Meanwhile, Randy Ertman stood next to his friend Bob Carreiro. Randy met Carreiro the weekend Jennifer went missing. Carreiro had recently lost his seven-year-old daughter, Kynara Lorin Carreiro, and her ten-year-old friend, Kristin Michelle Wiley, to murder. The girls were staying at the Wileys when someone broke in and stabbed both girls to death.
The two men held hands and bowed their heads in prayer.
Rodriguez and Anne-Marie Franz, a Waltrip High School teacher who coordinated with Rodriguez on the memorial, both gave brief dedications for the memorial on behalf of Elizabeth and Jennifer. Once they completed the ceremony, the crowd slowly walked toward the tree and the plaque, many touching the memorial as if they were vicariously giving a reassuring pat on the back to the girls.
The two fathers walked away with red-rimmed eyes and hearts full of gratitude.
“All of these children did this out of their own pockets,” Randy stated. “I can’t ask for more than that. All I can do is thank them.” He shook his head, almost in disbelief.
“I am so proud of these kids,” Adolph added. “But I’m also sad that they had to do this for their friends.”
Both fathers walked off with their arms draped around the other’s shoulder and their heads bowed.
The following Monday, November 22, 1993, Raul Villarreal, Joe Medellin, and Sean O’Brien had their motions to change venues tossed out by Judge Doug Shaver during a consolidated hearing. All three young men’s cases would be heard in a Harris County courthouse. Judge Shaver also officially set the court dates for March 1, 1994, for jury selection, and April 4, 1994, for the beginning of testimony.
The Penas dreaded the upcoming holiday season, which would be their first without Elizabeth. Patti Zapalac, Melissa Pena’s sister, told them, “It’s going to be real hard on us this Christmas.” The Penas spent Thanksgiving with Adolph’s parents and somehow managed to make it through the somber occasion.
PART II
PURE AGONY
Chapter 34
Friday, January 7, 1994
Harris County Courthouse
351st District Court
Franklin Street
Houston, Texas
State district judge Bill Harmon did indeed separate himself from the rest of the pack when he decided to move forward with the capital murder trial of Peter Cantu and not try him concurrently with the other defendants. It was less than seven months since Elizabeth Pena and Jennifer Ertman had been murdered.
Cantu was represented by Don Davis and Rob Morrow. The three men watched as a group of thirty prospective jurors were brought before Judge Harmon. As the citizens were ushered into the courtroom, Cantu flashed them a huge smile.
The judge and the attorneys proceeded to methodically go through voir dire, or jury selection. Judge Harmon guessed it would take them three weeks to determine an appropriate panel of twelve jurors plus two alternate jurors.
Wednesday, January 12, 1994
Harris County Jail—cellblock 7B2
San Jacinto Street
Houston, Texas
Less than one week after jury selection began in the Cantu trial, Raul Villarreal got himself into a whole new batch of trouble when he attacked another inmate. The teenager was housed on the seventh floor in a dorm for maximum-security inmates. This included higher-profile criminals who were usually involved in capital murder cases. Maximum-security inmates are under the most stringent restrictions of anyone in the jail.
Despite their limitations, max-security inmates were allowed to have three or four days a week of recreation time, according to Deputy Grady Castleberry. Here, they can go into a gymnasium and play basketball, spike volleyballs, lift weights, or shoot the shit with other inmates.
Castleberry and one other guard lined up the sixteen inmates from the seventh floor, ready to march them into the recreation area. The inmates stood in a single-file line with their right shoulders up against the wall. If one removed his shoulder from the wall, it was considered an act of aggression against the guards and could result in punishment. The inmates were also required to keep their mouths shut.
On this particular day, the inmates should have been happy, because they were not forced to wear shackles on their feet and handcuffs on their wrists. The main reason why they were allowed such a privilege was because there had been no incidents between any of the prisoners, or between the prisoners and the guards, in almost four months. The guards considered the lack of restraints to be an “incentive” for the prisoners. They wanted them to take full advantage of their mobility and do something positive for themselves.
