Uncover - Uncover Introduces: Earwitness from Lava for Good

Episode Date: November 18, 2023

One July night in 1995, Deputy Sheriff William G. Hardy was shot behind the Crown Sterling Suites hotel in Birmingham, Alabama. At the same time as the murder, at least ten people saw Toforest Johnson four miles away, at a popular nightclub called Tee's Place. But detectives zeroed in on him as a main suspect in Deputy Hardy’s murder anyway, ultimately resulting in Toforest being tried, convicted, and sentenced to death. For over a quarter century, Toforest has been confined to a 5’ by 8’ cell on Alabama’s death row. In 2019, investigative journalist Beth Shelburne began covering the case, going down a disturbing rabbit hole revealing many unsettling facts that cast grave doubts about Toforest’s guilt. The facts she found tear at the very foundation of the American criminal justice system: No eyewitnesses or physical evidence tied Toforest to the murder; the state tried to convict a different man for the same crime; and perhaps most disturbing of all, Toforest’s conviction relied on an ‘earwitness’ – a woman who claimed to have eavesdropped on an incriminating phone call, a woman whom prosecutors paid for her testimony, in secret. That payment was not disclosed to the jury, Toforest, or his lawyers until after he had been on death row for 17 years. From the team behind the award-winning hit podcast Bone Valley, Lava for Good’s Earwitness is an 8-episode docuseries that asks the question, “How did an innocent man end up on death row — and why is the state still trying to execute him over the objection of the prosecutor who put him there?” Shelburne’s unprecedented access to key players—the lead detective, lead prosecutor, witnesses, jurors, and the earwitness herself— illuminate a story filled with disturbing twists, frustrating ambiguities, and shocking admissions. The story of Toforest Johnson and the state's enthusiasm for the death penalty in the face of such troubling evidentiary flaws brings to light the failings of a criminal justice system run amok. Earwitness is a production of Lava for Good Podcasts in association with Signal Co. No1.

This is a CBC Podcast. And why is the state still trying to execute him over the objection of the prosecutor who put him there? Host and investigative journalist Beth Shelburne's unprecedented access to key players, the lead detective, lead prosecutor, witnesses, jurors, and the earwitness herself, illuminates a story filled with disturbing twists, frustrating ambiguities, and shocking admissions. The story of Taforis Johnson and the state of Alabama's enthusiasm for the death penalty in the face of such troubling evidentiary flaws brings to light the failings of a criminal justice system run amok. Now, here's the first episode of Ear Witness.

This is quite a wall here. Oh, these are some great photos. That's Jimmy Carter and that's me. Uh-huh. That's me and Loretta Lynn. How did this come about? She was giving a concert in Birmingham. Uh-huh. Carried me backstage to meet her. Look at this suit that you have on. Maybe you've never heard of Bill Baxley, but here in Alabama, he's a big deal. That's Johnny Cash. Oh, wow. Baxley is 82, slightly balding, with silver hair and eyebrows. In the pictures he's showing me on the wall of his office, I see him looking younger, his hair is dark, and he's standing with famous musicians and politicians. That's my daddy swearing me in for my first term.

Wow. Baxley was elected as Alabama's attorney general when he was just 28 years old. He later served as Lieutenant Governor, and he's still practicing law today. During his career, Baxley prosecuted hundreds of cases and sent three people to Alabama's death row. There are some crimes that are so wrong and so horrible that they only deserve one punishment. He's a lifelong defender of the death penalty, a true believer. Like when the U.S. Supreme Court outlawed the death penalty in the 1970s, Baxley worked

hard to bring executions back to Alabama. He's that kind of true believer. back to Alabama. He's that kind of true believer. So it's not surprising that Baxley was skeptical when his son, who's also an attorney, asked his dad to look over a case because he believed an innocent man was on death row. Over the course of my long career, I've had dozens and dozens of career. I've had dozens and dozens of instances where these, I'll call them do-gooders, but they're good people. They take up various causes of people that have been sentenced to death, and they get interested in trying to help them, and they all think they're always innocent. Baxley didn't even glance at the case file until weeks later on an icy winter morning. It was too slippery to walk down the driveway and grab the newspaper,

