by Burl Barer
Dissecting Webb’s version of the Salmon Beach homicide, Ladenburg pointed out the most glaring error and impossibility in Andrew Webb’s statement. “He says ‘Paul handed me a knife, but immediately I realized Paul wanted me to cut his throat.’ He must have been a mind reader. ‘I started thinking in my head, “No way;” then Paul started at me with a knife.’ Wait a minute. If we could have cross-examined Andrew Webb, he would look foolish telling you that Paul starts at him with the knife and then Paul hands him the knife. ‘I feared for my life, so I took the knife and drew it across Damon’s throat.’
“I submit to you,” said Ladenburg to the jury, “that the whole case turns on the believability of Andrew Webb, plain and simple. I would like to ask Andrew Webb, ‘Tell me, Mr. Webb, why is it that you slit Damon Wells’s throat? Were you afraid for your life, is that true, Mr. Webb? Tell me about your prior assault conviction. Were you afraid you might be going to prison, Mr. Webb?’ ”
Repeatedly referring to Andrew Webb as a liar, Ladenburg detailed copious inconsistencies between Webb’s statement to the police and his statement to the prosecution. It all added up to one very clear conclusion—Christopher St. Pierre did not commit homicide. “He did not slash Wells’s throat or stab him in the back. Chris was not armed with any deadly weapon. There was no premeditation involved in the death of Damon Wells, no ‘concert of action’ between the three men. Andrew Webb killed him and Andrew Webb meant to kill him. Andrew Webb was the only one with a motive, and the only one with such a hair-trigger violent temper that he chased down Damon Wells and slit his throat.”
In conclusion, Ladenburg pleaded with the jurors to not allow the emotions of the day, the horrible facts and horrible situations, to sway them from the requirements of the law—beyond a reasonable doubt.
“I ask you not to convict Christopher St. Pierre, or Paul for that matter, for crimes committed by Andrew Webb. Andrew Webb is being punished for the murder of Damon Wells. Perhaps not enough.”
Ladenburg left Chris’s fate in the jury’s hands, Chris put his fate in God’s hands, Judge Stone set the time to reconvene for 1:15 P.M., and everyone had lunch.
When they returned, David Murdach addressed the jury. He, too, had no kind words for Andrew Webb. “We all know that Andrew Webb slashed the throat of Damon Wells, and slashed it so deep that the knife penetrated or came against the third vertebra of the spinal column. That wound killed Damon Wells.
“We all know that is what happened,” said Murdach, “because there are no disputes as to those facts. After we know those facts, we then say, ‘What was the conduct of the defendants?’ When you ask that question, you have violated the instructions—the instructions say that the defendants are presumed innocent. We don’t go to the list of crimes and say, ‘OK, which one of these are they guilty of?’ We don’t do that. That is not what you have been told to do. This is not a basket of fruit—you don’t select the one that is most tasteful to you, or palatable, to salve the wounds of the people affected by this tragedy. This is not a civil case. This is not a suit for damages.
“In a criminal case,” he elaborated, “you enter a plea of guilty or not guilty. In the civil case, you either admit that the complaint is true or you deny it. Both civil and criminal charges require you coming to court and having a trial. Why is it that when criminal charges are brought, we automatically assume that the person did something wrong?”
Murdach answered this question with candor, citing that there are “built-in human emotions we can’t put aside. In a criminal case, the repercussions are so great, that our United States Constitution has a built-in safeguard—no other country has this safeguard—we have presumption of innocence, proof beyond a reasonable doubt.”
“Yet, in this case, we are asked by the prosecutor—not by Mr. Hultman himself—but by the prosecutor’s office to hang the accomplices and let the person who slit the throat go free! Now, what is it my client, Mr. Paul St. Pierre, is supposed to have done that makes him a rascal in the prosecutor’s office? He drove the car. He admits driving the car. He admits that he was at the scene. He admits to have beaten up Damon Wells in the bathroom.” Driving the car, being at the scene, and beating someone up, Murdach advised jurors, do not equal premeditated murder.
