Sept. 24
TEXAS:
Death row appeals system flawed, advocates say
Texas allows inadequate legal work in the final stages of death penalty
cases and provides minimal oversight for attorneys who handle the life or
death claims, judges and advocates contend.
"It's a problem. It needs to be addressed," said Judge Cheryl Johnson, a
Republican on the Texas Court of Criminal Appeals. "But I don't think
there are any easy solutions to it."
Writs of habeas corpus are the court challenges meant to ensure no one
unfairly convicted is executed. Habeas attorneys are supposed to find any
misconduct or mistakes made by the defendant's trial lawyers,
investigators, prosecutors, judges and jurors in the case.
But if a state habeas attorney doesn't find or address a detail, the
inmate may never get another chance to raise it.
Activists say there are several examples in Texas of faulty work in writs
of habeas corpus, the San Antonio Express-New reported in Sunday editions.
In one case, an attorney working on a death row inmate's final state
appeal filed an incomplete and vague petition with at least one error. The
work by attorney Mark Alexander, of McAllen, elicited a 606-page response
from the judge.
"Applicant totally misinterprets what actually occurred in this case,"
State District Judge Noe Gonzalez of Edinburg wrote about one of the
attorney's claims.
A committee of attorneys and citizens formally complained about Alexander
to the State Bar of Texas. But the agency dismissed the grievance against
him.
Alexander remains on a state list of 136 lawyers who can be appointed to
challenge convictions. His former client, Arturo Eleazar Diaz, remains on
death row and contends his case was never really reviewed because
Alexander's actions undermined the appeal.
Alexander concedes it wasn't the best brief and says it was his 2nd habeas
case. "I was learning," he said.
"It wasn't like I just neglected it or whatever," he added. "I had reasons
for what I did. I think my reasoning was sound."
The arguments Alexander made are the last Texas courts will likely hear
about Diaz. They have become part of the case's record.
Traditional safeguards to catch shoddy legal work don't always check this
area of law, experts say.
The State Bar doesn't necessarily discipline attorneys who file worthless
paperwork and leaves that to malpractice lawsuits.
The Court of Criminal Appeals decides which attorneys can work habeas
appointments. But it doesn't ensure the lawyers meet the credentials.
"We don't have any watchdog organization that checks for quality control"
in capital habeas cases, said Catharine G. Burnett, a South Texas College
of Law professor and a member of the committee that complained about
Alexander.
Texas started providing habeas lawyers for death row inmates in 1995.
Seven years later, the Texas Defender Service, a nonprofit monitor of
capital cases, checked nearly all the 263 habeas applications paid for by
Texas. The nonprofit found nearly 40 percent had fatal technical flaws and
provided courts with nothing to consider.
"Nothing has improved" since the study, said Andrea Keilen, director of
the Defender Service.
(source: Associated Press)
*************
Shoddy lawyering can prove fatal in death row appeals
With his client's life on the line, the lawyer appointed to file the death
row inmate's final state appeal cobbled together arguments that were
incomplete, vague and, in at least one place, just plain wrong.
They perplexed the prosecutor and provoked a 606-page response from the
judge.
"Applicant totally misinterprets what actually occurred in this case,"
State District Judge Noe Gonzalez of Edinburg wrote about one of the
attorney's claims.
Appalled by the lawyer's work, a committee of attorneys and citizens
formally complained to the agency that polices attorney misconduct, the
State Bar of Texas.
The result?
The attorney, Mark Alexander of McAllen, remains on the state's list of
136 lawyers who can be appointed to the cases that challenge convictions
and help ensure no one unfairly convicted reaches the execution chamber.
The State Bar dismissed the grievance against Alexander. His former
client, Arturo Eleazar Diaz, remains on death row, arguing the courts
never really reviewed his case because Alexander botched the appeal.
Confusing as they may have been, Alexander's arguments are the last words
Texas courts are likely to hear about Diaz. They remain fixed in the
record, an example of a dilemma apparent to observers of all political
stripes:
Texas tolerates and even finances questionable legal work in the closing
chapters of its death penalty cases - the court challenges known as
applications for writs of habeas corpus.
"It's a problem. It needs to be addressed," said Judge Cheryl Johnson, a
Republican on the Texas Court of Criminal Appeals. "But I don't think
there are any easy solutions to it."
Examples of troubling habeas cases abound, activists say. Just last month,
Texas executed Justin Fuller, whose appointed lawyer filed a habeas
challenge with rambling claims, glaring typos and incoherent repetitions.
Another execution is scheduled in January for an inmate whose appointed
lawyer filed two pages - upward of 100 is more common - that raised only
one claim, and experts say it was fatally flawed.
Yet another habeas attorney failed to show the main witness against his
client had recanted. With help from other lawyers, that inmate, Anthony
Charles Graves, now is off death row and awaiting a retrial.
