Pure Murder

by Corey Mitchell

  Monday, July 26, 1993

  Efrain Perez received a completely different type of letter in regard to the murders of the two girls. A fourteen-year-old female friend of his named Beatrice “Betty” Martinez sent him a letter in jail to help lift his spirits. In the letter, Martinez wrote that she had seen him and his friends on television: “Their parents are trying to do everything they can to give you all the death penalty, even Yuni.” Martinez added she and her friends would “go out and take our asses on strike” if they were given the death sentence.

  Martinez ended, “All cuzz them fine ass girls you all wanted to do. Especially the white chick, she looked good, huh, Junior? Ha-ha.”

  She signed the letter, Betty Perez.

  The murders of Randy Ertman and Adolph Pena’s daughters led another group of people to advocate for the safety of their neighborhood. Residents of Oak Forest, led by the president of the Oak Forest Homeowners’ Association, Chris Branson, rallied together to create a crime-watch program for their subdivision.

  “We’re scared,” Branson informed the press. “We thought that the area was a nice, serene place, and then we find out that there are murderers holding meetings in the woods. That has spooked us.”

  The group of residents began by clearing out the underbrush of the woods located at the southernmost tip of the park, across the bayou from where the girls were raped and murdered. Parks inspector Jeannette Rogers had doubts as to whether or not such removal would have any effect.

  “That place is thick and there are all those pine trees, and leaves and needles keep falling.” She shrugged. “Even if it were cleared, I don’t know how much of a difference it would make.”

  Chapter 32

  Tuesday, August 24, 1993

  Harris County DA John B. Holmes Jr. ordered the district attorney’s office to move forward with death penalty charges against the five boys. A grand jury convened, and the following Monday, August 30, official indictments were brought against Sean O’Brien, Joe Medellin, Efrain Perez, Peter Cantu, and Raul Villarreal. All five were charged with murder, rape, and robbery, except for Villarreal, who was not charged with robbery.

  One of the biggest issues was how to handle the logistics of five separate trials for the same murders. One official suggested they hold one giant trial and employ five separate juries at once, one for each defendant. Judge Doug Shaver, who in 1982 allowed serial killer Coral Eugene Watts to broker a deal with the district attorney for the murder of thirteen young women and girls, which almost led to Watts’s release from prison in 2006, agreed with the large-trial scenario. (See Evil Eyes by Corey Mitchell, Kensington/Pinnacle 2006, for more about Watts.)

  “It would be a staggering savings to the taxpayers” the judge offered. He added if each defendant was to be tried separately, the trials could last for years, would cost the public millions to fund, and would be unrelenting to the victims’ surviving family members, as they would have to repeatedly return to the courthouse.

  The defense, of course, had another theory. O’Brien’s attorney, Lon Harper, believed a megatrial would devolve into chaos and lead to the “AstroWorld of criminal justice.” He referred to the onetime Houston-based amusement park known for its world-famous roller coasters.

  Judge Shaver, who oversaw the administration of twenty-two Harris County felony courts, had his sights on changing the method of jury selection. Instead of individual questioning of potential jurors, Shaver desired to basically whittle jurors down to a few groups that would then be asked their stance on a single issue: the death penalty and whether or not they would be willing to enforce it.

  Judge Shaver also had an idea how to deal with the witnesses for the murder trials. He suggested all of the same witnesses be used—namely, any law enforcement, doctors, medical examiners, etc., who were directly involved in the case. He did not, however, address how individual character witnesses for the defendants would be introduced, nor individual witnesses against the defendants, such as a police officer who may have arrested one of the young men in an unrelated crime before the murders.

  District Judge Miron Love, however, pointed out to Shaver that a major stumbling block loomed ahead for the court. All of the defendants’ attorneys would have to give consent for such a trial to take place, and he believed that such acquiescence was not fathomable. Indeed, several of the defense attorneys had already expressed their doubts about such a move.

  Defense attorney Don Davis, who had been assigned by the court to represent Peter Cantu, was less than optimistic about the scenario. Davis had previously been a part of a similar experiment in Judge Jim Barr’s courtroom, where the judge attempted to try seven gang members for a single rape. As far as Davis was concerned, the experiment was a failure.

  “All parties,” Davis believed, “including the judge and the prosecutor, decided it was completely unmanageable.”

  The families of the girls were skeptical as well. Even though the judge believed holding all five trials simultaneously would benefit the surviving family members, they felt different. Adolph Pena recalled that “we were there to attend all of the trials.” He wanted to be sure he saw everything. “How the hell am I going to attend all of the trials if I am in one trial?” Adolph queried. “Unless you’re doing them at totally different times and doing them twenty-four hours a day, it just wouldn’t work.” Adolph believed that the judge did not think they would want to attend every trial. “We told them, ‘Hell yeah. Me and Randy and Sandy and Melissa, we’re going to all the trials.’”

  Just over two weeks later, Judges Shaver and Love convinced the other judges that five trials held simultaneously could be possible. Not all in the same courtroom, but at least all in the same building. Judge Shaver again focused on time and money. He believed if the cases proceeded down the usual route, they would last until the next millennium.

