Sept. 4 USA: Chief Justice Rehnquist dies; The 80-year-old succumbs to cancer at his Virginia home Chief Justice William H. Rehnquist, the conservative anchor of the U.S. Supreme Court who presided over its dramatic shift to the right, died Saturday night after a battle with thyroid cancer. He was 80. Rehnquist's death creates the 1st opening for a chief justice in 19 years and gives President Bush a second opening on the 9-member court - and launches a furious partisan battle over its future. Confirmation hearings are scheduled to begin Tuesday for appeals court Judge John Roberts, a 50-year-old conservative Bush nominated to replace Sandra Day O'Connor after she announced her retirement in July. There was no immediate word about whether the Roberts hearings will be delayed. "President Bush and Mrs. Bush are saddened by the news," said White House counselor Dan Bartlett. "It's a tremendous loss for our nation." Rehnquist was surrounded by his three children when he died in Arlington, Va., a spokeswoman said. "The chief justice battled thyroid cancer since being diagnosed last October and continued to perform his duties on the court until a precipitous decline in his health the last couple of days," she said. A Republican appointed by President Nixon and elevated to chief justice by President Reagan, Rehnquist began as an outspoken conservative and a lone dissenter on the high court. But through the years, as more conservatives joined him on the bench, he found himself shaping the majority of a court that often split 5-4. A strong defender of states' rights, he viewed the powers of the federal government as clearly defined and extremely limited. In his opinion, liberal justices too often crossed the line between interpreting the law and forming public policy. He voted consistently against affirmative action, dissenting in cases upholding the use of busing to integrate public schools, and in 1983 was the sole dissenter in a case that upheld the federal government's policy of denying a tax deduction for Bob Jones University because of its racist policies. He voted against the right to an abortion in the landmark 1973 case of Roe v. Wade, arguing states' rights, and pushed to overturn the decision the rest of his career. He also argued against the notion that the Constitution demands separation between church and state, writing that the idea "should be frankly and explicitly abandoned." He voted consistently to give police more powers and to limit the rights of criminal defendants. In his court opinions and in public speeches, he endorsed speeding up the criminal appeals process, especially in death penalty cases. He presided over the impeachment trial of President Clinton, and after the 2000 presidential election, he sided with the majority in a controversial 5-4 decision that sent George W. Bush to the White House. "His intellect was superior. He had an iron grip on precedent and case law. He was simply brilliant," said James Swanson, senior legal scholar at the conservative Heritage Foundation's Center for Legal and Judicial Studies. "He was extremely well-liked by members of the court. He was a very affable, collegial man." On the bench, Rehnquist was readily identified by the yellow stripes on the sleeves of his robe. He had the gown modified because he said the chief justice should be distinguished from the associate justices. Critics joked that Rehnquist, a fan of music and the arts, looked like he belonged in a Gilbert and Sullivan production. Off the bench, he was an avid player of poker and tennis, and enjoyed hosting the court's holiday party every year, leading the other justices, clerks and staffers in singing Christmas carols. William Hubbs Rehnquist was born on Oct. 1, 1924, in Milwaukee, Wis., the son of a paper salesman, William B. Rehnquist, and Margery Peck Rehnquist. He attended public schools in suburban Milwaukee and grew up in a conservative home where Republicans Alf Landon, Wendell Wilkie and Herbert Hoover were admired as heroes. He attended Kenyon College for a year before enlisting in the Army Air Corps during World War II. He served as a weather observer on the homefront and in North Africa from 1943 to 1946, earning the rank of sergeant. When he returned home after the war, he used the GI Bill to complete his education, earning bachelor's and master's degrees in political science from Stanford University in 1948. 