The habeas attorney's job is to catch misconduct and mistakes made by the
defendant's trial lawyers, as well as the investigators, prosecutors,
judges and jurors who touched the case beforehand.
If the state habeas attorney misses a detail, the inmate may never get
another chance to raise it. An inmate can try filing in federal court,
but, except in rare extenuating circumstances, federal judges won't
consider anything that wasn't already raised in state court.
It's an area of law that goes largely unchecked by traditional safeguards
against shoddy legal work. For instance:
The State Bar disciplines lawyers who file nothing at all for their
clients, but not necessarily attorneys who file worthless paperwork. It
leaves those to malpractice lawsuits.
Lawyers who mishandle divorces, employment disputes or other civil matters
can be sued by their clients. But not in criminal cases. The law
essentially forbids malpractice claims from convicts.
The Court of Criminal Appeals decides who's qualified to handle habeas
appointments, but has done little, if anything, to ensure lawyers actually
live up to their credentials.
Trial attorneys in death penalty cases must, by law, perform to certain
constitutional standards. When, for example, lawyers fail to adequately
investigate, their clients can get do-overs. Not in Texas' habeas cases.
By contrast, 14 of the nation's 37 states with the death penalty hold
habeas attorneys to the same standards as trial lawyers.
"We don't have any watchdog organization that checks for quality control"
in capital habeas cases, said Catharine G. Burnett, a South Texas College
of Law professor and a member of the committee that complained about
Alexander.
A poor track record
Habeas corpus is the Latin term for the centuries-old legal tool that
double-checks the fairness of a conviction or punishment. In capital
cases, it acts as the executioner's gatekeeper.
Unlike the direct appeals that automatically follow every death sentence
and examine what might have gone wrong at trial, applications for writs of
habeas corpus dig deeper.
Not confined to what occurred in the courtroom, habeas attorneys are
supposed to consider the whole picture, from what detectives did at the
crime scene to what jurors discussed in the deliberation room.
It's a daunting responsibility, and many qualified attorneys steer clear
of it, partly because they say the amount the state will pay - up to
$25,000 - won't cover what's required for the sizable task. Comparable
cases in federal court normally pay up to $35,000 in legal fees alone, not
including investigative expenses.
Texas started supplying habeas lawyers for death row inmates in 1995. 7
years later, a nonprofit monitor of capital cases, the Texas Defender
Service, looked at what the state was getting for its money.
Reading all but a dozen of the 263 habeas applications bankrolled by
Texas, the nonprofit found nearly 40 % had fatal technical flaws and
provided "nothing for the courts to consider."
Since the study, "nothing has improved," said Andrea Keilen, director of
the Defender Service.
Mark Alexander was preparing a habeas application around the time the
Defender Service completed its study. His client, Arturo Eleazar Diaz, had
been convicted of stabbing his victim dozens of times during a 1999
robbery in McAllen.
Filed in 2002, Alexander's petition crammed 19 separate arguments into 35
pages. Its brevity came at the expense of clarity.
When Alexander complained the prosecutor had made inflammatory remarks to
the jury, he never cited specifics. Judge Gonzalez responded with a shrug,
writing: "It is practically impossible to discern which particular
comment, if any, he believes had been objectionable."
When Alexander criticized the trial attorneys for failing to discover
potentially significant evidence, specifically "the tape" and "all the
witnesses," he never identified the tape. Or the witnesses.
2 paragraphs long, his final assertion was that jurors hadn't been told
how long parole laws would keep Diaz locked up if he received a life
sentence - crucial information for any jury weighing between prison time
and lethal injection.
"Simply not true," the judge stated in his order rejecting all Alexander's
claims. The record showed the jury had been given precisely that
information.
What Alexander's petition failed to include was Diaz's contention that his
trial lawyer spent only 15 minutes discussing the plea bargain offered by
prosecutors.
Had Diaz better understood the plea and the risks of trial, the inmate
says, he would have accepted a life sentence. When he tried raising this
issue in federal court, the judge there said it was too late.
No way to grade quality
By chance, Diaz's case caught the attention of a State Bar group concerned
about the quality of appointed counsel, the Committee on Legal Services to
the Poor in Criminal Matters.
Alarmed by the Defender Service's study, committee members decided to look
at random habeas petitions. Overall, they weren't impressed. One case
especially disturbed them.
The committee's minutes show the group voted 8-1 to file a grievance.
Committee members wouldn't name in interviews the subject of their
complaint, but court documents identified Alexander as the target and,
although he says it was unjustified, he acknowledged the grievance.
3 months ago, committee members learned the State Bar's disciplinary
office had dismissed the complaint against Alexander without a hearing. By
its standards, his work didn't violate the bar's rules.
"It was frustrating to us," said Michael K. Moore, a committee member and
political science professor at the University of Texas at Arlington. "It
never saw the light of day."