  The breakdown would occur as follows: O’Brien’s case would go before District Judge Bob Burdette, Villarreal would go before District Judge Shaver, Cantu would go before District Judge Bill Harmon, Perez would go before District Judge Ruben Guerrero, and Medellin would go before District Judge Caprice Cosper.

  With everyone in agreement, it appeared as if the trials would proceed forward at a much speedier pace than normal for the Harris County court system. Indeed, Judge Shaver was eyeing February 28, 1994, as the date for the beginning of jury selection and April 4, 1994, as the starting date for testimony.

  In the Harris County jurisprudence system, however, something always seems to come up to derail the best-laid plans. In the Elizabeth Pena and Jennifer Ertman murder trials, that something was the discovery that the grand jury chief, Ray Charles “R.C.” Jones, who led the grand jury that brought forth the indictments of capital murder against the five young men, had problems of his own. Jones was indicted for writing a hot check to the tune of $920.12 to an auto repair shop on December 21, 1992.

  As a result of Jones’s indiscretion, the state district judge Lupe Salinas was forced to toss all 525 criminal cases that Jones oversaw, including the indictments of the five young men who killed Elizabeth and Jennifer. Prosecutors were furious, since they would be required to go back and dismiss each individual case and then reassign them each to a brand-new grand jury pool.

  Judge John B. Holmes Jr. declared his office was not at fault for the oversight. He claimed to have purposely kept the district attorney’s office out of the grand jury’s hair so as not to paint any picture of impropriety between the two entities. He also stressed that background checks were conducted on all potential grand jury members, but while they did check criminal histories for potential capital murder jury members, they had never done so for members of a grand jury.

  Judge Salinas had asked all of the potential grand jury members if they were a convicted felon or if they were currently under indictment, and Jones did not speak up. As a result, the judge swore in Jones as a member.

  The Pena-Ertman cases would have to go back before another grand jury. It would take at
least two more days to fully present the cases and to reinstate the indictments against the five young killers.

  The following day was another important milestone for the Penas and Ertmans. The two families filed suit against Southern Pacific Transportation Company and a gentleman by the name of W. D. York Sr., the owner of the land where the girls were kidnapped, raped, and murdered. The suit alleged that the railroad company and York were aware of dangerous activities occurring on their property and did nothing to prevent them from continuing. Specifically, “a dangerous condition, to wit, a gang presence, gang-related activity, and consumption of intoxicating substances, existed on the premises.”

  Unfortunately, Andrew L. Drapkin, the attorney for both families in the civil suit, failed to conduct one basic search: find out to whom the land truly belonged.

  Harding J. Rome, Southern Pacific’s attorney, informed the court his clients did not own the railroad tracks referred to in the lawsuit.

  “I can tell you for sure that these are not our tracks,” Rome informed the court. “It’s a case of mistaken identity.” Rome asked the court to dismiss the case, which the judge did.

  York, however, did own the land; so the lawsuit would continue forward in an amended fashion.

  Adolph Pena later regretted making that call. “I don’t know what the hell we were thinking. They didn’t have any fault in that. We were just looking for justification, I guess.” Adolph simply shook his head at the thought. “We just wanted someone to blame. I don’t know what we were thinking on that issue.”

  On September 23, 1993, the families finally received good news. The newly formed 351st District Court grand jury quickly reindicted the five young men for capital murder. The families hoped the case had finally turned a corner and their daughters’ killers would receive the punishment they were due.

  The following day, September 24, 1993, Andrew L. Drapkin refiled the civil lawsuit with the correct name of the railroad company that owned the tracks near where the girls were murdered. Drapkin amended the initial complaint to drop Southern Pacific and add the Burlington Northern Railroad Holdings, Inc. W. D. York remained a party to the suit, and an additional property owner called the Maytag Corporation was added as well.

  Drapkin blamed the initial error on a property search service. The attorney apologized to the legal department of Southern Pacific and agreed the suit against them had no merit and should be dropped.

  The next Monday, September 27, 1993, Judge Bill Harmon made a surprise announcement. Concerned that the pretrial publicity could force Peter Cantu’s trial out of Houston, he insisted the trial would begin in January, a full six weeks before the original target date set by Judge Shaver.

  “I’m just not going to wait,” the judge replied when asked why he would break up the original plans. “Not if I have a change of venue.”

  Judge Shaver, the other judges involved in the other defendants’ cases, and the district attorneys were not happy with Harmon’s chess move. There was a belief that if Cantu was to be tried, convicted, and given the death penalty, the media coverage would be immense, thus tainting the jury pool for the remaining four cases, which would be scheduled to commence just as Cantu’s was ending. A tainted jury pool would lead to more defense filings and possibly postponements in all four of the additional cases.

  Their derision, however, was not enough to stop Harmon.

  Thursday afternoon, September 30, 1993, Yuni Medellin was brought before state district judge Robert Lowry in the Family Court Center in Houston. All of the families and the City of Houston Mayor’s Crime Victims Assistance Office director Andy Kahan were present for a juvenile trial for Yuni’s part in the murders of the two girls.

