Judge Burdette, Pena-Garcia, and Yuni Medellin held a conference outside of the presence of the jury. Judge Burdette simply wanted to make sure Medellin understood the potential consequences of his testimony in the case against O’Brien.
“I am sure that Ms. Garcia has explained those potential problems to you,” the judge inquired of the now-fifteen-year-old boy.
“Yes, sir,” Yuni obediently replied.
“And understanding what she has told you,” Burdette continued, “and the advice of counsel she has given you regarding your circumstances, you decline, and still having some of these matters ahead of you in several years—that is, the other aspect of sentencing—it is your desire to—nevertheless, understanding what those pitfalls may be, is it your desire to go ahead, give up whatever rights you might have, and go ahead and testify in this case freely, voluntarily, and willingly?”
“Yes, sir,” Yuni Medellin answered without hesitation.
Medellin took the stand with Pena-Garcia standing directly behind him. Judge Burdette introduced the witness and his attorney to the jurors so there would be no confusion as to why she was hovering over Yuni.
Prosecutor Baldassano had Yuni Medellin explain to the court that he had also been arrested for aggravated sexual assault of Jennifer in the same case, he had pleaded guilty, and he was serving time in juvenile detention for his participation in the crime. He also explained he received a forty-year determinate sentence and had made no deals with the district attorney’s office to come and testify against the defendant, O’Brien.
Yuni proceeded to tell the story of what happened that night and how O’Brien had willingly taken part in all of it. He described O’Brien as being the toughest one in the bunch. He made it clear to the jury that O’Brien was neither drunk at the time they picked him up nor high on drugs. In other words, he had a clear head and was under no duress from anyone else in the group to do something against his will.
Yuni described the initiation of Raul Villarreal and talked about the aftermath when the guys were on the trestle, drinking beer, and talking about sticking up for one another. He stressed the guys were not “like a regular gang that goes out and starts fights. They were more like brothers that were always there for one another, who helped each other out.”
At the end of the day’s testimony, victims’ rights advocate Andy Kahan spoke on behalf of the victims. He commented on how the proceedings were much calmer this time around than in Cantu’s trial.
“I give the families of the girls all the credit in the world.” Kahan praised the Penas and Ertmans. “I think they’re showing true character. In my opinion, they are true American heroes.” Kahan paused and added, “They’re here because their daughters couldn’t be here.”
Thursday, April 7, 1994—9:30 A.M.
Harris County Courthouse Annex
184th District Court—room 514
Preston Street
Houston, Texas
Prosecutor Steve Baldassano read through the lengthy list of charges for the jurors to start off his closing argument. He then turned his attention to the two girls who were the reason why everyone had gathered in the courthouse.
“You have to think of the defendant’s rights,” the handsome prosecutor intoned. “But I also think you could remember the victims’ rights. In fact, it is your committed duty to do so. These two little girls certainly have the right to be on the beach in Galveston in their bikinis instead of being rotted corpses in a cemetery.”
The prosecutor was not holding back.
“They have the right to walk down the streets of their own town,” he declared. “To go through a park in their own city. They have those rights. Think of those girls. They have rights, not just the defendant.”
Baldassano also warned the jury not to focus on Peter Cantu being the alleged ringleader of the group. “I think it’s real easy to pick on Peter Cantu because most of the city probably hates him. He’s a fall guy, but he’s not the only guy out there. One person doesn’t make everybody do a sexual assault.” The prosecutor brought it back around to Sean O’Brien. “The defendant lived right there. He didn’t leave. So you know that Peter Cantu isn’t the mastermind that makes everybody do everything.”
Next up was Connie Williams, who represented O’Brien. “I know it’s been a difficult case for you,” the impeccably smooth defense attorney informed the jury. “It’s been a difficult case for Houston, Texas, period.”
Williams reiterated his client did have rights, just like each one of the jury members had rights in the event they were ever to get into trouble. Rights established long before even their grandparents were born.