Reached by phone, Alexander said the grievance, together with the heart
attack he survived about a year ago, have convinced him to steer clear of
capital cases.
Alexander said his medical problems have blurred his memory so that he no
longer remembers enough to explain every assertion in Diaz's case. But, he
insisted he labored long and dutifully on the case.
The $13,040 bill he submitted to Hidalgo County listed 326 hours of work,
the equivalent of 2 months. Primarily, Alexander said, he knew the habeas
represented Diaz's last chance to present new claims.
As a result, Alexander said he alleged things he couldn't prove simply to
put them on the record. That way, if someone eventually found evidence to
bolster them, the issues could be resurrected in federal court.
It wasn't a perfect legal brief, Alexander concedes, but in his defense he
says it was only his second habeas case. "I was learning," he said.
"It wasn't like I just neglected it or whatever," he added. "I had reasons
for what I did. I think my reasoning was sound."
Neglecting a case would violate ethical rules for attorneys. The State Bar
regularly disciplines lawyers who collect fees and then file nothing or
abandon a case before it's over. But if attorneys file glaringly bad
claims, the bar typically does nothing.
The bar's investigators find it difficult to prove that someone who worked
on a brief for more than 100 hours neglected the case, said Betty
Blackwell, chairwoman of the State Bar's Commission for Lawyer Discipline.
Grading the quality of legal briefs is another challenge.
"Are you going to discipline somebody for a C, D or F?" she said. "The
rules don't really address that."
Blackwell, like many others, believes the job of watchdog belongs to the
Court of Criminal Appeals, the tribunal that reviews every habeas
application and vets the list of attorneys who can be appointed to capital
habeas cases.
Members of the court, in turn, want the State Bar to take the lead.
Cheryl Johnson, one of two judges at the court who vet the list of habeas
lawyers, said the nine judges there disagree about what to do with
attorneys who submit abysmal habeas petitions.
Some believe that only a formal reprimand from the State Bar would justify
yanking a lawyer's name from the roster. That was the issue with at least
one attorney whose name, Johnson said, doesn't belong on the list.
"I've been trying to get him off since I reached the court in 1999," she
said, "and I cannot get any support for it because he has no disciplinary
history with the bar."
A check on the system
As with anything involving the death penalty, personal biases cloud the
discussion of habeas cases.
Judges and lawyers comfortable with capital punishment won't necessarily
be troubled by a habeas application that fails to make any reasonable
arguments.
In their eyes, lousy arguments in a habeas case are likely the sign of a
defense lawyer grasping at straws because the conviction was fair and
just.
"I'm not aware of and I don't believe there are cases where there's gross
injustices based on ineffective assistance at the post-conviction writ
stage," said Williamson County District Attorney John Bradley, who once
worked at the Court of Criminal Appeals.
By contrast, opponents of the death penalty believe reasonable claims can
be found in most capital cases. To them, superficial habeas applications
signal a lack of effort or ability.
"In every case I know of ... where someone didn't do their duty as a
habeas lawyer and someone else came along and did it, there were new
claims that were found," said Jim Marcus, a lawyer with the University of
Texas Capital Punishment Clinic.
Marcus can point to such a case in Bexar County. As much as any, it
demonstrates why the quality of habeas counsel matters.
Ricky Eugene Kerr was sentenced to death in 1995 for the murder of his new
landlady and her 42-year-old son after they cut off his water and moved to
evict him.
His appointed habeas lawyer, Robert A. McGlohon Jr., had 3 years'
experience as a lawyer and, though he had been a staff attorney for the
Court of Criminal Appeals, he never had handled a death penalty case.
Suffering from a debilitating illness and a serious misunderstanding of
habeas law, McGlohon filed a single, generic claim critiquing habeas law.
Nowhere did his brief say anything about Kerr's trial.
The trial court, State District Judge Sharon MacRae, rejected the
petition. So did the Court of Criminal Appeals.
A few months later, Marcus, then with the Defender Service, interceded. He
took the case to federal court, where he showed how McGlohon had
mishandled Kerr's habeas application. The federal judge was appalled.
Concluding that Kerr never had a fair habeas petition, U.S. District Judge
Orlando Garcia kicked the case back to the state courts. Confronted by the
judge's ruling, the Court of Criminal Appeals relented and made an unusual
exception. It allowed him to refile his habeas petition.
The 2nd time around, Kerr was represented by Marcus and Kathryn Kase, an
attorney with the Defender Service. They had plenty to say about Kerr's
trial.
They showed that Kerr's trial attorneys had never shown jurors a full
picture of the man on trial. The defense team had been so confident it
would win, it only started preparing for the punishment phase after the
guilty verdict.