  It was merely a formality, as the state, represented by ADA Robert Thomas, spent the previous two weeks negotiating with Medellin’s attorneys, Esmerelda Pena-Garcia and Joel Salazar.

  As expected, Lowry sentenced the juvenile to the agreed-upon forty-year sentence. The rub, however, was Yuni Medellin could be paroled by the time he turned eighteen, which was less than four years away. If Yuni behaved properly in the Texas Youth Commission (TYC), he could head back to juvenile court one month before his eighteenth birthday. At that time, a judge could possibly set him free. He could be released and placed on probation until he turned twenty-one.

  Pena-Garcia was not thrilled about the deal; however, she felt it was “the best thing for the juvenile (Medellin) to do what he did today.”

  While pleased that the first defendant had been dealt with, the families of the victims also worried that Yuni Medellin could be back out on the streets in an incredibly short period of time. Even if he ended up being sent to adult prison at the age of eighteen, he would be eligible for parole soon after his incarceration. Most legal authorities believed he would be back out on the streets as early as 1997.

  “How can anyone tell us justice is working?” asked an incredulous Adolph Pena. “I don’t care if he’s fourteen. He’s a sick individual. He’s an animal!” Adolph screamed.

  Randy Ertman was in full agreement. “They should kill the little piece of shit,” he emphatically added.

  “It’s what he deserves,” Sandy Ertman proffered. “It’s what they all deserve.”

  After the sentencing, Pena-Garcia read a prepared statement to the press on behalf of her client. “I’m very sorry for what happened,” she said, reciting what were supposedly the admissions of sorrow from Yuni. “I wish I could go back and do something to help the girls. I lay awake every night and wish I had fought the others. Even my brother, to protect them.”

  Indeed, it appeared as if the younger Medellin would take on his brother and the rest of the young men by becoming the state’s key witness against them. It was not explicitly stated, but it seemed as if Yuni Medellin would finally do the right thing on behalf of Elizabeth Pena and Jennifer Ertman.

  The following week, three of the judges agreed to conduct the trials of Joe Medellin, Efrain Perez, and Raul Villarreal simultaneously, beginning on March 1, 1994. The reasoning was media coverage would be limited and, therefore, less apt to taint any future jury pools against the defendants.

  Soon thereafter, Don Davis, defense attorney for Peter Cantu, filed a motion with Judge Bill Harmon for a change of venue due to excessive media coverage of the murders and his client.

  Immediately after the motion was filed, on October 21, 1993, defense attorneys for Raul Villarreal and Joe Medellin filed motions with Judge Harmon also seeking changes of venues due to the high volume of media coverage of the murders and the arrests of their clients.

  It would not have been unprecedented for Harmon to relocate a high-profile murder trial out of his courtroom. He did just that in 1990 in the case of Carl Wayne Buntion, who killed a Houston motorcycle police officer. Buntion’s case received an enormous amount of publicity, so Harmon shifted the trial to Fredericksburg, Texas, where Buntion received a death sentence the following year.

  Harmon requested a two-hour videotape of the local news on the murders and the defendants from the defense attorneys. He also informed the lawyers he would survey the current jury pool to fully understand how much they knew about the cases, if anything.

  Adolph Pena had a strong belief that none of the defendants’ trials would be removed from Harris County. Members of the media and numerous attorneys assured him such a high-profile case would definitely remain within the confines of a Houston courthouse.

  One week later, on October 28, defendant Peter Cantu went before Judge Harmon for a hearing on his motion to change venue. Cantu stood in between co-counsel Don Davis and Rob Morrow, but showed little interest as Judge Harmon addressed the issue of excessive media proliferation in regard to his case.

  Judge Harmon summarily rejected Cantu’s motion, citing a sampling he took himself of thirty-five prospective jurors. Only eight claimed to have been “irretrievably influenced” by the reports emanating from the media. Based on his informal study, Judge Harmon did not believe Cantu’s argumen
ts would be heard before a panel of biased jurors. Peter Cantu would have to face a jury of his peers in Harris County.

  Chapter 33

  Thursday, November 18, 1993

  Waltrip High School

  West Thirty-fourth Street

  Houston, Texas

  More than one hundred Waltrip High School students and teachers gathered on the brown weathered lawn outside the school, near the entrance to the main building. They were there to remember their friends whom they had lost earlier that summer.

  The group of students held hands and formed a circle around a small crepe myrtle, which was to be planted in honor of Elizabeth and Jennifer. Next to the tree stood a three-foot-high stone memorial, which also honored the girls.

  The students were joined by the families of the two young girls. Adolph Pena held hands with some of his daughter’s friends as two students dug into the earth to plant the tree.

  Fifteen-year-old Leslie Rodriguez, the organizer of the memorial service, spoke as the tree was being settled into the earth. “I want everyone to know we will always remember them,” she informed the crowd, especially the Penas and Ertmans. She then looked directly at the stone memorial and said, “It’s here to ask people to change their ways and make a difference.”

  Rodriguez then looked at the crepe myrtle and told the crowd that that particular tree was chosen “to represent the fragility of life.” At that point, Adolph began to quietly sob. The students held his hands even tighter and the group began to pray.