by Mark Bowden
JEFFREY TOOBIN, a staff writer at The New Yorker since 1993, is the senior legal analyst for CNN. His fifth book, about the Supreme Court, will be published in 2007.
Coda
On March 1, 2005, during the week after “Killer Instincts” was published in The New Yorker, the Supreme Court ruled, by a vote of five to four, that states could no longer execute defendants who committed their crimes before they turned eighteen. The ruling meant that seventy-two juvenile offenders in twelve states would leave death row. One of them was Martin Soto-Fong, who was seventeen at the time of the murders at the El Grande Market.
After the Supreme Court’s decision in Roper v. Simmons, Soto-Fong was returned to Tucson for resentencing and for a hearing in his petition for a new trial under Arizona’s habeas corpus law. At those proceedings, his lawyer, Gregory Kuykendall, raised many of the issues discussed in the article—including Kenneth Peasley’s misconduct and Carole Grijalva-Figueroa’s alternative account of the murders. Judge Clark W. Munger could have given Soto-Fong a new trial, or he could have imposed concurrent sentences that would have made Soto-Fong eligible for parole at the age of sixty-eight. Instead, on February 21, 2006, the judge denied the request for the new trial and sentenced Soto-Fong to consecutive terms in the triple-murder. As a result, Soto-Fong, who is now thirty-one, will be eligible for parole when he is one hundred and forty-three years old. Soto-Fong is again appealing.
The lifting of Soto-Fong’s death sentence has improved his life in prison. For his twelve years on death row, he was allowed just three showers and three ninety-minute recreation periods per week. Now that Soto-Fong has returned to the general population, he has greater freedom of movement within the prison, and he is eligible to get a job. At the time of the murders at the El Grande, Soto-Fong was attending Lamaze classes with his future wife, Betty. His daughter, Ashley, was born after his arrest. “Once again I want to be able to hold my family and have a better relationship with my daughter,” Soto-Fong said after the Supreme Court’s ruling. “Back in 1995, we were allowed contact visits once every six months, but then they stopped those. She’s twelve now, and I’ve only held her twice in my life.”
Robert Nelson
ALTAR EGO
FROM THE Phoenix New Times
IT IS 1988 IN MCALLEN, TEXAS. Irene Garza’s portrait hangs in the living room of her aunt’s home. The fair-skinned girl is hauntingly beautiful.
Another family member stops by the house for a visit. Noemi Ponce-Sigler happens upon the portrait and looks into the eyes of the girl. She gets the feeling Irene’s looking back.
And a question comes into Noemi’s mind that has been troubling her since:
“Who killed you, Irene?”
IT IS THE FRIDAY FOLLOWING GOOD FRIDAY, April 1960, in McAllen. Police come to the door of Josephina and Nick Garza’s home. They are there to tell the couple that their daughter, Irene, has been found dead in a nearby canal. She had been beaten. It appeared from bruises inside her thighs that her attacker had tried to rape her.
Josephina’s body spasms. She collapses to her knees.
And out of her mouth comes a sound so mournful that it has become the stuff of legend in this border town.
“They said it was this long, awful moan from deep inside her body—almost like the howl of a wolf,” a niece of Josephina’s describes. “They said it was like nothing they had ever heard or ever heard again.”
The family’s parish priest, Joseph O’Brien, comforted Josephina by telling her that Irene died in a state of grace. After all, she was last seen alive on her way to confession.
The fact was, though, O’Brien had no idea if the cleric Irene saw, Father John Feit—a visiting priest at O’Brien’s parish—ever gave her confession.
O’Brien held back another important fact from the Garzas that day:
He was confident he knew who had killed their daughter.
POLICE HAD THE MCALLEN CANAL, in which Irene’s body was found, drained a few days later.
They found a nearly new slide projector just feet from the spot where the young woman’s body had been dragged into the canal. Police told local newspaper reporters they believed this was the clue that would break the case. Clearly, the murderer had used the heavy chunk of equipment, complete with a long cord, to sink Irene’s body to the muddy floor of the canal.
