August 15 WASHINGTON/USA: Tracking down the Green River killer BARBARA McMICHAEL "Chasing the Devil" by David Reichert, Little, Brown, $24.95. The Green River killer's story -- at once bewildering and repulsive -- received plenty of press as the bodies of his victims were discovered during the years. Now, more ink is being expended on him in "Chasing the Devil," a firsthand account of the Green River investigation, as told by David Reichert, the lead detective on the case. Reichert is now King County Sheriff and is running for a Congressional seat. I've never been a fan of true crime books because I think most of them pander to people's basest interests and capitalize on tragedy without adding much in the way of constructive insight. I found "Chasing the Devil" less objectionable in this regard because Reichert doesn't dwell overlong, as some authors do, on the grisliest aspects of the crimes. Instead, he focuses on the grueling investigation, which spanned 20 years, many political upheavals, funding uncertainties and thousands of false leads. It's stunning to be reminded just how primitive murder investigations were 20 years ago compared to today: - When the Green River Task Force was formed, the increasingly voluminous records for the case weren't computerized, and it was difficult to cross-reference leads. - Creation of a psychological profile of the killer was a nascent science. - DNA testing was unavailable. Reichert recounts the behind-the-scenes techniques investigators relied on at the time. He also includes stomach-turning descriptions of evidence gathering at the scenes of the crimes, but much of the investigation involved thoroughly tedious paper-shuffling -- sorting through tens of thousands of tips, trying to determine which were substantive. Reichert and his colleagues made regular trips up and down the SeaTac Airport "Strip" of Highway 99 to talk to prostitutes, warn them about the Green River Killer, and to ask for information they might have on customers who seemed suspicious. They conducted extensive surveillance on a few early suspects until they were convinced that these men were not the killer. And to gain insights into a serial killer's mind, they talked to another infamous Northwest murderer, Ted Bundy, who by then was on death row in Florida. At the same time, the task force had to address the anger and fears of the victim's families, some of whom felt that because of the victims' low status in society, law enforcement wasn't pursuing the investigation aggressively. In the book, Reichert repeatedly denies that this was ever true for the detectives working the case, but he does strongly criticize politicians who withdrew funding for the task force. For all his protestations, Reichert never explains why, once DNA testing became available, the pertinent samples from the Green River case -- the most heinous serial killing spree in our nation's history -- weren't submitted immediately for testing. It took 3 or 4 years. In this book, Reichert paints himself with a flattering and pious brush. Conversely, the scorn he heaps upon convicted murderer Gary Ridgway in the book's final chapters veers close to religious hysteria. (source: The Olympian -- The Bookmonger is Barbara Lloyd McMichael, who writes this weekly column focusing on the books, authors and publishers of the Pacific Northwest.) VIRGINIA: State lab still silent on dubious DNA results More than a month ago, three nationally recognized experts issued a blistering critique casting doubt on the state's DNA analysis in a high-profile murder case. Since then, neither Gov. Mark Warner nor forensics lab director Paul Ferrara appears to have taken any steps to correct what the experts characterized as a mistake or to protect against future error. Ferrara has explained in a letter to the governor how the lab arrived at its conclusions in its 2000 analysis in the death of Culpeper housewife Rebecca Williams, according to state lawyers. Apparently, the lab is standing firmly behind its conclusions. If it had discovered an error in this review, the lab would have been required by its own rules to prepare a formal "corrective action" plan. When asked by the editorial page in a Freedom of Information Act request whether corrective action was taken, and what kind, the state, in its official response, ignored the question. We take that to mean that no plan was adopted and that the officials in charge believe, as they insisted earlier, that no mistake was made. The inaction points to a major flaw in oversight of the nation's DNA laboratories. The FBI and international accrediting and inspection organizations have set up elaborate procedures to assure that errors are detected and fixed. But there's a huge loophole: The lab must be willing to blow the whistle on itself. If the lab absolves itself of wrongdoing, and does not adopt a corrective action plan, neither the FBI nor the oversight agencies is likely to know that a problem occurred. Then, during their regular audits, no one would check to see if the problem has been fixed. In other words, the easiest way to ensure that your lab enjoys a sterling reputation is never to own up to your mistakes. That the state lab