2 years later, he earned a 2nd master of arts degree in government from Harvard, and then returned to Stanford and earned a law degree in 1952. He graduated at the top of his class, 2 steps above Sandra Day O'Connor, who would later join him on the high court bench as the nation's 1st female justice. After law school, Rehnquist clerked for the moderate Supreme Court Justice Robert H. Jackson. In 1953, he married Natalie "Nan" Cornell, whom he had met during his years in law school. The couple moved to Phoenix, where Rehnquist specialized in civil litigation for a local law firm from 1953-69. While there, he was an active Republican Party official, and became known as a strong opponent of racial integration in schools. In the 1964 presidential race, he campaigned for Barry Goldwater. In 1969, President Nixon appointed him deputy attorney general in the Justice Department's Office of Legal Counsel, where he helped form the administration's policies on obscenity, wire-tapping and defendants' rights. Taking several controversial positions, Rehnquist defended the president's policies in Indochina, Nixon's order preventing the release of government documents and mass arrests of peaceful demonstrators. He also supported "no-knock" entries by police, pretrial detentions and electronic surveillance, saying courts were too protective of criminal defendants. When Supreme Court Justice John Marshall Harlan retired in 1971, Nixon tapped Rehnquist, then 47, to succeed him. A controversial confirmation process ensued, with liberal Democrats accusing Rehnquist of racism and unearthing a memo Rehnquist had written while clerking for Justice Jackson. The memo said racial segregation in education was "right and should be affirmed." Rehnquist said he was expressing the views of his former boss, not his own. The Senate eventually confirmed him 65-33. Unafraid of standing alone, Rehnquist often wrote one-man dissents, opposing desegregation and increased rights for women and immigrants. His clerks dubbed him the "lone dissenter" and presented him with a Lone Ranger doll. In a 1985 interview with the New York Times, Rehnquist recalled that he saw himself as a counterweight to the liberal-leaning court of Chief Justice Earl Warren. "I felt that at the time I came on the court, the boat was kind of keeling over in one direction," he said. "Interpreting my oath as I saw it, I felt that my job was, where those sort of situations arose, to kind of lean the other way." By the early 1980s, though, the court was moving rightward, and Rehnquist saw many of his earlier dissents shaping new majority opinions as President Reagan added Justices O'Connor, Antonin Scalia and Anthony Kennedy. In 1986, Reagan nominated him to replace retiring chief Justice Warren Burger. Again liberals fought the confirmation, but the Senate confirmed him. His fellow justices welcomed his ascension and Rehnquist became known as a well-organized administrator of the federal court system and a strong advocate for judicial pay raises and funding for the courts. "He had a dazzling intellect that was impressive, and he wrote very fast and very well," said Herman Schwartz, an American University law professor and author of Right Wing Justice: The Conservative Campaign to Take Over the Courts and editor of The Rehnquist Court. Schwartz said Rehnquist appeared to outsiders as rather "shy and awkward," but to people who knew him, he was "charming." "He was sort of brisk, no games, straightforward. Some said he was too abrupt," he said. "But when he was named chief, all of the justices were pleased." In 1995, Rehnquist had back surgery to repair a herniated disc and afterward suffered pain that forced him off the bench during oral arguments. He often would exit behind the curtain to stretch and pace before returning to his seat. In October 2004, Rehnquist, a longtime smoker, had surgery for a tracheotomy and sat out several months on the bench as he received chemotherapy and radiation treatments for thyroid cancer. He continued to participate in deciding most cases, relying on the briefs and transcripts of oral arguments. A frail Rehnquist, bundled against the cold and leaning on a cane, re-emerged in January 2005 to swear in President Bush for a 2nd term. 5 months later, during the final day of the court's session, Rehnquist announced the final decision of the court's term, a Texas case involving the display of the Ten Commandments. His labored breathing could be heard as he spoke from the bench. On July 15, after months of rumors that he was planning to step down from the bench, Rehnquist declared that he would continue to serve "as long as my health permits." Funeral arrangements are pending. BIO BOX WILLIAM H. REHNQUIST BIRTH DATE: Oct. 1, 1924. EDUCATION: