Murderpedia has thousands of hours of work behind it. To keep creating
new content, we kindly appreciate any donation you can give to help
the Murderpedia project stay alive. We have many
plans and enthusiasm
to keep expanding and making Murderpedia a better site, but we really
need your help for this. Thank you very much in advance.
"Are you afraid?" Mauricio Silva asks before his cell
door opens. He's been in prison for 31 years for the murder of 4
teenagers, including his 17-year-old sister whom he strangled with his
bare hands.
Mauricio looks for the best way to position his long
legs in the tight metal cell where the interview takes place. He wears
jeans and brown boots, size 16.
Next to him, other inmates talk to their families,
hugging them. Mauricio observes it all out of the corner of his eye.
Although he’s lived in San Quentin for decades, he rarely goes to the
visitors' room.
"Ask me anything, I'll tell you. I know that outside,
people might say, 'Just do the interview so he doesn't die,' but it's
not like that. I regret everything I did, but killing me won't bring
back to life anyone who I killed. I know I have to pay, but I suffer
more by living, with shame inside, here and here," he says, pointing
with anger, almost hatred, to his heart and his head.
Police records indicate that on May 28, 1984, Silva
knocked on the door of the Templeton Sheriff’s Department in San Luis
Obispo County and confessed to agent Marie Jones that he had killed 3
people. He recounted that in less than 2 weeks, he had stabbed and
strangled his half sister, Martha Kitzler, shot Walter P. Sanders 5
times, and taken the life of Monique Michelle Hilton, a young woman he
had picked up at a bus stop on Santa Monica Boulevard.
"She [Monique] was a good girl who had left home to
come to Hollywood because she wanted to meet Michael Jackson. During the
trial, her family showed me humility and that hurt me even more. I would
have preferred that they yelled at me that I'm the worst criminal, a
monster like everyone tells me," he said.
But there's more to the story. Silva had been out of
prison for less than a month when he killed Troy Covella, an 18-year-old
he shot 9 times, a crime that got him 6 years in prison in Soledad,
Calif.
Crack. The pencil point breaks. Mauricio reaches out
his hand, takes the pencil from the reporter and starts to file it down
with his nails. Each nail is as big as a walnut.
In July 2007, "The Monster" tried to get his death
sentence changed to life in prison, but a judge on the Los Angeles
Supreme Court decided that executing him was the appropriate punishment
for the cruelty of his crimes.
"I don't want them to kill me. I'm going to fight for
life in prison," he says pensively.
The statement may give the impression that he’s a
convict who loves life, but "the Monster" knows that's not the case.
"The Bible says it doesn't matter who you are, each
day counts, and the day I stop fighting for my life will be like
committing suicide, and there is no relief for suicide, right? Look,
here, where am I going in life? To see the wall of my cell every day. In
the system, we're like turkeys on Thanksgiving. They fatten us up in
order to kill us. But what I'm afraid of isn't death, but what comes
after," he explains.
A few weeks ago, thanks to the sound of his neighbors'
TV and the news clippings that come to the prison, Silva learned that
California had reactivated executions at San Quentin.
"The photos of the room where they say they're going
to kill us now look immaculate, funny, like a medical center. For us
it's another cell, cold, but clean and organized," he says between
laughs, and in an impulsive move, covers his mouth with his hands.
"I've had everything broken. In jail when you're
really big, when you go to lie down first, they hit you with anything
they can find," he explains about his teeth, or what remains of them.
Although his criminal record indicates 31 years
behind bars, the reality is that Mauricio has spend nearly his entire
life in correctional facilities, foster homes and orphanages in Mexico
and the United States.
His father, David Silva, a native of the Mexican
state of Chihuahua, was a tall, handsome man and a womanizer, a sin that
took his life when a jealous coworker killed him in 1968 in Alaska.
His mother Myrna Rodríguez, from Nicaragua, also
suffered from gigantism and mental problems. After separating from
David, she became her boss's mistress, and they had a daughter: Martha
Kitzler, a beautiful, blond girl who dreamed of becoming a model.
"She [my sister] died because of the problems I had.
She didn't know anything about my life, she laughed at me with her
friends, but she wasn't guilty of anything, how would she know it hurt
me?" the convict says.
Mauricio was born with a cleft palate and other
physical defects. From the beginning, his father's rejection was
imminent and his mother, in her mental limbo, left him in the care of
relatives and friends.
Before he was 4 years old, Silva and his little
brother David, both born in Los Angeles, were sent to live with their
grandmother in Mexico City. Court records show that their grandmother
once left them locked inside with a big pumpkin that they ate for days,
even though it was rotten. The boys went to the hospital with stomach
infections.
Mauricio ran away from his grandmother’s house and
joined a gang of street kids, where he huffed glue and ate scraps of
garbage.
The psychological analysis presented in court
recounts Silva's difficulties acknowledging the sexual violations he
suffered at the hands of adults.
"It happened to me and I saw it many times. Once on a
bus in Mexico City, they raped a girl I knew, she was mute and I kept
quiet out of fear," he says, his face reflecting his shame.
"I didn't tell the psychologist because I don't like
talking about it. I'm telling it because I think maybe some parents will
read the story and talk about it. And if a kid this is happening to is
walking by and hears them, there's a chance he'll be inspired to talk.
I'm 51 now and I see that everything that hurt me as a kid made me into
a monster," he recalls.
Silva lived in more than 5 foster homes and by age 15
he still didn’t know how to write. According to his record, when he went
to White Memorial Hospital to have his cleft palate operated on, he was
so scared that he wet his pants. He was young, and no one had ever
worried about his health.
"The whole time I've been in jail, that family stuff
is something I've only seen on TV," he says.
For 26 years, San Quentin has been his home, and his
neighbors have been criminals like Cary A. Stayner, who raped and
murdered 4 women in Yosemite national park, or Martin James Kipp, who
took the lives of 2 women.
"When you think you've seen the worst of the worst,
someone arrives who's even worse. This year 22 new ones got sentenced.
It's not my business what they did. Here we know we're all criminals,"
he says.
It's 5:00 and the guards tell us the interview is
over. "The Monster" is ordered to disinfect his chair. While he does, he
says, "I hope my story helps other people so they don’t end up here,"
and he blames the disinfectant for his eyes, which are surprisingly red.