could avoid scrutiny in the Williams case in light of serious allegations of error by leading authorities in the field is astonishing. Dr. Robert Shaler, director of forensic biology in the New York City medical examiner's office; William C. Thompson, a University of California-Irvine criminologist whose work helped trigger the 2002 shutdown of the Houston Police Department's DNA lab, and Betty Layne DesPortes, a Richmond attorney who chairs the jurisprudence section of the American Academy of Forensic Sciences, all told The Virginian-Pilot editorial board in June that the state appears to have drawn erroneous conclusions from a contaminated slide. The slide, containing sperm taken from Williams' body, was among evidence re-tested four years ago. That's when former Gov. Jim Gilmore reviewed the conviction of Earl Washington Jr., who spent more than 17 years in prison, 9= on death row, for Williams' murder. Gilmore pardoned Washington, but the governor stopped short of pronouncing him innocent, in part because of the confusing DNA results. Sperm found on the bed where Williams was murdered belonged to Kenneth Tinsley, an imprisoned rapist, the lab said. But in a second test, the one now disputed, the state ruled out Tinsley as the source of the DNA in Williams' body. In May, a California scientist retained by Washington's attorneys, determined that the second DNA, just like the DNA on the bed, actually belongs to Tinsley. The three experts reviewed the state lab report and that of the California scientist at the request of the editorial page. They said the California report appears to be correct. Additionally, they said, the genetic findings in the state analysis are so bizarre that the slide from which they come is almost certainly contaminated and thus unreliable as the basis for a conclusion. If the lab failed to recognize obvious problems in its DNA analysis in such a high-profile case, the worrisome possibility is that errors in other cases have gone undetected as well. Beyond that, failure to resolve the case leaves the Williams family in the dark about who murdered their loved one. And it leaves Washington under an undeserved cloud of suspicion. Shaler, who gained national prominence as the point man in identifying the 9/11 World Trade Center victims, predicted in June that professional oversight guidelines would lead to examination of the disputed slide. He said the state would have to investigate and report the problem. The Virginia lab "can't sweep it under the rug, nor should they want to." Yet, the state appears to be doing precisely that. The FBI requires annual audits of labs, such as Virginia's, that contribute information to the national DNA registry. ASCLD/LAB, one of two major accrediting agencies and the one serving Virginia, does inspections every 5 years and requires an annual self-assessment by each lab. But, asked if the system hinges on laboratories being forthright about their own errors, Ralph Keaton, director of ASCLD/LAB, replied: "Yes, it does.... We don't monitor every situation. We expect labs to take appropriate action." When three individuals with national reputations, and no ax to grind in the Williams case, seriously question the state lab's conclusions, the case clearly demands outside review. If the executive branch of Virginia government is unwilling to initiate that step, then the legislature or the judicial branches should demand accountability. It is no small matter when the state lab excludes a suspect based on DNA testing, if in fact that suspect is the donor of the DNA. And when alarms sound about the performance of the state lab, it should not be up to the lab alone to proclaim its innocence. (source: Editorial, Virginian Pilot) ILLINOIS: Life's quest Former Gov. George Ryan continues to push for end of death penalty He's looking more rested. He's focused. He's still gruff and prickly. He's still consumed with murder ... with the names, dates, images, emotions and grisly details of the deaths of hundreds of children and adults. That's the life sentence for former Gov. George Ryan. No clemency. No commutation. No parole. For him, it's self-imposed. At 70, Ryan devotes nearly all his time to advocacy for abolition of the death penalty. A lifelong Republican, Ryan knows full well how unpopular his position is. Despite that, he expects to spend the rest of his life pushing for reform. His metamorphosis from law-and-order death penalty advocate to abolitionist is itself a tortured tale. Ryan grew up in Kankakee, white and middle class. He met Lura Lynn Lowe when they were both high school freshmen at Kankakee High School. He became a pharmacist. The couple had 6 children. Ryan's 1st brush with capital punishment came in 1987, when a close family friend and neighbor, Stephen Small, was kidnapped, held for $1 million ransom, buried alive and killed. Daniel Edwards was sentenced to death for the crime. Justice, Ryan felt, never dreaming it would become his personal moral burden within 14 years. With that exception, Ryan, like most Americans, had virtually no direct contact with the death penalty until he moved into the Executive Mansion in Springfield. Then, with the moral responsibility