After a headline story in the McAllen paper about the projector, area newspapers never mentioned this clue again.
Police sought the owner of the projector. Eight days after Irene’s body was found, they received this note:
This viewer belongs to Fr. John Feit (Order of Mary Immaculate), of San Juan, Texas.
It was purchased in Port Isabel, Texas, in July, 1959, at Freddies Professional Pharmacy.
Terms—cash.
Price—I don’t remember.
April 29, 1960.
Police already knew the young priest was the last person to see Irene Garza alive.
John B. Feit later became the prime suspect in the Garza murder, as well as in an attempted sexual assault of a young woman in a nearby Catholic church three weeks earlier.
Feit wound up pleading no contest to assault charges in the earlier case. He was fined five hundred dollars.
But Feit was never charged in the murder of Irene Garza.
Instead, according to one of his supervisors, the Archdiocese of San Antonio and the Order of Mary Immaculate “shipped him away” for “rehabilitation” at a series of monasteries in Texas, Iowa, Missouri, and, finally, New Mexico.
Feit left the priesthood ten years later to marry a young AT&T worker he met at a church in Albuquerque. In the late 1970s, Feit, his wife, and three children moved to the Arcadia district of Phoenix, where the family became active in the nearby St. Theresa church.
As a layman in Phoenix, John B. Feit has, by all appearances, become a model citizen. For much of that time, he has been a lead organizer of charitable programs for the Phoenix chapter of the Society of St. Vincent de Paul, where longtime coworkers describe him as a tireless advocate for the poor.
Phoenix Police Department investigators tell New Times there are no cold-case files in the Valley that match the modus operandi in the Irene Garza murder or the 1960 aggravated assault in which Feit pleaded no contest.
Even in retirement, Feit spends much of his days counseling and helping the infirm or disadvantaged. At his local parish, Feit is one of the organizers of the JustFaith program, an intensive educational program designed to help Catholics put their belief into action on social justice issues.
But this angel in Phoenix remains a devil in McAllen, Texas.
There—with renewed interest in the murder of Irene Garza, along with new evidence in the case—citizens are clamoring for an indictment of John Feit.
The old evidence, much of which has been reviewed by New Times, makes a strong case that their quest for justice is warranted.
The new evidence—which includes testimony from two of Feit’s closest associates, who say the ex-priest confessed to them that he killed Irene Garza—seems to make a case against him a slam dunk.
Yet the district attorney in south Texas, in whose jurisdiction the murder occurred, seems content to let things die.
Feit also wants the case to die. He has said, “I did not kill Irene Garza.”
In that sentence begins an even deeper mystery, one that may only be solved by understanding a brilliant man’s own concepts of faith, contrition, justice, and personality.
When asked by a reporter at his Arcadia home if he should be considered a danger to the community, he yelled: “Look at my record for the last forty-five years!”
Irene Garza’s body was thrown in a McAllen canal on Easter Sunday, 1960—forty-five years and two months ago.
THE WEEK BEFORE EASTER, 1960, had been unusually hot along the Texas-Mexico border. With highs already touching the nineties, residents of the valley surrounding McAllen were predicting a long, dismal summer.
Throughout
the week, young adults raised in the area were streaming back to McAllen from college or new jobs. The Easter vacation was a time to see old friends, maybe even to rekindle or start a love affair.
The scuttlebutt among some returning young men was that Irene Garza was no longer seeing Sonny Martinez.
This was big news. Irene, as one unrequited suitor wrote, “was the closest thing to an angel” he’d ever met.
So bright, so beautiful, such a sweetheart, such a good heart.
Irene was the first in her family to go to college. After graduation, she returned to do what she had set out to do: teach disadvantaged children in McAllen.
She taught second grade at a school south of the railroad tracks, the line between the haves and the have-nots, the Anglos and the Hispanics, the longtime Mexican Americans and the new immigrants.
