And we don’t execute people for insanity.
The final chapter has yet to be written on the Bill Suff case, but this book is now done.
With this book, Bill will think that I have betrayed him, but the truth is that I consider him a friend. Regardless of what pain he may or may not have inflicted on others, his relationship with me has made my life better, has caused me to look into myself, to resolve issues that were long troubling and self-destructive.
I wish the same personal growth for him.
And I will fight alongside him to get his death sentence overturned.
18
“A Disaster in Justice”
written by Bill Suff
He was unbelievably shocked. He hadn’t committed the crimes he had been convicted of but it looked like he was the one who was going to suffer the punishment. Only a few people believed he was innocent. But there were others who knew he was innocent: the real killers, some of the police investigators, and, to a more limited degree, some of the other members of the district attorney’s office. Even the prosecuting attorney knew he was wrongly accusing this man on several accounts. But he sure wasn’t about to admit it. Unfortunately, the people who knew him best (his wife, old girlfriend, co-workers, family), believed the lies and innuendoes told to them by the police investigators. The alibis that the witnesses had testified to were not believed. Evidence that proved innocence wasn’t presented in a convincing manner so it would overcome the lies and supposed facts presented by the prosecution. Statements pointing out that DNA evidence directly opposed the teachings of the Bible were ignored. Of course, if not for the news media, the trial might have been a fair one. The news media had assumed the worst, accepted the “leaks” at face value, and convinced the public that he had done every horrible crime the prosecution was claiming. Long before the jury was chosen, the news media had brainwashed everyone into believing in his guilt. It was the opinion of many that the jury came in predisposed to a guilty verdict, despite their claims of being able to wait for the evidence before making a decision. That opinion was based upon the questionnaires the jury panel answered before being subjected to the voir dire. There were many responses like “He’s guilty!” and “If he wasn’t guilty, he wouldn’t be in jail!” One respondent went so far as to say “If he’s guilty, give him death! If he’s not, give him life without parole!” He had read the questionnaires and knew what they said. More than 90% were negatively oriented toward him. So the topic of fairness still nagged at him.
After receiving the death sentence, Lee was consoled by several members of the jail staff that had gotten to know him. They couldn’t believe he had been found guilty, let alone sentenced to death. Talking to these people that believed in his innocence only brought on tears for all concerned. Just about everyone else who knew him had turned their collective backs on him. His own family thought he was guilty after listening to the lies and exaggerated evidence the investigators told them. And that really hurt him, because in his experience most families stuck together through thick and thin. Blood didn’t turn their backs on blood. He couldn’t believe his own family was not standing up in his defense, backing him regardless of the consequences.
The investigator that had spent so many hours alone with him in a small, locked room, that had stood beside him in court and had helped to build a case for his defense, no longer came to see him. The feelings for her that had grown within his heart, began to change into the pain of being forsaken. Phone calls to her were now refused. That he could no longer even talk to her, hurt much more than his being found guilty of crimes he hadn’t done. But then, she wasn’t aware that he had started to fall in love with her, either. He was at loss for words because of the pain he felt. He had trouble concentrating on things now. He only stared at the television, the programs going unseen. When he did pay attention to the movies and such, his emotions exaggerated the feelings produced by the programs. Tears often came unbidden. He just couldn’t believe what was happening to him.
He was awakened early on the morning of November 1st by two of the jail deputies.
“All right, Lee, roll it up,” one of them said. “It’s time for you to leave our accommodations.”
They stood in the door of his cell, watching him gather his meager belongings together. He was aware of what they were really doing. They were making sure that he made no phone calls to alert anyone that he was going to be on the road that morning, heading for San Quentin State Prison. The thing was, people would already know. He had talked to friends on the phone the night before, letting them know that if he didn’t call them right after breakfast, for them to be aware that he was no longer in town. It wasn’t for nefarious reasons, though. He didn’t want his friends or attorneys to travel all the way for a visit and be turned around without seeing him.
He was dressed in an orange jumpsuit, shackled with waistchains and leg irons. Two sheriff’s deputies transported him in a black and white squad car, leaving the county jail at 6:00 in the morning. Driving north on Interstate 5, they kept their speed hovering between 75 and 90 mph. They only made three stops along the way: a gas refill, a restroom break, and to pick up food and drink. During the entire trip, the two officers never spoke to their prisoner, never offered him a restroom break, food or drink. As far as they were concerned, he was a non-person. It was a six-hour trip and they arrived in San Rafael, at San Quentin, right about 12:00 noon. The two deputies turned over their weapons at the gate and then drove onto the prison grounds. Arriving at the reception and processing center, they got out of the squad car and entered the building. After awhile they returned to the squad car to let their prisoner out. They removed his waistchains and leg-irons, told him to enter the building and had nothing more to do with him.
Inside the building, Lee was told to strip completely and was then given a new orange jumpsuit and slide-on shoes. An hour later, he was processed into the prison system and given a sack lunch to eat. Soon, two escort officers handcuffed him and began the long walk to the Adjustment Center.
They hadn’t taken more than two dozen steps out of the reception center, when Lee heard his name called out. He glanced over his shoulder, toward the general population exercise yards. Inmates dressed in blue were all over the place. But there were three inmates standing off by themselves, looking right at him.
“Hey, Lee,” they hollered. “Welcome to the place you’re gonna die! We’re gonna getcha before you’re executed!”
He glanced at the two escort officers to see if they gave any reaction to the death threat. Neither officer gave any sign that they had heard anything. They had to have heard it, he thought. But neither glanced in his direction. They just kept walking along on either side of him, not speaking and all but ignoring him.
Soon, they arrived outside the Adjustment Center and the first thing he noticed was a sign: “NOTICE: NO WARNING SHOTS ARE FIRED IN THIS BUILDING!” That sign frightened him more than he cared to admit. That meant if something happened, it would be stopped by the firing of weapons. He’d heard stories of prison guards shooting inmates at the slightest provocation. He’d also heard about guards who retaliated against one prisoner for wrongs committed by another prisoner. He hoped that they weren’t true here. Just the same, he made a mental note to pay close attention to what was going on around him and if anything did happen, he was going to hit the ground.
After entering the Adjustment Center building, he was taken upstairs to the third floor where he would be assigned to a temporary housing cell. He had trouble climbing those four sets of stairs. A knee injury from the mid ’60s and an ankle injury from a motorcycle accident left him with an unstable center of balance. The strain of climbing that many stairs on his left leg caused pain to shoot through his entire leg and hip. The escort officers grabbed his arms and helped him climb the steps between the second and third floors. They didn’t care, though. They just wanted to get him to his assigned place and then go on to other things. They locked him into a holding cell on the third floor and left. The officer that was working that floor made him strip once again. While standing there naked, he was told to go through what was to become a regular routine. He showed the backs and palms of his hands. He held up his arms to show his armpits. Opened his mouth and lifted his tongue to show it was empty. Had to turn around and show the bottoms of his feet. Had to bend over and cough to show he hadn’t hidden anything in his rectum. That was a ritual he was now expected to go through every time he left his cell to go somewhere. He was then given a pair of bluejeans, socks, undershorts, a T-shirt and the slip-on shoes he had been given earlier. He quickly got dressed, not liking to be naked in front of anyone, male or female. Handcuffs were then put back on him, he was pulled out of the little holding cell and walked through another door, down a cell-lined row to one about three-quarters down the tier. The cell door was opened, Lee stepped inside, the door closed and then the ‘cuffs were removed. Looking around his new home, he felt a pang of despair enter his heart. That lump grew to the point that it felt like his heart would burst.