to grant or deny clemency, the onus of death invaded his life. Son George Ryan Jr. remembers the Thanksgiving weekend in the Executive Mansion when his father was engrossed in death sentence case studies. "He read through them all," his son recalled. "It sickens me to hear people say this is political. In the end, there is just one question. Do we want to be a nation that kills people?" Ryan remains the lone governor in U.S. history granting commutations for 167 pending death penalty sentences, ordering those prisoners transferred to life in prison without parole. He seeks a worldwide moratorium on the death penalty. His transformation from supporter to opponent of the death penalty is the subject of an independently produced documentary "Deadline" that aired nationwide last month on "Dateline NBC." During a 2-hour interview last week at his son's insurance agency in Bourbonnais, Ryan said he knew commutation was not a smart political move. He knew President George W. Bush and Attorney General John Ashcroft were strong supporters of the death penalty. He knew the majority of Americans favor the death penalty. Education, Ryan contends, will change those odds. At one point during the interview, he spread his thick hands over the desk, leaned forward and said with articulation resonating with clarity, "I did not pick this issue. I did not choose this." Later he said, "It was my obligation as a public official. Now it is my responsibility. I do not view this as a burden. It's a task. It's a teaching process. I have firsthand knowledge, and I feel an obligation to help educate." Since leaving office 19 months ago, Ryan has traveled to Europe 3 times speaking on abolition of the death penalty. He's traveled across America, speaking at Harvard, Yale, Stanford, Pepperdine, UCLA, Boston College. He spoke before the United Nations Human Rights Commission in Geneva in April. His advocacy continues despite a 22-count indictment filed against him in December charging him with racketeering, corruption and tax fraud. "Clear-cut retaliation," said University of Illinois law professor Francis Boyle, who nominated Ryan for a Nobel Peace Prize in 2003 and again in 2004. A decision on the 2004 award is expected Oct. 15. "I believe this is clear-cut retaliation for his courageous stand on the death penalty in Illinois. Bush and Ashcroft support and want to expand the death penalty. When the federal government goes after you, it's an awesome experience. I know what happens." Boyle said he has offered to appear as a character witness in support of Ryan. "I have nominated him two times for the Nobel Peace Prize. If the Nobel committee believes it's time to abolish the death penalty, then they must give the award to George Ryan," Boyle said. "The indictments allege he purloined $167,000. That equals $1,000 per person he saved. That shows how little they value human life. Over 2/3 of the people on death row are people of color. The system is shot through with racism and favors the wealthy. We can't have this in the Land of Lincoln. We're better than that." Ryan declines to talk about the indictments and continues to accept speaking invitations in exchange for expenses and sometimes a small honorarium. He usually asks his audiences if anyone knows someone on death row. Rarely is a white hand raised in response. Familiarity usually is limited to minorities in the audience, he said. "That's because the death penalty is applied inconsistently. It's racist," he said, noting also that false convictions are more common than most people suspect. He said even DNA is not 100 percent reliable because of human error, sloppy lab procedures and perjured testimony. Geography also plays a role, with some prosecutors more ready to seek the death penalty than others. "The United States is third behind China and Iran in executions. Not very good company," Ryan said. "Do we really want to be a country that kills people? Do we really want to kill the mentally ill?" If Ryan has changed his position at all in the months since leaving office, it's only to become more convinced that on this issue, America is out of sync with the rest of the civilized world. "Look," he snapped at one point during the interview. "If you think life in prison is a country club, if you think it's easier than the death penalty, just spend a weekend in a 6-by-10 (foot) cell. You'll change your mind pretty fast. Talk with a few inmates who will think about their crimes for the rest of their lives." For people who object to the cost of life in prison, Ryan points out that the death penalty is far more costly and fails as a deterrent. For people who object to medical care for people in prison, Ryan suggests perhaps the system should be changed to help victims cope with the cost of their medical treatment. For those who contend executions offer closure for the families of victims, Ryan says, "I don't know what closure means. There will never be closure. Every day. Every birthday. Every Thanksgiving." He also takes issue with the concept of more humane executions because of the use of lethal injections: "Think of the evolution of the death penalty. No hanging. No shooting. No electrocution. That makes