so he picked up the file that his son sent him and began reading about a black man named Taforest Johnson who was sentenced to death for killing a sheriff's deputy. I mean, mid-morning, I couldn't believe what I was reading. I wouldn't have believed that something like this could have happened. What was so unbelievable about it? Everything. Everything. I don't know how the guy got indicted, how they got, I didn't see how the jury convicted him. I would have never believed that that could have happened in Alabama. No question in my mind, this guy was not guilty of this crime,

and I couldn't comprehend how this could happen. There's only one other case where Baxley thought the defendants were innocent, and that case is almost 100 years old. So what is it about this case, Taforis' case, that convinced Baxley that Alabama is trying to execute an innocent man? It's a unique absurdity that I've never seen before. It's too late to give him back all those years he's been on death row. But it's not too late to correct it today and get him out for the future.

It's wrong that it's gone this long, but it's still not too late to correct it. My name is Beth Shelburne. Like Bill Baxley, I was born and raised in Alabama. I grew up about a mile away from where the crime at the center of this story took place. I'm a journalist and writer, and for the last three years, I've been investigating the case that rocked Bill Baxley's world. The story begins on a hot July night in 1995. It unfolds in two places at once, the Crown Sterling Suites Hotel and a nightclub that's almost four miles away called T's Place. By the end of the night, one man will be shot dead and two others will encounter someone who will put them at the center of the murder investigation.

Taforist Johnson is still on death row, and he's running out of time. I'm Beth Shelburne. This is Ear Witness. Chapter One. Behind the Crown. Yes ma'am, this is Barry calling from Crowne Sterling. on July 19th, 1995. Thank you very much. The Crown Sterling Suites Hotel was a nine-story building in Birmingham. Today, the hotel is in Embassy Suites. Inside the main entrance of the hotel, there's a pale, tiled walkway that leads through the lobby.

The front desk is to the left, but keep walking past it and you enter a huge atrium, an open space surrounded by windows with an indoor garden of leafy green plants and trees. with an indoor garden of leafy green plants and trees. The tiled walkway leads to a koi pond with a fountain at the center. It's lush and humid inside, but despite all the windows, the feel is dim and moody. Keep walking past the koi pond, and there's a short hallway that leads to the hotel's back parking lot. It was here, outside the double doors of the Crown Sterling Suites Hotel, where a deputy sheriff was killed. No one saw the murder, but a few people heard gunshots. I remember hearing popping noises from the distance. Barry Rushikoff was working at the front desk when he made that 911 call.

When I heard it, I believe that's when I tried to call Officer Hardy on the radio with no response. Officer William Hardy, who went by Bill, had been a deputy with the Jefferson County Sheriff's Office for 23 years. He was also a security guard at the hotel where he worked the night shift to make extra money. Hardy was 5'10", had a thin mustache, and wore his hair in a jerry curl. He was known to be easygoing and friendly. He was known to be easygoing and friendly. When Deputy Hardy wasn't making hotel security rounds, Barry usually saw him wearing his brown and tan deputy uniform,

sitting at one of the tables in the hotel's atrium, smoking Moore brand menthol cigarettes and drinking coffee. You know, when I worked there and when I was working nights, it was me, you know, Officer Hardy or whatever officer on duty. And or we would sometimes have a houseman who was cleaning floors or something, but very minimal group. And I never felt unsafe. Barry wasn't the only person to hear the popping noises. A few guests at the hotel also heard gunshots, including Marshall Kelly Cummings, a guest in a fourth-floor room directly above the hotel's back exit. Dude, I can remember it like it was yesterday.

Now, as far as the details— As I worked on this project, I started referring to Cummings as the Keebler cookie guy because in 1995, he worked for Keebler as a truck driver. Cummings was staying at the Crown Sterling for a company training. After the workday was over, he drank a few beers at the hotel bar with some co-workers, and then he and the other Keebler employee he was rooming with turned in between 10 and 11 p.m. But Cummings was not asleep for long. But he just, I woke up and it was, I kept hearing somebody talk, kind of talk, argue. So you heard some voices and it sounded like they were arguing? Not really bad, but they were, they were...

