In other words, the lion would be back in his domain, hungrier and angrier than ever. And God help the woman who crossed his path when he was on the prowl.
Luther, of course, reacted to the report with anger. He chastised Debrah for hiring Atwell without laying any ground rules. For $6,000, they could have had the psychologist make a positive evaluation. He knew Atwell wasn’t going to help his cause because Atwell was a sucker and believed in the system. He was not going to put his reputation on the line.
But when he wrote to her again on June 20, he had changed his tune because Judge Hart had said he would still consider placing Luther in a community corrections facility, essentially a halfway house with mental health programs. The judge was concerned about what would happen when Luther was freed. He would remain a prisoner, but he would have more independence and less restrictive visiting privileges ... maybe even weekend passes.
Luther felt this was a good thing and now felt Atwell had done a “very good job.” “Facts are facts, and he paints a very clear picture of what you’re dealing with. I hope that ‘reading’ it don’t scare you away.... We’ve finally been given a chance to show all these creeps that don’t believe in us,” he wrote.
In 1992, Luther wrote nearly 200 letters to Debrah Snider, many of them begun on one day and ending several days later. At his most prolific he was spending $2 a week on stamps and another $100 a month for telephone calls. She, of course, paid.
Much of what he had to say dealt with daily prison life—the lack of “yard time,” living with “slobs” in a seven by ten-foot cell, the quality of the food and, of course, the inhumane behavior of the guards. In September he complained that he hadn’t been allowed out in the yard one day because his nine-year-old prisoner identification card no longer accurately described him. The card said he had brown hair, though by now it had turned gray. His hatred had remained constant and he hoped God would give the guards to the devil.
Other letters were full of inmate “humor.” Many expressed his feelings for Debrah in romantic language. However, as the months passed his letters also grew more pornographic as he described the various positions he wanted to experience as he “penetrated” her. Invariably, she would respond that such detail made her uncomfortable and she was not at all sure she that she could live up to his expectations ... or sometimes even wanted to. He would apologize in the next letter, then revert back.
Still, while she was alternately protesting or gingerly accepting the excesses of his libido, she was obsessively jealous of his frequent references to other women. In one, he hoped that she wouldn’t mind that he fantasized about “bedding them all.” He mentioned that since she was still married to Dennis, perhaps he should have “an extra wife.”
When she responded to that with anger, he wrote that he was only teasing ... sort of. “I’ve never told anyone that the root of my problems is I’m always looking for the ultimate experience. I’m never quite happy with what’s normal.... Your conservativeness really makes me question if I’m some kind of oversexed human.”
Of course, he said, he wouldn’t share her with another man, nor did he really want another woman. He only wanted to be for her, and prayed to “the Great Spirit” almost daily to keep him from temptation. The only reason he would want other women would be to prove his manhood to himself.
However, he said, if she could ever see herself joining him with another woman, well ... Debrah almost blew a gasket over that one. He pointed out that she was the one who was married while in love with another man.
Throughout most of this correspondence and visiting room affair, Debrah’s husband, Dennis, had remained remarkably restrained. He offered to sign the ranch over to Debrah even though he had originally purchased it and supported it by working the same job for twenty-five years.
Luther was suspicious of his motives. “He fears a threat just around the corner,” he wrote. “I’m a little afraid of him for you, lover. Emotions are unpredictable and he has a lot of stuff in there he don’t know about.”
Later that summer, Dennis, hurting despite himself because of his failing marriage, fought bitterly with Debrah. Tom was using her, he said; he would leave her as soon as he got out and on his feet.
Debrah told Luther about the argument. He replied that if Dennis got in their way, he’d introduce him to his friend Mongo, who was now free. “Mongo not like mean people,” Luther laughed.
When the arguments between Dennis and Debrah continued, Luther grew threatening. “He better stop upsetting you, or I’ll see to it that his righteous ass meets God. You’re my girl now and he better understand that. He’s no longer your husband, I am.... I am the alpha male here.”
Whatever sensitivity he showed toward Debrah, Luther was never far from his anger. In hindsight, his letters offered a fascinating glimpse of a man who may have wanted to be “a good guy,” or at least to be thought of as such, but who could not control his darker nature. A man with a heart half good, half bad. The alpha wolf—the pack’s best killer. His letters proved prescient.
“If I have to hide in the mountains and sneak out at night to be able to be with you that’s what I’d do. I feel like howling with the wolf that’s warning me of my weakness and death,” he wrote in one letter.
And in another, “You’re water all clean and pure, and I’m oil all dirty and spoiled. It’s a fact, Deb, that oil and water don’t mix.... There’s death here and pain for many. I love you, Tom.”
At times, he seemed to hold onto Debrah as if he knew that she was the only one who might have been able to save him. “A few years ago, I was convinced that I could go out of here and hunt these bastards down and kill them one at a time and get my revenge. But you reconditioned me with your love and tenderness.... I get on these kicks that I could be the monster.”
