Sex. Murder. Mystery. (71 page)

For Katie Hogden, the almost-eighth-grader with the weight of the world on her shoulders, the Karen O'Leary interview with Vili Fualaau solved a mystery that had hung in the back of her mind over the summer. She watched the KIRO report as Vili fiddled with the filigree-decorated silver ring that had been a gift from Mary. The inscriptions “I'll Be There” and “Oh Happy Day” triggered the memory of her teacher's request to relay three words to Vili.

Words that will let him know that everything would be all right
.

It was the ill-fated lover's song “I'll Be There.” Those were the words that Mary had believed would comfort Vili.

“I knew that was what she had wanted to say. I finally figured it out,” she said later. “It was like a puzzle.”

Friday morning, August 22, 1997, started out promisingly enough for the reporter who had interviewed Vili Fualaau as they sat at a picnic table at a White Center park. She had brought to light new information and it was the talk of Seattle and beyond. A talk radio show praised Karen O'Leary for revealing the other side of the story; that the boy wasn't a victim, but was a thoughtful and caring boy. A boy who loved Mary Kay. Still. And she still loved him. They had planned their baby and plotted a future together.

If the good feeling of a good story can be savored only until the next telecast, it was over even faster for the KIRO reporter.

The bubble burst when Bob Huff showed up in front of KIRO's offices in downtown Seattle with lawsuit papers in hand. He had called other media for a surprise press conference to announce that the rape victim and his mother were suing KIRO, owner Cox Broadcasting, and Karen O'Leary for a dirty-laundry list of infractions including unlawful imprisonment, invasion of privacy, trespass, negligent and intentional infliction of emotional distress, negligent hiring and supervision, and fraud.

Outrage and indignation bolstered each word. Karen stayed out of it; in fact, the station sent only a cameraman down to film what was being said. There would be no confrontation in front of the competition.

Bob Huff stuck his claim to the boy's story that morning and drew the line in the sand with a backhoe. He made sure that the message was loud and clear:
Keep away from the kid
.

“It rings almost hauntingly of what they are accusing Mary Kay Letourneau of doing—coming in, gaining confidence, and abusing trust to gain something from the boy,” the lawyer told a reporter after the announcement.

Karen O'Leary certainly had plenty to consider, but one thing troubled her more and more, something that hadn't been apparent until Bob Huff showed up waving papers in front of KIRO. She knew Bob Huff as Mary Kay Letourneau's attorney along with David Gehrke. Every time she had seen David Gehrke in court, Bob Huff had been there, too. But she was unaware he had anything to do with Vili Fualaau.

So strange
.

“It seems like an amazing conflict of interest that you would represent both the rapist and the rape victim,” she told a friend. “But Bob Huff's doing that. It seems shocking to me.”

Bob Huff didn't completely disagree. He thought the situation was curious, too. The lines were blurred in the Letourneau Triangle. The rapist's chief supporter appeared to be the victim's mother. In addition, he later suggested that the prosecutor's office just wanted the whole thing to go away, and by doing battle over Mary Kay and Vili's shared representation, it would only focus more attention on their story—fallout that would only serve the strange alliance's goal—more ballyhoo.

“I was keenly aware that you can't be a representative of people with a conflict of interest,” Bob Huff said later. “But that unusual thing here is that even though they were rapist and victim, they had the same commercial interests. Vili wanted to make money and Mary wanted to get her story out.”

As she faced the first lawsuit in her career, Karen O'Leary found herself in an odd position. She was a reporter covering a case in which an offshoot of it was a lawsuit against her. Over the next few months, she would see what it felt like to be called a liar, manipulator, and a fraud. A dentist from Mukilteo, Washington, sent a note: “
Did you get a thrill questioning this young man about his sexual adventure?
”

The TV reporter would also see how a boy and his story was twisted and turned for what his lawyers appeared to want more than they wanted justice.

Karen O'Leary deduced two reasons for the lawsuit. One had to do with the upcoming sentencing hearing, the other had to do with money. With sentencing coming up, David Gehrke and Bob Huff were promoting the position that Mary Kay Letourneau was a victim of her own mental imbalance. She was an upstanding teacher who made a terrible mistake. She needed mercy, not condemnation. Treatment, not prison.