She spent her first paycheck on books and clothing for her students. She spent early mornings, late evenings, and weekends giving her students extra learning and fun. She worked with the local PTA.
Her students, she admitted in letters, were becoming her children, her life. She wanted her students to be able to cross the tracks if they chose to.
Like she had done. Irene Garza had become the first Hispanic twirler and head drum majorette at the Anglo-dominated McAllen High School, just a year after her parents’ prospering dry-cleaning business had allowed them to afford a house north of the tracks.
Irene was Prom Queen and Homecoming Queen at Pan American College. She was Miss All South Texas Sweetheart 1958.
The catty teenage girls in her old neighborhood blamed her success on her light skin and bone structure and on her Doris Day–style clothes. She was tall and thin, as well as proper and dainty in pillbox hats and high heels.
To some of the little girls in her old neighborhood, though, she was a goddess.
“I can still see her,” says Noemi Ponce-Sigler, the cousin of Irene’s, who was ten when she died. “She was so beautiful and so good to us kids. [To] a little girl, she just seemed like everything you’d want to be.”
Irene Garza, though, never saw herself in such a positive light.
She was humble to a fault, so humble that she sometimes floundered in self-doubt. As she gained confidence in her mid-twenties, she came to believe that her longtime boyfriend, Sonny, was a smothering force in her life. In her breakup letter to him, after providing a lengthy list of her own faults (“Extremely sensitive,” “withdrawn,” “jealous,” “fearful,” “serious,” “my proportions”), she explained how Sonny made her “feel inferior and insecure.” She even made a list of what she believed Sonny needed in a girl:
“A self-confident female, a happy girl, a girl with just a little jealousy that’s enough to feed your ego, a girl not easily hurt, a girl who makes your burden easier to carry.”
And, apparently, from the girls Sonny had liked to ogle when they were out together: “A girl 38-22-38.”
Sonny admitted his frustration at having a flat-chested girlfriend who, instead of having sex with him, wanted to talk about children and God.
It was true that Irene was attending church more often, seeking, she told friends in letters, “to better understand and serve God’s will.” As for men, she told friends she wanted to marry and have a big family, but she wasn’t going to push the issue. And she wasn’t going to let Sonny define her anymore.
Irene wrote to a friend just before Easter that she had gone on a few dates with two men, one of whom she described as “this Anglo boy—not real handsome, but cute and religious (which is important). He is a member of the Legion of Mary and goes to Mass and receives Holy Communion every morning.”
When she disappeared, police first assumed she had run off with a man. Police interviewed dozens of young men who had shown interest in dating her.
Her family and friends knew better.
When she borrowed her father’s car the Saturday night before Easter, she said she was going to church for confession and that she would be right back.
Irene always did what she said she would do.
Besides, she was dressed casually. She had taken none of her possessions.
Irene was helping plan the Easter egg hunt the next morning for the children of the parish. Her family speculated that she may have had to talk to a priest about the logistics of the event.
Family members believe that is why she telephoned the church before leaving the house, asking to meet with a priest.
Father John Feit, a guest priest at the church helping out with the pre–Easter confession crunch, answered the phone.
Irene Garza then drove the twelve blocks to the church to meet with Feit.
Feit’s story of what happened next changed several times over the following weeks and years. Now, he refuses to speak about that meeting or the critical hours and days that followed.
Two years ago, after the case had been reopened, a Texas Ranger called Feit at his Phoenix home.
The Ranger asked Feit to speak to him about his role in the events that Easter weekend in 1960. Feit’s answer was as opaque as it was potentially illuminating:
“That man doesn’t exist anymore,” he said, hanging up the phone.
JOHN B. FEIT GREW UP on the south side of Chicago in a devoutly German Catholic household.
It was in the rough and vibrant Chicago of the 1940s, and Feit lived in a neighborhood of working-class families.
Much of the neighborhood was Irish, much of the priesthood was Irish. He developed an accent that faded from south-side Chicago to Irish brogue.