It was hopeless. Lion, wolf, or monster, he was a predator, and Debrah Snider of all people should have known she couldn’t change his nature. She certainly had enough hints. “I can’t shake this anger,” he wrote. “I’m trying to understand why I push when I should pull, why I hate when I want to love.”
Perhaps then Luther had a premonition when he wrote, “I want to love you forever and be with you longer.... The only thing that could change that is something really unthinkable happening or you calling the law on me.” He wondered if he really was allergic to prunes. “Or did God put us together for a purpose.”
If so, it was not the purpose Luther had in mind.
Luther learned in August that he would not be accepted into the community corrections program; with his record as a violent offender they didn’t want to take the chance. There was also a concern from his probation officer that the woman he listed as his main outside support was married with a family.
For once, Luther took bad news well. To hell with the community corrections program, he now hoped that Judge Hart would simply reduce his sentence and let him out at the end of the year. Time and again, he had reminded the judge that he was a victim of an unjust justice system, that he had accepted a plea bargain under an “implied contract” that he would be out in seven years.
Luther wrote to Hart asking him to consider probation with the stipulation that he get treatment. “I would do very well with intense supervised probation because I want to perform the duties of a good man. I need to get my life going after this long time I’ve been away in a time lock. I need to stop being dead emotionally and love this wonderful caring woman that has come into my life.
“Please don’t punish me any more. I’ve done that all my life to myself. Open the gate and let me start walking the road to prove myself. I’ll make you proud sir.”
With the letter sent, Luther’s bigger concern was keeping Debrah from going off the deep end. On Labor Day, after hearing about the community corrections rejection, she wrote him a letter talking about suicide again. She said she would wait until December to see if what he said about the judge commuting his sentence would come true. “But I’m afraid. I’m afraid of your goin
g crazy again. I don’t want to feel the way I felt last November and December [when he went on his hunger strike and was moved into the segregation cell].”
“You can use your anger to shut out your feelings. I can’t. I’d rather die like I felt today—sad, but okay.
“I hate Judge Hart. He may help your life if he cuts your sentence, but if things don’t work out the way you think they will, he won’t have helped my life at all.”
She said she had lost her faith in God. “People who hurt other people can be forgiven for their mistakes. If they get to go to heaven, then I want the opportunity to donate my part of forever to them because I don’t want to be anywhere forever with them. My interest in sex just died again. I love you, Debrah.”
Luther responded by chastising her. He reminded her she talked about suicide and swearing off sex whenever something bad happened. He’d prefer she wrote to Judge Hart to tell him her family understood the situation.
“We both are going to get out of our prisons someday.... I’ll throw my life away for you. I’ll kill for you. But you’re going to have to tuff [sic] it out and wait for me.”
Debrah settled down and followed up on his request to write to Hart, assuring him of her family’s acceptance of Tom. Then she took it a step further; she also asked her husband, Dennis, and 14-year-old son, John, to write as well.
Dear Judge Hart,
My name is Dennis. My wife Debrah Snider has a relationship that she is very serious about with a Mr. Thomas E. Luther who is in the Colorado correctional facility.
Debrah asked me to write and tell you that I know about this relationship, because she told me that there was a concern about letting Mr. Luther go before his sentence is up because Debrah is married.
Debrah and I have had some very rough times with our marriage in the last five years. Debrah and I came to an understanding that we would try just being friends and stay together for economic advantages rather than for mutual affection. This agreement did not work out for either of us.
Debrah and I have a small acreage that we have built up over the last fifteen years that she is afraid of losing. I told her to find someone else and I would leave. I believe this marriage will end, even if Debrah did not find somebody else to share her life with.
Sincerely, Dennis Syzinski.
Dear Judge presiding Tom’s case,
I’m hearing that you aren’t letting Tom out. Now why is that?
I’m Debrah Snider’s son John. You know my mom’s the one that Tom is seeing. I have talked to Tom over the phone and saw him in some pictures. I know what crime he committed and how bad it was. Wait before you say anything! You should know that people can change and he has had something like 15 years to change.
My mom and he are really close. If my mom is having a really bad day and Tom calls, it’s like rain to sunshine in half a second.
My parents have never been real close and being separated I think would make us all happy.
Thank you, John.”
Dear Judge Hart,
“I wish I could write you with the honesty of my fourteen-year-old son—untainted by the knowledge of the price of honesty; unhumbled by the appreciation of the power of your position, your ability to give orders that can affect the happiness of so many people who are now involved in Tom’s case.
My children have grown up in a war zone. I did my best to love my husband and attempted therapy numerous times with him, only to have him leave therapy with the interpretation that he was ‘getting screwed.’ Our relationship has been functional at best.
I am grateful to my husband for staying to help keep me from losing my place and all that I have.... My husband hates the place, my animals, all my hopes and dreams, and was grateful for the possibility of someone rescuing him from his burden. I think for a moment that he was more disappointed by the denial of Tom’s release than I was.