The KIRO interview showed a side of the defendant that didn't mesh with that strategy. Vili said the pregnancy had been planned. Mary Kay Letourneau was going to marry him. It was a deliberate and calculated relationship. The lawsuit was a muzzle on the media.

“They didn't want that out,” Karen said later. “They didn't want anyone else to get to Vili. They knew Vili would talk.”

At least to Karen, the second effect of the lawsuit proved to be the most enduring. Bob Huff and David Gehrke were sitting on a story that could mean money. Movies, books, television interviews. Bob Huff, who had that curious role as an associate of David's in the beginning of the case, now had a real job.

“He wanted to make sure no other reporter tried to approach Vili. He threatened everybody else. Nobody else better go to that boy! Nobody else should interview him!” Karen told a friend of Bob Huff's purported tactics.

Karen saw the
Today
appearance as a promotional effort for the marketing of the “forbidden love” story and her “free” interview in the park had thrown a wrench into the plan.

“They allowed just a little bit of Vili's story out there as a teaser, letting publications like the
Globe, Inside Edition
, people who pay, know, 'Hey, he'll talk.' Then the negotiations were supposed to start,” Karen said later.

The KIRO interview undermined everything. Vili Fualaau was giving the information away for nothing. That wouldn't do. Not for him. For Audrey. Or for the lawyers. Most importantly, some observers felt, for the lawyers.

Bob Huff flatly denied that the family wanted to sell out. He made the point perfectly clear during an interview with the
Seattle Post-Intelligencer
. “This is their lives, and they're not going to cheapen it.”

The KIRO lawsuit wasn't the only pending legal matter. No one knew it at the time, but Bob Huff had contacted the Highline School District the week before Vili went on TV. A notice of claim alleging the district had been negligent in the hiring, supervision, and retention of Mary Kay Letourneau had been sent to district offices in Burien. The notice of claim merely rings a warning bell. The statute of limitations for any negligence runs for three years after the minor's eighteenth birthday. The district responded a day after they received Bob Huff's letter. Their investigation showed that the district did not have any knowledge of Mary Letourneau's improper relationship with her student, and therefore had not failed to act in the best interests of the boy.

Mary Kay was livid when she learned of Bob Huff's letter.

“He did it on his own,” she told a friend. “He just did it to see if they could scare them into doing something, paying something.”

Feeling sorry for Mary Kay Letourneau was best left to those who saw her as a Joan of Arc for a forbidden love. She had recklessly and spectacularly ruined her life. But it was something she had done to herself. Although TV reporter Karen O'Leary had compassion for the teacher, it paled next to the sorrow she felt for the four Letourneau children. She could not fully imagine the devastation it had brought to their lives now, and ever after.

“[Imagine the pain of being] rejected by their mother because she's choosing a twelve-year-old over their father, but also over them ultimately,” she said later.

Lawsuit or not, she felt it added up to a mental illness. It had to be. Karen was convinced that Mary Letourneau was in fantasy land and needed treatment, not prison. The Letourneau children deserved a mother who was made well, not jailed. She believed it so much that in the middle of a San Francisco vacation the Monday after the lawsuit was filed, she agreed to appear on CNN's
Burden of Proof
to argue her position. It turned ugly and Karen learned firsthand how rotten the other side of the camera can be.

“They were just vultures,” the Seattle reporter recalled of the hosts and other panelists who wanted Mary Kay locked up forever. “They were terrible and I was defending Mary. They chewed me up. They all sided against me.”

Whenever some teacher-turned-rapist tidbit hit the papers or television or even the White Center grapevine, it ignited dissent and discussion. The Mattson house with its big-screen TV was always a center of such activity. Rumors began to circulate that Vili would not be waiting for his teacher-girlfriend and he was already playing the field. To be fair, most considered the boy somewhat shy, artistic, a tranquil presence in a sea of middle-school turmoil. At least that's what he could have been if the relationship with his teacher had remained private. But it didn't. And those who knew him knew that the girls were after what Mrs. Letourneau had.

