This one, though, I might not have been proud of. We had too many cases and too much pressure to question what looked like strong and reliable evidence. I would not have questioned the arson report, which, as an investigator, would have oriented me in a specific direction. The only mitigating thing I will say is that had we worked this case and then been informed of the eleventh hour turnaround in the forensic evidence, I would have moved heaven and earth, camped out on the FBI director’s doorstep, if necessary, and tried to throw the entire resources of the Bureau behind getting a stay of execution. Even that, though, probably wouldn’t have been enough.
Like the Coleman case, this one was ultimately resolved by state-of-the-art science. The CSI Effect notwithstanding, this is possible in only a small minority of cases. Most have no definitive physical evidence; rather, there are individual elements that have to be put into a larger context from which conclusions maybe drawn. As these two cases together demonstrate, achieving justice can be a complicated business and a morally perilous journey for which we have no easy answers to offer. The only completely reliable guidance is always to be aware of those perils so that we may hope to avoid them.
I’m not sure whether it is ironic or understandable that of these two cases—Coleman’s and Willingham’s—the man for whom justice was done spoke as his final words, “Love is eternal. My love for you will last forever. I love you, Sharon.” The one for whom it was miscarried chose to end his life with profanities and expletives.
Because of what he did, Cameron Todd Willingham may be labeled a school failure, a wife abuser, a runaround and a general ne’erdo-well. Because of what was done to him, he became a martyr for justice and truth. And that is the legacy that will survive him.
BALANCING THE SCALES
CHAPTER 6
SUZANNE’S STORY
When it comes to murder, there are no effective legal remedies. There is no way to right the wrong and no possibility of restoring the victim to his or her family, friends and lifestyle. Given this impossible situation, many victims’ families and advocates, law enforcement personnel and ordinary members of the public, feel that in cases of intentional and particularly brutal or sadistic murder, the closest the state can come to balancing the scales judicially is to take the life of the individual who took the life of his or her innocent victim.
As a result of my experience in decades of work in law enforcement, I place myself in that camp.
While I fully accept and respect the views of those who oppose capital punishment on moral or practical grounds, there is one argument I will not accept. In fact, I resist it vigorously. That is, that capital punishment is legalized murder—that if the state takes a life, it is just as morally culpable as the defendant who committed murder. This, frankly, is nonsense. Not only is it nonsense, it is morally offensive. It is morally offensive because it trivializes the distinction between the victim and the perpetrator, between the innocent and the guilty. And if we ever lose that distinction, we are done for as an ethical and just society.
Every other aspect of the argument is up for grabs.
People often ask me and other investigators who share my views, with all we know about the varying degrees of competence and sophistication of police work, investigating agencies and criminal justice procedures, how we can be in favor of capital punishment? How can we support this irreversible act, especially in light of a case like Todd Willingham’s or Dr. Gerald Hurst’s suspicion that there are probably many more like it? And that’s only in the realm of arson.
The answer is, we support it for certain types of crimes and certain circumstances. But rather than beginning with a theoretical, academic discussion of the death penalty, let’s bring it down to the personal level. Because life doesn’t get any less theoretical and more personal than murder. Let’s focus on individuals rather than abstractions, on experience rather than supposition, on facts rather than opinions.
I want to relate a case that I first described in Journey Into Darkness. But since that book was published, there is a critical, agonizing and ultimately enlightening new chapter to be written. This is a story that will illuminate many key issues: the strengths and weaknesses of the death penalty; the parameters and limits of a fair trial, as well as a reasonable appeals process; the uses of scientific evidence, especially after the trial is over and the verdict rendered; and the human toll all of this takes on each of the participants.
This is the story of Suzanne Marie Collins and Sedley Alley.
I use the two names in the same sentence, but it is not because there is any similarity or moral equivalence between them. It is because Sedley Alley did something that created a connection and a relationship, a horrible association that resulted in death. As we discuss the criminal justice system and the pros and cons of capital punishment, don’t let that forced connection stray from your thoughts.
Of all the cases I worked, and that Mark Olshaker and I have written about, none has elicited as much passionate reader response as the Suzanne Collins murder. Corn-silk blond when she was little, tawny-maned as she grew older, athletically buff and strikingly beautiful, Suzanne was, in many ways, the epitome of the all-American girl. She was the daughter of John A. Collins, an American Foreign Service officer and attorney universally known as “Jack,” and his wife, Gertrude, known as “Trudy.” Suzanne and her older brother, Stephen, were both adopted, and Jack and Trudy devoted their lives to them.
With her looks and charm, she might easily have been a heart-breaker at Robert E. Lee High School in Springfield, Virginia, where the family settled after stints in Greece and a special State Department assignment in Madison, Wisconsin. But she was so popular and friendly, so interested in everyone else’s life, that everyone loved her and she became the school’s social organizer. By this time Steve was both an academic and wrestling star, and it became well known how protective he was. Any guy wanting to approach Suzanne on more than a casual level had to pass Steve’s muster.
Her charm and popularity also led to some problems in high school. Although she was a good language and science student, between socializing and sports, studying was not her top priority. Despite warnings and encouragement, inspiration and threats from her parents, Suzanne ended her high-school career as something less than optimum college material.
