Dressed in a lime green prison jumper, his hair unwashed and tousled, in shackles, Despres was escorted into the courtroom by prison officials as onlookers and court personnel watched in trepidation. Here was the triggerman. The killer. Not the brains behind the murder, but the muscle. Despres had gained a considerable amount of weight since being incarcerated. He was big, like an out-of-shape WWE wrestler, and could have probably taken down, chained or unchained, anyone in the room he wanted.
There was an early indication that Despres wasn’t going to talk, so Judge Devlin first wanted to know if he was ready and willing to cooperate.
“Would you answer questions about the case truthfully?” Devlin asked.
Despres just stared ahead in silence.
“Let the record reflect,” Devlin said, “that Mr. Despres remained silent.” A few seconds passed. Then, “Do you realize if you do not answer the questions, that the state could consider this a violation of your plea agreement?”
Silence.
Judge Devlin repeated to the court reporter his earlier affirmation. Then, “Do you realize that I would probably allow you to plead the Fifth?”
Silence.
Without incident, Mark Despres was then taken back to his prison cell.
Sometime later, Despres took part in a court-ordered “Competency to Stand Trial Evaluation.” When he was asked where he was born, he answered, “Blue thirteen,” apparently some planet he’d invented. The doctor repeated the question. “From my mother,” Despres then said. No, it was a brother, “Vlad,” he added. “My own last name is Cohen.”
“Do you have a son of your own, Mr. Despres?”
“No, I do not.”
For the past year or so, Despres had had scabs and bruises on his arms and had refused to shower regularly. Scars on his wrists indicated that he’d tried to commit suicide on at least one occasion. When asked about the scabs, Despres said, “Bugs. When they get on me, I rip them off.”
“Did you make the scabs, or did the bugs cut you and make the scabs?”
“Yes.”
Then doctors asked him if he understood that he was facing murder charges. He said he didn’t.
“The victim of the shooting you were involved in, do you know his name?”
“Ronald Reagan.”
“Do you know the role of the defense counsel?”
“To bring me sandwiches.”
“What about the prosecution?”
“To kill everyone.”
“The judge?”
“To make sure you’re dead.”
“Tell us what a plea bargain is, Mr. Despres?”
“A candy bar.”
It was then explained that he should “reconsider his tactic of attempting to fake a mental illness. We’re going to give you another chance to answer our questions. Now, is the judge’s role to oversee the hearing or provide transportation?”
“Provide transportation.”
“Is the sky blue or orange?”
“Orange.”
Despres didn’t want to play ball anymore. And because of his pigheaded belief that he could somehow hoodwink the system, the courts were threatening to revoke his plea bargain—which meant he would have to stand trial for his role in Buzz’s murder.
In the end, doctors concluded that he “intentionally feigned or grossly exaggerated symptoms in an effort to appear seriously impaired.”
The courtroom was packed and people were jockeying for position in the corridors on Tuesday, April 9, as Kane and Keefe gave their closing arguments.
Kane had a simple notion to project to the jury: Despite having “more baggage on him than a Boeing 747 on the way back carrying people from Paris,” Clein should be believed because he didn’t have to admit to half of what he did. He might have been a liar and a cheat, Kane said, but “compare [his testimony] to the manner in which the defendant testified.”
For about thirty minutes, Kane talked about every facet of the case Beth Ann had disputed, going into great detail regarding the state’s contention of motive: the custody battle over Rebecca—which was, when it came down to it, the seed of betrayal and hate.
Referring to Clein as “Mr. Wonderful” throughout much of his closing, Hugh Keefe, like an ex-spouse dealing out insults during divorce proceedings, blasted every aspect of Clein’s credibility. Tara Knight, also contributing to the closing, assailed Beth Ann’s taste in men by saying, “I would like to remind you that she is not on trial for staying with Clein or having bad taste in men. Every one of you,” Knight said, “has stayed in a poor relationship. This is a smear campaign.”
Keefe called Clein a “bum, liar and drughead.”