Villarreal stood fourth in line. He kept his mouth shut and his right shoulder on the wall. He marched in sync through the main hall.
Castleberry followed the line of men into the gymnasium. Within seconds, twenty-four-year-old African-American prisoner Lynn Holland ran toward Castleberry.
“He’s got a shank!” Holland yelled. “Stop him!”
A shank is a cell-made weapon usually fashioned out of some random item found inside the prison. One can be constructed from a toothbrush handle, a piece of wood, a spoon stolen from the commissary, anything that could be turned into a lethal weapon. They are usually used by an inmate to perform a “hit” on another inmate. They are meant to kill.
Castleberry was ready, but not sure to whom Holland was referring. The guard instantly braced himself against the wall, assuming he would be the one on the receiving end of an attack. He looked up to see Villarreal running in his direction, holding something in his right hand, which was dangling to the side of his right leg.
Castleberry could tell Villarreal was not coming after him, but rather after Holland. The much skinnier and shorter Holland was scared to death as he sprinted toward the guard. According to Castleberry, Villarreal had “a determined look on his face, a look of anger.”
“Stop!” Castleberry barked. “Stop!”
Villarreal ignored the command. Instead, he continued his march through the gymnasium door, back out into the hallway, and past Castleberry. He merely glanced at the guard and continued on his way. Villarreal turned up the pace and began sprinting down the hallway after Holland. Castleberry then took off after Villarreal.
“Stop!” the guard continued to yell at Villarreal, who was four feet ahead of him. “Stop!”
Villarreal ignored him.
“I need rovers! I need rovers!” he called out. Rovers are other deputies on the floor. “Villarreal, drop the shank and stop running!”
Villarreal made it nearly two hundred feet down the hallway, rounded a corner, and stopped dead in his tracks when he saw another guard waiting for him. He pinned himself against the wall, still grasping the shank.
Castleberry followed around the corner, saw Villarreal had finally halted, and yelled, “Drop the shank! Lay it down on the ground, now.”
Villarreal finally did what he was told and tossed the weapon to the floor. Holland stopped running, once he realized Villarreal could not attack him. Castleberry retrieved the shank from the ground and saw it was wrapped in a dirty sock. A sock is used as a strap to keep a shank from slipping out of an attacker’s hands while doing the actual stabbing. A lack of a handle or too much blood will make the shank slippery. The sock helps keep it in place.
Castleberry pocketed the shank, which was made out of a “stinger,” a tool used to heat water that could be purchased from the jail commissary. The guard looked at Villarreal and said, “What’s going on?”
“I had to take care of business,” Villarreal declared. He looked furious. Castleberry was not sure if it was because he was simply mad at Holland or because he wanted to kill the inmate.
Holland was taken to the jail’s medical clinic. That was where Castleberry saw for the first time that the prisoner had actually been stabbed by Villarreal. It was not life-threatening, merely a puncture wound on his right side.
Castleberry later related that Villarreal had befriended two prisoners who were well-known Mexican Mafia (MM) m
embers, one of the top gangs in the prison system. The guard believed Villarreal wanted to join the MM. One of the alleged prerequisites for membership into the MM is to murder another inmate. Villarreal denied any such desire. He stated he attacked Holland because they had a fight over whose turn it was to read the daily newspaper.
Villarreal’s defense attorneys also tried to argue that Holland had attacked Villarreal way back in August and he retaliated—five months later.
Villarreal was placed in double-door lockdown in cellblock 7N, which gave all of the deputies easy access to him. (It was also the most secure cellblock in the entire jail.)
On Friday, Jaunary 14, 1994, Villarreal was charged with assault for the attack.
