Murdaugh’s conviction rested on fateful phone video
The longest criminal trial in South Carolina history finally ended Friday, marking the end, too, of the nearly 100-year legal reign of the Murdaugh family in the state’s 14th Circuit and, according to generations of locals, their selectively applied rule of law.
Alex Murdaugh, once a “friendly, outgoing” trial lawyer, in the words of the judge who sentenced him to two consecutive life terms, left the courtroom in prison garb and shackles, his head hanging low, as the jurors watched this time from the public gallery.
Lead prosecutor Creighton Waters made his case for sentencing Murdaugh to the full extent of the law, referring to his “cunning” manipulation of people and his placing himself “above all others, including his family.” He repeated testimonial descriptions of Murdaugh’s late son, Paul, as fun-loving and a loyal friend, and his murdered wife, Maggie, as a sweet girls’ girl who adored her sons.
Waters told presiding Judge Clifton Newman how Murdaugh liked to stare at the prosecutor when he walked by. Looking into his eyes, Waters said, “I saw who he really is.”
Murdaugh’s only words to the court were: “I’m innocent. I would never, under any circumstances, hurt my wife, Maggie, and I would never, under any circumstances, hurt my son Paul.”
Newman was having none of it. In an extended rebuke, he reminded Murdaugh that he had betrayed his “respected” family’s legacy. It was personally “heartbreaking,” he said, to watch Murdaugh, who previously had appeared before him as a lawyer in court, go from a grieving father to the person indicted and convicted for being the person who killed them. The judge asked Murdaugh what he had meant when he said on the witness stand, “Oh, what a tangled web we weave.” Newman must know the phrase that follows in Sir Walter Scott’s poem: “When first we practice to deceive.”
Murdaugh said he was referring to his lies, whereupon Newman said, “The question is, when will it end?” He said 99% of the people in the room probably thought Murdaugh was lying still. Chillingly, Newman said he was sure that Maggie and Paul now visit their husband and father often and that “they will continue to.” In this, he was reflecting prosecutor John Meadors’s dramatic rebuttal to the defense’s closing argument.
Meadors, mustering the zeal and cadence of a Baptist preacher, said the three indisputable witnesses to the executions were Paul, Maggie and Bubba, the family dog Alex Murdaugh called to in the video on Paul’s phone, which placed him at the murder scene within minutes of the slaughters.
Meadors (whose father was, indeed, a Baptist preacher) imagined Paul saying to his father: “You may lie, but I’m going to get you.” He imagined Maggie saying, “He shot me here. He shot me here,” referring to the five bullet wounds from a .300 Blackout semiautomatic rifle. As for Bubba, Meadors said to Murdaugh: “The best witness is your dog.”
The so-called trial of the century, having riveted the world, left lawyers, family members, victims, jurors and the media spent. For many who visited the courtroom as spectators, justice was served. Earlier in the final week, those lined up hoping to snare a seat inside had cheered prosecutors as they passed. After court adjourned, jurors left through a rear door and were greeted with applause.
As trial lawyer Joe Mcculloch said to me afterward, “Generational payback is hell.”
For the dozens of reporters, writers, bloggers, Youtube celebrities, TV anchors and columnists, relief and reflection would have to wait. Stories had to be told and written. For me (and probably others), emotional exhaustion was setting in. No matter one’s experience, hearing the gruesome details of murder takes a toll. Reporters spoke of feeling empty, sad and empathetic toward the family, especially Murdaugh’s surviving son, Buster.
Thursday night, when word came that the jury had reached a verdict after just three hours, reporters were shocked. We had followed every word, compared notes and spent hours speculating about the how and why of the murders. I had just sat down at a restaurant and ordered a glass of wine when my phone pinged with a text: “Verdict ten minutes.” I sprinted for the courtroom, which filled quickly and buzzed with low chatter.
A young television correspondent whispered, “I feel sick.” No one could believe the jury was already done; the trial had been so grave and complicated — and so long.
But the jurors had made up their minds, probably well before closing arguments. Maybe we could have predicted their solidarity after they all showed up on Valentine’s Day wearing pink and red. Whatever took place during those three hours seems to have been a matter of polite formality.
Things might have gone very differently, however, had one of the jurors not been dismissed the very morning of closing arguments. A woman was reported and dismissed for talking about the trial outside the courtroom.
What she said to someone who turned her in was: “He’s not guilty.”
Thus, “what if,” the poltergeist of history, becomes the unavoidable, unanswerable question. What if the woman had remained on the jury and stood her ground? There might have been a hung jury. What if Paul had never made that kennel video? His friend Rogan Gibson had asked him to Facetime his dog Cash’s tail so he could see if it was injured. When Facetime didn’t work, Paul made the video instead. What if Cash hadn’t been staying at the Murdaughs’ kennels? What if Alex hadn’t called out to Bubba so he could extract a chicken from the dog’s jaws? What if Alex had kept his mouth shut?
Here’s what: Murder charges probably would not have been brought against him, and this trial would not have happened. Without the voice on the video, Alex Murdaugh could have stuck to the lie that he never went to the kennels that night, and people probably would have believed him.