By then it was too late to complete the detailed research expected in
capital cases. Kerr's relatives testified, but the jury never heard
several potentially mitigating details about the tattooed defendant with a
history of domestic violence and petty crimes.
Kerr had endured an abusive childhood and had helped care for 2 brothers
with mental retardation and an ailing grandmother. He had a history of
head injuries, drug abuse and learning disabilities, possibly because of
fetal alcohol syndrome.
At least 1 juror said the new information might have convinced her to
spare Kerr, and Judge MacRae revised her previous findings. Earlier this
year MacRae sent her conclusions to the Court of Criminal Appeals, where
they are under review.
This time, she urged the court throw out Kerr's death sentence.
(source: San Antonio Express-News)
*********************
Children of slain officer share thoughts----Suspect doesn't have much to
say during interview in the county jail
Juan Leonardo Quintero, accused of killing a police officer was calm and
polite Saturday when interviewed briefly by a Houston Chronicle reporter
but would not comment at all about the incident that has landed him in the
Harris County Jail.
Quintero, 32, who police said has confessed to shooting veteran Houston
police officer Rodney Johnson in the head on Thursday from the back of a
patrol car, gave answers to a reporter's questions that were short and
provided no information.
Asked about the officer's slaying, he immediately replied, "I can't say
anything."
Asked if he felt any remorse, Quintero paused, then said, "I really can't
talk without my lawyer, ma'am."
Asked whether his illegal immigration status was a factor in the shooting,
Quintero again apologized politely and said he couldn't comment. The
interview ended shortly after.
After Johnson stopped Quintero for speeding near Hobby Airport on
Thursday, Quintero was handcuffed and placed in the back of the patrol
car. Police said Quintero was able to get his cuffed hands in front of
himself, draw a concealed pistol and shoot Johnson four times in the head.
On Saturday, in interviews at Johnson's mother's house in Houston, 3 of
his 5 children talked about their loss.
"My daddy wouldn't want us to hate him (Quintero). That's the kind of man
he was," said 16-year-old Astin Johnson.
"My daddy's life was taken for no apparent reason," said Amber Johnson,
17.
Their daily wakeup call included "Big Daddy" playing classic Michael
Jackson music. Mowing the lawn on Saturday was an occasion for him to don
his cowboy hat.
"He loved being a father, and he loved being a police officer. From the
time we were little, he was always bringing us to the station. He took us
everywhere with him," said Amber.
Astin, whose 16th birthday was Wednesday, had a date with her father for
dinner at Pappadeaux's on Friday at 6:30 p.m.
"My sister and I were at school on Thursday when our mom came and told us
what had happened. She said, 'Your daddy got shot,' which didn't register,
and then, 'He got killed.' I think I kind of collapsed but really don't
remember. I just can't imagine anyone wanting to hurt him. Everybody loved
him. It still doesn't seem real," said Astin.
Astin, Amber and their brother Corrigan, 14, all attend Yates High School.
"He used to tell us, 'Don't even think of bringing home any C's because if
you do you'll be seeing me,' " Amber said.
His enthusiasm infused the family's daily life.
"Back when Survivor came out, he put up a tent in the backyard and gave us
an hour to get ready. He'd come out periodically and we'd have races to
win candy. It was so funny," said Astin.
She added, "He was the kind of dad that made things happen. If he was
doing something, it was going to be big."
Johnson, who was 6-foot-5, was often approached by people asking him which
football team he played for.
"He would try to tell them that he didn't play football. They wouldn't
believe him, so he would go ahead and sign an autograph for them," Astin
said. "He thought it was funny."
"His whole life he was about becoming an officer. People were always
trying to get him to play football because he was so big, but he never
wanted to," said Johnson's sister, Susan Johnson, 34.
"After my father died in 1999," she said, "Rodney took over the
responsibility for being the man of the family. That's the kind of guy he
was. But he never missed an opportunity to mess with his younger brother
David. Every time they saw each other they would say, 'Let me see your
guns' and compare bicep size."
His sense of humor always came out at family gatherings.
"He was just plain funny," Amber said. "I know that people say that all of
the time, but he was. Every time he could get the family together he did -
all of my brothers and sisters, cousins, you name it. The more the
merrier."
(source: Houston Chronicle)
*************
Trial scheduled in capital murder case
Trial is scheduled this week for a Greenville man, charged with capital
murder involving the strangulation death of his mother.
The Hunt County District Attorney's office has waived the death penalty in
the case of Byron Trent Bayer, should he be convicted of capital murder.
Bayer could be the first defendant in a Hunt County capital murder case to
face life in prison without parole if convicted of capital murder.
Bayer has pleaded not guilty to the charge, filed in connection with the
strangulation death two years ago of his mother, Patsy Bayer.
Jury selection is scheduled Monday in the 354th District Court.