His uncle, also named John, was a priest in Detroit. His parents hoped that one of their sons would become a priest.
At age thirteen, John was sent to San Antonio to begin his religious education. He became a priest in Texas in 1958 within the Order of Mary Immaculate. A year later, he began a one-year internship program based out of a pastoral house run by the Oblate Fathers in the valley town of San Juan, Texas.
From that house, Feit and several fellow OMI priests took classes at nearby Pan-American College and helped fill in at parishes in nearby McAllen and Edinburg.
Father Feit often helped Father Charles Moran at Sacred Heart Church in Edinburg. Through the spring of 1960, he also often stopped by the rectory in Edinburg for coffee with Moran and the church secretaries.
Easter weekend of that year, Father Feit was asked to help Father Joseph O’Brien and his two associate priests give confession and offer Mass at Sacred Heart Church in McAllen.
Like every Easter weekend, it was a hectic time for priests. Confession lines and pews were bloated with visitors, children back for holiday and the multitude of Catholics who practice their faith only at Easter and Christmas.
The three priests and the visiting priest gave confessions that morning, then from 3:00 to 6:00 P.M., Saturday afternoon.
At 6:00 P.M., they returned to the rectory for dinner. The priests would resume confessions in the church at 7:00 P.M. Irene Garza phoned the church rectory and spoke to Feit just before 7:00 P.M.
Witnesses saw Irene walking from her car to the church about 7:00 P.M.
Witnesses saw three of the four priests return to the church from the rectory at 7:00 P.M. The visiting priest, Feit, thin, dark-haired, with distinctive horn-rimmed glasses, was not with them.
Witnesses said they then saw Irene Garza walking to the rectory.
At 7:20 P.M., Irene was seen walking from the rectory.
She was last seen by witnesses about 8:00 P.M. outside the church.
TWO DAYS AFTER IRENE DISAPPEARED, one of her high-heeled shoes was found alongside a road on the edge of McAllen.
Her purse was found the next morning.
At that point, it was obvious she hadn’t run off with a lover.
By midweek, her disappearance had already sparked one of the largest investigations in McAllen-area history.
Seventy sheriff’s department posse members scoured the region on horseback looking for her body. Sixty-five National Guardsmen
were called in. Investigators followed dozens of leads, most pointing toward ex-boyfriends, unrequited admirers or transients.
Skin divers dragged irrigation canals. They just dragged the wrong ones.
On a balmy Thursday morning, four days after Easter Sunday, Irene’s body rose to the surface of the Second Street Canal and was spotted by several passersby.
Frightened valley residents began locking their doors. The search switched to a manhunt. There was a murderer on the loose.
In the days after Irene’s disappearance, investigators learned of an attempted sexual assault three weeks earlier inside another Catholic church in Edinburg, a nearby town in the valley. Again, the victim, Maria America Guerra, was a young Hispanic female.
Investigators quickly linked the two attacks. And investigators in the Garza case began digging deeper for information on the Edinburg attack.
They re-interviewed the victim. She repeated that her assailant was a white male with horn-rimmed glasses in a light-tan shirt and dark trousers—clothing she assumed was that of a priest.
At the time, police were looking for a serial rapist who seemed to lurk around valley Catholic churches preying on attractive young light-skinned Hispanic women. Perhaps the rapist was masquerading as a priest?
The same day Irene’s body was found, police investigating the Edinburg case made a stunning discovery:
The priest who last saw Irene Garza alive not only was at the Edinburg church the day of the earlier attack, he matched the victim’s and another witness’s description of the attacker.
As police continued to publicly state they had no hard leads, they quietly began zeroing in on Father John Feit.
Catholic leaders dreaded the possible fallout if one of their own was the culprit. Not only would it bring scandal to the church, it would give fodder to already deep prejudices within the Protestant community.
Bridges between Anglos and Hispanics, Protestants and Catholics, were just beginning to be built in earnest in deep south central Texas (Irene Garza was seen as an ambassador in that effort).