Having a conversation it was male voices? Yeah it was. Well they quit arguing and then I didn't hear anything so I laid back down and it probably wasn't 20 seconds, 30 seconds 45 I mean I didn't count them

boom small caliber gun it wasn't a big caliber and I was sitting there a few seconds later. Boom! About the second time I sat up, that was a gun. He remembers turning to the co-worker he was sharing a room

with. And I said, did you hear that? And he says, yeah. So I stood up and opened the blind to get my eyes fixed because it was dark. Then it had the lights. Directly beneath his window, Cummings sees a four-door car. It's dark copper or light brown with a vinyl top parked facing the hotel's back double doors. He sees a tall person get into the driver's side of the car, close the door, and slowly pull away with the headlights off.

And so I called down to the front desk. I said, hey, there's been shots fired out here. Did you hear that? I believe I got a phone call from someone in the room saying they heard gunshots. So Barry makes that initial 911 call, hangs up, and decides to investigate.

I jumped over the counter to walk back, and as I was walking back, I saw Officer Hardy's radio. Barry sees Deputy Hardy's radio on a table in the hotel's atrium, and right next to it, his cigarette still burning in an ashtray. Meanwhile, back on the fourth floor,

Marshall Kelly Cummings hangs up the phone with Barry and goes back to the window. And I kept looking and I kept looking. Finally, my eyes got to where I could see. And I looked down and I could see him laying on the ground. I went, oh, no, this ain't good. Cummings spots a body on the ground and realizes someone has been badly hurt. It's right around this time Barry makes the same terrible discovery. There's a hallway that went to the door that went back out to the back parking lot. As I turned the corner to go down that hallway,

and I looked out the door in the distance, I saw Officer Hardy on the ground. That's when I ran back to the front desk, made an emergency phone call to the police. Hi, we have 911. Yes, ma'am, this isrick from Crown Steely Springs Hotel again. I have what appears to be a Jefferson County police officer shot in the back of our building. He is not moving.

People in a car drove away. And you say, is he in uniform? He's lying on the pavement. I'm a little afraid to go out. Is he in uniform? Yes, he is. A Birmingham police officer? Jefferson County. He is a hired nighttime security for us. Hey, do you know if you can find

out anything like if he's breathing, if he's conscious, and how much blood? I'm trying, ma'am. My problem is I don't know if the people are still out there. Okay, we should be there shortly. Thank you very much. I'm going to go and try to look at it. Okay? Thank you. Our Jefferson County deputy has been shot on the back entrance of the hotel, Crownstone Suites. It is one of us, and they have got one down. He has been shot. And it looks bad. 332, do we have any information?

Do we have anything on a suspect? We don't have anything. They don't know anything. They don't know anything. After he makes the second 911 call, Barry walks down the hallway to the back parking lot. And then I went back out to the officer already. He was not in good condition.

He did have a wound to his face. He was making a gurgling, gasping noise, you know. He was not conscious. I believe I took my jacket off, my uniform jacket off, to try to cover him or put under his head or try to comfort him. But fortunately, officers arrived so quickly, and I was removed from that area immediately. More than a dozen officers from four different agencies arrive at the hotel. One of them is Detective Tony Richardson, who says he'd known Deputy Hardy since he first started working for the Jefferson County Sheriff's Office in 1978. Being black, and Bill being black, naturally I noticed him. I was told more than once to get a haircut. That, you know, to be a deputy sheriff, you got to have your hair cut. So the reason I mention that is because from the first day that I ever saw him, his hair was out to here.

Big afro. Big afro. Big afro. And he would put on his hat. He wore that hat religiously. Everybody else at the sheriff's office hated those hats. They didn't want to wear them, you know. But he always wore his hat. Deputy Hardy often wore his traditional, broad-brimmed, tan, Smokey the Bear-style sheriff's hat.

It was later entered as evidence from the crime scene with a bullet hole through the brim. And he would have it on his head, and all that hair would be on the side, would be out here. And I'm like, who is this guy? How can he get away with that? And not only that, he is in the sheriff's office. How can he get away with that? And not only that, he is in the sheriff's office. How can he get away with that? So I was intrigued by him, fascinated by him. But I was scared of him. I was scared to meet him because I thought in my mind, this guy has got to be crazy.