it more culturally acceptable? A prisoner injected with a drug before a theater of witnesses ... So there is no blood, no catching on fire, no feet dangling and twitching. Then society thinks it's not too bad?" Ryan also faults the concept that some crimes are so heinous, only the death penalty will suffice. "Out of respect to the loved one, families do not want anything less than the law allows. If that is life in prison without parole, that is what families need," he said. Most troubling to Ryan is the number of false convictions. In one Illinois study of 25 people on death row, 12 were shown to be falsely convicted. "I do not think Illinois is any worse than the rest of the states," he said. At one point, Ryan said he sounded "like a flaming liberal." Later he said, "This is not a liberal versus conservative issue. This is a human rights issue. ... I'm still a conservative, but as governor you look at things differently. You look at things with an open mind." Ryan said the number of false convictions likely is larger than has been reported. "Once a prisoner is killed, all efforts stop," he said, explaining that the statistics might even be worse than a 50 % accuracy rate. "Would you fly on an airline with a 50 % safety record?" he said. Even a major overhaul of the system will not make him an advocate of capital punishment. No measure of error is acceptable to him when death is the result. Ryan said he had not planned to grant every person on death row in Illinois a commuted sentence to life in prison, but as his final days in office drew close, his frustrations grew. After 3 years of study and a list of recommendations by his specially appointed Commission on Capital Punishment, not one recommendation was enacted. "Not one. It was all held up in the Senate. Was I going to look over my shoulder for the rest of my life? I didn't want to do that. The system was imperfect," he said, explaining the blanket commutation he announced days before leaving office. Included in that act was the convicted murder of Ryan family friend Steven Small. Ryan said his wife of 48 years had progressed with him through his transformation to abolitionist, but this case was a struggle. "God willing, I will keep at this. Unless I'm somewhere in a nursing home," he said. "There's only so much golf you can play." In one sense at least, time is on his side. "The next generation will change," he said. "They next generation will vote on this issue." When "Deadline" was shown at the Sundance Film Festival, Ryan and his wife drove out for the airing. They took clothing for 6 days, but they spent 2 months on the trip. "17 states and 9,000 miles," he said. "We had a great time." Most travel these days is related to death penalty issues. "When I'm asked to speak, I usually say yes. If my health holds up and the Lord is willing, I'll continue," he said. "I will never get away from this. I have accepted that." (source: Peoria Journal Star) CALIFORNIA: Did They Get the Wrong Guy? At first, authorities said Dennis Lawley killed Kenny Stewart on his own. 3 months later, prosecutors said Lawley, a mentally ill man who might have been selling drugs, hired Brian Seabourn to kill Stewart. After Lawley and Seabourn were convicted, Stanislaus County District Attorney James Brazelton said Steven Mendonca was involved in the murder, too. Flash forward 15 years. Seabourn now says he had no help from Lawley, who is on death row at San Quentin State Prison, or Mendonca, who is at the California Men's Colony at San Luis Obispo. Seabourn said he put 2 bullets in Stewart's head to win favor with the Aryan Brotherhood, a white supremacist prison gang. "When I shot him, he kind of like blew back and fell down," Seabourn said this spring in Stanislaus County Superior Court. "And I was thinking, 'Damn, that looks like something you'd see on TV." The court has held a series of hearings this year, at the request of the California Supreme Court, to determine whether Lawley might be innocent. Scott Kauffman, an attorney with the California Appellate Project, said the system failed Lawley, because it let a mentally ill man with a death wish defend himself. "We should all be outraged by this," he said. A string of convicted murderers have told the court that the Aryan Brotherhood put a price on Stewart's head and tapped Seabourn to do the deed. Brazelton -- who prosecuted Lawley, Seabourn and Mendonca -- has testified twice to defend his work. And Judge John E. Griffin, who is presiding over the hearings, must report to the high court, which then will decide whether to order a new trial. Such hearings are rare. Capital punishment was reinstated in California in 1978. Since then, of 591 people sentenced to death, 55 had sentences overturned and were resentenced or released, and 4 have been executed. 