Bayer, 41, is accused of killing Patsy Bayer, 63, in early October, 2004
at the home they shared in the 6500 block of Sayle Street, while in the
course of committing robbery.
Authorities believe Bayer then stole his mother's sport utility vehicle
and used at least one of her credit cards before he was caught near a
local motel early on the morning of Oct. 9, 2004.
The officers reported finding Bayer behind the wheel of the vehicle, then
took him into custody in connection with a driving while intoxicated case
filed with the Hunt County Court-at-Law in August, 2001.
According to court records, Byron Bayer was arraigned on the charge in
February, 2002, but never appeared for any further hearings. A 2nd charge,
of bail jumping/failure to appear, was issued in June, 2002.
(source: The Herald-Banner)
MARYLAND:
Yeah, death is cruel sometimes
Reader Elaine Forte writes: "Why all of the concern over Vernon Evans
feeling pain at his execution? Did he worry about the pain his victims
felt when he killed them? This is the reason killers get the death penalty
- to pay for their crimes. It is not the state's fault that he was a drug
user with messed-up veins. Any thoughts on this subject, Dan?"
Yeah, thanks for asking, Elaine. I think the death penalty is barbaric and
immoral. The state has no business killing people, even killers. So, for
me, the debate about how someone is put to death -- arguments about
methodology and whether one type of killing is more torturous than another
-- is beside the point, a ghoulish sideshow. We should just not be in this
business.
If I were in public leadership -- say, a governor or senator -- I would be
saying these things as frequently as possible. People who agree with me,
who are in elected office, refrain from speaking out against the death
penalty because they fear being labeled soft on crime. Hillary and Bill
support the death penalty -- or so they say. Michael Steele says he
opposes it but, as lieutenant governor in Maryland since 2002, has neither
said nor done anything to stop it, again probably in fear of being labeled
soft.
I am not soft on crime -- I think killers should be locked up and put
away, for good. The state, our government, should not lower itself to the
stature of the killer.
Here are excerpts from earlier columns on the subject:
I'd like to respond to some of the many assertions I heard people make -
or I read in their e-mails - in the days before and immediately after the
Steven Oken execution. There were recurring themes, so I picked the quotes
that best sounded them.
"I believe the death penalty should not be looked at as a means to deter
crime. Rather, if you are willing take the life of another the state
should require your life in return."
Supporters of the death penalty have been saying this for years, without
regard to the calculus. We'd have to put to death hundreds of Marylanders
- and thousands of Americans, in time - to kill every killer and meet that
eye-for-an-eye imperative. We'd have to buy lethal chemicals by the barrel
and establish a state crematorium just to keep up with demand.
"I am certain that if the appeals process was shortened and convicted
felons didn't sit in jail for years earning their degrees, the death
penalty would be a deterrent."
Yes, and if history is any guide, we'd probably execute some innocent guys
along the way. But what's one or two mistakes when we're talking about the
expeditious eradication of killers? The people who argue this point never
seem to acknowledge the deterrent quality or punitive power of life
sentences without parole.
"For better or worse, execution absolutely guarantees that the murderer
will not murder again."
Of course. But life without parole approaches the same promise without
forcing the state to load up a syringe with succinylcholine chloride.
"How many of those who live in ivory towers and are opponents of capital
punishment have ever been the victim of a violent act or know the loss of
someone who has been tortured and killed by another human being?"
Ever get called for jury duty? Ever notice the number of hands that go up
during voir dire, when the judge asks prospective jurors who have been the
victims of crime - or the relatives of victims of crime - to identify
themselves? It's startling. But it's also irrelevant. What the state does,
it does in all our names. What the state does is everyone's business. I'm
tired of hearing that the victims of violent crime - or the relatives of
victims of crime - have the exclusive say in this matter and that the rest
of us aren't qualified to render an opinion because we can neither claim a
homicide in the family nor appreciate horrific tragedies endured by
others.
"It was poor judgment on the part of the Attorney General to make such a
public pronouncement [against the death penalty] on such a controversial
issue."
Someone said this about Joe Curran, even as the attorney general's
assistants rushed off to various courts to argue for the execution of
Oken. Apparently, there was concern that Curran, a Democrat who opposes
the death penalty, might keep his staff from making the state's case.
Obviously, he didn't. Nor did he stand in the way of three other
executions that occurred earlier on his watch. By contrast, no one seemed
overly concerned about the Republican governor's bias in support of the
death penalty, or his myopia. He's been dismissive of questions raised
about racial and jurisdictional disparities in the application of capital
punishment in Maryland; he made it clear during his 2002 campaign that he
wasn't going to hold up executions despite claims that the system was
terribly flawed.
"How about we build the new prison to house all the murderers next to your
house?"
Sorry, I don't think we have the right zoning. Besides, there's no need.
We've got space, assuming the governor doesn't tear down Super Max.
