Mother's Keeper

Until the day of the trial, Lisa remained optimistically, perhaps naively, hopeful about her fate. But she looks worn on this first day of March, when she, Joan, and Joan's paramour Roger Neff, accused of aiding in her schemes, go on trial together. Her brilliant blue eyes are overcast. Her petite frame carries 30 excess pounds -- the effect of stress-eating her way through bag after bag of potato chips. She looks ages away from the eight-year-old girl who barreled down coasters and binged on sugary mounds of candy with her mom.

Still, Lisa worries mostly about her mother. Joan hobbles into the courtroom with a cane; her long gray hair is an untamed jungle. She looks as vulnerable and helpless as a fever-stricken child. Lisa shoots her mom the most encouraging smile she can muster.

During opening arguments, Gutierrez, a sharp-nosed prosecutor with a natural swagger and well-tailored suit, claims that Joan and Lisa were "co-conspirators" in a "well-thought-out" enterprise to bilk millions out of retailers. "Joan Hall stole the money, and Lisa laundered it," he tells the judge.

His arguments are largely circumstantial. He can't prove that all $2 million of money and jewels was stolen -- a fact he acknowledges. He can, however, show a pattern, dating as far back as Joan's credit-card records go, of excessive returns. And for the judge charged with determining the women's fate, Gutierrez has brought colorful graphs that illustrate Joan's burgeoning bank accounts.

There's also her history of petty theft. William Dammerall, the TJ Maxx "loss-prevention expert," takes the stand to recall a conversation he had with Joan. "She told me this was her job, and this was how she made a living," Dammerall had recently written in a police report, "She had done fraudulent refunds all over." She even asked if he thought she'd make a good guest on Oprah, Dammerall says.

At the defense table, Lisa's attorney, Mark Stanton, scribbles notes to Lisa, furious at the trial's progress. If only Lisa would testify, he thinks. She's a credible witness, he believes, compelling when she speaks. But Lisa refuses. Mom and daughter are being tried together -- if she talks about her own case, she'll be questioned about her mother. She won't do it, she says, even if it turns out to be "of detriment to my personal well-being."

So Stanton does his best. He explains that while all these claims may be true of Joan, Lisa is innocent in the exchange. Yes, she invested her mother's money, but prosecutors are assuming the money Lisa used was illegally obtained. Joan had many wealthy patrons in her life, he says, and Joan's in-laws had been rich too.

It's a strong argument, Stanton thinks. But then Lisa's little brother takes the stand.

Lisa never believed Brad would take the prosecutor's deal. He's changed in recent years, sure -- going from a successful go-getter to a lackluster drifter. He's dropped out of law school and has no job. He's cut himself off from his family. Still, Lisa has never stopped trying to take care of her brother. She's flown out to Washington, even paid for a drug-intervention session that went bad. "Where everyone else -- including me -- have given up on Brad, Lisa keeps fighting," says Brad's ex-best friend, Damon Ansell.

But there he is, pushing through the courtroom doors. Lisa turns and gasps. Her brother, thin as a dandelion stem, with shifty eyes and chapped skin, takes the witness stand. He tells the judge that everyone knew his mother was a criminal; he says Lisa admitted she was in on the racket. When Stanton asks if he'd ever been close to his sister, he replies, "Not really." And when Brad's testimony is over, he tells the judge that he believes Joan and Lisa should be sentenced to the harshest penalty allowed by law.

At the defense table, Lisa can't stop sobbing.

Six weeks later, Judge Nancy Fuerst returns the verdict: Lisa, Joan, and Roger Neff are found guilty of theft and money laundering. Joan is found guilty of dozens more counts involving theft, fraud, and tampering with records. The enterprise, the judge tells the defendants, was "very cleverly done, very well done."

They're sentenced one month later at an emotional hearing. Dozens of letters had arrived, pleading leniency for Lisa. "So many calls came in for Lisa, you'd think we arrested Mother Teresa," Detective Duffy says. Prosecutors have only disdain for the last-minute appeals. "The daughter had all the education in the world and every opportunity not to do this," Gutierrez says. "It was her decision to go down this road."