Beautifully Cruel

by M. William Phelps

  Sound familiar?

  Bandstra’s follow-up was even slicker: “And who organized these home invasions?”

  “Michael,” Bert said.

  “Michael Roberts?”

  “Yes, sir.”

  This was the first law enforcement had ever heard of such a thing. Could you imagine if Bert had explained this to Dennis Cessford on the night of the attack, or even to Dan Moser in the weeks that followed, when it would have been fresh in Bert’s mind? Michael would have been brought in immediately.

  Bert claimed they conducted these exercises every time he, Michael, and Dustin went out paintballing.

  As they chatted back and forth, Bert explained how Michael and Dustin ogled over Michael’s guns inside the house. Michael would pull them out and show Dustin.

  “Describe your mother’s relationship with Dustin Wehde prior to the shooting?”

  “She, obviously, was not comfortable around him.”

  “What leads you to that conclusion?”

  “Body language and even telling me be careful, you know.”

  Bert had incredible perception and memory: a young boy noticing body language, recalling it ten years later.

  As jurors sat, listening to Bert’s direct testimony, their body movements and facial expressions showed they were not buying what Bert Pitman was selling. He sounded so completely rehearsed it felt as though he was reading from a script he’d memorized the night before. Each answer drove a wedge between Bert and the jury.

  Bert then moved on to the incident itself. While up in his room watching Spy Kids with his half brother, Mom down the hall preparing to give his half sister a bath, Bert explained how he heard her yell for help. The first thing Bert did after hearing his mother scream his name was get up and look out the door, which was “open a little bit.”

  “I got up and looked . . . and it was dark and I was pretty scared. And then I could hear running toward me, so I backed up behind the door. . . .”

  Bert described the incident, moment by moment, giving what was now a fourth account of the “attack.” Mom was “falling backward” and her “head and shoulders were being yanked” as she tried to hand off Cassie into Bert’s room.

  Then she “fell back” and, on the way down to the floor, just happened to slam the door shut.

  Bert heard “kicking” and “yelling” and people thrashing against the hallway walls.

  He heard his mom being choked.

  He heard the hallway go silent, and he was “frozen” in fear at this point.

  Moments later, suddenly, he heard people talking.

  Bandstra asked what “they” were saying.

  “Dustin referred to him as ‘boss’ and the other person referred to him as ‘mini-me.’”

  “Mini-me” was another new revelation.

  Bert next described how when he “saw Dustin, I knew immediately that it wasn’t a joke.”

  He talked about grabbing the bat from his room, and added for the first time how he then gave his brother, Tommy, a pen, and told him to use it like a knife to protect himself.

  Some of Bert’s testimony was familiar territory, much of it, however, new. Like Bert telling Bandstra the first one through his door was going to get smacked with a baseball bat, and that his mother’s “hands were tied . . . with panty hose.”

  Apparently, Tracey had held two guns, one in each hand, with her hands tied.

  She had morphed into Houdini meets Annie Oakley.

  Bert said he thought his mom was dead, before making a jaw-dropping admission: he now recalled seeing Dustin “starting to rock and kind of move to get up” after being shot.

  He said he went downstairs by himself and called 911 after calling “Grandma Anna.”

  He said he took the bat with him because he was scared of the second intruder.

  Bert’s story went on and on. Jurors looked bored. He came across as a son trying to protect his mother; yet the story had changed so much that neither he nor Tracey knew what the other had said, or what had been added. Both had lost control of the narrative.

  Bandstra then brought Mary Higgins into the conversation, asking Bert to describe Mary for the jury.

  And Bert delivered, testifying: “From what I’ve seen . . . there was a lot of drama surrounding her.”

  The hit job continued: “And would you agree or disagree with this statement that there was an occasion that Mary Higgins came to your house and you were banging your head on the kitchen table?” Bandstra asked.

  “No, sir, absolutely not.”

  It was one of those details the jury would ask themselves: Why would Mary Higgins lie about such a thing? Had the entire town of Early conspired to set up Tracey Roberts?