Williams closed with, “I am a parent. I am a citizen of the community just like you are. I agree with everything Mr. Baldassano said about these beautiful young girls and what they have been reduced to, but here we are and it’s your task.”
Prosecutor Jeannine Barr ended up the closing statements. “The thing that struck me,” she addressed the jury, “was this defendant’s own words to Ramon Sandoval—‘We had to do it. We had to do it.’”
Barr looked directly at one of the jury members in the front row. “That’s a lie. He didn’t have to do it. They didn’t have to do anything,” she sneered as she looked back at O’Brien.
“He’s here charged with this crime because of his choices, because of his desires, and because of his own personal rules.
“He chose to associate with these guys.
“He chose to go out that night.
“He chose to go to the tracks.
“He chose to get involved in the fight.
“He chose to have sex with Jennifer Ertman.
“He chose to have sex and to rape her over and over again.
“Those were his choices,” Barr emphasized.
“He then chose to take off his belt and he chose to take that belt and to strangle Jennifer Ertman, and he chose to kill her.”
Barr closed by asking the jury to give O’Brien his proper label. “Label him what he is. A capital murderer. Nothing else will suffice.”
The jury returned from deliberations after only ninety minutes, led by jury foreman Bryan Beck.
“Mr. Beck, has your jury arrived at a verdict?” Judge Burdette asked.
“Yes, we have, Your Honor,” the foreman replied.
The verdict was handed to the judge. “We, the jury, find the defendant, Derrick Sean O’Brien, guilty of capital murder, as charged in the indictment.”
O’Brien did not flinch. He did not smirk. He did not cry. He simply stood there in silence.
Judge Burdette informed the jury they would be allowed to go to lunch, but they were required to return by 2:00 P.M. to begin the penalty phase of O’Brien’s trial.
Outside in the courthouse hallway, the families were happy yet restrained. Adolph Pena attributed his calmer mood to his wife.
“During the Cantu trial, I was a complete wreck,” Adolph admitted. “I couldn’t handle the graphic testimony.”
Andy Kahan, once again, handled the media for the families. “Derrick Sean O’Brien has been held accountable for his actions. In the families’ opinions, he should be given the same sentence as Peter Cantu. There’s plenty of room on death row for people like O’Brien.”
Thursday, April 7, 1994—2:00 P.M.
Harris County Courthouse Annex
184th District Court—room 514
Preston Street
Houston, Texas
During his sentencing, a videotaped confession by Sean O’Brien where he admitted he was at the scene of Patricia Lopez’s murder was played for the jury. The prosecution popped in the videocassette and a hush fell over the courtroom. O’Brien’s face appeared on the screen. He claimed he was involved in Lopez’s murder and was joined by Peter Cantu and Joe Medellin.
O’Brien claimed the three young men were walking along the road when a car stopped just ahead of them. As they approached the car, they saw a woman, older than they were, but still youn
g. She exited her vehicle at almost the same time they walked past. She asked the young men if they could help her out. She stated she had run out of gas and needed a push to a nearby convenience store. The guys, eager to purchase some alcohol, agreed as long as she would buy them beer for their troubles. The motorist agreed, got back in her car, and the three boys pushed it all the way to the store.
When they arrived, the grateful Lopez got out of her car, removed the gas cap, and pumped gas into the tank. She smiled at the boys, walked inside, and returned with a twelve-pack of Budweiser beer cans.
O’Brien claimed they asked Patricia Lopez to party with them; however, he “was too drunk to know who did what.” He denied on videotape that he killed Patricia Lopez.
Jose Martin Medellin, brother of Yuni Medellin and Jose “Joe” Ernesto Medellin, claimed, however, that O’Brien, Cantu, and Medellin’s brother Joe bragged about killing the young lady.
After the videotape, several witnesses were brought in to testify about the bad things O’Brien had done to them during his short life. One included a friend who overheard O’Brien say he would kill his own girlfriend. The other was a cellmate who testified O’Brien said he didn’t care if the girls died because “they were whores anyway.”