Housing murderers for life - and not putting them to death - is what a
civilized society does. It's a measure of our decency. There's nothing
uplifting about state-sanctioned murder. For proof, I offer the next
statement, from a reader:
"One day Channel 11 asked if lethal injection was `cruel and unusual.' My
response was, `Well, it's pretty much like putting your dog to sleep,
which makes it way too humane.'"
Look, I hate the death penalty. It's barbaric. It's homicidal retribution,
and homicidal retribution breeds and feeds violence in a society. The good
society wouldn't tolerate this. The good society would view human life as
inviolate to the extent that the state may not kill in cold blood. You
can't accept the proposition that the state has the right to take a life
in cold blood and call yourself civilized. You can't have it both ways.
(source: Baltimore Sun)
FLORIDA:
Lawyer's true-life crime tale a sizzler
A book about the 1991 trial of an ex-policeman and bodybuilder accused of
killing three men in the Everglades has become a must-read at the Broward
County Courthouse.
The hottest case at the Broward County Courthouse these days is the 1991
murder trial of two bodybuilders charged with the execution-style murders
of three men along a deserted road in the Everglades.
The trial of Gilbert Fernandez Jr. -- an ex-cop and former Mr. Florida
bodybuilding champion -- and Bert Christie captivated and horrified South
Floridians. Police said the pair organized a phony drug deal to lure
Walter Leahy Jr., Alfred Tringali and Richard Robertson out to the
Everglades, where Fernandez shot them in the head.
The trial was riveting, with tales of gun-toting weight lifters, a Miami
Dolphins player who hung out with the accused, and the specter of several
other unsolved murders. The media circus surrounding the yearlong trial
was exceptional, even by current standards.
Fernandez and Christie are serving life sentences in state prison, but the
case has come back to life with the publication of a new book by
Fernandez's defense attorney, John Contini.
Danger Road: A true crime story of murder and redemption tells the story
of the trial and stars attorneys, judges, bailiffs and clerks who still
work at the courthouse.
The book has become a must-read at the courthouse. Nearly everyone it
seems has a copy -- and an opinion on Contini's portrayal of courthouse
personalities.
Beth Brand, the court clerk during the trial, hasn't read the book yet --
she's saving it for an upcoming vacation -- but says co-workers are
buzzing about the depictions of every character, especially now-retired
Judge Robert Tyson, who is portrayed as a merciless adversary of the
defense.
''It's about here, so it makes it that much more interesting,'' she said.
Contini, who published the book through a small company of which he is
part owner, says the initial printing of 2,000 books has nearly run out.
He's been selling the book at restaurants like the 84 Diner and Cafe
Europa, as well as at area Christian bookstores.
Major booksellers also seem to be taking an interest. Borders recently
ordered 300 copies of the books, and Ingraham, one of the country's
largest book distributors, is also buying 500.
THE 'LUSTBUSTER'
Contini started his career as an obscenity prosecutor at the Broward State
Attorney's Office in the 1980s, where he was known as the ''Lustbuster''
for his work against illegal X-rated businesses. (He was also known as the
''Herculean Hedonist'' for his off-duty activities at local bars and
clubs.)
He moved into criminal defense in the late '80s, winning an acquittal for
Humberto Gallo, charged in the murder of a motorist in a traffic dispute
on Interstate 95.
When he took on Fernandez's case in 1990, Contini was a new father and a
lukewarm Christian.
In the book, he writes about his own family life and chides himself for
getting too close to his client's family. He also chides himself for his
wavering faith -- he later became a born-again Christian and talks openly
about his transformation.
In an interview last week, Contini said he began writing Danger Road in
2003, not long after his shift from blockbuster murder cases to less
glamorous personal-injury work.
''I wanted to dump my bucket and get a lot of this stuff out of me,'' he
said. He also wanted to reveal the truth about attorneys' motivations and
show what a trial is really like.
''It's not about justice at all,'' he said. ``It's about winning at all
costs.''
Contini wrote the book on his laptop, working at Starbucks coffee shops
around Broward. He plans to read from Danger Road at several local
Starbucks this fall.
Contini, a sociable man who would rather conduct meetings in coffee shops
than in his office, enjoys being at the center of things. Danger Road is
making him a hot topic of conversation again and brought in extra
business.
''I've been blessed,'' he said of the attorneys who have read the book and
referred work to him.
Broward Circuit Judge Cynthia Imperato was a prosecutor in the case, her
first felony trial as an attorney. Along with Judge Tyson, Imperato and
the other prosecutors are portrayed as Contini's sworn enemies, villains
eager to prevent him from catching a break.
''There was a lot of animosity all around,'' Imperato said in a telephone
interview last week. She added that she and Contini have since made peace
and went to lunch shortly after the book's publication.
FAMILIES DISMAYED
But the families of victims have been dismayed by the book's appearance,
which forces them to relive the murders of their loved ones.
