Blood Crimes

by Fred Rosen

  Collins and Worth had some doubts whether they could achieve that goal. Steinberg’s offer was still on the table: life without parole instead of death. But they did not take the idea of pleading guilty to first-degree murder. To a sixteen-year-old, life behind bars was death.

  As the case wound toward the juvenile certification hearing in September, once again Steinberg sent Vazquez out to bolster their case. The object was to find out as much information as possible about the Freeman Brothers and Benny Birdwell that could be used to try them as adults.

  August 23, 1995

  Vazquez arrived at Salisbury Township High School, where he had an appointment with Robert Goodwin. The forty-eight-year-old was the Student Assistance Director for the Salisbury School District. Vazquez was there to see what Goodwin knew about a rumor that surfaced, which indicated that the Freemans had told him that they were going to kill their parents.

  “They never said they were going to kill their parents,” he told Vazquez. “But they expressed a severe hatred toward their parents.”

  He told Vazquez that due to disciplinary problems in school and at home, he had assisted Brenda Freeman in placing the boys in various treatment facilities. But he never heard from any of these facilities regarding the actual treatment the boys were getting. “Those records would have been maintained by the individual treatment facility,” Goodwin continued.

  Steinberg later tried to obtain the treatment records of the Freeman brothers, but because of confidentiality laws, he could not.

  After Vazquez had finished with Goodwin, he drove back to Steinberg’s office, where an interview had been set up with Todd Reiss. Reiss, then an inmate in Lehigh County Jail for several months, had an interesting story to tell.

  “Well, about July 19th,” Reiss began, “I was in the ‘hole’ at Lehigh County Prison at the same time as Nelson Birdwell.”

  “Did you talk?” Vazquez asked.

  “Yeah. I didn’t know who he was at first.”

  But after they talked for a while, Reiss figured out who he was.

  “Birdwell told me about the Freeman killings and that he was only charged with taking the Freeman brothers out of the state.”

  “That’s all?”

  “No. There’s more. Birdwell said that he had helped kill the mother.”

  Vazquez was an experienced interrogator. He hid his excitement, though he knew this was hot stuff.

  “Birdwell told me that he had gotten her attention (Brenda’s) and she was then attacked from behind (by Bryan). He said that all three of them had been involved in planning the murders a week or two before at his (Birdwell’s) house.”

  If that were true, then Steinberg’s hunch about Birdwell’s complicity in the crimes was even greater than the district attorney thought.

  “What else did he say?” Vazquez asked.

  Reiss continued, “Birdwell said that the mother was the hardest to kill because she was awake and the others had been asleep. He also said that he had discussed the idea of killing his (Birdwell’s) parents also.”

  “Did Birdwell tell you anything about how the murders were committed?” Vazquez said.

  “Birdwell told me that Bryan went upstairs and killed the father with a bat. He said that he and the younger brother stayed downstairs and killed the mother. The brother and father were quiet deaths because they were asleep at the time.

  “Birdwell said the father and brother were killed first and the mother was the hardest because she was screaming and yelling. Birdwell said he was scared to be in the house and was intimidated by his older cousin. He said he found the car keys in the house for the car they used to leave the state.”

  “So why are you giving us this statement?” Vazquez asked.

  Did Reiss expect a sentence reduction?

  “No, that’s not it. I just don’t like the fact that these people had killed their own parents.”

  He especially did not like the fact that the younger brother had been killed.

  That ended the interview, which left Vazquez, and ultimately Steinberg, with a problem: Despite the obvious discrepancies, there was enough truth in Reiss’s statement that it could not be wholly discounted.

  Maybe Benny had been in the process of preparing his lies and was trying the story out on Reiss. A lie always sounds more plausible with an element of truth in it.

  All eyes now focused on the coming juvenile certification hearing. It was highly doubtful that Judge Brenner, an elected official, would throw the Freemans case into juvenile court. Political considerations aside, and they were many, the defense would have to present an overwhelming case for a change of court. Even in the Haworth case, where not only the defense psychiatrists, but the prosecution psychiatrists said Haworth was amenable to treatment, the judge had refused to certify Haworth as a juvenile.

  Under Pennsylvania State law, and a process called discovery, the defendants are entitled to read any statements the police have gathered that prove their guilt or innocence. Steinberg made up those packages and sent them out to the lawyers.

  EIGHTEEN

  September 5, 1995

  It was now six months after the boys had been captured. David, shackled hand and foot, was led into Judge Brenner’s courtroom by sheriff’s deputies.

  “He’s lost weight,” one reporter said to another.

  “Yeah, looks like about forty pounds,” answered the second reporter.

  “I heard he told his lawyers that he missed his mother’s cooking.”

  “Oh yeah? What’s he gonna do now? Ask the court for mercy because he’s an orphan?”

  Sandy Lettich and her sister Linda Solivan stood back as David shuffled down the aisle toward the slatted railing. His eyes did not once drift to them. His hair was longer, covering his forehead tattoo, but he still had the red beard that made him look like a Viking.

  After court was convened, David got to his feet and with Collins and Worth on either side, shuffled up to the bench. Brenner looked down from on high at the defendant.