The punishment-phase testimony lasted for two days.
On April 9, both sides laid out their closing arguments. Judge Burdette sent the jury off yet again to deliberate.
This time, they returned in less than half an hour.
Their verdict was guilty. Sean O’Brien would be the second defendant in the case to receive a sentence of death by lethal injection.
Outside in the hallway, the family members once again congregated to celebrate. Sandra Ertman, comfortably dressed in a white T-shirt and blue jeans, spoke to the local media. “I’m just glad he’s off the streets of Houston,” she said of O’Brien, “so he can’t do this to any other children, and so no adults or families have to suffer what we’re going through . . .” Her voice trailed upward into a higher register as she fought back even more tears. She quietly stepped away from the microphone and began to softly sob. She was soon comforted by one of her many supporters.
Her husband, Randy Ertman, was nearly speechless. He simply wanted to thank the many people who came to the courthouse every day and packed it to the rafters in support of his daughter and Elizabeth Pena.
“God Bless y’all,” he stated in a teary voice. “Thank you very much. That’s all I can say.” He turned around and walked away while wiping yet another tear from his weary eyes.
The Penas, who were very quiet during Peter Cantu’s trial, were less than thrilled with the outcome.
Melissa Pena was shaking as she stated, “I don’t think it’s good enough,” referring to O’Brien’s punishment of the death sentence. “Our daughters don’t have an extra day to live.” Tears began welling in her eyes. “He’ll live ten more years before he dies.”
Adolph Pena, who stood next to his wife, was equally incensed. “Why can’t they put a belt around his neck? Why can’t they stomp them down with their feet? Stomp them into the ground until they are dead. . . .”
No one standing near him was about to disagree.
Andy Kahan recalled, “The thing I remember the most about that trial was how quick that jury came back with a death sentence. I think they were out fifteen minutes. They went in to deliberate his sentence, and within fifteen to twenty minutes, they came back with death. I had never seen anything that fast in my life.”
Adolph spoke about Derrick Sean O’Brien. “Even in the courtroom,” he recalled, “he really looked like he felt bad for what he did. Out of all those guys, I think he was the only one who felt any remorse for his actions. I think it was because of the way he was brought up by his grandmother. Real respectful, and that’s the way his grandmother brought him up. Why he ended up killing two or more girls? You got me.”
Chapter 39
While waiting for his trial, Joe Medellin was found to be a DNA match for blood found on Patricia Lopez.
Meanwhile, Efrain Perez was analyzed by a psychologist named Wendell Lee Dickerson. The doctor diagnosed Perez with a “character disturbance,” or a “personality trait disorder,” and declared he was basically a “follower and not a leader.”
Apparently, Perez relayed to Dickerson that he was a very jealous kid. He got “frustrated watching all the other kids in school who owned cars, because he didn’t own one” himself. He added, it “caused him to get bored with school” and “turn to a life of crime.”
Perez also found God while behind bars.
A different type of divine intervention took place along the shores of the White Oak Bayou in T. C. Jester Park, where the girls were murdered. Randy Ertman met with Houston officials about erecting memorial crosses in the park on behalf of his daughter and Elizabeth Pena. The crosses were constructed by friends of the girls from Waltrip High School. The city officials agreed to allow the crosses to be raised.
A local atheist warned that he would file a lawsuit against the city, but he eventually conceded. The crosses went up on the one-year anniversary of the girls’ murders. They would, however, be taken down after another atheist threatened to go forward with a lawsuit. The crosses were subsequently taken down and two memorial benches were installed in their place.
Chapter 40
Monday, September 12, 1994—9:00 A.M.
Harris County Courthouse Annex
263rd District Court
Preston Street
Houston, Texas
It was agreed upon by the courts that the three remaining defendants—Jose “Joe” Medellin, Efrain Perez, and Raul Villarreal—would all be tried at the same time in the same courthouse, but in three separate courtrooms with three separate judges and juries. It was an unprecedented move by the courts to accommodate the families of the victims, as well as several witnesses who would have to give repeat testimony in all three cases.
