Bad Prosecutor, No Consequences

Several moons ago Blonde Justice asked for stories about prosecutors behaving badly. I promised a story “about a prosecutor who suppressed and lied about evidence, was caught red-handed doing it, but managed to get a guy executed despite these crimes, and now sits as a trial court judge in a nearby U.S. city.” Well, I wasn't kidding. I finally dug out a few of my notes on the incredible case of Wilbert Lee Evans. Justice Marshall summarized the relevant facts pretty well in his dissent from the Supreme Court's denial of certiorari to reconsider Evan's death sentence:

Petitioner Wilbert Lee Evans was convicted of capital murder in April 1981. At his sentencing hearing, the State urged the jury to recommend the death sentence based on Evans' “future dangerousness.” To prove future dangerousness, the State relied principally upon the records of seven purported out-of-state convictions. The State's prosecutor later admitted that he knew, at the time he introduced the records into evidence, that two of them were false. One of the seven “convictions,” for assault on an officer with a deadly weapon, had been dismissed on appeal. Another, for engaging in an affray with a deadly weapon, had been vacated on appeal, and Evans had been reconvicted in a trial de novo; the conviction for one crime was, however, counted as two convictions. After considering Evans' prior “history,” the jury determined that there was a probability that he would commit criminal acts of violence that would constitute a continuing serious threat to society, and it recommended the death penalty based solely upon its finding of future dangerousness. 228 Va. 468, 323 S. E.2d 114 (1984). Evans was sentenced to death on June 1, 1981.

Evans v. Virginia, 471 U.S. 1025 (1985) (some internal citations omitted).

That opinion goes on to describe how Virginia law at the time of Evans' original conviction said that “when a capital defendant's right to a fair and impartial jury is violated during the sentencing phase of trial, a death sentence must be commuted to life imprisonment.” This was because the law also said that only the jury that heard the guilt or innocence phase of the trial could impose punishment, but since the jury was tainted by some sort of error in the first phase, it could not effectively change the punishment, and therefore the only fair solution in death penalty cases was to commute the sentence to life. However, the law changed on March 28, 1983 “to allow for resentencing by a different jury after a death sentence was set aside.” Coincidentally, the prosecutor who knew he had committed fraud in the original Evans trial in 1981 decided on that very day—March 28, 1983—to admit to his crime. This means that not only did this prosecutor willfully and knowingly deceive a judge and jury in order to convict Evans, but he then kept his fraud secret until the very day when his admission would no longer be able to save Evans life. Can you say bad, bloodthirsty, evil prosecutor? I can.

Here's how Justice Marshall dispassionately describes this:

At a hearing to consider the propriety of resentencing Evans, the prosecutor at Evans' trial admitted that he knew the evidence that he introduced at the sentencing hearing was false. The judge then ordered a new sentencing hearing. A new jury recommended the death penalty, and petitioner was again sentenced to death.

Um, why wasn't this prosecutor disbarred?

The story only gets more awful from there. Much of it is summarized in Marshall's 1990 dissent to the Supreme Court's denial of certiorari to consider staying Evans' execution. Evans v. Muncy, 498 U.S. 927 (1990). The short story is that during the nine years Evans was in prison, he was a model inmate and even acted heroically to help stop a prison riot. “According to uncontested affidavits presented by guards taken hostage during the uprising, Evans took decisive steps to calm the riot, saving the lives of several hostages, and preventing the rape of one of the nurses.” This was rather important in light of the fact that his death penalty was based on the jury's finding of “future dangerousness.” A guy who steps in to stop a riot doesn't sound too dangerous, does he?

(Tangent: This pro-death group provides a PDF file of a story about Evans' actions in the riot. The group's point is that Evans can't be a hero because he killed a man. That story is interesting for the added detail it provides about Evans' case, but my point here is just to draw attention to the irony of the pro-death site using an animated image of the scales of justice going up and down constantly. They're right: So long as the state is killing people, those scales of justice will never balance.)

But none of the evidence in Evans' favor mattered. Viriginia killed Evans on October 17, 1990. It apparently did a great job of it, too:

When Evans was hit with the first burst of electricity, blood spewed from the right side of the mask on Evans's face, drenching Evans's shirt with blood and causing a sizzling sound as blood dripped from his lips. Evans continued to moan before a second jolt of electricity was applied. The autopsy concluded that Evans suffered a bloody nose after the voltage surge elevated his high blood pressure.

But that's not the end of the story. The very best part of this whole horrible tale of American justice in action is that the intentionally fraudulent prosecutor was not disbarred. In fact, I don't think he was disciplined at all. In fact, he now sits as a judge hearing criminal cases in the same jurisdiction where he committed his horrible crimes.

So there you have it: A true and chilling tale of a very very bad prosecutor who suffered no consequences for his egregious behavior. I've seen him in court and I secretly suspect he is an emotionally broken man because he's being devoured from the inside by guilt from what he's done, but that's probably just wishful thinking on my part.

Posted 03:17 PM | Comments (5) | crimlaw

Call Me Killjoy

I was just going through old email and noticed an announcement for a GW end-of-year party that was apparently last Friday at a local bar. I'm sure I wouldn't have gone even if I'd known about it—I was sleeping off a 24-hour paper-writing binge at the time. It's only worth mentioning because apparently the student government sponsored the event and paid for the first $3000 in drinks.

Does any other "profession" enable alcoholism the way law does?

Don't get me wrong. I'm a big beer fan and free drinks are really the best kind, but this just strikes me as, well, not the greatest idea. I mean, it's great that the student government organizes and sponsors the party, but why do they need to buy drinks? Law students who want to drink to celebrate the end of the year are going to drink regardless of whether someone else is buying, so if the student government has an extra $3000 to throw around, why not create a summer grant for a needy public interest law student or something?

Yeah, I'm obsessed with funding public interest law students.

Posted 02:40 PM | Comments (5) | law school