  “Mr. Freeman, when were you born?”

  “February 9, 1979,” David answered with a flat effect. “I’m sixteen years old.”

  “How far have you gotten in school?”

  “I finished the ninth grade at Harry Truman High School, and I was in the tenth grade at Salisbury High School.”

  “So you’ve gone as far as tenth grade?” the judge asked.

  “Yes.”

  “Have you continued your education during your incarceration?”

  “No.”

  The reporters wondered where the judge was going with his questions. This was supposed to be a juvenile certification hearing.

  “Mr. Freeman, you are aware that to be judged a juvenile by the court, your attorneys would have to prove that you are amenable to treatment through the juvenile justice system?”

  “Yes.”

  “You are aware that the court makes a determination of your mental capacity?”

  “Yes.”

  “That the court takes into consideration the nature and circumstances of the alleged homicides, which could require lengthy incarceration?”

  “Yes.”

  “All right. Now, Mr. Worth and Mr. Collins are your court-appointed counsels?”

  “Yes.”

  “You’ve had sufficient time to consult with them?”

  “Yes.”

  “They’ve informed you about the procedures for this hearing?”

  “Yes.”

  “You are satisfied with their services?”

  “Yes.”

  “Your honor,” Wally Worth interrupted. “Mr. Collins and I met with the defendant many times.”

  “Good.”

  “Are you prepared to go forward today with the certification hearing?”

  “Your honor,” Wally answered, “we feel that it is in the best interests of our client to withdraw our petition for juvenile certification.”

  “Is that accurate, Mr. Freeman?”

  David did
n’t answer.

  “Mr. Freeman?” the judge repeated.

  “Yes,” David answered.

  “You understand you would then face these charges as an adult?”

  “Yes. I do.”

  “If this matter is tried with you as an adult, there is a presumption of innocence. You may be tried before a judge alone or at your option, before a jury of your peers, who must render a unanimous verdict.”

  “I understand.”

  “During such a trial, your lawyers have the right to cross examine and the right to confront witnesses, to look ’em right in the eye. But if you are found guilty of murder in the first-degree, then there is a separate penalty phase. The jury will then consider your sentence: death or life. Do you understand that?”

  David was nervous, but he held it in and answered in an unwavering voice, “Yes.”

  “If the jury finds one or more aggravating circumstances, then the sentence could be death. Do you understand that?”

  “Yes.”

  “Anyone make any threats or deals to make you give up certification?”

  “No.”

  “Have you consumed any alcohol the last twenty-four hours?”

  “No.”

  “Your honor,” Steinberg interjected, “the defendant has average intelligence. His IQ is over 100. He has the capacity to understand these proceedings. He has also been examined by a psychologist and a psychiatrist, and found competent to stand trial.”

  “Mr. Worth,” Judge Brenner asked, “why are you not moving forward with certification?”

  “We have our strategic reasons for doing this,” Worth replied.

  Judge Brenner looked down and began writing on the papers in front of him.

  “The court finds the motion for withdrawal intelligent and voluntary. The motion is withdrawn.”

  It had been a surprise. David and his lawyers had elected to have him tried as an adult. While not stating the reason publicly, privately, Worth and Collins figured there was little chance of the judge kicking the case into juvenile court. Worse, at the certification hearing, they would have had to lay out their trial case, including expert opinions about David’s troubled family background and how it had led him to participate in the murders.

  In effect, they’d be giving Steinberg a free peek at their trial defense. No way were they going to lay out their case for the prosecution. If anyone wanted to find out what had made David do it, they’d have to wait for trial.

  Downstairs at the press conference, Worth and Collins simply reiterated that they had decided for “strategic reasons” to remove their petition. They wouldn’t elaborate. But they were willing to talk about David’s actions on the night prior to the murders.

  “There’s no question he’d been drinking,” Wally asserted, as the press huddled around him and video cameras were pressed into his face. “The father drank. That’s why alcohol was in the house. Since he was six.”

  For his part, Steinberg told the press the only alcohol in the house was the bottle of Chivas that Dennis had bought to celebrate Valerie’s marriage. It remained unopened.

  Responding to questions about David’s demeanor, Wally said, “He kept asking me, ‘How long will it be in court? How long will it be?’”

  “Why’d he say that?” a reporter asked.

  Wally smiled. “Because he said, ‘I want to go back and watch the cartoons.’ He thinks as a kid. He follows other people. He certainly follows his brother and cousin.”

  And then Wally put a little spin on his client’s background in placement.

  “You know, he got three citizenship awards. He won them at the Paradise School.”

  As for his incriminating statement to the Michigan State Police, Wally said, “The Michigan police officers didn’t give a damn about the alcohol and marijuana he’d used prior to being captured. It certainly diminished his abilities.”

  Attempting to mount further public support for his client, Wally continued, speaking about “certain religious disciplines” David had to adhere to. “His faith barred him from celebrating holidays, or even his birthday. He was not allowed to have kids of other faiths in his home. His parents wouldn’t allow it. David looked up to the military, but he was barred by his religious teachings from serving in the armed forces.”