“Mr. Hultman, like it or not,” Murdach said with a hint of victory, “is a witness in this case. He is a witness because he heard Andrew Webb give a recantation of his earlier statement. That is novel, unique. It doesn’t happen often that a prosecutor’s own testimony can create, and did create, reasonable doubt as to whether or not Andrew Webb was telling the truth.”
Murdach basically defined and explained the legal rules and regulations regarding the various charges and jury instructions, building his argument that Paul St. Pierre may be guilty of something—some degree of assault and a major degree of irresponsibility—but he was not guilty of premeditated murder.
In the final analysis, Murdach appealed to the jurors’ sense of duty—not a duty to find someone, anyone, guilty of murder, nor a duty to punish—a citizen’s duty to uphold the high standards of American justice, due process of law, and the Bill of Rights of the United States Constitution. Murdach argued more in defense of the law than in defense of Paul St. Pierre.
Despite his professional and personable presentation, hearts remained untouched. No matter how well intentioned or solidly constructed, arguments invoking the shared civil religion of Americanism are notoriously ineffective. David Murdach’s final argument was not the exception that proved the rule.
In his immediate rebuttal, Carl Hultman went for the jugular. “Are they guilty of first-degree aggravated murder, premeditated? Of course they are! Mr. Ladenburg, at the beginning of this trial, told you he was going to talk about three things: means, motive, and opportunity. Well, you didn’t hear him talk about those three things in his closing argument!”
The prosecution addressed each of the three elements, starting with the means—“Paul St. Pierre’s fighting knife. Paul St. Pierre, the man who bragged about the crime, bragged ‘we stabbed him in the back, cut his throat, and waited for him to die.’ ”
The opportunity, defined by Hultman, was “three against one.” The St. Pierres had the courage to attack and kill a five-foot-tall, 109-pound individual, asserted the prosecution, “when they have someone else to help them—Andrew Webb.”
The motive, Hultman asserted, was nothing more or less than their cowardice. “What kind of man stands by and watches another man—a smaller, weaker man—slowly bleed to death?” Hultman never allowed jurors to forget that Paul and Christopher St. Pierre watched a helpless Damon Wells die without making any effort to save his life, alleviate his suffering, forestall his death, or ease his pain. Together with Andrew Webb, the St. Pierres experienced Damon Wells’s demise with the same detachment as all other cold-blooded killers. The three men were completely severed from the event’s emotional resonance, the devastation engendered by the crime, and the unavoidable implication that all three of them were, by their heartless participation in the tragic death of Damon Wells, devoid of morality, ethics, compassion, or humanity.
“Make a decision and give them justice,” insisted Carl Hultman, “the kind of thing they didn’t give Damon Wells. Come back into the courtroom and tell this community you have done the right thing. You found them guilty for what they did: aggravated murder in the first degree and kidnapping in the first degree and assault in the second degree. Thank you.”
Carl Hultman’s dynamic, insistent, relentless presentation of the horrific crime made an indelible impression upon the jury. After careful and serious deliberation over three days, the jury found Paul St. Pierre guilty of all charges, including first-degree aggravated murder—a death penalty offense.
Christopher St. Pierre was found guilty of kidnapping, assault, and felony murder—not a death penalty offense. Judge Stone, despite Hultman’s arguments to the contrary, ruled that Christopher St. Pierre would serve his sentences concurrently rather th
an consecutively. Paul St. Pierre, unlike his little brother, now faced the possibility of hearing Judge Stone intone, “You shall be hanged by the neck until you are dead.”
Carl Hultman wanted Paul St. Pierre hanged, perhaps willing to provide the required rope if so requested. The law to which Hultman is dedicated, however, insists upon sentencing hearings when life or death hangs in the balance.
“In most cases, the jury has nothing to do with sentencing,” David Murdach later explained, “but when the death penalty looms as possible punishment, the jury considers and then decides whether the offender gets life in prison without parole, or death. In this state, the death sentence is carried out by either hanging or lethal injection.”