Chapter 35
Monday, January 31, 1994
Harris County Courthouse
178th District Court—room 7D
San Jacinto Street
Houston, Texas
Peter Cantu was ushered into the courtroom of Judge William T. “Bill” Harmon, alongside his attorneys Don Davis and Robert Morrow. He grinned as he entered the courtroom and sat down at the tiny wooden defense table. He looked back into the gallery and caught the eye of Randy Ertman, who sat in the front row of the courtroom directly behind prosecutors Donna Goode and Don Smyth, and back and to the left behind Cantu. Ertman was joined by his wife, Sandy, Melissa Pena, and Andy Kahan.
The courtroom gallery was overflowing with people, mainly supporters of the Penas and Ertmans. In addition to more family members of the girls, there were several students and teachers from Waltrip High School as well. According to Kahan, the courtroom “was packed. They even had people waiting outside in the lobby and the hallway wanting to get in.” There were more than three hundred people wanting to see what would happen to the alleged ringleader of the murderers of Elizabeth Pena and Jennifer Ertman.
What most people did not know is that Randy Ertman was largely responsible for the large turnout. He personally forked over the money to have two taxis and two vans shuttle students to the courthouse.
Adolph Pena remembered the first time he walked into the large box-shaped courtroom. He noticed the long width-wise wooden pews, of which there were seven rows’ worth. He also noticed four large wooden beams evenly placed throughout the courtroom, two of which caused a major obstruction for those unfortunate enough to have to sit in their pathway. To the front of the courtroom, he spotted Judge Harmon’s bench. It was not overwhelmingly imposing like so many he had seen on television and in the movies. To the right of the judge was the witness stand and to the right of that was the jury box.
As Pena sidled toward the front of the courtroom, he caught sight of Peter Cantu at the defense table, not less than five feet from the judge’s bench. Pena brought reinforcements with him to intimidate Cantu—namely, his cousin Joe.
“He’s not a very nice guy,” Adolph admitted about Joe.
“Boy, he’d come in there and he’s all dressed in black and wore these real dark sunglasses, and he walked in there with me.” Adolph chuckled. “Peter Cantu saw him come in there with me and he put his head down on the defense table like he wanted to run and hide. Joe was just staring him down the whole time.
“Now, Joe is a pretty good guy, but he’s been in and out of prison a couple of times, and all of his brothers are in prison and he knows some people in prison.” Despite his cousin’s less-than-savory background, Adolph was glad to have him by his side.
“He’d say to me, ‘C’mon, I’m going to go with you. I’ll take care of you.’” Adolph was grateful. “It was good to have him.”
Cantu sat toward the front of the table, which was positioned in a rectangular fashion with one end near the judge’s bench and the other end close to the gallery’s wooden rail. Defense attorneys Davis and Morrow sat opposite Cantu, closer to the people in the gallery, almost as if to act as human shields for their client.
Davis had the unfortunate distinction of resembling a taller version of the nerdy television character Steve Urkel (Jaleel White) from the sitcom Family Matters. Morrow, on the other hand, had the unfortunate distinction of resembling another nerd, Bill Gates—albeit, a shorter version of the Microsoft chairman. Despite their appearances, both lawyers were tough, seasoned defenders.
Adolph headed toward Cantu and the defense table, only to stop, pause, and turn left to grab a seat on the front aisle. He noticed a few teenagers shooing people away.
“You can’t sit there,” Adolph overheard one teenage boy tell someone who tried to snag a front-row seat. “These are for the girls’ families.” The seat thief quickly skittered away, embarrassed.
There were even a few Cantu supporters in attendance, mainly several attractive Hispanic teenage girls. Adolph dubbed them “the Groupies.”
The state of Texas tackled the first trial of the Jennifer Ertman and Elizabeth Pena capital murder case with prosecutors Don Smyth and Donna Goode at the helm. Smyth, who resembled a smaller modern-day version of Dennis Weaver’s McCloud, minus the ten-gallon hat and bolo tie, was eager to get started. Goode came in, all business. The thin, attractive prosecutor was dressed in her best business suit and had her long, curly hair pulled back with a salmon-colored barrette. She wore large, oversized glasses, as did Smyth.
