March 23, 2005
Call it an accidental juxtaposition, a coincidence of timing. As the Jessica Lunsford case plays out in rural Florida, an episode of a legal series spotlights the death penalty issue.
The real and the fictional reside at opposite ends of the spectrum. In the Lunsford matter, one John Couey confesses to an abduction and sexual molestation, culminating in the murder of a nine-year-old neighbor who shouldn’t have been his neighbor, considering he was not living at his registered address.
Call it an accidental juxtaposition, a coincidence of timing. As the Jessica Lunsford case plays out in rural Florida, an episode of a legal series spotlights the death penalty issue.
The real and the fictional reside at opposite ends of the spectrum. In the Lunsford matter, one John Couey confesses to an abduction and sexual molestation, culminating in the murder of a nine-year-old neighbor who shouldn’t have been his neighbor, considering he was not living at his registered address.
It’s as open and shut as that. Not only did Couey, having sprung a lie detector test into tilt, admit to committing the crime, the victim’s remains were recovered on his relative’s property. Coupled with the facts that Couey is a multiple offender who murdered the girl in conjunction with at least two other offenses (kidnapping and sexual battery) in a state which never hesitates to impose the ultimate punishment, it is a fait accompli. Add the image of the perpetrator as a scum-of-the-earth, lowlife, druggie serial felon and, as one cable talking head noted, the public defense lawyer assigned to represent him will wince before attempting half-heartedly to spare his life.
That won’t happen. Though surely there are mitigating factors to present – Couey, who is 46 years old but looks 60, no doubt had a miserable childhood and did direct authorities to the body – no prosecutor will consider a plea bargain nor judge enter one, the case will be tried, the jury will reach a verdict in record time, and the defendant will be dispatched to death row almost as quickly as he garnered national attention. In other words, the procedure will serve as but a demonstration of the criminal justice system. Afterward, Couey will descend into the obscurity from which he was catapulted and Geraldo Rivera, now of FOX News, will cease conducting gratuitous, exploitive interviews with the victim’s family as he shifts his focus to the latest spectacular tragedy.
If any case is lock solid, free of all doubt and engendering little mercy, it is this one. If anyone deserves to die for unspeakable acts against humanity, it is this wretched creature.
Now contrast this event with the circumstances portrayed on creator and writer David. E. Kelley’s television program “Boston Legal.” A man in Texas is about to be executed for killing a gas station attendant during the commission of a botched robbery. In this case, his guilt is far from clear. Though the man, in a drug-induced state at the time in question, vaguely remembers being at the scene, he honestly doesn’t know whether he killed anyone, indeed whether he had a gun. What is known is that this character, Zeke, is black, has an IQ of 80, confessed after many hours of browbeating interrogation, and that his court-appointed attorney slept through at least some of the testimony. On these grounds his appeals have been nearly exhausted: his race immaterial, his IQ ten points above legal mental retardation, the confession determined not to be coerced, his attorney awake during “relevant” portions of the trial, respectively. Yet on the eve of his scheduled execution Zeke is granted one last hearing upon the discovery of DNA not matching his on the weapon used to commit the crime.
Is the sentence overturned? No, thunders the Texas Supreme Court, which observes that the fact that someone else came in contact with the gun in no way rules out the possibility of Zeke being the culprit. And a resounding no, rules the unabashedly “Hollywood liberal” David E. Kelley who, in previous episodes, has taken shots at the real life Bush administration and conservative policies via dialogue delivered by various characters on the program.
In the final, fist-clenching scene, the two lawyers from royal blue Massachusetts who argued Zeke’s appeal sit stricken as the condemned man is strapped to a gurney, a needle plunged into his arm in cherry red Texas. David E. Kelley, who to my knowledge has never been accused of subtlety, has sealed the man’s death in order to make a statement.
It occurs to me that these two stories, the true one and the made up one, are situated on the furthest reaches of a continuum that forms a circle. Where they meet is at the point of absolutes. One is absolutely transparent, the other absolutely uncertain. Unfortunately for the legislators of blue/red Illinois, as they debate ending the moratorium on death penalty executions, most cases lie across the diameter of that circle.
Suggested caption: Ash, who is not an attorney, consulted her daughter in law school at Loyola University for this article.
Alternate caption: Ash, who is not an attorney, resides in Springfield. Her daughter, a law school student, contributed to this article.
That won’t happen. Though surely there are mitigating factors to present – Couey, who is 46 years old but looks 60, no doubt had a miserable childhood and did direct authorities to the body – no prosecutor will consider a plea bargain nor judge enter one, the case will be tried, the jury will reach a verdict in record time, and the defendant will be dispatched to death row almost as quickly as he garnered national attention. In other words, the procedure will serve as but a demonstration of the criminal justice system. Afterward, Couey will descend into the obscurity from which he was catapulted and Geraldo Rivera, now of FOX News, will cease conducting gratuitous, exploitive interviews with the victim’s family as he shifts his focus to the latest spectacular tragedy.
If any case is lock solid, free of all doubt and engendering little mercy, it is this one. If anyone deserves to die for unspeakable acts against humanity, it is this wretched creature.
Now contrast this event with the circumstances portrayed on creator and writer David. E. Kelley’s television program “Boston Legal.” A man in Texas is about to be executed for killing a gas station attendant during the commission of a botched robbery. In this case, his guilt is far from clear. Though the man, in a drug-induced state at the time in question, vaguely remembers being at the scene, he honestly doesn’t know whether he killed anyone, indeed whether he had a gun. What is known is that this character, Zeke, is black, has an IQ of 80, confessed after many hours of browbeating interrogation, and that his court-appointed attorney slept through at least some of the testimony. On these grounds his appeals have been nearly exhausted: his race immaterial, his IQ ten points above legal mental retardation, the confession determined not to be coerced, his attorney awake during “relevant” portions of the trial, respectively. Yet on the eve of his scheduled execution Zeke is granted one last hearing upon the discovery of DNA not matching his on the weapon used to commit the crime.
Is the sentence overturned? No, thunders the Texas Supreme Court, which observes that the fact that someone else came in contact with the gun in no way rules out the possibility of Zeke being the culprit. And a resounding no, rules the unabashedly “Hollywood liberal” David E. Kelley who, in previous episodes, has taken shots at the real life Bush administration and conservative policies via dialogue delivered by various characters on the program.
In the final, fist-clenching scene, the two lawyers from royal blue Massachusetts who argued Zeke’s appeal sit stricken as the condemned man is strapped to a gurney, a needle plunged into his arm in cherry red Texas. David E. Kelley, who to my knowledge has never been accused of subtlety, has sealed the man’s death in order to make a statement.
It occurs to me that these two stories, the true one and the made up one, are situated on the furthest reaches of a continuum that forms a circle. Where they meet is at the point of absolutes. One is absolutely transparent, the other absolutely uncertain. Unfortunately for the legislators of blue/red Illinois, as they debate ending the moratorium on death penalty executions, most cases lie across the diameter of that circle.
Suggested caption: Ash, who is not an attorney, consulted her daughter in law school at Loyola University for this article.
Alternate caption: Ash, who is not an attorney, resides in Springfield. Her daughter, a law school student, contributed to this article.