April 26, 2023
The Federal Courthouse at BigTown is an imposing building, but then, it's supposed to be. After circling the block where it was located in downtown BigTown several times, I found a place to park (what a racket courthouse parking was, let me tell you), grateful I'd arrived early. It wasn't yet 9, when I was to meet with Pastor Stick, my mother's pastor, who had agreed to accompany me. Not that my own pastor wouldn't, but when you're part of a flock that's more than 2000 strong...well, I preferred the company of Pastor Stick for this. He'd preached my father's memorial service. I was comfortable with him being present for this...event.
I passed through security without a blip; there were no lines. Just me and four security guards, who directed me to the Clerk of Court's office, so I could find out where to go in the massive building. Even PACER last night still reflected "courtroom TBD." It was an interminable five-minute wait to finally hear where I needed to go: Courtroom 2, seventh floor.
The courthouse was named for the judge presiding over Hubby's case, so I stopped to read a bit about her on my way back towards the elevators. Judge Stallone--her name amused me--had been appointed by President Carter, so she's been doing this a long time, and she had a decorated career.
I was coming out of the ladies' room (I had the time) when I saw Pastor Stick clearing through security, and was that SIL? Yep, and there was also Bro, at the security station.
I hadn't known they were coming.
We took the elevator to the seventh floor and ended up meeting up with Agent Fist, the one who'd led the investigation and subsequent raid on my home. He was a nice, humble man, and I liked him well enough, but it still gave me the jitters to see his name pop up on my phone. We exchanged pleasantries, and then the Assistant US Attorney arrived.
Now there was a man who did not match my mental picture of him. His name made him sound very Clark Kent, tall and strong and very much the picture of American justice. The AUSA was short, rotund, and balding. If I hadn't felt so overwhelmed by other emotions, I would have laughed. Agent Fist and AUSA Kent entered Courtroom 2, and the rest of us stood out there and chatted until it was almost 9:30, and then we entered the courtroom.
I was immediately proverbially smacked in the face with the sight of my in-laws; I had only been half-expecting them: my mother-in-law (whom I still adore), my husband's brother, and his wife. They sat on what had to be the defense's side of the room with a pretty strawberry blonde, who was probably some kind of coordinator for families of the defendant. I mentally shook myself. It's all wrong, I thought. Nothing is like Law & Order's courtrooms. My in-laws didn't greet me; I didn't say anything to them. I couldn't blame any of us.
"Let's sit over here," I said, gesturing to the second wooden pew on the prosecution's side. I filed in, and everyone followed me--Bro, SIL, and Pastor Stick.
I had never felt so alone in my life.
I sat and stared at the Great Seal of the United States on the wall behind the judge's bench, and wondered how on earth my life had come to this.
9:30 came and went, and I overheard the marshals asking for "a twenty on Stallone's 9:30." Thanks, Dukes of Hazzard, for teaching me the terminology to know that they were wondering where Hubby was. They must have gotten a satisfactory answer, because the court clerk nodded and went back to the judge's chambers.
Then Hubby came in, shackles on his hands and feet. He didn't acknowledge me at all, but smiled at his family.
Judge Stallone entered, and the bailiff called, "All rise."
The case was called, and Hubby's attorney spoke first. She said she did not wish to disrespect the terms of the plea deal, but she did want to call Her Honor's attention to the fact that Hubby's family was here to support him today when they had previously been unable to do so at the Change of Plea hearing. That being said, Defense requested that the Defendant be placed at the FCI Caribou, that he might be closer to his family. Then Hubby's attorney sat.
AUSA Kent stood up to speak next. He spent several minutes detailing observations from the report submitted by the psychiatrist who'd evaluated Hubby, having spent a total of 90 minutes with him: that Hubby had "accidentally fallen into" child pornography; that he was "unlikely to reoffend"; that he had suffered from a pornography addiction for a long time, due to periods of depression which could be traced back to several things. I frowned as Kent listed those things; I had expected Hubby to try to blame me, and he had, right there. Sigh. And now everyone in open court had heard him use me as an excuse. He'd had this problem for longer than he'd even known me! Kent went on to say that he disagreed with the psychiatrist's report (I stopped myself from shouting, "Thank you!"), based on the fact that Hubby had shared 2,411 images and 20-some videos. 2,411! I almost fell off my seat. That's way more than 600! This was not, Kent concluded, the actions of a man who "fell into" finding child pornography. It was clear, Kent stated, with Hubby's history of distribution, that he was a dangerous man. I was glad somebody besides me recognized it.
The judge nodded--not so much in agreement as in consideration. Then she asked if Hubby had anything he wished to say to the Court.
I have no idea if it was scripted and rehearsed, or if he spoke off the cuff. What I did do was pay very close attention to everything he said. He said he'd learned a lot about the things he'd done and how hurtful they can be. He said he'd embarrassed and shamed his family--his mother, his brother, his sisters. (That's it. No mention of his wife--which I understood--but no mention of the shame, embarrassment, and pain he's brought to his children.) He went on to talk about the hurt he caused the children he victimized, and added that he'd lost his relationship with his own children. It was more of a poor-me statement than it was an "I'm so sorry I've caused this." He finished up by saying he was sorry, but not what for, and he never once said "I was wrong."
I watched the judge more than I did Hubby during the sentencing, so I have no idea if he looked shell-shocked or not. I knew from earlier in the hearing that the sentence range recommendation was 151 months to 188 months (12.6 years to 15.5 years; I did the math right there in the courtroom). The judge imposed a sentence of 151 months. She announced there would be no fine, as the Court had found the defendant had no ability to pay; there was, however, a $100 assessment that was due immediately (a standard fee). She also imposed 10 years supervised release and everything that goes with it; registration as a sex offender and everything that goes with that (including that he was not to have communication with his own minor children); and he was ordered to pay $33,000 in reparations to 11 named victims--whose names she then read into the record. The judge finished by saying she would recommend FCI Caribou, but where Hubby would ultimately end up was the determination of the Bureau of Prisons.
The judge departed, we all stood, and it was all over.
Afterwards, he was led out, and I watched him mouth "I love you" to his mom, brother, and sister-in-law before he left.
"I don't know if I should believe anything he said," I commented quietly after my in-laws had left the courtroom without a backward glance.
"Oh, I wouldn't believe a word of it," Pastor Stick said.
SIL was angry. "He wasn't sorry at all."
Well, no, he wasn't. I pointed out that he hadn't mentioned us at all, and he'd never once looked over at me.
SIL shook her head. "He looked at you once."
I hadn't seen him even glance my way.
The victim relations specialist I had been in email conversation with came over to meet me in person when the hearing was over. She answered my many questions, but the ugly reality remained: he was sentenced, and we were not yet divorced. He had fought any settlement opportunity and had reneged on the deal we had come to back in September of '22. This meant, the specialist explained, that the government could put a lien on my home to secure his debt. But she was not the person to ask for sure, and she gave me a name and a number to call.
Pastor Stick departed for some other business in BigTown, and I now had the whole day ahead of me to do...whatever I wanted.
Bro, SIL, and I ended up going to a nearby Burger King and having a very early lunch. We sat and talked for several hours.
It would be six weeks before a random check online showed that Hubby had left the BigTown County Prison and was now in BOP custody at FCI Caribou.
