Copyright © 2018 by William H. Reid
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Library of Congress Cataloging-in-Publication Data is available on file.
Cover design by Rain Saukas
Cover photos credit AP images
ISBN: 978-1-5107-3552-1
Ebook ISBN: 978-1-5107-3553-8
Printed in the United States of America
Insert photos are derived from evidence used in court proceedings and recently released to the public, in many cases by the prosecution.
Dedication
To the victims, both the deceased and the survivors,
who live daily with memory and disability, the first responders, the
Colorado judicial system, and to Holmes’s parents,
Arlene and Robert, who did nothing wrong.
Jonathan Blunk
A. J. Boik
Jesse Childress
Gordon Cowden
Jessica Ghawi
John Larimer
Matthew McQuinn
Micayla Medek
Veronica Moser-Sullivan
Alex Sullivan
Alex Teves
Rebecca Wingo
Thanks to my wife, Elise, for her immense help and understanding; my assistant, Jean Hamilton, for retrieving and organizing information for both the writing and the vetting of this book; Mike Campbell, my editor at Skyhorse, and my agent, Linda Langton. Without Richard Ciccone, MD, I might never have received the case referral. Steve Zansberg provided valuable legal counsel. Claudia and David Ladensohn, Terry Ganey, Bob Kolker, Judith Bass, A. D. Oppenheim, and John Mayer helped to get things off the ground and keep them aloft. Appreciation also goes to my former assistant, Kathy Pomeroy, for her work in the case itself, and to federal, Colorado, Arapahoe County, and Aurora law enforcement; Colorado Assistant Attorney General Tanya E. Wheeler; Colorado Mental Health Institute-Pueblo personnel; and Arapahoe County corrections staff. Many readers reviewed and criticized early drafts and chapters: Aileen, Alan, Brandi, Buddy, Dan, Doug, Elise, Jan, Jana, Jodi, Jon, Kyle, Michelle, Mollie, Ron, Skip, and probably more. My brother Dan Reid of Paladin Precision Shooting, LLC (see his recent book, Guns Are Stupid, People Are Smart) and former FBI SWAT and firearms instructor Joe Holtslag provided valuable information on weapons and tactics. Apologies to the kind folks that I’ve inadvertently omitted.
Contents
Introduction
JIMMY
1. Jimmy
2. The Changes Begin
3. College
JAMES
4. Aurora
5. Seeds of the Mission
HOLMES
6. Juggernaut
7. A Dark K/Night Rises
8. Armageddon
AFTERMATH
9. Aftermath
10. James Holmes in Jail
11. The Lawyers, the Court, and the Shrinks
12. My Interviews of James Holmes
13. The Trial Begins
14. The Holmes Defense
15. Punishment
Epilogue: Denouement
Afterword: The Search for Why
About the Author
Photos
Introduction
The Aurora, Colorado, cinema shootings were striking tragedies, leaving a dozen people dead, scores wounded, hundreds emotionally scarred, and a community that will never be the same. But it wasn’t the only mass shooting of our time. James Holmes, unique though he is, is not the only killer of his kind. This book arises from a confluence of tragic event, surviving perpetrator, scrupulous investigation, and the uncommon fairness of the American judicial system, a system that provides resources and due process to both sides in even the most heinous of cases. That confluence created a rare opportunity to study a mentally ill but very intelligent, highly organized murderer, the extraordinary events that led to his crimes, the shootings, the trial, and its sequelae.
A Dark Night in Aurora exists because James Holmes survived. He wasn’t killed by police; he didn’t commit suicide. The elements of the shootings, a web of important precursors, and Holmes himself received extraordinary scrutiny during the three years in which the prosecution and defense prepared for a trial that would last for months. The verdict and sentence were not “plea bargained,” as often happens in such cases. This time, the investigators and other experts had information and data—there is a difference—from many sources, and their work was shielded from media contamination.
Most of those with access to the huge mass of material collected worked for either the prosecution or the defense. Only two forensic experts were retained in entirely nonpartisan roles, by the judge rather than either side: Colorado psychiatrist Jeffrey Metzner, MD, and me. Dr. Metzner came fairly early to the process; I was retained a bit later, as a result of legal wrangling that caused Judge Samour to search for a second court expert. I had the benefit not only of the existing seventy-five thousand pages of evidence, hundreds of audio and video files, and access to the defendant and scores of witnesses, experts, and others associated with the case, but also of Dr. Metzner’s earlier work and counsel as I pursued my own investigations.
This book is a result of all that happened and all that was uncovered. It doesn’t spring from an author’s mind. I didn’t make up the characters, imagine their words and actions, or manipulate any events. I’ve tried to describe those characters, words, actions, and events with scrupulous accuracy and express my interpretations and opinions in ways that readers will find intriguing. My greater hope is that the book does justice to all concerned.
