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Dennis Waldon
STOCKTON
The Virginian-Pilot
June 27, 1994
Two men, one awaiting execution, one already in his
grave. Each claimed he was innocent of capital murder. Each claimed
prosecutors withheld favorable evidence from his trial to get a
conviction. Each had strong evidence to back his claim.
But the state has not been inclined to review claims
of innocence. The law says that evidence found 21 days after conviction
cannot be considered by the courts.
In his dissent to a 1993 U.S. Supreme Court ruling
that innocent persons condemned in a fair trial have no constitutional
right not to be executed, Justice Harry Blackmun wrote: "The execution
of a person who can show that he is innocent comes perilously close to
simple murder.''
One man, Dennis Waldon Stockton, bitterly states he
soon will be "murdered by the state'' without a fair hearing. The other,
Roger Keith Coleman, never got that hearing and went to his grave
proclaiming innocence.
These are their tales.
Dennis Stockton's story is one of two jurisdictions:
Mount Airy, N.C., where he grew up and lived during infrequent periods
out of jail. And Stuart, Va., due north in Patrick County, where in
March 1983 a jury said he should die.
Mount Airy was Andy Griffith's home, but the Surry
County mill town, dubbed "Little Chicago'' for its criminal element, is
a far cry from TV's Mayberry. Stuart, 40 miles away, prides itself on
Virginia gentility. The home of Mary Sue Terry and Gerald Baliles, it is
also a town steeped in politics.
In 1983, Stuart was the home of assistant prosecutor
Anthony Giorno and sheriff's investigator Jay Gregory - both of whom ran
for, and won, their respective offices eight months after convincing
jurors that Stockton must die.
"Stuart is a different world than Mount Airy,'' said
Tom Joyce, managing editor of The Mount Airy News. "People there don't
question authority. Giorno and Gregory are demagogues. If they say
something's true, it must be.''
In September 1986, the tiny paper, which calls itself
pro-capital punishment, said that justice bypassed Stockton.
The condemned man said that all along. He alleged
that Giorno failed to disclose a deal-for-testimony with the
prosecution's main witness, Randy Bowman; that Giorno knowingly allowed
perjured testimony by Bowman; and that prosecutors failed to turn over a
questionable statement by another key witness, Robert Gates.
Until 1990, Giorno denied this evidence existed. Then,
seven years after the trial, he sent the evidence to Stockton's lawyers.
In a letter dated Feb. 28, 1990, he wrote: "I am not aware of any
exculpatory evidence in this matter. In an abundance of caution, however,
I am writing to disclose'' evidence which could have helped Stockton
avoid a death sentence.
"It's repugnant to suggest that I would use tainted
evidence that would lead an innocent man to death row,'' Giorno said
recently. "I am convinced I did nothing wrong.''
Stockton and his lawyers disagree. "The commonwealth
finally admitted, for the first time, that it had lied,'' they claimed
in court papers. "For the first time, the commonwealth revealed that it
had knowingly elicited perjured testimony from an essential prosecution
witness.''
Stockton, now 53, was no choirboy when he ran afoul
of Virginia law. His record was peppered with burglary, forgery, weapons
and drug charges. Then, in 1982, he was charged with the 1978 murder of
Kenneth Wayne Arnder, 18, whose body was found near Mount Airy. Arnder
was shot in the head and his hands were hacked off above the wrists.
Arnder's mother said she last saw her son alive with Stockton. North
Carolina officials investigated, but they never filed charges.
Then Virginia jumped in. According to the state,
Stockton killed Arnder in a remote Patrick County picnic area, then
moved his body to North Carolina. But no physical evidence linked
Stockton to Arnder or the murder to Virginia. And no weapon was found.
The state, however, had Randy Bowman, a small-time
felon who said he was present at a meeting during which Stockton agreed
to kill Arnder for $1,500. Bowman testified that Tommy Lee McBride,
another felon, wanted Arnder killed because of a soured drug deal.
McBride, Stockton and others denied this.
The state's case lived and died with Bowman, who not
only named the co-conspirators but placed the murder in Virginia.
Prosecutors requested death because of Bowman's claim that it was a
murder-for-hire case.
Then there was Robert Gates, who testified he was
present in June 1979 when Stockton killed another man for "running his
mouth'' about Arnder's death. Gates said he watched Stockton shoot
Ronnie Lee Tate three times, then helped him bury Tate between Mount
Airy and Winston-Salem.