''It's been really tough on them,'' said Imperato, who remains in touch
with the families. ``They didn't want the book written. They thought it
was unfair that [Contini] could profit on their grief.''
The book reads like a who's who in Broward County, circa 1991. Seemingly
everyone has some connection to the people in the book, either through the
courthouse or the gym that Fernandez and Christie frequented.
County Court Judge Jay Spechler, who has read Danger Road, remarked that
he once wrestled in high scool -- and lost -- to Tommy Felts, who was
murdered in 1985, but was thought to have been an accomplice.
''You really enjoy it if you work here,'' said Denise Hughes, Tyson's
judicial assistant at the time of the trial who now works for County Court
Judge Robert Diaz.
She merited several mentions, and jokes that people around the courthouse
have requested her autograph.
For Contini, Danger Road is only the first of several true-life trial
books he hopes to write.
Next up? Guilty as Sin, a book about his Christian identity and career in
criminal defense.
''I think everybody has a book in them,'' he said. ``It's just finding the
time to do it.''
(source: Miami Herald)
*****************
Death Penalty A Conundrum For Christians
Silence fell on the protesters as 6 o'clock closed in Wednesday.
Across a 2-lane highway, Florida State Prison officials were preparing to
execute convicted cop killer Clarence Hill.
Protesters stood in the shade of four large trees. Some prayed. Others
held signs or wore shirts denouncing capital punishment.
"An eye for an eye makes the whole world blind," one shirt said. A poster
depicting Jesus sitting at a woman's feet said: "The heart of God's love
is mercy. Whatever you do unto the least of these, you do unto me."
Mark Elliott, a representative of Floridians for Alternatives to the Death
Penalty, called the death penalty "un-Christian" and "anti-Christian."
"2000 years ago, there was another execution, and we were told that we
knew not what we did," he said. "All that time has passed, and what have
we learned?"
To those who oppose the death penalty on religious grounds, neither God
nor Jesus nor the Bible sanctions executions. To them, the commandment
"Thou shalt not kill" means just that: no killing, by anyone, for any
reason.
Many other Christians read the same Bible but, drawing on the guidance of
their faith, come to the opposite conclusion: that, at the very least, God
allows capital punishment and, at most, he mandates it.
"All things objective pass through the subjective," said Joseph Davis, an
assistant professor of religion at Southeastern University in Lakeland.
"There's no question that you can use the Bible for anything, and you can
definitely come up with different conclusions on the death penalty."
It's How You Read The Bible
Polls have shown that a majority of Americans who call themselves
Christian support capital punishment.
Gallup polls taken from 2001 through 2004 found that more than 70 % of
Protestants and 66 % of Catholics support the death penalty. 57 % of
people who said they had "no religious preference" support capital
punishment.
That support would seem to be at odds with many of the major
denominations, including the Roman Catholic and United Methodist churches,
which oppose capital punishment.
The Southern Baptist Convention and the Lutheran Church, Missouri Synod,
support the death penalty. Other denominations, such as the Presbyterians,
are divided - the Presbyterian Church (U.S.A.) opposes the death penalty,
and the Orthodox Presbyterian Church favors it.
Experts say it's all in how people read the Bible.
To believers who interpret the Bible as the literal word of God, verses
such as Genesis 9:6 ("Whoever sheds the blood of a human, by a human shall
that person's blood be shed; for in his own image God made mankind.")
provide scriptural support for capital punishment.
"It's not a vengeance kind of thing," said Kenyn Cureton, a spokesman for
the Southern Baptist Convention in Nashville, Tenn. "It's an understanding
that human life is sacred. When you take a human life wrongfully, you
forfeit your own."
Dale Recinella doesn't see it that way.
Recinella, a Catholic chaplain who ministers to inmates on Florida's death
row, spent 5 years researching and writing "The Biblical Truth About
America's Death Penalty."
His study led him to believe the Bible does not condone capital punishment
as practiced in the United States. He pointed to the Book of Exodus,
Chapter 2, which described what Moses did after seeing an Egyptian beat a
Hebrew slave:
"Glancing this way and that and seeing no one, he killed the Egyptian and
hid him in the sand."
"In any death penalty state in America, Moses is on death row," Recinella
said. "But God didn't mandate Moses be killed. Instead, he sent him into
exile. Why would God mandate that anyone who takes a human life has to be
killed and then not do it with Moses?"
Davis, the Southeastern University professor, said the Bible supports
capital punishment because our current government allows it, a theory
known as "sphere sovereignty."
He pointed to a verse in the Book of Romans that calls on a Christian to
"submit himself to the governing authorities, for there is no authority
except that which God has established."
"Here, Paul is simply saying he believes that part of God's common grace
is the establishment of government," Davis said. "In that sphere,
government has been given certain power and responsibility, and part of
that power is capital punishment."