7 cases are awaiting retrial, according to the California Department of Corrections. Lawley and Mendonca aren't likely to testify. Kauffman and attorney Bicka Barlow finished presenting their case July 12 without calling either. Deputy Attorneys General David Eldridge and Michael Farrell plan to present the state's case starting Monday, and their witness list does not include the 2. Eva Lawley, 84, is watching closely. She thinks salvation might be near for her son, who said at trial that his goal was to emulate the Beast in the New Testament Book of Revelations. She said Lawley, 61, still thinks he is carrying the sins of others, as his "Beast" would. His mother said she hasn't visited her eldest son in five years, because it is too difficult to see him behind bars. But she speaks to him weekly on the telephone. Eva Lawley prays she will live to see her son exonerated, but hopes to die if the court again concludes that he is a murderer. "He got pulled into it, and now he's having to pay the price," Eva Lawley said. "He wouldn't even kill a snake." Retired Stanislaus County sheriff's Detective Gary Deckard, who testified from a hospital bed in April, said he became suspicious of Lawley after an informant said Lawley and Stewart had fought. The detective found Lawley two days after the murder in a rented cabin at Butler's Camp on South Seventh Street in Modesto, now known as the Del Rio Mobile Home Park. Lawley had been beaten and was wearing a bloody jacket. A .357-caliber Ruger wiped clean of fingerprints was in his closet. A criminalist later confirmed that the gun was the murder weapon. Authorities believed Stewart was killed in Lawley's cabin and dumped on Keyes Road, where his body was found Jan. 22, 1989, according to an affidavit for a search warrant signed by Deckard and Brazelton. Lawley was arrested Jan. 24 and booked on murder and kidnapping 2 days later. He called his parents, who had supported him financially throughout his adult life, to tell them he was in trouble again. Eva and her late husband, Clyde Lawley, declined to bail him out, for fear he would run away and end up in more trouble. "We didn't believe it," Eva Lawley said, "because we knew he wasn't that type of person." 2 weeks later, according to court records, Deckard got a call from a lieutenant in the Red Bluff Police Department. Parolee Monty Mullins had told police there that Seabourn, his former cellmate, claimed to have committed a murder in Modesto. Seabourn was arrested on a parole violation the next day, Feb. 11, 1989. Brazelton filed murder, kidnapping and conspiracy charges two months later. And Lawley was charged with hiring Seabourn to kill Stewart. During earlier legal problems, Lawley had been found incompetent to stand trial. He was sent to Atascadero State Hospital from 1978 to 1982 after he waved a shotgun at a deputy. This time, a defense psychologist said Lawley was a paranoid schizophrenic who probably wanted to be executed, because a death sentence would make him a martyr. He said Lawley has an IQ of 128, in the 97th percentile, but had suffered from delusions since age 12. A judge sided with a psychologist hired by the prosecutors, who said Lawley could understand the charges. The prosecution had 2 key witnesses against Lawley -- Mendonca's girlfriend, Treva Coonce, and David Anderson. In a jailhouse interview, Coonce said Lawley was fuming because Stewart had robbed him of money and drugs, according to an opinion by the California Supreme Court that outlines the testimony at trial. Coonce, a heroin addict going through withdrawal at the time of her interview, said Lawley told Seabourn he would pay to have Stewart killed. She said Mendonca and Seabourn washed Seabourn's El Camino after the murder. At trial, Coonce denied it all. Anderson, who owned the gun used to kill Stewart, said he saw Lawley hand Mendonca a gun, and Mendonca promise to get a job done. Lawley wanted to call 2 of Seabourn's former cellmates to testify that Seabourn killed Stewart for the Aryan Brotherhood. Brazelton successfully argued that the testimony would be inadmissible hearsay, because they had no direct knowledge. Lawley called his father instead. They argued about cryogenics, the colonization of outer space and their long-standing disagreement about Dennis Lawley's attempt to go down in history as the Beast in Revelations. In his closing argument, the prosecutor said Lawley had the only motive to kill Stewart. "Dennis Lawley was mad at him. Why? Because Dennis Lawley got ripped off with his dope and his money," Brazelton said. "Nobody else in this case had a reason to kill Kenneth Stewart." A 4-man, 8-woman jury found Lawley guilty. In the penalty phase, Brazelton told the jury that Lawley had 7 convictions, including assault, escape, check fraud, burglary, being a felon in possession of a firearm and perjury. When it was Lawley's turn, he asked that advisory attorney Bob Winston take over. The judge forced Lawley, who had been warned about the dangers of representing himself, to proceed. Lawley's rambling speech declared Seabourn a "natural man" who couldn't live within society's rules. He refused to defend himself. "I have at least a philosophical objection to begging these people for my life, and I am not going to do it," Lawley said. "I'm not going to do it. I'm not going to do it." Lawley was sentenced to death. Kauffman contends that Deckard and others in the Sheriff's Department ignored the Aryan Brotherhood connection because it didn't fit their theory. He also contends that Brazelton failed to turn over documents that could have