She didn’t want to go to community college and live at home, and she didn’t want what she characterized as some “rinky-dink job,” so she decided to enlist in the United States Marine Corps.
Her decision was a surprise to everyone—her family, her friends and her teachers. When her navy veteran father asked her how she had arrived at this decision, she replied simply that she wanted to challenge herself and the marines were “the best.”
“What could I say to that?” Jack recalled. “So I answered, ‘Well, you’re the best, Suzanne, so that’s fine.’ ”
Suzanne graduated from high school in June 1984 and began basic training the same month at the Marine Corps Recruit Depot, Parris Island, South Carolina. She threw herself into the grueling boot camp regime, pushing her mind and body as she never had before. When her parents came down for graduation, Jack was amazed by her physical prowess and self-confidence. Trudy was amazed that this girl whose room was always a cyclone-like wreck could now make a bed tight enough to bounce a quarter.
Jack and Trudy both cherished the official portrait photo they received of their smiling, bright-eyed daughter. Her once-long blond hair was cut fashionably and sensibly to chin length. She was proudly wearing her green marine cap, with its black eagle, globe and anchor, and the American flag waved behind her.
Suzanne had also done a lot of thinking during basic training and for the first time in her life had articulated and solidified her goals. She wanted to go to the Naval Academy, hoping a strong military record would offset her lackluster high-school performance. And she wanted to become part of the first class of female marine fighters, banking on the hope that the restriction against women in aerial combat pos
itions eventually would be lifted. As a first step in proving herself, she applied to and was accepted in avionics training—electronics applied to aviation.
Private First Class Suzanne Marie Collins reported to Marine Aviation Training Support Squadron 902, Memphis Naval Air Station, Millington, Tennessee, on October 20, 1984. On and around the base, she was hard to miss—a tall, gorgeous blonde who kept herself in tip-top shape through constant exercise. She had developed an easy, graceful manner that seemed to appeal to everyone, except, perhaps, some of her fellow recruits and military wives who noticed their husbands’ heads snap every time Suzanne passed by.
She found her best friend shortly after Susan Hand arrived in March 1985. Susan, from Lisle, Illinois, was another beautiful blonde, a year older than Suzanne, and at Millington for air traffic control school. She was bunked downstairs from Suzanne in the same barracks building. Both women were five-seven and 118 pounds; they swapped clothes and shared secrets. They were always together during off-duty hours and soon everyone on the base knew them. Both acquired boyfriends from the air traffic control department, and they were the only two women deemed good enough to be invited to play soccer with the guys’ teams. They were also great dancers and often went to clubs on Beale Street in Memphis. Despite her popularity and athleticism, there was an aura of sweetness and innocence about Suzanne that men and women found genuine and endearing.
Her busy off-duty life notwithstanding, Suzanne was turning into a first-rate marine. Around the time Susan Hand arrived, Suzanne had been promoted to lance corporal and appointed to the honor deck, a ceremonial troop made up of “only the most motivated students.” Her parents were thrilled and surprised, because to be recommended for honor deck, a student had to maintain a top academic average, a feat Suzanne had never before been motivated to attempt.
This also represented another accomplishment. Prior to Suzanne’s appointment, all members of the Memphis Naval Air Station Honor Deck had been male. For weeks, she was harassed by many of the men and derided by many of the women, who thought she had achieved this honor because of her looks. But she stuck it out and took all the abuse and hazing thrown her way. Within a few weeks, Suzanne had convinced everyone that she was the real deal. Cracking this barrier gave her confidence that she would one day achieve her goal of getting into Annapolis and making it as a U.S. Marine flier.
There was only one thing that bothered Suzanne and Susan as graduation day approached. Suzanne had been assigned to Cherry Point, North Carolina, Marine Corps Air Station (MCAS), while Susan had been assigned to El Toro MCAS in California. Their plan was to take up their assignments, then figure out a way to get Suzanne assigned to El Toro, too. They envisioned their lives together, including fleet appointments to Annapolis and eventually settling down near each other and raising their kids together. Suzanne’s boyfriend, Greg, was all in favor of this because he was also going to California. He had already set his sights on marrying Suzanne, though Susan says that her friend was still having too much fun to think about settling down quite yet.
Susan’s mother and four-year-old sister came down from Illinois for the graduation. On July 11, 1985, the night before the ceremony, Mrs. Hand invited Suzanne to join them all for dinner at a friend’s house in a Memphis suburb. Shortly before they were to leave, the barracks staff sergeant assigned Suzanne as Duty NCO for the day. It basically meant sitting behind a desk outside the barracks building, checking people in and out, and then once an hour making a circuit around the building and recording her findings in a logbook. Suzanne told them to go without her, saying they would meet at the base park the next morning before the graduation. But Susan was seething, feeling the sergeant was jealous of Suzanne and had it in for her. She had one last chance to punish her for all her attributes and she was going to take advantage of it. Susan didn’t think someone who was graduating the next day should have to be on duty when anyone could have been assigned, particularly someone who didn’t already have plans.