He proposed: “If Haiman Clein is not credible, then Beth Carpenter is not guilty.”
Was the jury going to believe Haiman Clein or Beth Ann Carpenter?
On April 12, a Friday, nearly a week after the jury was given the case, jury foreman Edwin Perez, as the courtroom sat on edge and a few of the female jurors began to show tears, read that Beth Ann had been found guilty of conspiring to murder her brother-in-law, Anson “Buzz” Clinton.
Beth Ann began to sob quietly. Her family, sitting in back of her, began to gasp in disbelief as one of her relatives let out a rather loud yelp.
As they had maintained throughout the trial, Beth Ann’s family said nothing as they left the court in shock. The Clintons, however, all smiles, stayed and spoke openly about their delight that the mastermind behind their son’s murder was going to pay for her crimes. Yet, at the same time, the conviction added little to the empty space created in their lives since Buzz had been gone.
“Buzz has been vindicated,” Dee Clinton told one reporter. “He was a good, decent human being. He loved his family and his children.”
After Beth Ann’s sentencing date had been postponed once, she finally met her fate on August 2, 2002. Every major newspaper and television station in the state, along with the Associated Press, was in attendance to see what the court was going to hand down to the redheaded lawyer who had captured headlines for the past five years.
Judge Devlin showed little sympathy for Beth Ann Carpenter, saying that if anyone else should’ve known better, it was an officer of the court. Dee, Buck and Suzanne Clinton all spoke on Buzz’s behalf, bringing tears to the eyes of many of Buzz’s relatives in attendance. At one point, Dee even suggested to the judge that a photo of Buzz be placed in Beth Ann’s cell for the entire duration of her sentence.
By far, the most emotional part of the sentencing came when young Billy, Buzz’s little brother, played a videotape he’d made. It was a retrospective of Buzz’s life: high school, home, work, Kim, the kids, even Buzz’s pets. A song by Celine Dion played as the courtroom, judge and Beth Ann, biting her lip and blinking her eyes nervously, looked on as a homemade video depicted a man who was, at least to his immediate family, a caring, loving and unselfish human being who had been struck down just as his life was getting back on track.
Beth Ann’s family continued insisting that Clein had acted alone. Cynthia Carpenter, when it came time for Beth Ann’s family to speak on her behalf, said, “This is a terrible injustice. I pray daily Mr. Clein will come forward with the truth and Beth will come home where she belongs.”
Shocking some, but not surprising others, Keefe introduced several police reports regarding Buzz.
“[These reports] paint a picture,” Keefe argued as he handed the documents to court clerk Cameron MacKenzie, “of emotional abuse, physical abuse, threats of murder, drug abuse and drug trafficking.”
In a sense, Keefe was smearing the memory of a dead man, who couldn’t defend himself against the claims. Later, many outside the courtroom agreed it was blatant misuse of his authority as a lawyer. He was way out of line. Others, however, said it was standard Hugh Keefe practice.
After court, Tara Knight took questions about Keefe’s putting into the record those items that cast a bad light on the victim, saying she and Keefe needed to set the record straight. Buz
z wasn’t the “salt of the earth,” Knight suggested. “He was no saint.” The record should reflect that.
Most everyone agreed it was a cheap shot, no matter the reason. Buzz Clinton was never on trial.
In the end, Judge Devlin sentenced Beth Ann to life in prison without the possibility of parole, plus twenty years—the only sentence he could lawfully hand down.
“This case,” the judge commented—clearly dismayed, disappointed and in total disbelief of what had happened—“was about loss of human potential.”
It would take almost six months to the day, but on February 4, 2003, Mark Despres, after fighting with the court over getting rid of his first attorney and obtaining another, even threatening to kill his first attorney at one point, was brought before the court to receive his sentence.
Despres was still unstable and not ready to accept responsibility for his crimes. Writing letters to the court, he would scribble little pictures of devils on the letters, perhaps attempting to seem deranged. It was clear he wanted a diagnosis of mental instability so he could get sentenced to a mental hospital instead of prison. Yet he couldn’t get one doctor to agree.
