[Deathpenalty] death penalty news----USA, OHIO

[Rick Halperin]

Oct. 13


USA:

Life after death row


In 1992 Ray Krone, a former sergeant in the US Air Force, was sentenced to
death row for the murder of Kimberly Ancona, a bar manager found stabbed
to death in a restaurant near his home in Arizona. 10 years later, after
running newly developed DNA tests on the victim's clothes, he was found
innocent and freed. Krone was the 100th prisoner in the US to be
exonerated from death row. Now a campaigner against the death penalty, he
describes the long fight to clear his name

Being arrested was quite a surprise. On the day they found the body, they
brought me in to the police station and questioned me for 3 hours. I told
them everything I knew and thought that would be the end of it.

The next day they brought me to the police station to take blood and hair
samples, as well as dental casts of my teeth, and they questioned me for
yet another three hours. But again, I told them the truth. I knew I had
nothing to hide. The next day was New Years Eve, December 31, 1991; I'd
just got home and was in my driveway, getting out of my car, when all of a
sudden a van screeched up behind me, the doors flew open and people were
shouting "Freeze! Don't move!" Armed officers in full riot gear spilled
out of the van and arrested me right there.

Without any real evidence or any scientific support for it, the lead
detective decided that I was guilty, and he acted on it quickly. I worked
at the post office and it wasn't as if I was going anywhere. But within 2
days the analysis had come back confirming that my fingerprints,
footprints and hair had been found on the victims body. That stuff
couldn't possibly have come back from the lab in 2 days.

I knew the fingerprints and strands of hair at the crime scene weren't
mine. The footprints were of size 9 shoes and I'm a size 11. DNA testing
wasn't as prevalent then as it is now and they simply said that whatever
prints didnt match mine had nothing to do with the murder. The size 9
footprints at the crime scene were not only found in the kitchen where the
murder weapon  a butcher's knife  was taken from, but they were also on
the floor tiles next to where the body was discovered. I found out later
that whoever made the initial police report had changed the killer's
footprints to a size 11 to make it fit my profile, and when they went to
my house they couldn't match them to any of my shoes. But then they found
a local medical examiner who would testify that the bite marks on her body
matched my teeth.

It didn't matter what I said after that. It was like the frustration you
feel when you're a kid and your parents blame you for something your
brother or sister did, only this time it was a sharper intensity of pain
and lasted for a lot longer.

I was in contact with my sister regularly. I would tell her: "Don't worry
about it, I'll be out of here any minute." 7 months went by and I was put
on trial for murder, but I was still telling her it would all work out.
Then I got convicted and sent to death row. That was when it became a heck
of a burden on my mom and my family. I was the oldest in the family, and
had always been the responsible one  my folks knew to trust me if I said
everything would be all right. Death row changed that.

When you get sent to death row you're in a little cell the size of most
people's bathroom and youre kept separate from all the other inmates. You
can see them in the distance and yell out to them, but you don't have any
physical contact. I realised in a short time that if I was going to fight
the system Id better get to know it. I started going to the law library,
reading up on case law.

Eventually it became known that the prosecutor had been withholding
evidence and the Arizona Supreme Court granted me a new trial. The judge
convicted me again, but said that there was lingering doubt of my guilt
and sentenced me to life imprisonment instead of death row.

In 2001 a new law was passed making it easier for inmates to request DNA
testing. The police still had items of the victim's clothing so I asked
the judge if I could have them tested. The prosecutor objected, as did the
attorney generals office, but nevertheless the judge ordered that it go
ahead. The Phoenix police department put some of the DNA into the
nationwide data bank, which is where the DNA of convicted felons all over
the US is stored, and it came back with a match. It was a man who had a
history of sexual assaults on women and children and lived 500 feet from
the bar in which the murder took place.

I remember that day clearly from start to finish. It was April 8, 2002. A
Friday. It began as just another day in prison but at noon I was told my
attorney was on the phone. He asked me how I was doing and I said: "Oh you
know, fine, just another day in paradise." He laughed and said: "What are
you hungry for, Ray?" and I said that I guessed I'd eat whatever was in
the chow hall. But he kept on and said: "No really, you want steak,
seafood? How about a Margarita?" I asked him what the devil he was talking
about and thats when he said: "I just got off the phone with the
prosecutor's office. They're cutting the paperwork. You're going home
today." My heart stopped; I couldn't breathe. 2 hours later I walked out
of prison. I kept looking over my shoulder in case theyd made a mistake.