Bachelor's and master's degree, Stanford University, 1948; master's degree, Harvard University, 1949; law degree, Stanford University, 1952. CAREER: U.S. Army Air Corps soldier, 1943-46; law clerk to Justice Robert H. Jackson, 1951-53; private practice in Phoenix, Ariz., 1953-69; assistant U.S. attorney general, Office of Legal Counsel, 1969-71; named to Supreme Court by President Nixon, 1972; elevated to chief justice by President Reagan, 1986. MAJOR CASES: Bush v. Gore, making George W. Bush president in 2000; cases allowing the use of public money for religious institutions, boosting authority of the states and greater government powers for police searches. FAMILY: Married to Natalie Cornell, now deceased; 3 children. (source: Houston Chronicle) TEXAS: Texas crime labs seek accreditation -- Area labs not in danger, expect bigger workload Although the deadline for crime labs in Texas to achieve accreditation was Thursday, as many as 5 labs are still trying to seek accreditation. Texas has about 29 labs accredited by the American Society of Crime Laboratory Directors/Laboratory Accreditation Board. But some labs applied for accreditation as late as last week. "Unless they tell us not to, the process will continue," ASCLD/LAB executive director Ralph Keaton said. The process could take 90 to 100 days for a well-prepared lab, or up to 6 months for labs that are less prepared to meet accreditation criteria, after an application is made, Keaton said. All 13 Department of Public Safety crime labs, and 16 other labs in the state, are accredited by ASCLD/LAB. The National Forensic Sciences Technology Center and the American Board of Forensic Toxicology also accredit labs in the United States. Crime labs used to help solve crimes in the area were not threatened by Thursday's deadline (set by a 2003 law), but labs expect to see an increase in their already-large workload. According to an Associated Press report, labs that failed to meet the deadline will be banned from introducing evidence at criminal trials. It is unknown how many crime labs might close because of the change. The accredited Texas Department of Public Safety Abilene Field Crime Laboratory only tests controlled substances and toxicology and serves 35 counties, ranging from Hardeman County along the Oklahoma border to Concho County, which is east of San Angelo. Forensic scientist Larry Todsen at the Abilene DPS lab said he expects to receive more evidence to process. Todsen said the lab will handle the workload as best as it can. "If cases need to be prioritized, then we'll do that if necessary," Todsen said. The Abilene lab will be hiring a new forensic scientist in the middle of next year to combat the heavier workload, he said. Abilene police also send evidence to the Tarrant County Medical Examiner's Office in Fort Worth. Sgt. Brad McGary said APD sends all evidence except fingerprints from major cases, such as rape and murder cases, when they need results quickly. McGary said APD is not concerned about the possible delay the ME's office may face. "We understand that their stuff will come first," McGary said. "But, they're still faster than the DPS office (in Lubbock). We don't send a lot of stuff; we don't have the crime that other cities have." The quick turnaround the Fort Worth lab produces may be slowed with the deadline for accreditation passing. Todsen said Forensic Consultant Services, a private lab in Fort Worth, closed Thursday. The lab owner didn't seek to acquire accreditation, Todsen said, a process that is generally very costly.The APD will continue collecting fingerprints and using a DPS-owned system called the Automated Fingerprint Index System, McGary said. Investigators at the police department analyze fingerprints collected from local crime scenes. (source: Abilene Reporter-News) ************************** Children of Texas inmates need brotherly influence Until a year ago, 12-year-old Jamar Gipson of Arlington had not seen his father for 11 years. Jamar and his twin sister were only 3 months old when their dad was sent to prison for life on a murder conviction. Thanks to a "big brother," Jamar has made the trip to the East Texas penitentiary three more times since that 1st visit, and he writes to his father a lot -- trying to cheer him up and give him hope. Wiser than his young years would suggest, he told me the other day that his father is behind bars because "he was kind of young and not thinking at the time. If he had come to his senses, he would not be out there now." Unfortunately, this young lad's situation is not