Finally, a note about the quotes and short transcripts scattered through the chapters. Many are from Holmes’s conversations with me during our nine private, video-recorded interviews (almost twenty-three hours in all). They are memories, thoughts, explanations, and impressions expressed in his own words after the shootings. One of the early manuscript readers called it an unedited “look behind the curtain” at a man whose thoughts and plans had been hidden for years, a chance for the reader to see, and consider for himself or herself, what Holmes was like as he spoke with me. Other quotes are taken from text and e-mail exchanges between Holmes and others before the shootings, things that he said or felt, and what others perceived about him, as he moved through the years, then months, then days that culminated in the tragedy.
—WHR
January 2018
JIMMY
1. Jimmy
“Lots of hugs.”
(James Holmes’s memory of his early childhood)
James Eagan Holmes came into this world December 13, 1987, in Scripps Memorial Hospital, La Jolla, California. His mother had a briefly complicated labor and a cesarean section, but there was nothing particularly special about his birth. Arlene and Robert were excited to see their first child, the first grandchild in either of their families.
They named him after a paternal uncle and added Arlene’s family name. His
birth announcement (which, in a bizarre twist, became a piece of evidence in his later fight against receiving the death penalty) says he weighed seven pounds, eight ounces. There’s a lovely photo of him resting on Robert’s chest.
Every baby is cute; every baby is sweet. Every baby brings its parents, and the world, a promise for the future. For the next decade, this baby was a normal little boy named Jimmy.
____________
Arlene Holmes was a nurse at Scripps Memorial when Jimmy was born. Bob was a statistician at the nearby Navy Personnel Center. They had met at Berkeley during the late 1970s, where Arlene pursued a degree in English before going to nursing school and Bob, having graduated in mathematics from Stanford and gotten a master’s at UCLA, completed his PhD in statistics. The couple got married in Los Angeles, lived briefly in Washington, DC, while Bob worked with the Bureau of Labor Statistics, and then moved to San Diego.
Both parents were models of success, with family backgrounds that contained both achievement and adversity. Arlene was a Southern California girl, born in Santa Clarita near Los Angeles. Bob and his twin sister, Betty, were born in Istanbul; their father (Jimmy’s grandfather) was stationed in Turkey at the time.
Bob’s father, also Robert, was a West Point graduate (and brother of an Annapolis graduate) with a distinguished military and civilian career that included service in the Pacific during World War II. The family can be traced to early colonial times. Bob’s mother once served as governor of the exclusive Monterey Bay Colony of Mayflower Descendants.
As in most families, there were difficulties as well as successes, and difficulties to come. A few relatives on both sides of the extended family had alcohol problems or minor emotional conditions. At least three were diagnosed with more serious mental disorders that required, at times, psychiatric hospitalization. Bob’s twin sister, Betty, developed severe mental illness early in life. “It was something we never really talked about,” he said at his son’s trial. He suspected that Betty, who has been mentally disabled for decades, has some variety of schizophrenia.
Bob’s father, Jimmy’s paternal grandfather, had notable psychiatric symptoms as well, especially late in life. His military record refers to psychiatric evaluations, and, although he was successful in many ways, he was once admitted to the Monterey Peninsula Community Hospital for “disabling obsessive-compulsive disorder.” Jimmy and his sister, Chris, enjoyed both Betty and Robert senior. The adult James remembers Betty as a “kind and loving aunt.”
Arlene’s father, Burt Eagan, was hospitalized during midlife for bouts of depression and psychosis; he died when Jimmy was four. Her mother, Helen, was a kind and patient grandmother who loved Jimmy and Chris. The family visited Helen often; Jimmy and Chris loved to swim and watch movies at her Los Angeles retirement complex. There’s a family video of Grandmother Helen and young Jimmy making gingerbread cookies, and Jimmy excitedly asking, “When we’re done taking our nap, can we eat all these?”
It was a good family, with closeness and love. “Lots of hugs,” James the adult would remember from jail, and parents who modeled values of education, initiative, and family life.
Jimmy hit all the usual developmental milestones. He talked at the right age, began walking at the right age, and was obviously a smart and loving boy. An early phase with temper tantrums evolved into a boy who liked to hug, laughed a lot, and showed all the joys and feelings of childhood. There were no problems in preschool at KinderCare or in kindergarten at Sundance Elementary.
All little kids have fears, and Jimmy had his. On family trips to visit Arlene’s mother in Los Angeles, he sometimes worried that thugs would climb through a window and kidnap him. Back at home, he was afraid for a few months of what he called “nail ghosts,” monsters that might hammer nails through the wall beside his bed at night and poke him. Mom and Dad reassured him. “They let me sleep in their bed,” he remembers, “or they’d say there’s no monsters,” and the fears went away.
His parents treasure photos and videos of Jimmy as small child, singing a Christmas song for example, or during grace before a meal. There’s a home movie of Jimmy sitting at the kitchen table getting a haircut from his grandmother, another of him wearing little rabbit ears, another of the toddler running to hug his father, and one of a proud, five-year-old Jimmy gently holding his baby sister, Chris, soon after she was born.
When Chris was about a year old, Jimmy composed a letter to her. He didn’t write it himself (he had just turned six); he told his mother what to write:
Dear Chris,
I love you, Chris. I wish you could play basketball and soccer with me. I wish you could play Lite-Brite. You have soft, cute skin. You’re a happy baby. I wish you could play marbles with me. You can when you grow up. You need four more years.