Tom has a niece and nephew whose lives are out of control and who are already involved in the abuse of chemicals at a very young age. He has asked me if I would help with these kids because their mother (his sister) is not able to control them due to her own chemical abuse. I’d be glad to help with these kids, but I can not do it alone. If Tom and I are able to do anything to help these kids, we need to begin now.
I hope you will be able to give us all something more concrete than just the false hopes of this last year. Tom is a good man and our being able to begin a life together will have a positive effect on me and my family (including my husband whom I can then give the divorce he has wanted for years).
No one except those directly involved know what’s best for their lives.... I hope you will allow Tom and me to make the decisions that will affect our lives and the lives of the people we love, and that you will make the one decision that will affect Tom’s life and my life that only you can make—the decision to let him go.
Sincerely, Debrah Snider
Even though Debrah was cooperating, Luther soon had another worry. His mother wrote to say she wanted to come visit him and attend a hearing in October before Judge Hart.
It would be the first time he had seen her since the late 1970s, he wrote to Debrah, and he wasn’t sure if he was ready yet. “I’ve always hated my mother and kept my whole life from her.
“She feels guilty in some way for me being in here for the crime I committed.... I’m not sure I could control my tears and pain for her not being able to mother me when I needed her when I was young and in adolescence.”
Actually, Luther may have been more worried about what his mother might tell his girlfriend. But, despite her son’s misgivings, Betty Luther flew to Colorado in October. Debrah Snider picked her up at the airport, and Betty stayed with her and her family in La Porte where they had plenty of opportunity to talk.
The result was an angry letter from Debrah to Luther. He had lied to her again! For one thing, he was five years younger than she was. And his mother had never even heard of a former wife or children. “What else have you lied about?” she demanded.
When Luther wrote back he noted that he was angry with his mother for “telling my secrets.” “I would have done it myself if I thought you could have handled it. I love you, Debrah, more than I’ve ever loved any woman. I would wash dishes in a restaurant if I could just be with you and share your life.”
The age difference was easily explainable. He’d never dated women his own age because they weren’t mature enough for him. He claimed Debrah was the closest in age of any woman he’d ever loved.
As for his story about the children, he just hadn’t told her the whole truth. He said he’d met a girl in New York when he was 14 years old and out on his own. “Bernadette” was a junkie with two children—Glen and Glenda—from Colorado Springs. She’d moved to Vermont with him, but he’d kept her and her children a secret from his family.
Bernadette, he said, prostituted herself for drugs and often left the children in his care. They had called him dad. The little girl was deaf and he’d hold her and they’d cry together because they were both so empty. Bernadette’s mother had written to tell him they were killed on a motorcycle.
“I’m sorry Debrah that I haven’t always been truthful—that I’ve been misleading and straight out lied to you. When I first started seeing you, I never expected that we would fall in love and that after you learned about what I was in here for you would still consider a relationship with me.... When I get out, you can ask anything, and I will tell you the truth.”
However, he went on, why did she have to know everything he had lied about? He suggested that she had some deep-seated psychological problem. He reminded her that Chance’s father had lied to her and that it was probably old scars from that relationship that drove her to dig things out that might hurt their relationship. He told her to quit dwelling on the past and enjoy the future. After a couple of years, he would share his “pain, denials, and secrets.”
Any tears he shed for his lost children when he wrote the letter would have been crocodile tears.
It was just another lie, and Debrah even saw it as such. It didn’t matter. She knew that her lover was an obviously troubled man. That he would be a liar was no surprise; men had lied to her for her entire life. It’s just the way they were.
Debrah believed that he did love her, his letters practically oozed romance and eternal togetherness. She knew that he needed her. He had even said he would kill for her—not that she wanted to encourage that kind of talk, but it was the sort of thing a dragon-slayer might say ... even an imperfect one. She began to call his lies “Tom Luther stories”—tall tales to build up his ego.
Someday, she thought, I’ll hold him to his promise to tell me all of his secrets. Someday, I’ll make him tell the truth.
Someday would never come.
Fate is a tightrope walker. A slip one way and events tumble out in one pattern, a slip another way and an entirely different future unfolds. If Luther had served the remaining two years of his sentence, certain individuals may have been spared tragedy, but perhaps only to have it visited on others at a later date with altogether different consequences.
In November, Hart relented and set a release date for Thomas Edward Luther of January 14, 1993. “With good time,” Luther wrote Debrah excitedly, “I should be out by December 25.... I want to spend the first few weeks doing nothing but cuddling with you in bed.... Now, I need to write Skip and Mongo and tell them the good news.”
Home for Christmas. To Debrah, it had to be a sign from God.
Now that he was really getting out, Debrah Snider and Luther went through a period of trying to sort out their feelings. It was one thing to imagine a future, quite another to have the future staring them in the face.
Luther wrote that for some reason he was staying in his cell as much as possible. It was where he felt safest. When he left, his neck got sore from tension and he felt panicky. He claimed to be experiencing anxiety attacks.
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