  All of this encouraged his rebellious attitude toward his parents, and then, when his parents had trouble controlling him, “They put him in an institution.”

  Steinberg countered that David Freeman was far from a good citizen. He was an evil kid who had killed his parents, and he was going to pay for it. Shortly thereafter, Bryan’s lawyers also removed their petition for juvenile certification for the same reasons. They were all headed for trial. The lawyers were banking on Judge Brenner ruling that since the Freeman brothers gave statements that were “truthful,” Steinberg could not obviate their agreement to take the death penalty off the table.

  They also figured there was a chance that the judge would throw out the boys’ statements because they were underage and did not have adequate counsel when they confessed. At least, that’s what they hoped. If they were wrong, there was no guarantee that Steinberg would still be there with his offer. The brothers, who liked being together, might have to face the death chamber together.

  Upstairs in his office, Steinberg took out the Death Book full of parricide and neo-Nazi clippings that Bryan had compiled and the note Brenda had written to document her discovery of it. What was even more curious than the Death Book, itself, was why Brenda Freeman had felt the need to write a note authenticating her grisly find.

  Brenda must have felt her death at the hands of her children was imminent. If that were so, she wanted to leave something behind that showed their intent.

  The Death Book showed that either or both boys were contemplating murder before the actual event. And if a jury saw it that way, they would have no choice but to convict them of premeditated first-degree murder.

  November 13, 1995

  All the lawyers were back in court for the most crucial phase of the case. Supplee and Brunnabend for Bryan, and Worth and Collins for David, would argue that Steinberg had reneged on his agreement regarding the death penalty. If they won, the prosecution might have to make a deal, because there is never any guarantee of conviction, even if there is a confession. If the brothers lost, they, in turn, might be anxious to accede to Steinberg’s deal to avoid the death penalty.

  The Michigan cops who had taken David and Bryan’s statements, Mynesberge and Harms, testified to what the brothers had said to them. Norman Donker, the Midland County prosecutor, testified to the circumstances under which the statements were given and to the plea agreement that was put on tape and sealed with evidence tape. Trooper Joe Vazquez gave testimony as to his involvement in the case, and how he had gone to Michigan to question the boys.

  The hearing, which was supposed to last one day, stretched into two. The whole thing was becoming a lengthy, drawn-out process. The judge, for one, felt there was a better way. In chambers, Judge Brenner told Bob Steinberg to make a deal.

  “I might as well jump out an eight-story window,” Steinberg replied.

  “With Wally Worth representing David Freeman, you might as well jump out a fifteen-story window,” Brenner countered.

  Steinberg, though, was right. If he made a deal now, it was political suicide. What’s more, the people in the county, whose passions had been inflamed by the case, did not seem willing to settle for a reduced sentence. The district attorney had a conundrum on his hands.

  November 14, 1995

  In the back row of the courtroom sat a mysterious man with a face like a prune. He carefully took notes in a little notebook throughout the day’s proceedings. He identified himself later as a Jehovah’s Witness who knew the Freeman family.

  When asked by this author if the notes he was taking would be delivered to the JW congregation in Salisbury for inclusion in their permanent files, his terse reply was, “No comment.”

&nbs
p; Asked if he knew why Dennis Freeman had resigned four years before as an Elder, he replied again, “No comment,” though a little smile played across his lips.

  Throughout the first day of the hearing, a young man sat in the front row of the courtroom. He remained unnoticed until Brian Collins rose and said, “The defense calls Frank Hesse.”

  It was the fellow skin in whose house the Freemans and Birdwell had hid out with in Michigan. He was being called as a defense witness. Hesse had a good memory.

  He recounted how Bryan had called him from the road and said he’d be in the neighborhood, and how he, Frank, had invited him and his brother and cousin up to visit. He recounted their activities during the day, everything up to the time they were captured. His most relevant testimony for the defense was that in the day-and-a-half they’d stayed with him, David was drunk on beer and stoned on marijuana much of the time, giving credence to the defense’s contention that when David gave his statement to the Michigan police, he was under the influence, and therefore that statement, the most incriminating one he gave, should be thrown out.

  After Frank left the stand, he was followed outside by a phalanx of reporters who wanted to interview him further about his skinhead beliefs and what the boys had said to him. Frank was polite, though most of the questions he was asked were only tangential.

  “When you hunt, what do you prefer? Bow and arrow, or rifle?”

  “What does that have to do with this case?” Frank asked.

  It was raining outside, and Frank, wanting to get to the airport to get a flight home, got a ride from this reporter. On the way, he spoke about the case and his beliefs.

  Of Benny he said, “He was a loudmouth.” Considering what Benny was accused of doing, “It scares me in light of later facts that I put a loaded assault rifle in the hands of that braggart.”

  Frank hastily reiterated his testimony: When Bryan called him from Pennsylvania, he didn’t at first remember him from the New Year’s Eve concert they had attended together. When he remembered, Bryan said, “Listen we’re here in Ohio, off Route 80, and we were thinking, you know, of going up to Detroit and seeing what’s happening there.”