For a second time, the Clinton family trekked into the courtroom and told the court how much Buzz was loved and missed. Billy Clinton again got to play his video, and Dee, Suzanne and Buck again read impact statements.
Most notably was Buck Clinton’s affirmation that he wasn’t willing to forget or forgive. Buck was a hard man who believed in an “eye for an eye.” In his son’s murder case, however, he wasn’t going to get it. Deals had been made. Lives had been saved. All in the name of nailing, Kevin Kane assured the court, the one person who had masterminded the killing from the beginning: Beth Ann Carpenter.
“I say to this court,” Buck Clinton said in his rugged, emotionally wrought voice, “there is an internal burning hatred for the individuals involved in my son’s murder.”
Esther Lockwood, Despres’s mother, read from a long and seemingly heartfelt letter she had written that explained how Mark had been abused by a father, who left when he was five, and a brother, who had also teased and beat him. She talked about how Mark was good with his hands, with kids, with kittens, and he had even dressed up as Santa Claus at times. But nowhere in the letter did Lockwood ever acknowledge that she had a grandson whom Mark had abandoned, or that Mark was sorry for what he had done.
Before the judge handed down his sentence, Mark Despres got a chance to address the Clintons.
“I hope you can find it in your heart to forgive me.”
Full of rage, but sitting comfortably with his arm around his daughter, Buck Clinton yelled, “Never happen!”
Regardless of what anyone thought about Despres, Kevin Kane made a valid point when it was his turn to speak.
“He has been manipulative to the point of being treacherous. He has shown no remorse. But if it weren’t for him, no one else would’ve been arrested or convicted.”
The judge ultimately sentenced Despres to forty-five years. He could, under the state’s “truth in sentencing laws,” be back on the street in twenty-two years.
Buzz Clinton had been buried on March 17, 1994, St. Patrick’s Day. After postponing it twice, the court, after discussing it with the Clintons, fittingly set March 17, 2003, as Haiman Clein’s sentencing date.
In the end, character is everything during a trial. From the state’s standpoint, Clein had shown a tremendous amount of acceptance over the years. He stood his ground, even when Keefe brought up aspects of his past that might be construed as vile, evil and disgusting, and perhaps were. But Clein had never claimed to be a priest or a rabbi; he was only saying that, without Beth Ann Carpenter, Buzz Clinton would still be alive.
Now he wanted to be paid back for his willingness to bring Beth Ann down.
The most Clein could receive was forty-five years, same as Despres. Kane, however, argued for a lesser sentence of thirty-five years. Without Haiman Clein, Kane suggested, Beth Ann Carpenter would be free.
The Clinton family, understandably, didn’t agree with all of the legal jargon that had let their son’s killers cut deals for reduced sentences. To them, death sentences for all of those involved in Buzz’s murder would have been too lenient.
“For the truth, Mr. Clein, as a father,” Buck stood before the court and read, “I thank you. But I know the real motive was to save your own hide. I will never forget, nor will I ever forgive.”
Suzanne was a bit more formal and sympathetic.
“In case you didn’t know, Haiman,” she said, staring at Clein as he sat with his head bowed, “I loved my brother more than anyone in this world. He was always there for me.” Then, a bit later, “I want you to remember my family is stronger despite all your actions. Last night, I was finally inspired. I wrote you this poem….”
In the beautifully written piece titled “I Know You Thought You Could Destroy Us, but You Only Made Us Stronger,” Suzanne used the title as a launching pad to tell Clein how she had felt all these years.
“As a family,” she continued, “we cry together on days like today…. My mother is the strongest woman I know—a courageous one who fights for justice.”
Dee Clinton, the most vocal of the bunch, read from a prepared statement that took about twenty minutes. After talking about how the death of her son had affected her family over the years, Dee criticized the justice system, lawyers in general, saying, “I must admit, I find it entertaining and eagerly await the positive spin we’re going to hear today from [Clein’s attorney]….”