The hearing began April 29, 1985, with David Murdach asking that it be canceled immediately. The court should simply “go ahead and sentence life imprisonment,” said Murdach. Stone denied the motion, but assured both defense counsels that they would have extensive opportunities to present any mitigating circumstances—reasons why the jury should show mercy and spare Paul St. Pierre’s life.
Before hearing Murdach’s plea for mercy, extensive jury instructions were debated, revised, and read aloud when court reconvened. The first mitigating circumstance Murdach wanted considered was Paul St. Pierre’s inadequate mental capacity. The second reason for mercy was the easily verified observation that Andrew Webb was incapable of telling the same story the same way twice. Murdach argued that the shifting words of Andrew Webb were a poor foundation for the death penalty.
“What you have decided,” Murdach told the jurors, “is that Paul St. Pierre will die. The sentence of life in prison without possibility of parole is a sentence of death in prison. What could be a greater punishment than that? To convict Paul St. Pierre of the crime—which you did—you must have believed Andrew Webb’s first version of the offense. What if his recantation is true? Do you want that nagging question over your head for the rest of your lives? Andrew Webb will be on parole someday; Paul St. Pierre will not [be].”
Murdach painted a terminally depressing word picture of St. Pierre’s dreary prison future—a monotonous, downbeat existence occasionally punctuated by violent beatings or rape. A few jurors squirmed uncomfortably as Murdach continued his horrific depiction of life in the Washington State Penitentiary. This punishment was preferable to execution, Murdach insisted. “None of us get out of life alive,” he sagely stated. “To execute Paul, you would have to decide that he has no right to exist. Death is final. There is no appeal. What will Andrew Webb say five years from now? Or ten years from now?”
Carl Hultman countered Murdach’s plea, and spoke against leniency. “I suggest, ladies and gentlemen, it’s not whether his mother and father and brothers love him and not whether Patricia Wells would like to see a sentence of death that counts so much here. What counts is your judgment about what he did. You have someone you know is very capable and willing to kill, and who can express pride in doing so. Paul St. Pierre was the leader in this action of cold-blooded murder. He bragged about what he had done. He was proud of it. You have not heard that about anybody else in this case. He was proud of killing Damon Wells. He wanted the credit for cutting his throat.”
Hultman, without equivocation, apologies, or regrets, demanded death for Paul St. Pierre. After serious consultation, the jury sentenced him to life in prison without possibility of parole. Judge Stone’s gavel signaled the proceeding’s conclusion, but there was no sense of finality. Nothing was over except the life of Damon Wells.
Andrew Webb, Mark Perez, Tony Youso, Donald Marshall, Carl Hultman, John Ladenburg, David Murdach, and the St. Pierre brothers would, in less than ninety days, reunite in the Pierce County Courthouse to relive the nightmare of John Achord’s death and decapitation.
PART THREE
Sixteen
“I still have nightmares of seeing my son without a head,” said a tearful Opal Bitney. “Rainy days, you think of your son lying out there. Beautiful days, you think of him. Cold days, you think about him out there without any shelter. I know it’s only his earthly body, but I’m only his earthly mother, too. I still have those feelings.”
The feelings of outrage and animosity toward the St. Pierre brothers further intensified following their conviction in the Wells case. The Achord trial date was fast approaching, and finding twelve jurors untainted by press coverage and publicity was almost an insurmountable difficulty. Once again, a lengthy jury selection took place in King County rather than Pierce, following which the professional time and emotional energy of Murdach, Ladenburg, and Hultman were consumed with pretrial motions and rulings from the bench.
The jurors waited. Everyone waited. No one complained. Even in society’s unrefined circles, impatience in matters of life or death is considered inappropriate. Among the pretrial motions was one intended to eliminate any mention of decapitation. Judge D. Gary Steiner denied the motion, but ruled in favor of David Murdach’s motion that the prosecution could not ask witnesses, especially the medical experts, any questions about the “future dangerousness” of Paul St. Pierre. Such a judgment by a witness was considered prejudicial, and didn’t relate directly to St. Pierre’s guilt or innocence.