Stockton never denied killing Tate, but he said it
was self-defense. He denied killing Arnder, and he said Tate once
admitted to killing the teen.
Gates' testimony "was critical'' in sending Stockton
to death row, said Philip Gardner, Stockton's trial lawyer.
Almost immediately, questions arose about the
fairness of the trial.
The first involved charges against McBride, who
allegedly paid Stockton to kill the teen. McBride, now 55, was charged
with conspiracy to commit capital murder on March 7, 1983, two weeks
before Stockton's trial. His charge was deferred July 1. Virginia
authorities said they would send the evidence to North Carolina and let
prosecutors there try him. North Carolina authorities later said there
was no "credible'' evidence to try McBride.
McBride declined to comment recently. "They arrested
me on nothing, and they just nolle prossed the charges,'' he said. "If I
talk, they could reinstate the charges.''
A motion to dismiss McBride's charges alleged that
his indictment ``was designed only to impeach'' McBride's credibility.
Gardner immediately filed for a new trial. A July 6,
1983, letter to the Patrick County trial judge said: "The McBride cases
have now been dismissed. This is a fact which I contend the prosecution
knew from the inception. . . . (McBride's lawyers) have both told me
emphatically . . . that it was understood shortly after they were
appointed that they would not have to worry about the case or do any
work to prepare for the case because the charges against McBride were
going to be dropped.''
But the court did not consider this grounds for a new
trial.
Even today, Gardner is outraged. "I said to the
Supreme Court that the indictment against Tommy McBride was a flat-out
sham,'' he said. "The commonwealth would have been in an untenable
position without charging McBride, asking the jury to send one man to
the electric chair while the man that allegedly hired him had never been
charged.''
Next, Bowman allegedly recanted. In a 1984 civil case
challenging Patrick County jail conditions, inmate Frank Cox testified
he was in jail with Bowman when "Randy did tell me . . . that he lied on
Dennis, because he said, `I hate that son of a bitch.' '' Another inmate,
Cleveland Martin, echoed this: ``He said he would . . . say anything for
anybody if the money was right.''
In 1987, a federal judge vacated Stockton's death
sentence when it was learned the 1983 jury was tainted. The owner of a
diner told jurors eating lunch that Stockton should be executed. The
judge gave Stockton a choice: Hold a new sentencing or settle for a life
term.
Insisting he was innocent, Stockton chose the trial.
But, under law, no new evidence on the murder could be presented.
Stockton again was sentenced to die.
Stockton and his lawyers continued papering state and
federal courts with appeals. Then, in 1989, the case took an unexpected
turn.
That year, Stockton's lawyers took affidavits from
two former Patrick County employees, deputy Clifford Boyd and former
sheriff Jesse Williams. The two then repeated their tales to officials
in the attorney general's office.
Both men said Randy Bowman was angry after Stockton's
trial ``because promises allegedly made to him were not kept,'' records
show. Boyd said Bowman was angry because he claimed "Jay Gregory and the
Surry County authorities had promised that he would be transferred to
another penitentiary or would receive a sentence reduction.'' Bowman
claimed both Gregory and Giorno promised he would not be sent back to
North Carolina, Williams said.
Stockton's lawyers had made an end run around Giorno,
whose hand was now forced. In February 1990, Giorno sent the letter
saying: "I am not aware of any promises made to Bowman other than that I
told him I would endeavour to see that he would be transferred.''
Before this, Giorno had said there were no promises
at all.
In the package accompanying Giorno's letter was a
letter from Bowman, dated March 2, 1983 - two weeks before Stockton's
trial. Bowman was writing from prison in North Carolina, where he served
time for firearm and larceny charges. In it, he told Gregory: "I'm
writing you to let you know that I'm not going to court unless you can
get this 6 or 7 months I've got left cutoff where I don't have to come
back to prison.''
Gregory said recently he was not aware Giorno had
sent the letter to Stockton's lawyers. He would not comment further.
Giorno reiterated there never was a deal. ``People ask us for stuff all
the time,'' he said. "We say, `We can't promise you anything.' That's
exactly what happened here.''
Transcripts of Bowman's testimony show that he denied
any promises had been made and never mentioned the letter. Gardner asked
Bowman: "So you've helped yourself considerably by coming forward with
this story by getting charges against you dropped, isn't that a fact?''
Before Bowman could answer, Giorno broke in: "Objection.