unique. "Jamar is one of 70,000 children in North Texas with at least 1 parent in jail," said Charles Pierson, chief executive officer of Big Brothers Big Sisters of North Texas and Jamar's big brother. "70 % of children with a parent in jail will also go to jail unless we as a society step in." Pierson stepped into Jamar's life two years after his first little brother, with whom he had been paired for 10 years, graduated from high school. The North Texas chapter of Big Brothers Big Sisters, which was organized 2 years ago with the merging of the Dallas, Fort Worth and Arlington chapters, began to focus on the children of incarcerated parents after Pierson heard a presentation by former Philadelphia Mayor Wilson Goode about this growing need. "I was so moved," he said. "I came back and said we ought to be a leader in doing that." Big Brothers Big Sisters has officially started a program called "Amachi -- People of Faith Mentoring Children of Promise," which pairs kids of incarcerated parents with caring adults. Pierson naturally understands the positive impact on a child when there is a role model actively involved in his or her life. He notes that some area schools have dropout rates of 40 %, but "94 % of kids with big brothers and sisters graduate." The idea is not for a big brother or sister to become a parent, he said, "but a special friend -- an advocate, teacher, counselor." For Jamar, Pierson has been all those things. "He's a very good person. A very good person," Jamar said of Pierson. "It's like he can do anything." Jamar is a 7th-grader at Workman Junior High School, which he proudly calls "the best junior high in Arlington." He has dreams of being a star in the National Basketball Association or becoming "the best real estate person the world has ever known." I have no doubt that this kid will be a success, and his mother, Erica Gipson, credits much of his enthusiasm and confidence to his involvement with Pierson and the Big Brothers Big Sisters program. But for every Jamar, there are hundreds more who will not get help and encouragement because there simply aren't enough big brothers and sisters to go around. Since its merger two years ago, Big Brothers Big Sisters of North Texas has increased its funding and substantially increased (by 32 %) the number of "matches" it has made between mentors and at-risk youth. Sadly, despite that dramatic jump in kids being served, there has been a 40 % increase in the number of youngsters on the waiting list for 1-on-1 mentoring through the program. The organization needs more adult volunteers who are willing to give 240 minutes a month to a youth in our community. "Four hours a month can change a child's life forever," Pierson said. Although some people believe that one has to be a Mother Teresa or a Martin Luther King to be an effective mentor, Pierson said the program is simply looking for caring adults and their families who will share a little of their lives with a child. Pierson, who didn't have children of his own when he first became a big brother, now has 2 kids, ages 5 and 22 months, who are very much a part of Jamar's life. Last month, Jamar went to church with the family, Pierson said. "My son, Carl, who's 22 months, adores Jamar," he said. "He sits in Jamar's lap -- not mine." All through the service, the child was constantly hugging and kissing Jamar, a scene that brought tears to the woman sitting behind them. "It was a joy to watch," the woman told the Piersons after the service. We do have the ability to touch lives. And by touching lives, we can help change them. That's exactly what Big Brothers Big Sisters is doing. If you'd like to volunteer, contact the organization at one of these numbers: Arlington (817) 277-1148; Fort Worth, (817) 877-4277; Dallas, (214) 871-0876; Denton, (940) 383-4441; Collin County, (972) 423-9559; Sherman, (903) 813-0628. (source: Column, Bob Ray Sanders, Fort Worth Star-Telegram) ILLINOIS: 'CSI' making impact in courts What began as a seemingly routine sexual assault case last year is now one of the leading examples of what may be a growing phenomena. David Banks, 35, was on trial for sexually assaulting a teenage girl in Glen Oak Park last summer. Though he maintained his innocence, prosecutors believed the case was solid. They had DNA evidence. They also had the girl's statements to police immediately afterward and personal items left by Banks at the alleged crime scene. It wasn't enough. A jury here found Banks innocent. Later, jurors told Assistant State's Attorney Jodi Hoos they wanted more evidence. "They wanted the