major drug dealers. But the problem of intimidation is much broader, encompassing countless burglaries, robberies, rapes and incidents of domestic violence that police never even hear about because victims and witnesses are afraid to report them. "These are not flashy cases," says John Stein, spokesman for the National Organization for Victim Assistance. "They are mundane, low-visibility cases, typically involving family violence." Witnesses and victims who are poor particularly "li ve at the mercy of tough, lawless individuals," says Atlanta's Assistant District Attorney Thomas Hayes. "You have to admire them for the times we are able to persuade them to testify."

Lorraine Carter, 31, is not untypical, except perhaps in her refusal to be bullied. She is the chief complaining witness against her estranged lover--the father of four of her six children--who, she claims, "tried to murder me last year." While the ex-boyfriend's trial in Brooklyn is pending, he is free. Last month "he snatched me from in front of the house. He tried to strangle me with some rope," she says, adding that police are unwilling or unable to help. But, bristles Carter, "I am not dropping the charges. I am not going to let him scare me like that."

No national statistics delineate the extent of the problem, but New York City's Victim Services Agency studied 109 victims and witnesses in Brooklyn who had been threatened by suspects they were to testify against. The 1981 report found that 23% were attacked, either directly by assault, or indirectly when their cars were vandalized or their houses burglarized. Police rearrested almost none of the intimidators. The number of uncooperative witnesses is especially high when narcotics are involved. In Florida, by one state law-enforcement official's estimate, 30% of witnesses in major drug cases disappear, having fled or been killed.

The reflexive viciousness of the drug trade came into stark relief last month with the case of Nathaniel Sweeper, a suspected drug-gang enforcer who was accused of shooting another man to death on a Harlem street corner. The chief witness against Sweeper was a drug addict named Bobby Edmonds. Police and prosecutors succeeded in keeping his identity secret until the trial began. At that point, the judge disclosed Edmonds' name and address to the defense. Within seven hours Edmonds was found dead, with two bullets in the back of his head.

That widely reported case no doubt chilled the courage of potential witnesses all over the country. Manhattan District Attorney Robert Morgenthau notes that Edmonds' was one of those rare New York cases in which a witness was offered protection, only hours before his death. He turned it down because he had a $150-a-day heroin habit. Says the D.A.: "Junkies do not want to be kept away from their drugs."

The urban war between street gangs and witnesses rages especially hi Los Angeles, large sections of which are under siege by black and Mexican-American gangs. "We don't have a lot of witnesses killed," says Detective Joe Suarez of the L.A.P.D.'s gang squad, "because a lot of them never come forward." The gangs consider it a matter of honor to go after any witnesses if one of their members is arrested. As a result, says Suarez, "we may have a murder committed in broad daylight in front of 20 people, and suddenly those 20 people go blind."

Witnesses in many cities do not even have the protection of anonymity, since their names and addresses are routinely attached to various court documents. Furthermore, judicial rules in many states require that the identities of all witnesses testifying be made known to defendants so that they can attempt to rebut the testimony. The Constitution, however, explicitly requires only that the defendant have the opportunity to confront an accuser in court; thus a number of jurisdictions are now concealing the identities of some witnesses until they actually take the stand.

Counterintimidation sometimes helps. Police may follow a witness for a time, or have a "chat" with the person accused of making the threat.

"Once the defendant is made aware that we are serious about protecting our witnesses, the problem is solved," says Bert Graham of the Houston district attorney's office. Texas is one of several states that have imposed tough, additional sentences on any defendant found guilty of intimidation. The American Bar Association's model statute on the subject, adopted in whole or in part by Congress and five states, recommends such harsh penalties, as well as broad judicial power for police to protect witnesses who the court perceives are in danger.

Many cities also now have agencies that work with victims and witnesses on protective measures. The ultimate and most expensive defense is to move the witness. The 13-year-old federal Witness Protection Program has relocated and changed the identities of some 4,000 witnesses hi organized-crime cases. Chicago now has its own relocation program, involving 150 witnesses last year. Despite such efforts, though, the problem defies easy solution. Even when a witness has full police protection, that protection will generally end with the trial. "These gangs have memories like elephants," says Los Angeles' Suarez. "They'll kill someone two years later. And when you ask them why they did it, they'll say, 'Well, he testified in court.' "

--By Michael S. Serrill. Reported by Raji Samghabadi/New York and Gary Taylor/Houston, with other bureaus

With reporting by Raji Samghabadi/New York, Gary Taylor/Houston This file is automatically generated by a robot program, so viewer discretion is required.