Objection to that. I think he's trying to lead the jury to believe that
some charges were dropped and that's certainly not the case.''
But court records show otherwise. On Aug. 17, 1982,
Bowman was taken from Surry County jail to Stuart to testify in
Stockton's preliminary hearing. Seventeen days later, Surry County
prosecutors dismissed a charge of obtaining stolen property against
Bowman.
Court records show that Bowman also received
favorable treatment after Stockton's trial. In 1981, he was sentenced to
4 1/2 years for several charges. But records show he was out on parole
by November 1983. For the rest of the decade, Bowman was in and out of
jail for repeat offenses with only minimal sentences.
Giorno said he had nothing to do with any of this.
One other document was included in Giorno's package:
the statement Robert Gates made to Surry County officials in February
1980. In it, Gates gave a detailed account of Ronnie Tate's killing. But
he failed when he tried leading police to the body. Later, Stockton
showed police where Tate was buried.
According to Gates, Tate was murdered on the night of
July 3, 1979. It was between midnight and 12:30 a.m. as they rode back
from the killing, Gates said. Stockton was driving.
"He (Stockton) stopped at the Pinnacle exit'' off U.S.
52, Gates said in a statement to police. ``I remember that just as plain
as day because there was a sandwich shop there and he stopped . . . and
they was a couple police cars setting there in the parking lot that
night and I remember I looked inside and I seen a black-headed woman
running the cash register and Dennis had to write a check.''
The shop was the Pinnacle Sandwich Shop, which still
stands today. It has been owned since May 14, 1967, by Charles Watson.
"We were never open that late,'' Watson recently told
a reporter. "Back then, we closed at 10 p.m. weeknights, 11 on weekends.
We never had a black-haired woman at the cash register. . . . And July
3, we wouldn't have been open anyway. We always closed up for the Fourth
of July.
"Nobody ever came and checked this story till now,''
Watson said. "This is the first I ever heard of it. No Surry County
sheriffs, nobody from Patrick County. This was a man's life. It's not
that far from Mount Airy. You'd think they'd want to check everything
out before they sent some guy to the chair.''
When Roger Keith Coleman was strapped into the
electric chair on May 20, 1992, officials put his glasses on his face
and he read this statement:
"An innocent man is going to be murdered tonight.
When my innocence is proven, I hope Americans will realize the injustice
of the death penalty as all other civilized countries have. My last
words are to the woman I love. Love is eternal. My love for you will
last forever . . . ''
A year-and-a-half later, the U.S. House Judiciary
Committee's report on innocent men sentenced to death singled Coleman
out:
"The reviews afforded death row inmates on appeal . .
. simply do not offer a meaningful opportunity to present claims of
innocence,'' the report stated. "Coleman's innocence was debated only in
the news media, and considerable doubt concerning his guilt went with
him to his execution.''
In March 1982, Coleman, a 33-year-old coal miner from
Grundy, was sentenced to death for raping and murdering his 18-year-old
sister-in-law, Wanda McCoy. Since Grundy police did not initially find
any signs of forced entry into her house, they assumed McCoy opened the
door to her killer. Her husband said his timid wife would only allow
three people inside their Slate Creek cabin. This included Coleman, who
had a previous record of sexual assault.
Soon, Coleman was charged. He maintained his
innocence, but prosecutors told the jury there was no forced entry and
picked at Coleman's alibi defense.
Yet, from the beginning, these crucial pieces of
evidence were withheld from Coleman's court-appointed lawyers:
A police report written 13 days after the murder
showed there was, indeed, "a pressure mark which appeared to be a pry
mark'' on the door's molding. The mark "appeared to have been made with
very little pressure.''
A police report, written six days after McCoy's death,
indicated that a fingerprint was lifted from the door. But the print
never was analyzed.
A timecard corroborating Coleman's alibi was not
turned over.
Coleman's defense depended on a detailed accounting
of his every move from 10 p.m. to 11:10 p.m., the time when the murder
occurred. Prosecutor Tom Scott tried to show that 22 minutes of that
time were unaccounted for: enough time, he said, for Coleman to park his
truck, climb a hill, wade a creek, kill McCoy, then return to the truck.
Yet, during a 1985 hearing, "the state trooper who
timed the route admitted he had not timed the complete route and had
gone a different and shorter route,'' records show. Thus, the state's
time estimate was wrong.