soil found in her cervix tested with the soil at the park. How ridiculous is that?" she said recently. "That's straight out of 'CSI.' With all that other evidence, that's what you focus on?" The popular television show and its cousins that currently dominate the ratings are driving prosecutors wild. They claim jurors are believing what they see on TV is reality and are holding the prosecution to a higher burden of proof. Worse, prosecutors say, much of what you see on TV isn't possible. "Forty percent of the actual items, mechanisms and methods used in the show do not exist," Peoria County State's Attorney Kevin Lyons said. CSI defined So what is this so-called "CSI effect"? A study done in June by the Maricopa County State's Attorney's Office in Phoenix describes it as "unrealistic expectations in jurors' minds about the type of physical evidence that must be produced at trial in order to achieve proof beyond a reasonable doubt." Even the National District Attorneys Association weighed in recently on the matter, issuing a series of recommendations for prosecutors. The association noted, as in the Banks case above, sometimes juries just want what the state can't provide. "The juries may insist that more evidence should have been tested, even if virtually none existed. These types of juror expectations have resulted in finding defendants not guilty - even with irrefutable DNA test results," the association reported. Lyons agreed. "The impression that is left is that science will solve each case, and that's not so," the county's top prosecutor said. "We want the opportunity to talk about the People vs. Johnson, not the People vs. George Jetson." Defense attorneys, however, say that's not the case. Rather, they say it's another volley in the long ping-pong match that is our judicial system. "The fact of the matter is whether it was Perry Mason or Quincy or any of the number of shows that have come in between, when people are on a jury, they want to be like Sherlock Holmes," local defense attorney Hugh Toner said. "I suppose over the years, what they have asked for may have changed, and how they ask and what they expect may have changed, but I think that, nonetheless, people have always wanted more. "It's a way, oftentimes, when they don't feel comfortable making a decision, they say, 'Oh well, there wasn't enough evidence,'" Toner said of jurors. Michele Nethercott of Maryland's public defender office and the head of the state's Innocence Project says she's not even sure there is such a thing as the CSI effect. "To call this a television effect is a misstatement. What jurors are reacting to is bad police work," she said. Rather than jurors being overly demanding, Nethercott thinks jurors are simply reacting to prosecutors' past infatuation with DNA and other forensic tests. "The chicken's coming home to roost here," she said. DNA, she explained, has made it possible to gather evidence from places that prosecutors couldn't before and at the same time, led to overstated claims. "As such, they have created expectations now that are just a logical consequence of going down that path," Nethercott said. Proof is in the print? Another case that could fall under the CSI moniker is that of Ericka Warfield. The 24-year-old Peorian was accused of setting a fire at a Lexington Hills apartment. Jurors acquitted her, saying afterward they needed more, like fingerprints. They also chastised the police for not keeping some items allegedly taken out of the apartment as evidence. "In that case, I made up a list of about 20 things that could have easily been done and that simply weren't done," said her attorney, Joseph Gibson. "The question comes up whether the CSI effect is a bad thing. Had we had a heavier emphasis on scientific evidence on some of these cases up north, maybe some of these guys freed from Death Row would never have made it to death row." Gibson said he's not sure why those tests weren't done. He doesn't think it's laziness on the part of the police. Money could be a reason, he mused, but in the end, it's not that expensive. "But in the last analysis, to raise a fingerprint, all you have to do is slosh a bit of powder around. If you find one, it's as good as gold," he said. Lyons disputes that and says fingerprints can only go so far. He pointed to a recent sexual assault case where a son savagely attacked his mother. Jurors convicted the man, but one juror held out for hours, wanting fingerprint evidence. The county's top prosecutor noted the son was found in the house, alone with his mother, who was on the 2nd floor