You know, to do that and get away with it, he's got to be crazy. I was scared of him. But anyway, when I first met him, I met him and talked to him. We started to feel better about, well, I started to feel better about him. We were never just bosom buddies real close, but we were close and we knew each other. Tony Richardson and Bill Hardy had been colleagues at the Jefferson County Sheriff's Office for 17 years. Richardson remembers the last time he saw Hardy alive. The last day I saw Bill, my brother and I, my brother worked for the Sheriff's Office also, and we were standing there smoking and Bill drove out the alley

and he was pulling up 22nd and he stopped in the road and he started to talk to us. And he said, hey guys, how y'all doing? Loan me some money. Just, you know, stuff like that. And we laughed and talked for a minute. And that was the last time I saw him. And the next time I heard Bill's name was about two o'clock in the morning when I got the call saying that he had been shot. At that time, I was what was considered a crimes against persons detective, which meant that I worked homicides. The lieutenant felt like because it involved a deputy sheriff and, you know, that we needed all the help that we could get.

So I got called out. Did you go to the actual scene? Yeah. What did you encounter when you got there? Well, by the time I got there, Bill's body was gone. Bill's body was gone. Paramedics had already lifted Bill Hardy into an ambulance and rushed him to the emergency room of Birmingham's largest hospital. He is gravely injured, with two gunshot wounds to his head and jaw.

A medical examiner notes a bullet wound to Hardy's finger likely means he raised his hand in a defensive posture when he was shot. Police go to his house to tell his wife, Patricia Diane Hardy, and bring her to the hospital. Jim Woodward, the chief deputy in Jefferson County, also rushes over when he hears that Hardy was shot.

What do you remember about the incident? I got the call that Hardy had been shot and they told me it looked very serious. So I got in my car and went down to the hospital. I stood there while they were operating on me and then I just heard one say, that's it. It's over. We can't do anymore. It's over. We can't save him. He's gone. What does that feel like when you are a career law enforcement officer?

Well, it's kind of devastating to you. You know, you get to know these guys. And I knew Hardy. That's a very devastating thing to happen to you. And I knew Hardy. That's a very devastating thing to happen to you. Deputy Bill Hardy is pronounced dead seven hours after he was shot. The cause of death is two gunshot wounds fired at close range.

I wanted to know more about Deputy Hardy, so I wrote to several family members, inviting them to talk. They never responded, and I can only imagine his murder must be one of the hardest things they've ever experienced. But I have learned a few things about Deputy Hardy. He was married to Patricia Diane Hardy. He had two children and four adult stepchildren. Hardy started working as a deputy in 1972. His duties included delivering subpoenas and directing traffic outside the courthouse.

You know, it was rough. It was rough. It's rough right now. It's rough right this minute. Working homicide, I've worked a bunch. But none of them affected me like the killing of a deputy sheriff. You know you have a bond with the guys you work with in that uniform whether you know them or not. You have a bond. So when I was a deputy sheriff working another deputy sheriff's murder. Do you think that was emotional? Yes, it was.

Very. And had it been my decision, the day we caught the people that did it, let's put them on death row. Lead Detective Tony Richardson and his team of investigators have no eyewitnesses to the shooting, and there's no known motive. A fellow officer has Hardy was shot, Taforest Johnson and his friend Ardragus Ford were four miles away from the crime scene at a downtown Birmingham nightclub called T's Place, but they would soon become the focus of Tony Richardson's investigation. Just a few hours before Deputy Hardy is shot,

our Dragus Ford gets into the passenger side of his 1971 black Monte Carlo. It's an old car, and the driver's side door doesn't open, so he slides over into the driver's seat, starts the ignition, and heads out to pick up his friend Taforist Johnson to go to a club called T's Place. I wasn't able to interview Taforist or Ardragus for this podcast. The Alabama Department of Corrections doesn't allow people on death row to do interviews with reporters like me, so I was unable to talk to Taforist directly. And Ardragus died in 2021. I didn't get a chance to interview him before then.

I was able to speak to Ardragus' mother, Joyce Ford. That particular night, they said they was going to T's. And see, he would go to T's every Tuesday. And he have his particular same parking space and everything because he would give them good tips. Ardragus was willing to pay for a good parking space because he was in a wheelchair. When Ardragus was a teenager, a group of men began shooting outside an apartment building he was visiting. He was shot trying to shield his cousin and her baby from gunfire. My son, when he got shot when he was 15, I had just gotten off of work. I was tired

and the phone rang, rang, rang, and I didn't answer the phone, you know. And I finally answered it and they stated that he had gotten shot. I need to rush to the emergency room. That was like a dream. You know, you hear about things happening to other people, but when it hit home, you know, and then he got spinal cord injury, got shot in the back. Yeah.