  Bandstra asked a few more questions about Mary Higgins and concluded his direct.

  * * *

  Doug Hammerand knew he didn’t need to attack Bert Pitman. Bert had done a fine job himself of showing how much he’d added over the years to the story. So Hammerand keyed in on the statement Bert had given to Cessford at the hospital on the night of the incident.

  “And what you told Lieutenant Cessford on [that night] was probably the most accurate information you provided to law enforcement, correct?”

  “I don’t remember the interview itself and I was in shock at that time, so . . .”

  Hammerand used the FBI interview Bert provided in 2011 to prove he had already said the original statement on the night of the incident was, indeed, the most accurate.

  Bert reluctantly agreed.

  After that, Hammerand went through the Cessford statement, line by line, while Bert, in a sarcastic manner, kept saying, “If that’s what it says” to Hammerand’s query: “Is that what you said?”

  It showed how Bert had cherry-picked what to say on direct; and even worse, how much he got wrong and how much he was adding to the narrative ten years later. All the jury had to do was match the statement up to his testimony and they’d see how Bert was recalling new things, contradicting prior statements, thus making his mother look as though she had something to hide.

  Hammerand knew that focusing on the smallest details, Tracey’s lies would be exposed. For example, Bert testified that one of the men had worn gloves, but he said the opposite in the Cessford account. Likewise, nowhere in the Cessford report had Bert said he saw Dustin’s face; yet during his testimony, he said he clearly saw Dustin and that Dustin even spoke directly to him. Then Bert testified on direct that he heard banging and kicking in the hallway; he never mentioned this to Cessford, on top of never mentioning anything about seeing marks on his mother’s neck or Dustin moving, trying to get up after being shot (that is, with one bullet hitting and shattering his hip).

  “You never told that to Lieutenant Cessford . . . ?”

  “It’s not written down,” Bert responded when confronted with some of the discrepancies. “I don’t know if I told him that and he didn’t write it down.”

  Fair enough.

  Hammerand finally asked Bert if he had ever told Cessford he spoke to his grandmother and told her that two men had broken into the house.

  “If it’s not in the report, I mean, I . . . I could have said it.”

  “I have no other questions.”

  84

  TRACEY RICHTER WAS NOT A fool. Nobody would ever accuse her of being stupid. Yes, she had made incredibly bad decisions. Yes, she had been unable to keep track of all the lies. And yes, in her narcissistic delusion, she believed she was smarter than everyone in that courtroom. But no, Tracey Richter was not going to allow all of her mistakes to be scrutinized by the prosecution. Thus, she decided to forgo testifying.

  With that, both sides rested.

  * * *

  On the morning of November 4, 2011, Hammerand and Bandstra closed out their cases. Doug Hammerand focused his parting statement on the “pink spiral notebook,” explaining to jurors how the state proved Tracey gave Dustin Wehde the information inside the journal, summing up the state’s case in one powerful
statement: “[Tracey] came up with a plan to make it look like Dr. Pitman was behind Dustin Wehde coming into her home and attacking her and trying to kill her and her son Bert. That would give her the advantage in the custody case.”

  It was that simple. When one took this statement and inserted it into the crime, it all fit.

  Of course, Hammerand went through the entire case, step by step.

  The science.

  Tracey’s evolving statements.

  Crime scene reconstruction.

  The interviews conducted by law enforcement.

  The medical evidence proving Dustin Wehde, with several execution-style shots to the back of the head, not to mention so many body shots there’s no way he could have stood, never got up off the ground, as Tracey and then Bert later claimed.

  The trajectory of the bullets.

  The notebook.

  The notebook.

  The notebook.

  “The only thing to understand about the journal was that it wasn’t a collection of Dustin Wehde’s thoughts,” Trent Vileta explained later. “It was a series of notes regarding how much Tracey Richter hated John Pitman and Stephen Komie.”