Remembering Amanda Brown
Across from the prison Wednesday, one man stood alone in an area marked
for execution supporters. It was Roy Brown of Tampa. 8 years ago, Brown's
7-year-old daughter, Amanda, was kidnapped and murdered by Willie Seth
Crain.
Crain now sits on death row.
Brown is waiting for Crain to be strapped to the gurney and injected with
the same fatal concoction that ended Clarence Hill's life.
He comes to executions to talk to reporters and keep his daughter's name
alive. He doesn't carry a sign or a Bible or anything indicating his
support of the death penalty. Instead, he wears a shirt with a picture of
Amanda printed on the front.
Brown, raised a Southern Baptist, stayed away from church for years. But
he never forgot what he learned in his formative years.
"I believe in what the Bible says: eye for an eye, tooth for a tooth. I
grew up that way. You kill someone, you got to die."
(source: Tampa Tribune)
OHIO:
Is he a new man?
Jeffrey D. Lundgren claims he's changed and does not deserve to die for
killing a family of 5
Kirtland cult leader Jeffrey D. Lundgren is claiming he is a changed man
and does not deserve to die for brutally killing a family of 5.
Lundgren, 56, is scheduled to be executed Oct. 24 - more than 16 years
after a Lake County jury found him guilty of five counts of aggravated
murder and 5 counts of kidnapping.
Lundgren met privately last week with an Ohio Parole Board member to argue
his case.
On Tuesday, his Cleveland-based attorney, Jim Jenkins, will ask a 9-member
board in Columbus to show him mercy during a clemency hearing.
"In essence, we want to express remorse," said Jenkins. "Certainly,
hindsight is 20/20. He's always been a religious man, but Jeffrey is now
cognizant of his erroneous Scripture interpretations. He's not the same
person you keep seeing on the news - a long-haired, defiant man justifying
his actions through Scripture."
On April 17, 1989, Lundgren's victims, who moved from Missouri in 1987 to
follow his teachings, were invited to dinner at his farm on Route 6 in
Kirtland.
Dennis Avery, 49; his wife, Cheryl, 46; and their daughters, Trina, 15,
Rebecca, 13 and Karen, 7, were then led to the barn, where they were
bound, forced into a pit, shot and buried.
Lundgren told the jury he and his no-name cult were preparing for the 2nd
coming of Jesus Christ and that the Bible told him to kill the Averys for
being sinners.
Yet Lundgren - now known at the Ohio Department of Rehabilitation and
Correction as Inmate No. 235-069 - might not have been convicted if the
jury had known the full story, said his attorney.
Jenkins claims the cult leader had a severe mental defect that was not
addressed at trial simply because he could not afford to pay for a proper
mental health evaluation.
"It's a basic tenet of capital punishment that those without the capital
get the punishment," he said, adding, "The execution of Jeffrey Lundgren
is wrong. He's not the Jeffrey Lundgren of yore."
But Chief Assistant Lake County Prosecutor Karen Kowall disagreed.
"Our position is that this was a very significant event in Lake County
history," she said. "In our view, the death penalty is appropriate."
Kowall and a representative from the Ohio Attorney General's Office are
expected to attend the hearing.
Other possible speakers could include some of the victims' surviving
family members and representatives of Lundgren's former church.
Lundgren is not likely to be at Tuesday's hearing.
The Parole Board is expected to make a decision on Lundgren's clemency
request the night of the hearing.
But the final say will come from Gov. Bob Taft, who could decide to
commute Lundgren's sentence to life in prison.
Kowall said she was not sure how long Taft may take to rule on the
clemency request, or whether it could delay the execution.
Jenkins also has asked the U.S. District Court for Southern Ohio to bring
Lundgren into an ongoing Ohio lethal-injection case that challenges the
state's use of a three-drug lethal injection.
The case, Cooey v. Taft, was filed in 2004 by death row inmate Richard
Cooey.
The suit claims lethal injection is cruel and unusual punishment, citing a
Florida study that found that in 43 of 49 investigated cases, condemned
prisoners did not receive enough sodium thiopental to induce a "quick and
effective state of unconsciousness."
In other words, they were awake when executed.
Lundgren is now an obese diabetic with high blood pressure, which could
make lethal injection more difficult, his lawyer said.
Lundgren started his cult after he was dismissed as a senior guide at the
Kirtland Temple managed by the Reorganized Church of Jesus Christ of
Latter-day Saints.
His wife, Alice, 55, is serving five life terms in prison for her role in
the killings.
The couple were among 13 cult members arrested in the case.
(source: News-Herald)
[Deathpenalty] death penalty news----TEXAS, MD., FLA., OHIO
Rick Halperin Sun, 24 Sep 2006 23:30:54 -0500 (Central Daylight Time)