Judge Harmon, a youngish, pleasant-looking fellow, liked to maintain a sense of ease in his courtroom. He did not come engulfed in the traditional flowing black robes. Instead, he wore a simple and smart black business suit, a white oxford shirt, and a maroon tie. He looked more like an accountant for a large corporation than a formidable judge.
Harmon entered the courtroom, took his chair, and called for the jury. Soon thereafter, he asked prosecutor Smyth to read the indictment against Cantu.
After reading the formalities, Smyth then stated, “Peter Anthony Cantu, heretofore on or about June 24, 1993, did then and there unlawfully while in the course of committing and attempting to commit the kidnapping of Jennifer Ertman, hereinafter called the complainant, intentionally cause the death of complainant by strangling the complainant with a deadly weapon, namely hands, and by strangling the complainant with a deadly weapon, namely a belt, and by strangling the complainant with a deadly weapon, namely a foot, and by strangling the complainant with a deadly weapon, namely an object unknown to the jury.”
Smyth added the charge of robbery of Jennifer by Cantu, in addition to her murder. The prosecutor also added the murder of Elizabeth Pena, along with an added deadly weapon of a shoestring.
Smyth finished reading the indictment and quickly moved on to his opening statement. He asserted the evidence would show what happened that night, how it happened, and that it was Cantu and his friends who were responsible for the murders of Elizabeth and Jennifer. Smyth detailed, point by point, what Cantu and the others did to the girls. He also stressed it was Cantu who instructed the other boys to execute them.
Though logical and practical, Smyth had an annoying habit of starting each and every paragraph with: “I anticipate the evidence will show that . . .” Even though his opening was brief, the repetition of the phrase—thirty-two times—was tiresome.
The state’s first three witnesses were Gina Escamilla, the friend of the girls whom they were out with the night they were murdered, and the Sandoval twins. They laid out the timeline for what happened from when the girls left their parents’ houses until they walked past the Sandoval brothers and into the den of hell.
Defense attorney Don Davis spent much of his cross-examination of the Sandoval brothers attempting to disprove the theory that the boys were part of some organized high-end Houston gang. Frank Sandoval basically agreed and stated they were more a tight-knit group of misfits, outcasts, and friends who looked out for one another.
Davis asked Frank why he left the scene after he witnessed Joe Medellin drag Elizabeth by her neck and heard her screaming. “You said at that point when you saw that, you decided to leave. Is that correct?” Davis asked.
“Yes, sir,” Frank replied.
/> “Why did you decide to leave then?”
“’Cause I knew that was wrong,” Frank added.
“You knew what was wrong?”
“Getting the girl and throwing her to the ground and forcing her, forcing her . . .”
“What did you think Joe was going to do at that time? What did you think Joe was about to do?” Davis queried.
“I thought they were going to rape her. Rape them.”
“So at that point,” Davis continued, “what do you decide to do then? You think Joe is going to rape this girl, so what do you do at that point?”
“Turned to my brother, told him it was time to leave,” Frank responded, nonplussed. “At the same time, too, he turned to me and told me [it was time to leave], so we started walking.”
Frank also testified Cantu went after him and told him to “get some.” Frank declined and continued on walking with his brother. Neither boy went back to help. Davis did not bother to go after the teenager any further as to why he did not help the two young girls. The look on Adolph’s face indicated he would like to have known why the boy did not do anything to help his daughter.
Frank did claim he was afraid of the other boys, because “they had the Devil in them.” He claimed that is why he did not even bother to call the police. When asked if it bothered him that he did not seek help, Frank Sandoval simply responded, “No, it did not bother me.”
Adolph would later express his opinions on the Sandoval brothers. “Those two sons of bitches, I wish I could run across them.” His disgust was palpable. “They could have saved the girls. All they had to do was call 911 as an anonymous caller and say, ‘Hey, people over here are beating on these girls.’ Cops would have been over there in about thirty seconds. But they never did. I believe they’re just as guilty as the other guys and they didn’t get shit. I hope to God they have nightmares every night.”
Pure Murder Page 21