  * * *

  Scott Bandstra looked ready. This was the defense’s final chance to sway any juror leaning toward acquittal or reasonable doubt. Bandstra was no novice lawyer; he had to know there was a mountain of evidence against his client.

  He began by saying his “obligation” was to “zealously” represent the woman who had hired him.

  He called the case a “travesty of justice.”

  He spoke of jury instructions, as most defense attorneys will do during closings, and reminded jurors they needed to follow them, as if mentioning the instructions made it seem as though there might be pause to reconsider something was amiss.

  Bandstra next talked about Dustin Wehde and his mental status.

  Yawn.

  Then the journal: how unimportant it was.

  Yawn again.

  He then talked about credibility of witnesses, saying, “You need to decide who to believe and who not to believe.”

  From there, he gave a timeline.

  Jeremy Collins and his affair with Mona.

  Marie Friedman and her “story.”

  DCI SA Dan Moser and his investigation.

  Cessford’s reports.

  How Tracey was simply “doing what a mom should be doing”: giving her daughter a bath, when her life changed forever.

  He then spoke of the medical examiner getting it wrong regarding the number of shots to Dustin’s head.

  Every witness, or so it seemed (save for Tracey’s), had told some sort of convoluted story to frame Tracey Richter, apparently.

  Bandstra talked about the change of administration (Ben Smith coming into office) being somehow involved in pushing this case forward and demanding an arrest.

  There’s an old defense-lawyer trick some attorneys, in the eleventh hour, pull out of their hat: Make jurors feel guilty about the decision they will soon make. Drill it into their heads during closing that the weight of the world is waiting for them inside that deliberation room: “You folks are the people who decide what kind of community we live in. And your decision today will help shape what happens in the future.”

  Concluding, Bandstra added how finding Tracey guilty would send a message that if someone breaks into your home and tries to assault your family, you are not allowed to protect yourself. Law enforcement and an obsessive, aggressive prosecutor looking to make a name for himself will come after you.

  “And the kind of community you want . . . is a community where people who protect themselves in their own house are not charged. . . .”

  There were rebuttals on both sides.

  * * *

  At 2:03 p.m., on Friday, November 4, the jury walked out of the courtroom to begin deliberations.

  By 6:23 p.m., they were back.

  The judge indicated they would reconvene on Monday, 9:00 a.m. sharp. The jury could have chosen to work the weekend but did not want to.

  By 11:57 a.m., Monday, November 7, with a packed courtroom, the jury indicated it had come to a unanimous decision. This sort of timeline did not bode well for Tracey Richter. In total, the jury spent between five and six hours deliberating a ten-year-old murder case, a case with thousands of pages of documents, multiple hours’ worth of video and audio, along with two thousand pages of trial testimony. It would have certainly taken more than three-quarters of a workday to talk about all of that material, had deliberations turned contentious.

  Tracey walked in by her lawyer’s side, grasping a Kleenex she had perpetually held throughout proceedings, jawing in his ear from the time the door opened to let her in until she sat down. She looked nervous, agitated, and angry.

  Standing, before the verdict was read, Tracey started crying, her head turning from side to side. She breathed heavily in and out, as though a well of emotion was about to erupt.

  Judge Wilke didn’t waste any time. He had the foreperson hand the verdict to the clerk, who then gave it to him.

  “‘We, the Jury,’” Wilke read, “‘find the defendant, Tracey Ann Richter, guilty in the crime of first-degree murder.’”

  Anna Richter, Tracey’s mother, let out a gasp, burying her face into a hanky, tears coming on. Bert, who sat in between Anna and Tracey’s fiancé, was stunned, stone-faced, and appeared as though he might puke, while Tracey’s dedicated fiancé grabbed Anna’s leg in reassurance and stared at the judge, his mouth slightly agape.

  Mona Wehde doubled over and bawled, her hands clasped with each other, shielding her face.

  Tracey dropped her head onto the table, one arm bracing her forehead.

  Now a convicted murderer, she cried.

  This drama, however, was far from over.

