When prosecutors first met with the 4-year-old sexual-abuse victim, the girl was so traumatized she wouldn’t speak.
But in order to convict the man charged with abusing her, prosecutors knew they’d need her to testify in court.
After working with victim advocates and participating in a unique program offered by the Pima County Attorney’s Office, she was able to testify, and in-home day-care owner Gary Talkington was convicted of six counts of sexual conduct with a minor.
Kids in Court is run by the county attorney’s Victims Services Division, and is aimed at making the experience of testifying in court a little less intimidating for children — by giving them a look at what it means to testify in a courtroom setting.
The program came about five years ago and takes place in a courtroom every six months.
Since its inception, about 90 children and teenagers — ranging in age between 4 and 18— who are witnesses or victims of crimes have participated. Parents are encouraged to attend.
The idea came about from a discussion between Pima County Attorney Barbara LaWall and members of her staff about what her office could do differently to help children prepare for court.
“They’ve been traumatized by the crime, but the idea of coming to court is also traumatizing,” LaWall said. “I think this program has transformed the way we interact with really vulnerable children and their parents.”
Kids in Court is an interactive and nonthreatening way to help children feel some familiarity when they come to court, LaWall said.
During the event, employees from the County Attorney’s Office, court employees and victim advocates all play different roles, so that the children have an idea who will be there if they have to testify.
No details of the individual cases are discussed, and the mock direct and cross-examinations revolve around details such as the child’s school and pets, LaWall said.
Kids in Court is made up primarily of survivors and witnesses of sexual or physical abuse, although children who have experienced other types of trauma have also attended.
“It has got to be enormously difficult for them to talk about this trauma,” LaWall said. “But when they get into these groups, they open up.”
The teenage girls who were held captive by their parents and testified against them in last year’s highly publicized trial of Sophia and Fernando Richter went through the program before they went to court.
But the most powerful example of the program’s success is the 4-year-old victim in Talkington’s 2014 trial.
“When we first started working with her, she wouldn’t say a word,” LaWall said.
“But in the end, she was able to testify at his trial and help get a conviction.”
The attorney’s office has always taken child and teen witnesses to see the court prior to testifying, but it’s not the same as experiencing what will happen, she said.
“The parents are there and they get to see all of this too, so maybe it’s more clear to them, as well,” LaWall said.
Dog helps, too
On a recent Monday, 18 children, along with a large group of parents, file into a courtroom in silence, filling the roughly 50 seats and lining up in the back of the room.
Blake, a courthouse facility dog, and his handler, Colleen Phelan, are in the gallery, seated with the kids. Blake often attends trials when children testify as another way to ease the discomfort of the experience.
Rosanna Cortez, an advocate with Victims Services, stands in front of the group and asks how many of the kids have been in a courtroom before, and a half-dozen raise their hands. A few more raise their hands when asked if they’ve seen a courtroom on TV.
Deputy county attorney Ryan Schmidt enters the room, wearing a judge’s robe, and everyone in the courtroom rises.
Schmidt talks about the judge’s role in court proceedings, including what a gavel is used for.
“We want to make you feel as comfortable as you can when you talk about what you know,” he says.
He talks to the kids about the swearing-in process and how important it is to tell the truth.
The various courtroom players introduce themselves and talk about what they do, including the jury, court reporter, clerk and bailiff.
Deputy county attorneys Daniel South and Michelle Chamblee are seated at the prosecutor’s table, and deputy county attorney Alan Goodwin and LaWall sit behind the defense table — a change for both of them.
A young child, the sister of one of the participants, sits on the floor in the back of the room with her mother.
She becomes restless as the event continues, and her mother struggles to keep her quiet.
Standing next to the pair, the director of Victims Services, Laura Penny, fishes around in her purse and produces a light-up ring, handing it to the girl after checking with her mother.
Penny crouches on the floor next to the girl, who is immediately quiet as a smile spreads across her face.
Standing behind the attorneys’ desks, South and Goodwin talk about what kind of questions will be asked in court, explaining that the prosecution and defense attorney’s will ask different types.
“The number-one rule is to always tell the truth,” Goodwin says. “Don’t guess if the question is confusing. Just say so.”
Cortez asks for volunteers to practice testifying, and there are several seconds of silence before a boy in the front row raises his hand and is invited to the bench.
He’s sworn in, and South begins the direct examination by asking the boy how old he is, to which he says he’s 11.
South asks about his favorite subject in school and his pets — how many and what their names are.
Goodwin is up next, and, in his pretend role as a defense attorney, begins to ask questions to trip the boy up.
“You said you have two cats and a dog?” he asks. The boy quickly corrects him, rolling his eyes as the gallery laughs.
The participants clap for the boy and he returns to his seat, and several hands shoot up when Cortez asks who would like to go next.
Six children of different ages take turns acting out their roles as witnesses, and they giggle as they catch every one of Goodwin’s trick questions.
The 14-year-old girl who takes the stand last tells South that she has a pet chicken.
“So you have a pet chicken,” Goodwin says during his cross-examination. “But do you eat chicken?”
“I eat chicken, but I don’t eat my chicken,” she says, as the courtroom erupts in laughter.
For the last few minutes, Goodwin takes the witness stand and the kids get to ask him questions, making jokes about his age and favorite college football team as he feigns confusion.
On their way out the door, each child is given a construction-paper cutout of a hand, with their name written on the front and a personal message on the back.
“This is just to help you remember that you have a lot of helping hands as you go through all this,” Cortez says.