What that prosecutor did, hiding evidence while at the same time actively
pursuing the death penalty for me, could be seen as attempted murder. When
I found out that he had covered up so much evidence and was still alleging
that I got away with murder, even after I was released, I started talking
to attorneys. I figured that this monster was never going to let me live,
not as a free and innocent person anyway. I took out a lawsuit against him
and after 3 years he settled with me  or rather the city and the county
settled. We couldn't sue him; we had to sue his supervisors for not
training and supervising him.

The day I got out of prison was the day I won justice for myself and my
family  and for all those friends and people who had stood up and defended
me when the rest of the world was entitled to say "That guy's a murderer."
I didn't want to let any of those people down by coming out angry and
negative; what I wanted was for my family to feel safe again, and proud of
what they had stood for all those years. I wanted them to be proud of me.

My life started over again at the age of 45, and I walked out of prison to
the distinction of being the 100th person in this country to have been
exonerated from death row. There were a lot of anti-death penalty groups
out there waiting for that milestone, and there was a lot of press
coverage. One of the reporters asked me: "Mr Krone, given your faith in
God, how do you justify Him leaving you in prison for 10 years?" I wasn't
sure how to answer a deep, soul-searching question like that and my mind
went completely blank. Then suddenly it came to me and I said: "Well,
maybe it's not about those 10 years in prison. Maybe it's about what I
have to do in the next 10 years."

So later on, when I had more time to think about it, I thought that maybe
I was right, that maybe there was a reason why at the age of 35, when I
thought I was running my life, everything suddenly flew out of control. I
thought that this could be bigger than me, that there could be a reason
why I was arrested, and why I got out of prison on the day I did. So I've
been travelling around the country speaking to people about it and trying
to raise awareness, because if it can happen to me it can happen to
anybody.

It's part therapy being able to talk about it  not keeping it inside where
it can blow up one day  and it's also important to feel that something
good can come out of my experiences. People are beginning to realise that
the justice system can make terrible mistakes and condemn innocent people.
I didn't see this as a career, and I certainly didn't plan on being a
motivational speaker or an activist against the death penalty, but in the
same way that some people go to college for 10 years to become doctors or
lawyers, it does give my time on death row some sense of purpose.

 Ray Krone is now a director of Witness to Innocence , an organisation
that campaigns against the death penalty. He was interviewed by Anna
Bruce-Lockhart.

(source: The Guardian Weekly)






OHIO:

As her killer nears execution, Dawn McCreery's loved ones remember her
zest for life


A few months ago, Rob McCreery dreamed his sister, Dawn McCreery, was
sitting on the couch with his 5-year-old daughter.

As vivid as the dream was, he knew something was wrong. His sister and
daughter could not possibly play and laugh together.

Dawn McCreery has been dead for 22 years. She was brutally murdered in the
woods outside Akron with her fellow Alpha Delta Pi sorority sister, Wendy
Offredo.

But that dream should have been real, Rob McCreery said. His sister, who
was 20 when she died, should have been there to play with his children,
attend weddings, witness triumphs and tragedies both large and small.

"There's always that blank spot standing next to you," he said. "She's not
there, and she should be."

One of the two men convicted of killing the sorority sisters, Richard
Cooey, is supposed to face justice Tuesday, when he is scheduled to be
executed after years of increasingly desperate and sometimes bizarre
efforts to save his own life. The other killer, Clint Dickens, who was
ineligible for the death penalty because he was 17 at the time of the
murders, is serving a life sentence.

Not just a victim

"The world knows Dawn as a murder victim, but she was so much more," said
Katherine Miracle, her big sister in the sorority.

Rob McCreery, now 39 and living in Rocky River, said his older sister had
a wonderful sense of humor, which was evident even when she was picking on
him.

"She had me convinced for a long time the bathtub monster was going to get
me," he said.

