According to Jessica, George Callis, her biological father, was a brute of a man who seemed to think the answer to disciplining his children was to scare them into submission. Jessica related once that her father liked to lock her in the closet for hours when she was unruly or disrespectful. There was one time, she later explained in medical documents, when George displayed “snap judgment” anger. The Callises’ dog, Champ, was down the block from their home, tearing it up with another dog, rolling around on the ground, biting and grunting.

Jessica ran home to get her dad, hoping he could do something to stop it.

George jumped in the family car, drove down the block, asked Jessica where the dogs were fighting.

“There . . . hurry,” she said. Little Jessica was terrified that Champ was going to get hurt. Or worse, be killed by the other dog.

George drove into the yard and ran over both dogs, according to two reports of the incident, crushing them to death in front of several neighborhood kids.

This sort of violence has a lasting effect on a child; they learn quickly to contend with stressful situations by resorting to violence themselves.

One of the Callises’ neighbors, Dottie Gillispie, told Birmingham News reporter Carol Robinson that George hit Dian, but that Dian didn’t want to do anything about it because she feared the man so much.

“He had beat the hell out of her,” Dottie was quoted as saying.

George was abusive, no question. There is a paper trail of evidence left in the man’s wake to support the fact that he liked to beat on women and children. Dian and George were divorced on March 6, 1978. Jessica was almost seven years old. George moved to Chattanooga, Tennessee, after living in Semmes, Alabama, for a short time. He drove into Birmingham every other weekend to pick up the kids for visits. As it was, Dian took George to court in hopes of him fulfilling his obligation as the kids’ father and paying child support. She also wanted him to pay medical and “other” bills he was responsible for, per a court order—which was where the tug-of-war, the children at the center, started between Dian and George.

George used the kids as a means to seek revenge on Dian for the obvious hatred he harbored against her and the legal issues surrounding the demise of their marriage. Part of the divorce decree stipulated that George shall pick up the children on the front porch [of Dian’s home] when exercising his rights of visitation and shall not enter the premises unless explicitly invited therein.

It sounded familiar, as Jessica later insisted on the same language in her divorce with Alan. The major difference, of course, was that when Alan Bates said he was going to pick up his children, he showed up. In Jessica’s case, as a young girl of seven and eight, unaware of the bitterness involved in some divorce and custody matters, reports claim that it wasn’t uncommon for Jessica to sit on the porch and wait for a father who never showed up. And when he did, he was loud, violent, drunk and accusatory, threatening that if the children—Jessica, her brother and sister—were unruly in any way, he would never pick them up again.

George’s true madness unveiled itself after he and Dian separated. He kicked Dian and the three kids out of the house they lived in and sent them packing without any of their clothes, no money or accommodations. The kids missed school. Had nowhere to live. Very little food. No means of support.

George laughed at Dian. Made her look bad in front of the children whenever the opportunity presented itself. According to a civil action case Dian filed some years after the end of the marriage, she claimed the reason they’d separated was because George beat her. She was scared for her life. There were times when George struck Dian in front of the children: in the face, slapping and beating her on her arms, back, and other parts of her body, one court filing contended.

Dian sensed George would one day murder her. That killer instinct was there in his eyes. He was a wife batterer, sure. A drunk, no doubt. But there was something else about him when he snapped into a violent rage. He blacked out. His aggressive behavior escalated. And Dian’s fear meter went off the charts.

Dian was able to get George kicked out of the house finally so she and the kids could move back in.

George moved to Tennessee during the late 1980s. It was then that he met a sweet woman, Olivia, who soon became his wife. Within no time, however, Olivia was now bearing the burden of George’s insanity and violent nature as he started to hit her.

The guy could not leave women alone. It was something inside him. One drink led to two, which led to George walking into the home and abusing his wife.

But then, George took things to a new level one night. This happened just as Alan and Jessica, in late 1993, began to experience major problems themselves. Jessica had long ago written off her father as a deadbeat dad with whom she wanted nothing to do. But she was about to be rattled by a telephone call explaining what George had done—a crime that would turn out to be, in many ways, a prelude to what would take place in Jessica’s own life.

20

Roger Brown was an old-fashioned Southern prosecutor who believed in the Joe Friday approach in a court of law: “I’m a cop. . . . All we want are the facts.”

Brown was a tried-and-true Alabamian, right down to his deep-seated Christian values. For twenty years he served as the lay minister at Our Lady of Sorrows Catholic Church in Homewood. He prided himself on being a straight shooter. Liked to do things by the book.

As the chief district attorney (DA) for Jefferson County, Brown had his hands full with cases ranging from white-collar crime to child abuse, rape, theft and murder. A broad brushstroke of crime to contend with. Brown was a member of the Alabama Supreme Court Advisory Committee on Rules of Criminal Procedure, and he served as a member of the supreme court’s Advisory Committee on Pattern Jury Instructions. When it came down to it, Roger Brown knew the ins and outs of a courtroom because he believed in the values that Lady Justice doled out—and he had spent a better part of his life experiencing it all firsthand.

Brown was contacted at his office on Monday morning, February 18, 2002, by the HPD. He was briefed about what was going on. If the case ever made court, Brown knew, he would be in charge.

Certainly, for the bad guys in Brown’s district, you did not want to stand on the opposite side of the courtroom facing off against this solidly built man with the deep baritone voice. His Southern drawl casually accentuated an eloquence Brown had fashioned, and few could boast of sharing it with him.

The part of the job Brown didn’t favor as much as actually working in the courtroom was supervising all of the attorneys in his district.

“I had administrative responsibilities for the office . . . and supervising those attorneys was like, ah”—Brown took a moment and thought about his choice of words—“herding cats, as they say. Supervising forty lawyers got to a point where it wasn’t fun anymore.”

Brown said he spent most of his time listening to the complaints of attorneys in the district. But when a hot case came around, he had no trouble forgetting about the shortcomings of the job and getting down to the business he was hired to take care of.

He jumped in headfirst.

Detective Sergeant Tom McDanal called Brown and explained to the prosecutor what was going on with the McCords. McDanal went into great detail about the case, describing the evidence they had collected thus far, along with his thoughts, ending with, “This is what we got, Roger.”

“Search warrant?” Brown wanted to know.

“Yes,” McDanal said, explaining that the HPD needed that second warrant. “And we want to arrest her.”