Thursday morning, July 18, 1985, was the first day of scheduled testimony, but the topic of testimony itself, and its proposed content, delayed the proceedings. “How much testimony should we bring out with respect to the murder of Damon Wells? I have to weigh that question,” commented Judge Steiner to the attorneys, “with respect to how much passion and prejudice will be generated by it. The admission of prior evidence concerning the prior murder may be in the area of passion and prejudice. It’s a very difficult ruling.”
The defense argued against the jury knowing the defendants were convicted of murdering Damon Wells. It was, they insisted, a separate case, and it shouldn’t be tried all over again as part of this new trial. Hearing all the horrid details would make it difficult for jurors to maintain any presumption of innocence, insisted the two defense attorneys.
Carl Hultman saw the two homicides as interwoven acts impossible to unravel one from the other. “Despite what Mr. Murdach and Mr. Ladenburg like to say, there are some very unique consistencies in these two homicides. There is consistency in the fact that the victims were both total strangers,” explained the prosecutor. “There is consistency in the fact that the crimes were committed initially as assaults in the home. There is consistency in the fact that the victims died of stab wounds in the back caused by Paul St. Pierre’s Gerber knife. There is consistency in that both victims were transported to an identical site and buried within about ten to fifteen feet of each other.”
Judge Steiner ruled that the jury could hear it all, or perhaps some or most. Until there was additional research into some remaining, nagging legal questions, neither defense counsel wanted to give an opening statement. “I’ll call on each of you after Mr. Hultman is finished. Are you ready to go with two or three witnesses to consume the morning?”
“I have five witnesses scheduled for this morning,” replied Hultman, who listed them off in order of appearance. “And then, if we have time, Detective Yerbury or Parkhurst depending on the court’s wishes.”
“Yerbury is going to be on the stand for two or three or four or five hours, and I think the witnesses you’ve named will consume the morning,” stated the judge before asking an important question directed neither to the defense nor the prosecution. “Can we bring the jury out in five minutes?” The trial would commence, Judge Steiner was told, when the television cameras were ready.
“The television is here now,” said the judge, “it’s the ruling of this court that the defendants are not to be photographed, and the jurors are not to be photographed. The ruling now is that only the opening statement will be photographed, and I’m going to remind the witnesses that they have the right to not be photographed. Are you ready for the jury?” Everyone was ready.
“Welcome to Tacoma. I’m glad you all made it this mo
rning. Ladies and gentlemen, we’re now going to begin opening statement on behalf of the state of Washington, Mr. Carl Hultman.”
Establishing a direct connection between the murder of John Achord and that of Damon Wells, Hultman recounted the entire tragic scenario. Beginning with the February 22, 1984, beer bust, fistfight, bathroom beating, and Salmon Beach murder of Damon Wells, he easily transitioned to Achord’s demise and decapitation.
“That’s a sordid story,” said Hultman, “and it’s a terribly ugly crime. Once you have examined this evidence and considered it as a whole, I don’t think there’s any question but that you will find these defendants guilty as charged.”
The purpose of opening statements is to prepare the jury for what they will see and hear as evidence. Hultman, in a clear and orderly fashion, provided jurors a concise preview of the first day’s witnesses and anticipated testimony. John Achord’s mother, Opal Bitney, would identify her son, tell of his disappearance, and then Officer David McNutt of the Tacoma Police would affirm the official Missing Persons report.
“Mark Perez will testify to you,” stated Hultman, “how he was told that John Achord had been killed. He was simply told that Achord had been shot in self-defense, no mention of stab wounds. Gordon Gibson will be called, an ex-convict who, while in jail, had a conversation with Paul St. Pierre. He will tell what Paul told him about what he did to John Achord, and why he did it.” As the state’s last witness for the trial’s first day, Hultman would call Tony Youso to share the disturbing details of Achord’s head being tossed into the Puyallup River.