Before the trials of Efrain Perez, Joe Medellin, and Raul Villarreal had even begun, advocates who were anti–death penalty were up in arms. In addition to the three trials conducted simultaneously in the Elizabeth Pena and Jennifer Ertman murders, three more cases that were capital murder/death penalty–eligible were to be tried in Harris County courts at the same time. An unprecedented number of six cases—more than some death penalty states have in a given year—were to be tried at once.
Victims’ rights advocate Andy Kahan had no problem with the anomaly. “Nobody forced these defendants to be participants in a capital murder trial,” he stated in reference to Perez, Medellin, and Villarreal. “Nobody forced the defendants to do what they did. I’m just pleased that Harris County has enough guts and gumption to try these cases like they should be tried.”
The first trial of the trio to kick off was Efrain Perez’s in Judge Ruben Guerrero’s courtroom. It was located right across the hall, and just slightly to the left, from Judge Caprice Cosper’s 339th District courtroom. The walk from one door to the other was less than fifteen feet.
To successfully coordinate the shuffling of witnesses from one courtroom to the next, the judges agreed that Raul Villarreal’s trial would not begin until the following day. It, too, would take place on the same floor in Judge Doug Shaver’s courtroom, just down the hall from Judges Guerrero and Cosper’s courtrooms.
Perez’s trial began around 9:00 A.M. Judge Guerrero’s courtroom was substantially smaller than the courtroom used for Peter Cantu’s trial earlier in the year. The layout was plain. One would simply walk into the courtroom, turn left, and see several yellowish brown wooden pews, which made up the gallery for any spectators. As with Cantu’s trial and then Sean O’Brien’s trial, each inch of each pew was filled with a person, usually a supporter of the Penas and/or Ertmans.
After the four rows of pews, and on the other side of the wooden railing used to separate the gallery from the legal teams, Perez was seated at the defense table, which was positioned perpendicular in between the galler
y and the judge. Perez was dressed in khaki pants, a long-sleeved white oxford shirt, and a black tie. He was flanked by three attorneys, Will Gray to his right, Terrence Gaiser and Jill Wallace to his left.
Seated directly across from the defendant at their own perpendicularly positioned table were prosecutors Marie Munier and Don Smyth. Oddly enough, the prosecution’s table was positioned so their backs were to the jury. A lectern between the tables and the judge, however, would be used to address the members of the jury directly.
At the head of the brightly lit room sat Judge Ruben Guerrero, who resembled Pugsley from The Addams Family television series. He was rather heavyset, with a shock of thick black hair, expansive jowls, and bedecked in his flowing black robe. He made a fairly ominous presence in the courtroom as he loomed high over the defendant.
Perez spent the majority of the beginning of his trial with his head buried in his hands and on the table.
Monday, September 12, 1994—10:00 A.M.
Harris County Courthouse Annex
339th District Court
Preston Street
Houston, Texas
One hour later, the trial of Joe Medellin began. The families of the victims were helped along by Andy Kahan, Joseph DeBruyn, and Joan Taliaferro. They would make sure that someone from the Ertman and Pena families was situated in a courtroom of both defendants at all given times.
Joe Medellin was brought into Judge Caprice Cosper’s 339th District courtroom. It appeared to be the exact same layout as the courtroom Sean O’Brien had been tried and convicted in five months earlier. Judge Cosper was situated in the back right corner of the room. Medellin and his defense attorneys, Jack Millin and Linda Mazzagatti, were seated around a rectangular table that was positioned parallel to the wooden railing that separated the defense teams from the gallery. To the side of the defense team was the prosecution, led by the handsome, well-dressed African-American Mark Vinson. There were five rows of smaller wooden pews where the spectators could sit. Again, as with the previous trials, the gallery was overflowing.
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