The morning began with a meeting among the senior prosecutors in the office. We set out to review some of the more than 30 pending murder cases to determine which ones are, by statute, eligible for the death penalty. Contrary to common belief, not all murders qualify for the death penalty. There must be aggravating circumstances, such as a murder of a child or a murder during the commission of another crime. Even among those cases that do qualify by statute, hard decisions need to be made, such as evaluating the strength of the case.
We are mindful of criticism of the death penalty. DNA evidence recently freed a man from death row after he came within nine days of execution. One of my deputy solicitors is also mindful of “the letter.” “The letter” refers to the one I wrote 15 years ago, back when I was a college student, expressing my inability to reconcile my religious beliefs with capital punishment. My opponent released it two weeks before the election last June. Fifteen years, six of which were spent as a prosecutor, changes the way you look at a lot of things in life. So do children.
In between those that call us “blood thirsty” and those that call us “soft on crime” lie consistency, fairness, equal application of the law without regard to color, creed, or economic advantage. Above all, the state must be fair if it is to be respected. We search for crimes that shock the public’s conscience. We realize it’s getting harder to shock the public’s conscience. The meeting adjourns for me with the image of a baby’s footprints on a pathologist’s report.
The receptionist interrupts to say a family is waiting in the lobby to discuss yet another murder case.
I gather with the police, a victim advocate, and two other prosecutors to tell a family that the case against the person arrested for the murder of their loved one has to be dismissed. Dismissed, in this case, doesn’t mean the person didn’t do it. It means we can’t prove it. Evidentiary problems, insurmountable evidentiary problems—the case is simply not prosecutable. The family understands. They hurt, but they understand. The grandmother says she will pray for more evidence. I dread explaining this to the media. Oftentimes cases are dismissed but usually not 3-year-old cases. Hopes are raised high in three years. Maybe the case wasn’t screened well. Maybe the system built false hope. I didn’t sign the warrant or the indictment, but I’ll have to explain the dismissal to the media.
Another meeting is rescheduled because I’m late for County Council. The heads of every law enforcement-related agency in Spartanburg County meet today. The county is studying information systems and technology. Our office’s technology is woefully inadequate. We need new computers. We need to be able to access other agencies’ information. We need to be able to manage our backlog and schedule cases in some meaningful and coherent way. We need more than one phone line.
Council is responsive even though this will be a tough budget year. I’m surprised at how much of the county’s budget goes to law enforcement, prosecution, courts, and jails. It seems like those of us in the criminal justice system are always reacting and rarely intervening or preventing. We have to be more innovative. One council member says, “I want to build more schools, not more jails.” She taught me in the second grade. Back then there were fewer jails. Maybe she’s got a point.
Back at work waits a message from a victim with a car stolen. He wants to know why the police didn’t add more charges and when the case will be prosecuted. The case is barely 2 months old. As I listen, my mind wanders back to the murder cases—to the 300 pending child abuse cases, to the thousands of drug cases. No one would consider a stolen car to be a higher priority than murder or child abuse. Except the person who called me.
It’s the end of the day for most folks, and I’ve done virtually nothing I set out to do. I’m reacting—just like we seem to react to crime. I can’t even find the list I made last night of the things I wanted to do today. The U.S. Attorney’s Office was much calmer. My daughter turned 4 Sunday. I’m headed home to see her. When she goes to sleep, I’ll make another list of things to do tomorrow. I’ll put it where I can find it. And get up early enough to read the local paper’s article about a prosecutor who dismissed a three-year-old murder case.