screaming out the window for help. "She had just had Thanksgiving with 12 people. One fingerprint is Aunt Martha, one is Uncle Joe and one is a salesman from last year. If the fingerprints aren't on file, then we have a bunch of unidentified fingerprints," he said. So, what to do? Prosecutors across the country are trying to adjust. In Phoenix, it's now office policy to question potential jurors during the jury selection process to see who watches the shows and whether they know such depictions are not reality. Hoos says she does that but now goes one step further. "We are now putting on evidence of the negative," the prosecutor said. "At trial, I have put on (crime scene technicians) to show there were no fingerprints" to pre-empt a defense attorney's question of why fingerprints were not done. The National District Attorneys Association, of which Lyons is the Illinois delegate, suggested more testing on physical evidence and educating juries on when forensic tests are or aren't needed. Hoos and the other prosecutors say it's not sour grapes. Losing a case is part of the game, but to lose a case on something that they believe has nothing to with the case, that's what gets them. "Reasonable doubt is tough. You have to sit and look at the facts," she said. (source: Peoria Journal Star) INDIANA: Your turn: The death penalty and mental illness Question: This week, Gov. Mitch Daniels spared the life of Arthur Baird II, a Darlington man who had been scheduled to be executed early Wednesday. Baird's attorneys had argued that his mentally ill condition should have disqualified him from the death sentence. The governor, while acknowledging Baird's mental instability, cited other reasons for clemency. Did Daniels make the right call? Why or why not? Daniels, unfortunately, made the wrong call. Individuals should be held responsible for their actions regardless of their purported mental condition. Baird had the ability to save his victims' lives and consciously chose to murder them instead. His execution should have proceeded. Bert Chapman, Lafayette ** For more reasons than I have room to discuss here, the ultimate penalty in all cases should be life in prison without possibility of parole. The death penalty cannot be made fair, in the first place, and does not represent what society should stand for, in the second. Life is either sacred or it's not; you can't have it both ways. Bill McInerney, West Lafayette ** Republicans very rarely get it right, but there can be no doubt; Daniels made the right call. The death penalty is an abomination to humanity and should have been outlawed 218 years ago. Craig McLochlin, Lafayette ** Baird's still going to die. All the governor did was change the date. Life in prison with no chance of parole. Baird must be mentally ill to prefer that over a chemical cocktail. Jim Stalker, Lafayette ** Sparing the life of any killer is a show of poor judgment by Daniels or anyone in a position to put them to death for their crimes. Mentally ill or not, Baird deserves to be put to death for what he did. Michael Hicks, Lafayette ** If the jury decides for the death penalty, then the death penalty it should be. Daniel Huff, Lafayette ** Yes, the governor made the right call. Quite frankly the death penalty is not worth the hassle. Sentence people who have been found guilty to life without parole. It costs too much, specifically in legal costs all borne by taxpayers, to execute a convicted felon. Roger Wiese, Reynolds ** Life in prison without the possibility of parole means that you know the individual cannot be rehabilitated. Why feed, clothe and otherwise provide for that individual for the rest of his natural life? The death penalty is the ultimate punishment for the ultimate crimes. Robert Walker, Mulberry ** Yes he did. It is about time we recognize mental health is a disease and is in dire need of adequate resources to help those suffering from this problem. Roberta Patterson, West Lafayette ** I'm not entirely sure that Daniels made the right call on this one. But I believe that all murderers, including the mentally ill, should receive at least life in prison without parole. Eleanor Coyle, Lafayette ** Our civilization should be moving away from its barbaric practices of capital punishment. The whole concept of an eye for an eye is dated and vengeful. Tom Birkenholz, Lafayette ** Until recently we executed the mentally retarded. We are still executing the brain damaged and the insane. Yet we call ourselves a Christian nation? Furman A. Powell, Lafayette ** No. Murder is murder any way you slice