Head Shot (34 page)
Authors: Burl Barer
Once again, Andrew Webb's special circumstances were highlighted when Ladenburg said, “The man who committed the first murder is going to be released probably in twelve years, and Chris may never get out for the rest of his life, or he may be put to death.
“The decision here is really the choice between two horrible futuresâthe future of waiting on death row for a hangman's noose, or a future of sitting in the state prison for the rest of your life.
“We are above retribution for a crime. It does no good to bring forward the pain and anguish of the various families involved here. It does no good to drag that up and throw it out to the jury. It's a horrible circumstance, but it is not one of the facts for making decisions in this case.
“These men will be punished for the rest of their lives. They will virtually have no lives. I ask you not to put Chris to death.”
If the jurors were impressed, Hultman remained untouched. “This murder is far more heinous and serious than any other murder. Paul St. Pierre's illness is that he's obsessed with guns and weapons. He strikes out at innocent people, who bear him no ill will, at random, [and] with great violence, deathâhe kills because he suspects other people. That's his illness. He values his gun to the pointâand Chris shares this value with himâto the point of going up and beheading John Achord.”
Hultman, in his final rebuttal, asked the jury to take a good look at Paul St. Pierre. “Look at the face, and look at those eyesâafter shooting John Achord, he went into Mr. Perez's room and said, âCome on, Mark, you ought to come out and see this.' What kind of illness is this? His illness doesn't cut against a severe penalty.”
Damon Wells and John Achord were two totally innocent young men whose lives were snuffed out, Hultman told them. He again directed the jury's gaze to the defendants. “They did it. They did it for no good reason other than violence. They seem to like violence. They seem to glory in it. The only thing they are sorry about is that they got caught.”
There would be no more arguments, rebuttals, evidence, or pleadings. The trial and verdict were over. Only deliberation on sentencing remained. “You may now retire to deliberate your verdict,” said Judge Steiner. “The verdict forms, instructions, and exhibits will be brought to you.”
In less than two hours, the jury from King County reached their final decisions in the life-or-death matter of Paul and Christopher St. Pierre.
August 5, 1985
Paul St. Pierre, for the first time in months, actually smiled. His brother and he would not be hanged. The sentence: life in prison with no possibility of parole. The jury's verdict was binding, and Judge Steiner would make it formal on September 6. St. Pierre thanked David Murdach for his fine defense, and Murdach promptly submitted a bill to the Department of Assigned Counsel for 300.25 hours at $40 per hour. Between May 20 and August 5, 1985, David Murdach had earned every cent of that $12,465.38. He had a sick client who didn't trust him, a dreadful crime of incredible emotional content, and a prosecutor's office, in his opinion, continually crossing the lines of professional ethics. The case was ugly, tragic, and took an emotional toll on the attorneys, judges, witnesses, and jurors.
“It was a horrible crime. It was an awful crime,” commented juror Helen Hammond. “It was a crime no one could imagine that a human being could commit. We felt that anybody who would do something like that is not normal. The majority seemed to think that [Paul St. Pierre] had a mental disturbance. That was the mitigating circumstance that kept the jury from imposing the death penalty.”
Opal Bitney, mother of John Achord, regretted that his killer would not be punished by the hangman's noose. “I don't know how gruesome a murder has to be before they give them the death penalty,” she said sadly.
According to juror Michael Spilila, there were two or three jurors who were adamantly for the death penalty, and an equal number against it. “Since we had to have a unanimous verdict, there was no point going any further.”
William Griffies, the Pierce County prosecutor, expressed pleasure with the trial's final outcome. When a jury decides either the death penalty or life in prison with no parole, he said, “You have obtained the ultimate deterrentâthe defendant will never be able to offend again.” A strong advocate of the death penalty, Griffies acknowledged the higher costs of a death penalty case. “But that doesn't mean that we should not have a death penalty. We definitely should. I think society wants it. Recent polls show, I think, seventy to eighty percent are in favor of the death penalty.”
On September 6, 1985, Judge D. Gary Steiner issued the formal sentencing of life in prison without parole. Griffies, as chief prosecutor, celebrated his office's victory over Murdach and Ladenburg. The state won the verdicts, but Murdach and Ladenburg saved their clients' necks. One week after the formal sentencing, September 11, everyone was back in the courtroom. The issue at hand was John Achord's head.
September 11, 1985
The medical examiner's office retained the head of John Achord and his clothing for over a year. The state asked that the head be turned over to either the funeral home or John Achord's relatives, but David Murdach, after consulting his client, objected to any physical evidence being destroyed or moved from its current location.