helped Lawley and attorney Winston. And he says Brazelton should have reopened the case when Seabourn sent him a letter six years after Lawley was sentenced. "The government has systematically withheld critical evidence," Kauffman said. "They have systematically hid the ball and continue to hide the ball." Deputy Attorney General Farrell disagrees. "We have no interest in keeping an innocent person in prison," Farrell said. "But Mr. Lawley is not innocent." The high court reopened Lawley's case in June 2000, after Kauffman filed an appeal that said Brazelton failed to turn over evidence, such as a letter Seabourn wrote Brazelton in 1996. Brazelton could not find the 11-page letter, but told the court it contained inadmissible hearsay that neither proves Lawley's innocence nor Seabourn's guilt. Shortly before the current hearings, Brazelton's staff found the letter. He sent it to the state attorney general's office, which turned it over to Kauffman. In the letter, Seabourn said Brazelton shouldn't let Lawley die. "This guy isn't guilty of nothing Jim except desperately wanting to have friends, no matter what the cost," Seabourn said. Brazelton said the letter is part of an innocent mix-up. "It did not go through the paper shredder," he said when he testified in March. "It did not get mutilated or torn in any way. In fact, you have it in your hands right now." Brazelton said he heard rumors about an Aryan Brotherhood connection, but didn't put much stock in it because he had evidence pointing to Lawley. He said Seabourn is a pathological liar who tried to make up as many rumors as he could to throw investigators off track. "This was the case from hell," Brazelton said during a break in the proceedings this spring. Kauffman sees a systematic attempt to suppress evidence about the Aryan Brotherhood. He offered these examples: - Mullins told Detective Deckard to look for a letter from James "Jimmy Mac" McDonald in Seabourn's car, according to a transcript of an interview taped Feb. 15, 1989, but Deckard did not mention the letter in a report about the interview. - The attorneys general found the letter in Seabourn's prison file and turned it over to Kauffman this spring, but could not say how it got there. An official notation on the letter says it was confiscated from Seabourn's car on Feb. 11, 1989, and used to validate Seabourn as an Aryan Brotherhood associate. Brazelton said he saw the letter for the 1st time when Kauffman showed it to him. - Guards confiscated two undated letters from Seabourn. In one, Seabourn apologized to Lawley and said he had to do a favor for Blue -- Wendell "Blue" Norris was an Aryan Brotherhood leader in the late 1980s. Brazelton said the letters, which have discovery stamps on them, were turned over to Lawley. Winston said he handled discovery in the case and never received them. - Deckard questioned another former Seabourn cellmate on Aug. 10, 1989, but did not write a report about the tape-recorded interview until Sept. 6, the day Lawley's trial began. Deckard said he fell behind on reports. 3 convicted murderers Kauffman called during recent hearings said the Aryan Brotherhood wanted Stewart dead, and Seabourn admitted killing him. Kauffman said the stories are too consistent to conclude that all three, who are housed in different prisons, are lying. To Eldridge and Farrell, the storyline is too full of inconsistencies to be believed. The one piece of hard evidence favors the state. An expert who recently retested the gun found in Lawley's closet concluded that it is the murder weapon. Seabourn insisted he buried the gun in a field in west Modesto. The judge will have to decide which witnesses he finds more believable: Drug abusers who said Lawley paid Seabourn to kill Stewart, or murderers who said the Aryan Brotherhood told Seabourn to kill Stewart. Eva Lawley's mind was made up long ago. She said Dennis Lawley had no time to deal drugs and no money to pay for a murder. She said her son returned from Spokane, Wash., on Oct. 27, 1988, and agreed to build a shed on his parents' west Modesto home for $1,000. He moved out of the house Dec. 5, but came to work every day until Jan. 3, she said. He paid $325 for rent, put $500 in the bank and had no money to pay for a murder, she said. He was too antisocial to deal drugs, she said, but so starved for friendship that he wouldn't kick dealers out of his home. "He could have stayed here forever," said Eva Lawley, adding that she did not know how sick her son was until he reached his early 30s and started leaving notes saying he was Jesus Christ. "He wanted to be independent." Eva Lawley believes authorities zeroed in on her son, then were too embarrassed to admit the error. The blood on Dennis Lawley's jacket, which made the detective so suspicious, turned out to be his, not Stewart's. Dennis Lawley has been only a short walk away from California's execution chamber since March 1, 1990. He is not the little boy who never missed a spelling word until fifth grade. His mother blames herself, because she couldn't understand his delusions. "I should have demanded Dennis have a lawyer," Eva Lawley said. "He said, 'Mom, it's my life.'" (source: Modesto Bee)