it. An eye for an eye, a tooth for a tooth, a life for a life. Julia Harper, New Richmond ** Homicide is never right, but is especially evil when the state sanctions it. Thank you, governor, for making this right call, whatever the reasons. John Frigo, Lafayette ** It was a courageous move to spare his life. It would have been easy for the governor to stick to the party line and allow Baird to die. When a liberal makes the same decision, he or she is accused of being soft on crime. Our country is in enough trouble from politicians playing games with the lives of others in order to look tough. Tim Delworth, West Lafayette ** Daniels hasn't made a right call yet. First with daylight-saving time and now by sparing the life of a murderer. If he is ill enough to kill his parents and girlfriend, then why does he deserve to live, and why should I support him for the rest of his life? Wake up, governor, and support the people of Indiana that put you in that office. Tom Tibbett, Lafayette (source: The Lafayette Journal) VIRGINIA: End of Trial Fails to End Uncertainty in '96 Va. Crime Tom and Patsy Williams came to Prince William County Circuit Court last month hoping, praying, really, that the drama playing before them as they sat in the back of Courtroom 4 would help in their grief, give them some satisfaction. Instead, they got more questions. "The whole thing was nauseating," said Tom Williams, 58, whose daughter Julianne was killed in 1996 in Shenandoah National Park. "The only thing I could do was lean over to put my finger in my mouth" and vomit, he said. The Williamses came to Manassas from Minnesota to catch a glimpse of the defendant in the case, Darrell D. Rice, and to see him get sent to prison for the rest of his life. They are convinced that Rice killed their daughter, 24, and her partner, Laura S. "Lollie" Winans, 26. And even though this trial in Prince William was for an unrelated case, they thought it was their only chance at justice. But justice -- for Rice and the victims -- has been elusive in their long and convoluted saga. The government has accused Rice of some of Virginia's most notorious crimes. But after two indictments against him, one in federal court and one in the state, those crimes remain unsolved, leaving the victims despondent and Rice looking to clear his name. "In a sense, Darrell Rice has been dragged through the mud and perhaps unfairly so," American University law professor Ira P. Robbins said. "It's an unfortunate situation for victims and defendants. Guilt doesn't mean anything until it's proven beyond a reasonable doubt." Rice's recent journey through the criminal justice system began in 2002, when then-U.S. Attorney General John D. Ashcroft announced in a nationally televised news conference that authorities had found the man responsible for the Shenandoah killings -- a crime that gripped Virginia in the mid-1990s. The killer's name, Ashcroft said, was Darrell D. Rice, and he was in federal prison for an unrelated crime of trying to abduct a female bicyclist from the same park. Ashcroft said Rice's hatred of women and homosexuality would make him eligible for the death penalty. Less than 2 years later, the case began to unravel. The DNA from the crime scene all but eliminated Rice as a suspect. Just months after a judge dismissed the charges in 2004, Prince William authorities charged Rice in the abduction and assault of a Quantico woman months before Williams and Winans were killed. At a news conference, Prince William Commonwealth's Attorney Paul B. Ebert said the attack on the Quantico woman was linked to the so-called Route 29 Stalker, a man who struck fear throughout Northern and central Virginia in the mid-1990s by trying to dupe more than a dozen female motorists into pulling off the road, telling them there was something wrong with their cars and offering them rides and help. 2 weeks ago in Prince William Circuit Court, prosecutors backed away from any notion that Rice was the Route 29 Stalker and negotiated a plea deal that spared him additional jail time and allowed him to avoid admitting guilt. The Williamses were stunned by the outcome. "It's unfortunate he didn't get more time. I feel the guy is a predator, and it certainly would have made us feel more comfortable, but not in a vengeful sense," Tom Williams said. "But at least it goes on his record as a conviction. I think clearly he doesn't keep being brought up as a suspect because authorities feel he's innocent. Clearly he has demonstrated he's a predator." Rice's mother, Lenna Mays, 66, of Kent Island, Md., sees it