The defense's reasoning was neither complex nor unnecessarily adversarial. Dr. Cordova had performed an independent examination of the head and then testified for the defense. If the head and shirt were removed from evidence, and should something happen to Dr. Cordova, the defense would have neither witness nor evidence for another pathologist to examine.
Individuals unfamiliar with the American legal system may question the defense's need for witnesses or evidence when the defendants were already convicted and sentenced. If the cases suffered from significant errors in legal procedure, erroneous rulings by the court, or violations of the United States Constitution, the convictions could be overturned, the defendant(s) freed, or new trials granted.
“The question is,” summarized the judge, “in the event of a new trial, how would you present defense testimony with respect to a pathological report?”
“That's the problem,” confirmed Murdach. Ladenburg didn't mind releasing the remains. “We only objected to the clothing being destroyed.”
The medical examiner's office wanted both items removed from the freezer. If Murdach or Ladenburg wanted further examination of either item, “they can still have them done, but they ought to have them done right away and then the items can be removed, and the remains of John Achord can be properly taken care of.”
At length, after continued discussions of the freezer, the shirt, and Mr. Achord's head, David Murdach turned cranky. “If the prosecutor's office wants to destroy evidence,” he said heatedly, “they can do what they bloody want with these two items!” Murdach warned Hultman that such destruction could be contrary to his client's rights.
“I think you're missing the point, Dave,” said Carl Hultman. “We're giving you the opportunityâ”
“Let me finish,” Murdach's voice slashed through Hultman's attempted explanation. He then directly addressed the judge. “If he wants to do whatever he wants to do, he doesn't have to seek this court's permission. He doesn't need your permission. He's asking you to sanction his moves and I don't think that's appropriate.
“The way this thing is being presented to you,” stressed Murdach, “you would think that the freezer is eight inches by ten inches. I've been in the freezer! It is huge. They roll bodies into it. There's no problem. That shirt is probably bundled up in some butcher paper in a corner of the freezer!”
Hultman, his patience exceeding that of his courtroom adversary, suggested that Murdach take a moment to actually read the medical examiner's memo. The defense counsel snatched it up off the table.
“This memo states,
âWe're extremely short of freezer space. We need to clean it out and make it available for body storage. Achord's head and several items of clothing belonging to Mr. Achord are taking up that part.'
I know of no other item that they're keeping other than the shirt. We don't want the pants. If they have the pants, we don't want them. We just want the shirt. That shirt with the stab wounds and the presence of blood!”
âWe're extremely short of freezer space. We need to clean it out and make it available for body storage. Achord's head and several items of clothing belonging to Mr. Achord are taking up that part.'
I know of no other item that they're keeping other than the shirt. We don't want the pants. If they have the pants, we don't want them. We just want the shirt. That shirt with the stab wounds and the presence of blood!”
The judge swiveled his head toward Hultman's corner and awaited the responsive volley. He didn't have to wait long. “There isn't any contest about the stab woundsâhe's got twelve stab wounds! The fact is that the evidence is there. The shirt has been available since June 19, 1984, and we're now at September 11, 1985!” Hultman addressed his next comments to the court. “If defense counsel has any concept of representing his client, or that this is an issue that has some relevance to his client's future representation, he ought to take steps now to do whatever else he thinks needs to be done on that shirt, and we'll give him three or four weeks if necessary. But,” said the prosecutor sternly, “he is on notice that we want to get rid of it for the reasons stated by the medical examiner's office.”
When enough was too much, the judge made comment. “The court appreciates the courtesy and caution of the medical examiner and the prosecutor in presenting the matter to the court,” he said. “The court will order that the shirt not be destroyed, but be maintained in refrigeration for a period not to exceed thirty days to allow defense counsel, if they wish, any further examination. As for the head, just maintain it for a period of thirty days to allow further examination.”
“I see a problem here,” said John Ladenburg. “I think we're going to have to ask for some chemical analysis of the shirt to protect our clients' rights, and we may have an objection from the Department of Assigned Counsel paying for those tests when, in fact, no trial is scheduled in this matter.” The court kindly authorized payment of reasonable costs; the judge then looked down at the two silent St. Pierres, convicted killers whose only audible contribution to the afternoon's proceedings was the occasional metallic clatter of waist chains, handcuffs, and leg irons.
Paul and Christopher St. Pierre, the court was informed, remained indefinite residents of the Pierce County Jail because The Department of Corrections refused to transport them to the state penitentiary, or other correctional facility, until the proper paperwork was completed.
“In this instance,” commented Hultman, “they're pretty noneffective. Normally, these reports are prepared for the purpose of advising the parole board with respect to minimum term options.” For the St. Pierres, the minimum term was until death.