And he was paralyzed. Paralyzed from chest down. T4, they call it. So that was like a nightmare. In his early 20s, Ardragus outfitted his Monte Carlo with a makeshift system so he could throw his wheelchair in the back and drive the car using just his upper body. he could throw his wheelchair in the back and drive the car using just his upper body. He would cut a broom, you know, the broomsticks. He would have one to the brakes, one to the accelerator, and he would tape it to the car. He would tape it to it. So he, like, retrofitted his cars. Yeah, he did. He did. To drive them.

He didn't buy the regular equipment that he should have used. Ardragus and Taforist actually came up with this idea together. Here's Taforist's cousin, Antonio Green. Ardragus was, I guess that was a pride thing. He didn't want the handicap accessible pedals and stuff in his car. But Tres come up with this great this genius idea where they're gonna weld some metal rods to the brake and accelerator pedal so he could use his hands and drive well he get to thinking about this thing and metal rods welded from the brake pedal or the accelerator that's not too good of an idea in case you get in an accident. He'd hate to see Drago's impaled through the seat right here. So he goes and buys two brooms out of the dollar store or wherever,

and no measurements, no just nothing precise about it. He just gets the broom and breaks them and duct taped the sticks, one to the accelerator pedal and one to the brake pedal, so Dragus could drive his car. Could he get around well? I mean, did he drive well? Oh, real well. It's been a while since Taforist and Ardragus have hung out, because Taforist had recently gotten out of prison.

He was arrested for driving with a suspended license, and as officers patted him down at the city jail, he tossed something into a nearby trash can. Officers reached into the can and found a plastic bag of cocaine. Taforist ended up pleading guilty to drug possession. Taforist served about a year in prison, and by the night of Hardy's murder, he'd been out about three months. Taforist puts on jean shorts and a Tommy Hilfiger blue and white shirt, then gets into the passenger side of Ardragus' car, and they head downtown. They pull up and park outside T's place.

But it's too early to go inside, so they hang out in the parking lot, flirting with some girls who work at the car dealership across the street. Taforst buys a hot dog from a cart on the sidewalk. Regulars start trickling into the club, drinking, dancing, and catching up. Inside, there's thumping music,

low lighting. It's Tasty Tuesday at T's place, which means women get in free. I used to go to T's Tuesday, Thursday, Friday, and Saturday. Barbetta Hunt was one of the regulars who was there that night. What was your nickname back then?

Mama Cat. That's like in the world of nicknames. That's the best nickname I've come across. My mother, Essie Perkins, and my father, Fred Perkins, they gave me that name when I was born. But that's my name. My name is Mama Cat. When she was in her early 20s, Mama Cat spent a lot of nights hanging out at T's place. When you walk into the door, that's my spot right there.

It's on the right-hand side. Every time, that was my spot. I don't move from this spot. I don't walk to the back. I don't walk there. I stay right there. Me and my friend, Velenique Jacque Sanders,

we was together. We got there before 11 because the club was always free on Tuesday, Thursday, and Saturday before 11 for women. This is Velenique Sanders, nicknamed Queasy. Anything got for 11,

it was $5. And me and Bobetta was very cheap so we tried to make sure we got there and free because the little money we had saved we wanted to buy something to eat and I love to get a chicken plate from there chicken breast with some french fries oh my god did you know to Forrest Johnson yes I did I knew him from hanging out in the neighborhood in Ansley. And I, oh, my God, I had a crush on him. He was the finest. Yeah.

What do you remember about what he looked like? He was short. A nice body. Oh, my God. Anyway, he was a ladies' man. I will say that. Sweet, always kind. He was just ladies' man, I will say that. Sweet, always kind. He was just a nice gentleman.

Like, his mama had raised him really well. Did you guys ever go out, or did he know that you had a crush on him? He knew I had a crush on him, but we never went out. No, we would just see each other. I'd smile, be like, oh, there he is. I'm going to get him. Yeah. That's it. Taforist mostly grew up in Birmingham's Pratt City neighborhood, or Pratt for short.