  85

  ON NOVEMBER 8, 2011, TRACEY’S father, sixty-nine-year-old Bernard Richter, was found unconscious and bleeding on his property in Rembrandt, Iowa, at 11:50 a.m.

  After a more careful examination, it was determined that Bernard was dead.

  An autopsy was ordered. The timing of Bernard’s death seemed suspicious—the day after his daughter was convicted of first-degree murder.

  Buena Vista County death investigator Matt Imming told reporters, who were clamoring for information, “We’re still trying to piece together the timeline.... [An] investigation is still ongoing.”

  In fact, authorities had a hard time identifying Bernard on scene “because of blood pooled around his face and chest. . . .”

  The body had been there, the medical examiner estimated, for at least twenty-four, maybe even thirty-six, hours.

  Sheriff Gary Launderville told reporters, “We are not ruling out anything at this point. We’re way too early in this thing.”

  Finally, in those days preceding Tracey’s sentencing, Buena Vista County sheriff Launderville announced publicly that his investigators had pieced together what they believed happened to Tracey’s father, Bernard, who had been “estranged” from Anna at the time. He likely “fell down facefirst before dying outside his home,” the sheriff said. A heart attack was probably the culprit. “At this point, we can’t even say if he was alive to hear the verdict. The timing was very ironic. Who would have thought?”

  86

  SAC COUNTY PROSECUTOR BEN SMITH was torn over the verdict. Elated, of course, but within those tears of joy was a sadness accompanied by an overwhelming sense of relief. It was over, finally—at least the trial portion of it.

  Tracey’s sentencing hearing took place on December 5, 2011, before Judge Wilke. After a volley of arguments from Bandstra regarding grounds for a new trial and his reasons for dismissal (all which went nowhere), Dustin’s Wehde’s family was given the opportunity to speak. The Wehde family had gone through hell—and would continue to—since Dustin’s murder and Brett’s suicide, dealing with a litany of emotional and addiction problems.

  “The worst part of all of this is you cheated my brother, Dustin,
out of his future . . . [and] killed his hopes and his dreams. He never got to fall in love. He never got to get married or buy a car or a house. He never got to have kids. He missed everything because of you. All because of you,” Dustin’s sister said from the witness-box.

  Dustin’s youngest sister sat next and answered a few questions from Ben Smith, but broke down uncontrollably and couldn’t continue.

  “When Tracey Richter murdered Brett and my son,” Mona said, clearly letting Tracey know she believed her to be responsible for Brett’s suicide, “she robbed us not only of our son, but our family. I watched my husband lose his faith and will to live because he was unable to deal with the pain and grief caused by his son’s murder.”

  Mona explained how she’d struggled with depression and alcoholism, adding, “There’s not one day I don’t envision my son’s body, see his blood, or that I don’t live with the horror of my son’s death.... I don’t deserve to have to live my life with this pain, without my child.”

  * * *

  Tracey’s attorney remained steadfast in his determination of her innocence. After Ben Smith said a few closing words and rested the state’s case, Bandstra gave a short sermon focused on the “travesty of justice” he had witnessed, and how Tracey had been protecting herself and her children.

  * * *

  When Bandstra finished, the judge asked Tracey to stand and say what she needed.

  Tracey talked about the respect she had for what she called a legal system with built-in flaws. Then: “I wanted to tell my children . . . I love them very much and I believe in them. . . .”

  As Tracey spoke to the court, she addressed Mona specifically at one point. Tracey had something to say about the night of “the attack,” as she called it. Continuing to promote her lie, Tracey said that while she was at the hospital “I thought the worst of it was over, it wasn’t! Because when they told me it was Dustin, my entire family could tell you I broke down and I cried. . . .”

  So now she claimed it wasn’t until she arrived at Loring Hospital that she found out it was Dustin Wehde she had killed?

  She then talked about various lawsuits, Mona’s wrongful-death case, and how, even though she and Michael were sued, Tracey was the one who had suggested they do not countersue, because she felt so bad for Mona’s loss.