For Paul St. Pierre, gone were delusions of adequacy, let alone grandiosity. Violent outbursts and overt attempts at intimidation earned him only enforced isolation. St. Pierre's mental and emotional condition deteriorated exponentially in twenty-four-hour segments. Strong in body, weak in mind, and life threatening in attitude, his mental illnesses manifested themselves in argumentative outbursts alternating with downward spirals of depression.
The impassioned courtroom discussions of his mental condition and possible future behavior were now irrelevant rhetoric reduced to officially stamped trial transcripts stored away in cardboard boxes somewhere in the Pierce County Courthouse. The best perceptions of medical experts converged on one inescapable reality: Paul St. Pierre's future was all used up.
On Sunday, October 13, 1985, Paul St. Pierre entered the Intensive Management Program at the Washington State Corrections Center in Shelton, Washington. The term “intensive management” precisely describes this specialized unit's purpose and functionâevery individual is closely monitored, and never alone, at least not longer than fifteen minutes. According to Veltry Johnson of the Corrections Department in the state capital, St. Pierre was under “close observation.”
On October 14, 1985, Paul St. Pierre committed another act of senseless violence. While there was never an official version of events released to the public, the predominant story is that St. Pierre shoved feces-filled toilet paper down his throat. For many, such behavior by Paul St. Pierre was not surprising.
The Mason County Medic 1 Team administered cardiopulmonary resuscitation, but their valiant efforts failed. Paul St. Pierre, transported by ambulance to Mason County General Hospital, was pronounced dead within the hour. His strange death, announced Veltry Johnson, had “the appearance of suicide.”
“I don't believe he committed suicide,” commented Mark Ericson several years later. “You see, I think Paul could have handled life in jail. It was Chris that I was more worried about. I heard that Paul had marks on his body that the coroners overlooked. He supposedly beat up a guard, and that was the real reason that he was in that Intensive Management Unit.”
Roy Kissler also doesn't believe the “suicide by toilet paper” allegations. “I just have never heard of anybody committing suicide that way. To my understanding, I thought he got into a physical conflict with a guard right after he got up there. He was in solitary at that point in time. There's something weird about his death. He was in solitary lockup by himself while they did their evaluation, so he's not in any of the other population. The guards are the only ones that I think have access to him. So much of what we hear is rumor and hearsay. Even the stories we all know about Paul get confused and changed. For example,” Kissler explained, “there was a guy named Mikey Green. And Paul showed him the corpse of a black guy that he had shot out in Spanaway, in a mobile home. Had him in the back room. Blanket over the corpse. And Mike was there and Paul said, âCome on. I want to show you something.' Shows it to him and said, âTell anybody about it and that's what you're going to look like.' That just messed with the kid's head big time. Then one day I hear the story being told, except it isn't about Paul and Green, it's about Paul and someone else. Not that it's a big difference, but which of the two stories of the same event are true? I mean, that's what the big deal was about the statements during the trialsâwhich statement, which version, is true? Or, which parts are true? So I really doubt if I've heard the whole story of everything that Paul St. Pierre did in his short, sad life. Just in what I've heard, there is the possibility of at least a half a dozen murders. Even with all thatâeven him being a murderer and out of his mindâand despite me having thought of putting a bullet in him myself at one point, it was still a tragedy for his family when he died, especially to die in a gross way like that.”
Paul St. Pierre's funeral was both traditionally reverent and understandably uncomfortable. Mark Ericson, Chris St. Pierre's former employer, attended the somber event. “I didn't stay long. I went to the funeral out of respect for Mr. and Mrs. St. Pierre. Were it not for them, I wouldn't have gone. Chris was there, escorted and handcuffed, to pay his last respects. I hadn't seen him since that morning when he walked out of my shop to talk to the cops. We didn't talk at the funeral. What would we say? âHow's it goin'? âWhatcha been up to?' The whole thing was heartbreaking and uncomfortable. When it comes to lives destroyed, there is no way you can put a price on it, no way at all.”
The estimated price of Paul St. Pierre's lifetime incarceration was $800,000. The Department of Corrections arrived at this impressive figure by the following formula: $43 a day, or approximately $16,000 a year, for an estimated fifty years. His death, commented several sardonic sidewalk pundits, saved the taxpayers a significant sum.
Money was never a consideration during the trials for either the defense or the prosecution. “We don't think the community would want us to temper our decisions based on how much a case is going to cost,” said Chief Prosecutor Griffies. “We don't barter that way. We don't allow the defense to hold the cost of prosecution over us to force us to lessen the charges.”
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