We grew up together, I mean, closer than just cousins. We were like brothers because we were all pretty much raised right in the same little local community. like brothers because we were all pretty much raised right in the same little local community. While Taforest was growing up, most of his extended family also lived in or near Pratt, including his cousin Antonio Green. And since we were toddlers, I mean babies, we were kind of together, took out in this thing. He was a couple of years younger than I am, so he always kind of held on to my shirt tail. And, you know, so I've been closely connected with him for our entire life, pretty much. Taforist's mom, Donna, was 17 when she had him. And when Taforist was

young, she was more like a sister to him than a mother. Donna leaned on her parents and siblings to help take care of DeForest. And as DeForest got older, she leaned on him to help take care of his little brother. He started at a very young age, much too young to really be faced with the type of responsibility that he took on. He was at an age where he was still a kid. I'm talking about 11, 12, you know, just hitting them teen years and had to take on the responsibility of taking care of his little brother. You know, he had a little brother that he got ready for school. He ironed his clothes.

He did, you know, he's always been that caring little dude, you know, and he did that. So he had to take on some things during that time. You know, his mom and dad was there, but his dad was a very, very heavy drinker. Taforist's father, Ronald, was an alcoholic and would get violent when he drank, which was every day. This made home life extremely volatile for Taforist, his younger brother, Little Ron, and especially his mother, Donna. She eventually left Ronald when Taforist was a teenager and moved in with another man who had an apartment in the Tuxedo Projects in Birmingham's

Inslee community, also known as the Brickyard. Oh, it was called the Brickyard. Velenique, aka Queasy, the one who had a crush on Taforist, also grew up there. It was rough out there. You know, my mom had three girls, my aunt had three, and we lived in a five-bedroom project with our grandparents. So it was just a bunch of girls in the house. But I mean, you know, I'd have seen people get killed right in front of me. My cousin got shot in the stomach, you know. A lot of, it was rough. You had families there that couldn't afford to eat, you know. Kids come to school, you know, wearing the same clothes over and over. It was rough. It was rough growing up in the projects.

Taforest and his little brother moved there when Taforest was 16. When he was 17, Taforest was shot in a drive-by shooting and spent three months in the hospital. Taforest's mom told me the bullet is still lodged in his chest. During this period, seven of Tafor's friends would be shot and killed. No one was ever prosecuted for any of these crimes. And it was around this time that Tafor's dropped out of school. Taforist dropped out of school. Several family members tell me that at 22, Taforist was somewhat adrift. He spent his time working on old cars and playing video games.

He was having a good time dating different women. He had five children who he loved, but he was also unsettled. He hadn't yet figured out his purpose. And he didn't know he was running out of time. I'm sorry. As Taforist and Ardragus wait outside of T's, Ardragus' beeper goes off a few times. The beeps are from a girl he met a few nights before, but he ignores her, hoping to meet someone else inside T's. Taforist walks toward the club's entrance behind Ardragus in his wheelchair. They're focused on meeting girls and having a good time. They don't know that this night will change their lives.

And the people they run into don't know they're about to become alibi witnesses. It was a little before 11 and we were standing outside and they came up as far as pushing the Dracos. One of the first people they run into is Kenyara Pickett, who was standing near the entrance.

I remember exactly where I was standing, right in front of the club when he walked up, because I thought I was shot that night. You know, back in the days, it was TLC. They were wearing big clothes back then. And I had on some black, some black big jeans, but shorts. And I had on some black and white Reeboks. And then I think I had on a button-down shirt. My sister, she had just got out of the hospital, she had a blood clot. And I, when she got out of the hospital, we just went down there, you know, to celebrate that she came home. Taforist and Ardragus make their way past Kenyara and go into T's. Mama Cat and Velenique are already inside, perched at their table right by the front door.