A statement by McCoy's husband, taken the night of
the murder, was also withheld, said minister James McCloskey, who
investigated Coleman's case. In the statement, the husband said he and
his wife had argued with Donald Ramey, a man later implicated by five
Grundy residents in Wanda McCoy's killing. Ramey never was charged.
Scott, the prosecutor, disagreed that evidence was
withheld. "An affidavit signed by Terry Jordan, Coleman's trial lawyer,
showed he knew about'' the timecard and the reports on the pry mark and
fingerprint, Scott said. "He just didn't think they were important.
Whoever said the commonwealth withheld evidence made a bald-faced lie.''
Yet court records question Jordan's changing
statements.
In an April 27, 1992, affidavit, Jordan said he was
aware of the two police reports and the timecard, but he said he did not
think they could help his client. He called the pry mark a "light
pressure mark'' and concluded it "would have been laughable'' to use in
Coleman's defense.
Yet in a Nov. 12, 1985, hearing, Jordan told a
different story. He said he was not aware of any fingerprint and
admitted it would have been important evidence. He said he never
personally examined the door for pry marks; he did not admit knowledge
of the pry-mark report, as he would later. He said he was aware of the
timecard and believed it could have been used in the trial, but he never
requested it from police.
Other unheard evidence, discovered after Coleman's
conviction, also cast doubt on his guilt:
The testimony of inmate Roger Matney, who told jurors
that Coleman confessed to the murder while they were in jail together.
Yet in a 1991 affidavit, Matney's mother-in-law said she heard Matney
say he lied. He said, "If you use your head for something besides a
hatrack, you can get out of a lot of prison time that you would have to
pull,'' the mother-in-law said.
Court records show that in February 1982, the court
released him from jail and suspended his four-year sentence.
The statements of six Grundy residents, who told
McCloskey that Donald Ramey had confessed to killing Wanda McCoy. Teresa
Horn said that when Ramey tried to rape her in 1987, he said he'd "do
her like he did that girl on Slate Creek'' if she didn't quit screaming.
Kenneth Clevinger corroborated her statement. During a party, Ramey told
Harold Smith and others that he "had a hand in the incident at Slate
Creek,'' McCloskey said.
Four women, including Horn, told McCloskey they had
been sexually assaulted by Ramey during the 1980s. Yet Ramey never was
charged.
In 1992, Horn voiced her charges on a Roanoke TV
show. The next day she was found dead. An autopsy later said she died of
a drug overdose.
Other unanswered questions remained. Why, in such a
grizzly murder, did only three drops of blood wind up on Coleman's
trousers? Why, when Coleman's clothes were covered with coal dust, was
no coal dust found at the scene? Why was there dirt on Wanda McCoy's
hands, arms and fingernails if the entire attack happened inside?
Yet none of this new evidence was reviewed by a court.
Notwithstanding this, DNA tests showed Coleman was
the killer, said Scott, the prosecutor. According to expert testimony,
10 percent of the population had B-type blood, as did Coleman and the
killer. About 8.5 percent are secretors, meaning their blood type can be
detected from body fluids.
As his execution neared, Coleman's attorneys fought
for and won a DNA analysis of the semen taken from McCoy's body. Yet
their own expert concluded that the alleles - genetic markers - of the
rapist matched Coleman's, a match the expert said is found in only 2
percent of the population. Coleman's defenders could never dispute these
results, which ultimately swayed Gov. L. Douglas Wilder to deny
Coleman's clemency plea.
"With those results, I would have retried the case if
I had to,'' Scott said. "I would have been a national folk hero. I would
have loved to retry him just to prove to all those do-gooders that we
had the right man all along.''
But not everyone in Grundy is convinced. Susan Van
Dyke's husband, Philip, was the man whose withheld timecard could have
been used in Coleman's defense. Before Coleman was executed, she
publicly said she thought Coleman was being railroaded. Shortly
thereafter, she received a death threat.
"Somebody called and said I needed to shut my mouth
or my body would be the next they found beside a cabin in the woods,''
Van Dyke recently said.
"Roger was innocent as could be,'' she said. "Not
many people talk about it now in Grundy, but nobody forgets. If you're
poor, like Roger, once the court says you're guilty . . . it never
admits it was wrong. You know the right people, get a good lawyer, you
get away with murder.
"That's what we learned from Roger Coleman,'' Susan
Van Dyke said softly. "It makes me sick. Some of us still hope the truth
will come out someday. But we're not holding our breath. Not here in
Grundy.''