The watch was uneventful. By the time Suzanne finished her duty assignment, she was restless and wanted some exercise. She went to her room and changed from her uniform to a red Marine Corps T-shirt, shorts, white socks and her Nike sneakers. She wrapped a white bandanna around her forehead and a blue sweat belt around her waist. When she came out, she told her friend Janet Cooper, who had watch duty, that she was going for a run and that she’d probably be out for a half hour or so. They talked while Suzanne stretched, and Janet said she seemed in a good and happy mood.
It was understandable. She was nineteen years old, beautiful and in the best physical condition of her life. The regrets of high school seemed far behind her. She had a boyfriend, a best friend, a brother and two parents who worshipped her. She was well on her way to all of her lofty goals. Tomorrow she would graduate from avionics school and begin the next adventure, one she was primed for and anxious to get started on.
That tomorrow never arrived for Lance Corporal Suzanne Marie Collins.
CHAPTER 7
THE BODY IN THE PARK
Susan Hand learned the horrible news early Friday afternoon, July 12, after Suzanne didn’t show up in the park as they’d arranged the night before. She was called into Captain Nowag’s office, where the captain told her she’d better sit down. He came over and put a hand on her shoulder. Then he pulled up a chair and sat with his arm around her.
Steve Collins found out at home in Springfield, where he was recovering from a foot injury. He saw a military car pull up and figured his wily sister must have connived an official ride home. Instead, it was a marine officer and a chaplain.
Trudy was out at a senior citizens’ luncheon with her parents. When they returned home, Steve intercepted her and made her get out of the car on her own.
Jack was in New York, helping his brother-in-law with a patent application issue, when a secretary pulled him out of a meeting for an urgent phone call. Being a devout Catholic who believed fervently in the power of prayer, he asked the mixed group of Christians and Jews he was with to pray for his daughter.
At those moments, Suzanne Marie Collins—dear friend, sister and daughter, lance corporal in the United States Marine Corps—was lying on an autopsy table in the office of the Shelby County, Tennessee, medical examiner. Dr. James Spencer Bell had just finished his examination and report. He later said it was the worst case he had ever seen.
Around the time of the Roger Coleman DNA testing early in 2006, I got a request to speak at a series of lectures at Vanderbilt University in Nashville, Tennessee, on the death penalty. Concerned that I could be bushwhacked if the tests were negative and the indication was that Virginia had executed an innocent man, I planned my appearance carefully. I said I wanted to be able to talk about individual cases—one in particular—and that I wanted to be able to use actual crime scene photos as part of my PowerPoint presentation.
The organizers objected to this last condition. When I pressed them on it, they said it would be exploitive to the victim and revictimize his or her family.
“Don’t you think I’m sensitive to that after all the cases I’ve handled?” I countered. Yes, seeing a lot of gore over a long period of time does make you less vulnerable to its effects and the gross-out factor eventually goes away. But the feeling about the victims and their families never dulls. If anything, it gets stronger.
“The family wants this information to get out,” I explained. “They want people to know what their child suffered. They want people to understand what murder is really all about.”
People often ask me if putting myself “inside the minds” of killers and violent predators has taken an emotional toll. The answer is always, “No.” That’s what I do, and through a combination of natural talent, exhaustive research and plain hard work, I’m good at it. Any investigator who can’t handle the psychic burden is in the wrong business. And all the serial killer novels that tell you otherwise—He had a rare gift . . . or was it a curse?—are just so much fiction.
T
he real emotional toll comes from putting myself inside the mind of the victim at the moment she is being violently raped or beaten, or when his life is coming to an end with no support or help or love or caring anywhere around. It’s when I envision the victims staring unmitigated evil right in the face. Then it’s watching the faces of their survivors—the family and friends and colleagues—when I try to explain “how this could have happened” and “how someone could do this.” That’s my baggage. But you know something? It’s baggage I’ll proudly carry for the rest of my life.
I told the lecture organizers they were wrong about the revictimization. The real revictimization comes when the loved ones realize that the justice that had been promised to them is an elusive mirage always looming just over the horizon; and that the system meant to give them a measure of peace is often just one more implement for brutalizing them.
When I went down to Nashville and did the lecture, I was surprised by the size of the crowd. The auditorium held five hundred and was packed. People were standing in the aisles.
I said, “You people here in Tennessee have the death penalty on your books, but you almost never use it. Since the Supreme Court reinstated capital punishment, you’ve executed exactly one person, five years ago. Yet your juries—your representatives of the people—keep imposing it. So something’s out of whack with the system. And as citizens of this state, it is up to you to decide whether you want it or not. And if not, you should get rid of it.”
Then I told them about Suzanne Collins. I told them about how she’d gone out to run on base the night before avionics school graduation and never returned to her barracks. Shelby County sheriff ’s deputies discovered her naked and mutilated body around six in the morning of Friday, July 12, 1985, in Edmund Orgill Park in Millington, just east of the Naval Air Station. Around five in the morning, her bunkmate and close friend, Patti Coon, awoke and saw that Suzanne’s bed had not been slept in and worriedly called security. Soon an all-points bulletin (APB) was issued for the base, Millington PD and the county sheriff’s department.
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