When it was Clein’s turn to talk, he stood and, quietly, turned and looked at the Clintons.
“I’d give my life for his if I could.” Then he paused, “Literally. There’s no way for me to really express to them how sorry I feel.”
Clein, who had been incarcerated now for six years, received thirty-five years.
It was finally over. Haiman Clein would likely spend the rest of his life in prison. Joe Fremut was dead. Beth Ann Carpenter, serving a life sentence plus twenty years, was already planning her appeal. Mark Despres, on the other hand, was sitting in his cell still trying to manipulate the system any way he could to get out of what was to him the worst environment imaginable. And it was all part of a murder-for-hire plot that had begun with the birth of a fatherless child back in 1990: Rebecca Ann Carpenter, who had turned thirteen on August 12, 2003.
Epilogue
One could argue that Circe’s path, named after the Greek goddess Circe, is driven by an old cliché: “What goes around comes around.” Or that what I call Circe’s path is nothing more than folklore or fiction. Circe, in Homer’s Odyssey, used poison to entice men into her web. Ultimately, once she wrapped them around her sexy little finger, she could get them to perform back-flips at a moment’s notice.
To say there is a correlation between this age-old myth and Beth Ann Carpenter’s life of using men in a similar fashion to get what she wanted is, some might argue, a bit of a stretch. But peel back a layer and look beyond the surface—and there is clear evidence that Circe’s path exists within the confines of Beth Ann’s world.
As of this writing, Beth Ann Carpenter, at the young age of thirty-nine, sits in her cell inside York Correctional Facility for Women in Niantic, Connecticut, overlooking the one spot where her life, some might say, both began and ended in the span of eight years. She now awaits word on her appeal and prepares to fight several civil suits (wrongful death) brought against her by the Clinton family and Kim Carpenter Clinton. From the north side of York, on a clear winter day, though, when all the trees are stripped naked of their leaves and the ground is brown and frozen, and the birds have gone south and the wind is bitter and howling through the cracks of the prison walls, Beth Ann, if she chooses, can look out any one of the many prison windows. And, just there, not far from a place that is now her home, where the ebb and flow of life grind on without her, about a half mile away, is the exact same location where it all began back on March 10, 1994: Exit 72,
the Rocky Neck connector—the same spot where twenty-eight-year-old Anson “Buzz” Clinton, in the prime of his life, was—at the urging and planning of Beth Ann Carpenter, a jury of her peers unanimously agreed—gunned down like a helpless deer by a man he didn’t even know.
So, in a sense, Circe’s path, at least in theory, does exist.
Nearly everyone in law enforcement I spoke to while working on this book repeated one name to me: Inspector Jack Edwards. “He was the key to this entire investigation,” a humble John Turner, along with several other detectives and attorneys, said more than once.
A retired, lifelong cop, Jack Edwards is the New London State’s Attorney’s Office’s chief investigator and worked as the liaison between the Eastern District Major Crime Squad and the state’s attorney’s office during the Buzz Clinton murder investigation. Jack would, I was told, point detectives in the right direction and, so they could learn for themselves how to become better at what they did, step back. He was there to assure that detectives left no stone unturned. So when the case went to trial, hopefully, it would be open and shut.
In all due respect to Jack Edwards, a man I have never met, I didn’t find his role to be all that instrumental in the story I have told here. Number one, Jack is a remarkably modest man, I’m told, and would rather not talk about his involvement in the cases he works on. Second, Jack’s name appeared on not one piece of documentation I examined. I had plenty of cops tell me Jack Edwards was and is the best investigator the state of Connecticut has to offer and that he played a significant role in bringing down Beth Ann Carpenter, but again, Jack’s decision not to be interviewed for this book, along with his obvious humility, stopped me from pursuing him any further.
As of this writing, Beth Ann Carpenter’s attorneys have been working on filing her appeal. There is no set date for her attorneys to argue it in front of a judge, however. My professional “opinion” of how it will turn out is rather simple: Get comfortable in prison, Ms. Carpenter, because you’re going to be there for the rest of your life.
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