another way. "Just reading and hearing all these shocking things was surreal to him," she said. "When we started getting the facts, we wondered, 'How can these people continue to keep making these remarks?' His family and all his friends have known his innocence and have always stood behind him." Rice, 37, a former computer programmer from Columbia, will be released from prison in less than 2 years. In the meantime, the hiker killings and Route 29 stalkings remain unsolved. But like the Williamses, law enforcement authorities maintain that Rice is the perpetrator. "I think he's certainly a viable suspect for the Route 29 Stalker," Ebert said. "I think I would be concerned about his future conduct in society." Virginia State Police and the FBI declined to comment because the investigations are continuing. Making the cases all the more confounding are their ties to another series of notorious crimes during the same period. In Spotsylvania County in 1996 and 1997, Sofia Silva, 16, and Kristin Lisk, 15, and her sister Kati, 12, were abducted and killed. Police in 2002 tied the cases to Richard M. Evonitz, who lived in the area at the time. Evonitz killed himself that year before he could face prosecution. When Rice's attorneys raised the possibility that Evonitz was the Shenandoah killer, prosecutors ordered new forensic tests from the crime scene. An examiner concluded that a hair under duct tape used to bind one of the victim's hands was not Rice's and was similar to Evonitz's. And DNA tests, while not conclusive, did not exclude Evonitz as the source. Rice's attorneys contend that authorities botched the investigation by ignoring clues that Evonitz could be the perpetrator. They were flabbergasted, for instance, when an FBI agent testified last month that forensic evidence from the one Route 29 case that resulted in a death had not been compared with Evonitz's DNA. Alicia Showalter Reynolds, 25, a Johns Hopkins University student, was abducted in 1996 along Route 29 in Culpeper County and killed. "There was a constant assumption and an active effort to stop people from pursuing Evonitz," said Deirdre Enright, one of the three attorneys who defended Rice for free. "It would be shocking to anybody that you wouldn't test against a serial murderer who had been operating in the area at the time. And there is this lock in people's minds that he killed only little girls and not women." The attorneys point to the story of Ann Ferguson, a mail carrier from Orange, Va. She had told police about being stopped near Route 29. Years later, when Rice's attorneys showed her photographs of Rice and Evonitz, she was certain the man who stopped her was Evonitz. Lyell Chapman 55, of Petersburg, W.Va., who used to work with Evonitz at a tool manufacturing company in Fredericksburg and was slated to testify in the Prince William case, said Evonitz often spoke of tricking women to pull off the road by telling them they had a problem with their cars. "When he came into the shop one afternoon, he had said he had been trying to pick up this woman on the highway. But he spooked her out. He started punching the wall and shaking it until it got loose," said Chapman, who said he had not told this story to police because he was asked only about the slain girls. Samson Newsome, a detective in Prince William, acknowledged that the investigation wasn't perfect. In the abduction of the Quantico woman, Carmelita B. Shomo, he said, too many investigators from too many agencies interviewed her, which could be why she gave inconsistent statements. That was especially damaging because she told defense investigators that Evonitz was her attacker. "We should have done a better job back then," he said. "But I don't believe to this day she picked out Evonitz [with the defense investigators]. Evonitz was a pedophile. It's highly improbable that you would have 2 serial killers working in the same area, but it's not impossible." As for Rice, he now is sitting in the Prince William jail, awaiting his return to a federal prison near Richmond. One of the most difficult moments for him, Enright said, was discovering that the Williamses attended his Prince William trial and denounced him to the media. "I said to him, 'Did you know that the Williams family was there all week?' And he said, 'Oh my God, oh my God. Why? To see me?'" Enright recalled. "I said, 'Darrell, I hate to tell you that they referred to you as predator.' He said, 'Oh my God, how can the feds do that to them? That means they're never going to try and find out who did it.'" (source: Washington Post)