Love,
Jimmy, your brother
Years later, in a different world, Chris would read that letter to the jury at her brother’s sentencing hearing and say, “When I was only one, he was happy I was his sister.” A few minutes after that, looking at photos being shown in court of the two of them riding bikes and smiling and wearing Christmas hats, she quietly added, “There was a time when we were happy.”
When Jimmy was about seven, the family moved several hundred miles north to Salinas, California, in order to be near Bob’s ailing mother, Jane. They bought a house in the rural suburb of Oak Hills, a couple of miles northwest of town. They planned to stay in Oak Hills/Salinas for five years and then reevaluate the situation.
Bob began work in statistical forecasting at the nearby Defense Manpower Data Center, largely on the Armed Forces Vocational Aptitude Battery (AFVAB, a test to determine qualifications for enlistment and military occupational specialties). Arlene, a registered nurse, raised the family and was eventually employed by Central Coast Visiting Nurses. Jimmy started elementary school in Castroville; in a few years, Chris would go there as well.
Salinas, the county seat of Monterey County, had about 150,000 people. Oak Hills was much smaller, a few hundred middle-class houses surrounded by the huge farms that fill the Salinas Valley and support its motto, “Salad Bowl of the World.” Although just a few miles from toney Monterey and Carmel-by-the-Sea, agricultural and diverse Salinas, Oak Hills, and Castroville (a rural, working-class town of 7,000) were very different from suburban San Diego.
The family lived in a modest one-story ranch on Foxtail Place, with a wood-shingle roof, lots of bushes in front, and plenty of eucalyptus trees behind the house. Jimmy had his own room. Their backyard opened into vacant land about a block from State Highway 156, with hundreds of acres of strawberry fields just beyond. If you walked southwest along the path beside Charter Oak on any given afternoon during the late 1990s, passing Clover Trail and turning left onto Foxtail Place, you might see Jimmy and the gang of grade school kids playing basketball in the cul-de-sac in front of Jimmy’s house.
James the adult remembers “a big canyon behind the house,” adventurous to a kid but actually just a dip in the landscape with a little creek, where he and his friends would play capture the flag for hours. He remembers digging ponds in the backyard, mudholes really, and jumping into them as he pretended they were a water park. He remembers playing with his little sister, who sometimes helped him dig. He remembers interesting neighbors. One ran a jewelry shop; another taught art at a penitentiary. He remembers friends and neighborhood parties, games and sports, Halloweens and Christmases.
No mystery here, no violence, nothing unusual; just lots of good memories for everyone who was there.
In early 1996, just after Jimmy turned eight, Arlene and Bob became a little concerned about his behavior. They brought the family to local counselor John Adams and told him that although Jimmy was doing fine in school, he was “very Nintendo-oriented,” socialized poorly at home, and sometimes threw his stuffed animals. The counseling records indicate that Jimmy was quiet and noncommunicative during that first visit but was otherwise pleasant and alert and played with his sister. Adams mad
e some recommendations about discipline and the differences between Mom’s and Dad’s parenting styles. Within three visits, Arlene and Bob reported great improvement. All seemed normal, and they stopped the counseling.
Psychiatrists and psychologists sometimes exaggerate the importance of a few counseling notes, especially when the subject is as sensational as James Holmes. It’s important to point out that none of the complaints or descriptions in those early childhood records was particularly worrisome. Little boys throw things all the time; kids often behave differently at home than at school or with friends. Counselor Adams gave Jimmy a common, almost generic diagnosis at the time (“oppositional defiant disorder”), perhaps just to be sure the sessions would be covered by the family’s insurance. By the second or third visit, the diagnosis no longer applied. Nothing in the family services notes suggests future social or psychiatric problems or what was to occur in Aurora some sixteen years later.
During his first few years in Oak Hills, Jimmy attended Castroville Elementary, two or three miles down Highway 156 from the family home. He was always on the honor roll. His teachers remember him with adjectives like “intelligent,” “smiling,” “active,” “helpful,” and “sweet.” There’s a video of him receiving an award for 100 percent attendance.
His second grade teacher, Ann Hestand, recalls a little boy who was friendly, considerate, and popular with the other children. Testifying during the sentencing phase of the trial, she remembered his “wonderful smile.”
His fifth grade teacher, Paul Karrer, remembers him as a very bright boy, friendly and popular. Karrer testified during the trial that “he was balanced … like a renaissance kid,” the leader of the exceptional students. “He had academic abilities and the kids liked him.” As a special project, Mr. Karrer let Jimmy and another fifth grader write computer code to create a class website—no easy task during the late 1990s—after they finished their classwork. Karrer had a contest during gym classes in which the kids would try to outrun him for prizes. Jimmy was the first to beat him. Jimmy and his friends were the kinds of students that “make teaching rewarding,” Karrer said. “He was a wonderful kid when he was ten.”
A Dark Night in Aurora Page 1