He spoke fondly of the time he went out to get some feeder fish for the
piranhas he used to keep and returned to their North Ridgeville home to
find signs saying "Goldfish beware" that Dawn had posted all over the
house.

Rob McCreery and his father, Bob McCreery Sr., both said Dawn loved family
vacations. Bob said his daughter enjoyed a trip to Greenfield Village near
Detroit just after she finished 2nd grade.

"Dawn was a fun-loving girl," he said.

For Rob, a trip to the Grand Canyon stands out among all the trips they
took together. He said his outspoken sister wasn't one to simply take in
the sights. She wanted to see the world.

"If there was a river to cross, it had to be crossed," he said.

That adventurous spirit wasn't confined to vacations. Rob said his sister
was "very outgoing, very friendly, always making up songs." He said she
dyed her hair a purplish-red in high school and was one of the 1st girls
in school to take a mechanical drawing class.

Fashion-bound

After she graduated from high school, Dawn McCreery went to the University
of Akron to study fashion and business, her brother said.

He said she had a great sense for clothes and could spend $10 in a thrift
store and come up with a knockout outfit, a talent that led to her being
named best-dressed in her sorority.

She was working as a waitress at a Brown Derby restaurant, but she was
going to go far when she graduated, said Miracle, who believes Dawn
McCreery may have even become her partner in the public relations firm she
now runs.

"Dawn was someone who would have made an impact on society," Miracle said.

Rob McCreery said his sister wanted to travel, particularly to fashion
capitals London and New York.

Both Rob McCreery and Miracle described Dawn as a creative person. Miracle
said her friend wrote poetry, while Rob said his sister was a gifted
artist.

The worst day

But Dawn's hopes and dreams were not to be. Nor were those of 21-year-old
Wendy Offredo.

On Sept. 1, 1986, the sorority sisters had finished their shift at the
Brown Derby and were headed to a bar popular with University of Akron
students.

They never made it.

Police say Dickens and Cooey, who was 19 and home on leave from the Army,
dropped a chunk of concrete onto the women's car, then offered to help
them. Dickens and Cooey even let them make phone calls to the police and
family before taking them into the woods where they beat, strangled,
raped, robbed and killed the friends.

Miracle said she was supposed to have been with Dawn that night, but a
disagreement led to them cancelling their plans.

"I carried a lot of guilt," she said. "That night would it have been
different if I had been in the car?"

Rob McCreery, who was 17 at the time, said that the day Dawn's body was
found he went to meet her to help her move, but she never showed up. <>P>
"She was little bit of a ditz, a little bit of an airhead, so we didn't
think much of it," he said.

He had seen her just days before.

"2 nights before she was taken, she came home and she, me and a buddy
stayed up until 3 in the morning just laughing," he said.

But when he got home from Akron, he found out the North Ridgeville police
had been to his house. He said he drove to the police station alone to see
what was wrong and learned the horrible fate of his sister.

He had to call his mother and stepfather, who were vacationing in Missouri
at the time.

"It was the hardest call I've ever had to make to this day," he said.

Miracle said she returned to the sorority house to find police cars
outside and her sorority sisters waiting to deliver the bad news.

Waiting on justice

Cooey and Dickens were both convicted of the murderers, but Cooey has
fought tooth-and-nail to stay alive.

Rob McCreery's wife, Nicole, said she thinks Cooey fears what awaits him
after he dies.

"I just think he's afraid there's really a hell," she said.

Rob said he's ready to put Richard Cooey out of his life. He dreads the
possibility that Tuesday's execution could be derailed, as it was in 2003,
by a last minute stay from a court.

"I'm looking forward to never having to think about it again," he said.
"It won't bring her back, but at least itll be the justice we've been
looking for for so long."

Bob McCreery said he and his daughter had been estranged in the years
before her death. He had hoped to reconnect with her, but it never
happened. Now, he said, he wants Cooey to die for robbing him of that
chance.

"I just want to get this over with," he said, but he, too, expects Cooey
to continue his last-minute appeals to avoid lethal injection in the
state's death house in Lucasville.

Rob McCreery said nothing will ever take away the pain of his sister's
death.

"I know she was ready to start her life, not end her life," he said.

(source: The Chronicle-Telegram)