Shorewood parent Nick Mattson had heard stories of the Samoan boy's conquests and refused to give him any slack, even when his wife, Tandy, reminded him that Vili was no longer in elementary school, he was growing up.

“So what? Is he going after college professors now?”

Tandy Mattson shook her head. “What I'm saying is that kids his age can understand.”

“Understand? He's their hero. He bagged a teacher.”

“You're just jealous that you weren't one of those kids back then.”

“Granted, what happened was wrong, but it takes two people to do this.”

“Aw, gee. Don't get started with me.”

“When Savannah is in sixth grade—”

“Oh, please,” Tandy said, stretching the word “
please
” into two syllables.

Nick ignored her. “—and her teacher's over there molesting her, you're gonna say, 'It's okay, it takes two to tango?' “

“Oh, mister, she ain't moving out of here till she's thirty!”

Nick shook his head. His wife didn't get it.

“It was rape,” he repeated.

Tandy wouldn't hear of it.

“There's a big difference between a male and a female.”

“No there isn't.”

“Yes there is… ”

And so it went, from household to household, from city to city. Everyone had an opinion.

Chapter 58

AS FAR AS many of the teachers in the staff room at Shorewood knew, there had been no personal relationship between Mary Letourneau and Beth Adair, the music teacher, until
after
Mary's arrest. And none of them knew how deeply Beth had become involved with Mary and how often she helped out with Audrey during the summer.

On the surface, it appeared an odd fit. Beth was older, not glamorous and certainly not the live wire that Mary had been. She was a mother and a recent divorcee. But Beth seemed to share at least one characteristic with her new best friend: Beth relished talking about herself and her painful divorce. One teacher who was going through a divorce about the same time handled her pain and legal matters privately. Not Beth.

“She would just be on the phone and very dramatic. Her divorce went on and on. 'Be nice to Beth. People kept saying Beth's crying.' “

From September 1997, the music teacher appeared obsessed with the Letourneau saga, making visits to the jail, running errands, talking to Soona and Vili on the phone from the staff lounge.

“She got way too into it,” said a veteran teacher who was at Shorewood at the time.

“Beth would be there crying or laughing the whole year long. She was so distraught sometimes she couldn't teach class, so she'd show movies.”

Her devotion to Mary Letourneau, the woman who had ripped a hole in the heart of Shorewood Elementary, was an insult to those left to pick up the pieces. While they understood that Beth needed to be needed at that particular time in her life, the staff room was not the appropriate command post. She said her involvement was “the Christian thing” to do.

“Mary needs a friend to help her out,” she said. “Mary realizes it was wrong now.”

The other teachers agreed—the former teacher needed the right kind of help—but they doubted that Beth's running around town on Mary Letourneau's behalf doing favors for her was the right approach. For months, the teacher group iced out the music teacher.

“She was totally isolated that year. You'd go into the staff lounge and nobody wanted to talk to her. It wouldn't be that we wouldn't have wanted to talk to her if she wanted to talk about the weather, but all she wanted to talk about was Mary.”

For teachers outside of Shorewood Elementary it was equally rough. Word—“reminders,” they were called—came down from the district:
Remember, Don't touch! Don't be alone! Don't let it happen to you!

Ellen Douglas and others were miffed by the warnings.

“That was a choice
one
teacher made. I was insulted that they were implying that this could happen to just anyone.”

Months had passed before everything that everyone knew was spoken. One teacher from Shorewood was so upset by the thoughts that had passed through her mind, she never told anyone about them. She recalled an incident in January 1997. It was an “early release day,” and a handful of teachers had gathered in the faculty lounge to work on a school musical production scheduled for the spring. The musical was always the Big Event of the year, a traditional celebration for all students, and the big send-off for the sixth graders who were leaving Shorewood for Cascade Middle School. Beth Adair had been in charge of the program in previous years, and though the music teacher had not abdicated her leadership role in 1997, personal problems had obviously distracted her. The other teachers knew that in order to produce the show, they'd have to step up their involvement.