Tavaris Johnson, I remember he was pushing Ardragus forward in the wheelchair. They came together. I had saw Tavaris pushing Ardragus in the club. Because we always stand at the front by the door so we can be nosing and see everything. You wanted to see who was coming in and who was leaving with who. Yes. Yes, ma'am. About 11 o'clock, I saw Tafaris come in pushing the Drago's in, and I was excited to see him because I hadn't seen him in years because I had just recently got out of the military. Stanley Chandler is also at T's that night

to catch up with friends. He and Taforist knew each other as kids in Pratt. So we stood there and we talked, you know, about old times, you know, and I mean, we joked, man, and laughed. Taforist and Ardragus settle in at a table, chatting with people who stopped by, watching the dance floor. I was sitting on the balcony because when you go around, it's like a little balcony part that you can sit at.

And so I seen Drakus and T'Forest when they came in the door because he was pushing them in the wheelchair. This is Deidre Carter, who was celebrating getting released from the hospital with her sister Kenyara. Deidre was also at T's that night. And him and my cousin Mona and my sister, all of us was just there talking, and, you know, I think Tafaris liked that Mona, so, you know, he was trying to hook up with her, but she wouldn't,

no, she wouldn't ever hook up with him. We used to laugh, Mona. So, you know, he was trying to hook up with her, but she wouldn't. No, she wouldn't ever hook up with him. We used to laugh, talk, joke. Like even we at the club, music playing, we still cracking up, you know, just talking and stuff. Taforest sips a Long Island iced tea and orders our Dragus a brandy and Coke. At one point, Taforest goes back to the bar because Dragus says his drink is too weak, and the bartender makes him a new one. They linger at the club until the early hours of Wednesday morning. When I said we would probably shut the club down, we was there, I know, to probably, they used to close about maybe one, two o'clock. So we would leave right before that.

So I know it was like maybe 1. I ended up leaving the club roughly about, I'm going to say right about right at 1. And like I said, he was standing across the club. You know, you could see him because, I mean, it wasn't a big, big club, you know. And I just heard two signs up, and I left. And he was still there. Yeah, he was signs up and I left. And he was still there.

Yeah, he was still there when I left. There are at least 10 people who say they saw Taforist and Ardragus at T's place between 11 p.m. and 1.30 a.m. Deputy Bill Hardy was shot right in the middle of that time frame, around 12.50 a.m., four miles away at the Crown Sterling Suites Hotel. People like Kenyara, Deidre, Stanley, Queasy, Mama Cat, all remember that night. Their corroborated statements weave together a shield. That shield should protect Taforist and Ardragas from the accusations about to head their way. But it doesn't. The state would arrest Taforist and Ardragas, try them, and seek the death penalty against both of them for Deputy Hardy's murder. For the last three years, I've been trying to figure out how this happened.

I've read through thousands of pages of court transcripts and investigative documents. I've done a full audit of all the media coverage and interviewed more than 80 people, including several who were directly involved in this investigation and prosecution, and many who have never spoken publicly about the case. I'm not trying to find the real killer of Deputy Hardy. I'm investigating why that person was never found. One of the first things I tried to unwind,

how did Taforist Johnson and Ardragus Ford end up at the center of the investigation when they were somewhere else at the time Deputy Hardy was killed? Here's one thing everyone agrees on. After they leave T's place, Taforist and Ardragus pick up two girls in the Monte Carlo. One sits in the back by Ardragus' wheelchair.

The other one sits between Ardragus and Taforist in the front. And that girl, the one in the front seat, what she tells police, will land Taforist and Ardragus right at the center of the investigation. I'm at the Sheriff's Office headquarters along with Yolanda Michelle Chambers. Yolanda is a Black female.

She's 15 years of age. That's next time. EarWitness is a production of Lava for Good Podcasts in association with Signal Company No. 1. Executive producers are Jason Flom, Jeff Kempler, Kevin Wardus, and me, Beth Shelburne. The investigative reporting for this series was done by me and Mara McNamara. Producers are Mara McNamara, Hannah Beal, and Jackie Pauley. Kara Kornhaber is our senior producer.

Britt Spangler is our sound designer. Additional story editing from Marie Sutton. Fact check help from Catherine Newhand. And special thanks to Taforist Johnson's legal defense team. You can follow the show on Instagram, TikTok, Facebook, and Twitter at Lava for Good. To see behind-the-scenes content from our investigation, visit lavaforgood.com slash earwitness. That was an episode of Earwitness from Lava for Good. You can listen to more episodes wherever you get your podcasts.

For more CBC podcasts, go to cbc.ca slash podcasts.