And Never Let Her Go (76 page)

O'Donnell said that Tom could not have known that Gerry would be available on Friday, June 28. The cooler? Merely a Fourth of July gift to thank Gerry for being so nice to Tom's daughters. And Tom's demeanor, according to witnesses, had been very calm and normal the night of Anne Marie's death. Could a man planning a murder have been so calm?

Trying to save Tom's life, O'Donnell argued that he was not an entirely rational man, and had demonstrated he was given to rash and impulsive acts. “I suggest to you that when you consider all that evidence, it suggests a lack of premeditation or substantial plan.”

Linda Marandola? O'Donnell said that Tom had been young, and set up by Joe Riley who had done most of the talking on the tapes to deliberately incriminate him. What had happened to Linda, O'Donnell said, was merely “phone harassment.” And the very fact that she dated Tom again was proof she wasn't really afraid of him. “The watch he purchased for her in Atlantic City, she kept all those years. . . .”

O'Donnell praised Tom for his good works for the church and for the aged and infirm. “So Tom did some good things,” he said, “I don't think the government disputes that.” Then he painted the bleak picture of Tom's world if the jurors chose to sentence him to life in prison. “Probably more onerous punishment for him if you think about it,” he said. “This is a man who could go to lunch at the
finest restaurants who will be eating baloney and cheese for the rest of his life. This is a man who could travel the world who will be shuffling in leg irons at best . . . who will be confined to a nine by twelve or less cell . . . who will never hug his daughters again . . . or attend their graduations . . . or weddings . . . or other festive occasions.”

O'Donnell said he felt that once Tom was transferred to a prison facility, he would have the opportunity to help other inmates. Perhaps teach them to read. “But most of all,” O'Donnell concluded in a surprising fashion, “I ask you to consider the effect of your recommendations on his brothers, Louie and Gerry. . . . Gerry is a mess. If you can't find it in your hearts to recommend life for Tom because of Tom . . . do it for his mother . . . for his daughters . . . for his ex-wife . . . , please find it in your hearts to do it for Louie and especially for Gerry.”

Ferris Wharton gave the last argument of the trial. He decried O'Donnell's contention that the murder of Anne Marie had been rash and impulsive, or that Linda Marandola had not been afraid of Tom. “The rekindling of Linda Marandola's relationship,” he said, “is also more of a testament to the defendant's relentlessness and persistence than anything else. You've heard how he can be. You've heard how he was on the phone with Debby MacIntyre. . . . He can be charming. But above all, he was
relentless. . . .”

How many mitigating factors were there left in Tom Capano's makeup? “Perhaps there was good in him,” Wharton acknowledged. “Fifteen years ago. Ten years ago. But there was also evil in him. There was substantial evil in him. . . . Perhaps at one point, there was this duality . . . a battle going on, if you will, for his soul. But that battle has been lost. What you see now is the Tom Capano that you have to recommend a sentence for.”

Wharton doubted that putting Tom in the general population of a prison for the rest of his life would be a wise idea. “There are people there to relate to,” he pointed out. “There are people to control . . . to manipulate. There are people to do things for, do things to. There are the Harry Fuscos in prison. There are the Nick Perillos in prison. There are rules to be broken. There are ways to get over . . . inmates to be influenced.”

Wharton noted that Tom had never once mentioned tutoring prisoners or helping them with their education during his allocution. No, he had thought, as always, of himself. And now the jurors would have to decide if the aggravating factors outweighed the mitigating
factors as they looked back over Tom Capano's life and Anne Marie's death.

“And when you answer those questions,” Wharton said, “you will have an opportunity to do more than simply confine the evil that Tom Capano has become. Because that type of evil is relentless and will not be confined. You will have the opportunity to end its presence in your lives, ladies and gentlemen, because that type of evil must be ended.”

W
HEN
the jurors returned for the second time with a decision, the city of Wilmington held its breath. Tom was led into the courtroom to hear his fate, and he seemed as insouciant as always. He looked toward his mother, who sat tearfully in the courtroom, and mouthed, as he often did, “I'll be OK,” or, less likely, “It'll be OK.”

It was late on Thursday afternoon, January 28, 1999. The jurors recommended by a vote of ten to two that Tom Capano be put to death by lethal injection. Only once in Delaware history had a judge gone against a jury's recommendation of the death penalty.

Outside, horns blared, people clapped and cheered.

Now it was up to Judge William Swain Lee.

J
UDGE
L
EE HAD MANY THINGS
to consider as he decided what Tom Capano's sentence should be. The jurors' recommendation would certainly have tremendous weight, but there was one haunting voice, a voice that spoke for the whole family. It was Robert's, as he sat on the witness stand during the penalty phase, on January 21, and remembered his sister and the pain of losing her.

For sixty days, the Faheys had kept a vigil at Anne Marie's apartment and then entered a lost place, where they still were. “And the best description I can give anybody is that it is a black hole without boundaries,” Robert said, “and it is as black as it gets. There is no light.”

Robert talked of their search for someplace where they could feel Anne Marie's presence so they could say good-bye to her. They had been to the Grant Avenue house. “If you had a sibling or a spouse or a child or someone that you deeply cared about, and they
were killed in a car accident, and that car was towed away to a junkyard, I would argue that everybody in this courtroom would go to that junkyard and look at that car, especially if the body had never been recovered. And that was our way of trying to see where Anne Marie's last resting place was. . . . We knew in our hearts she had died in that room. And we had to go and see it and touch it and say a prayer for Anne Marie . . . by going to the place where she was brutally murdered.”

Robert spoke of never having been able to have a funeral for his sister. “You think about how important a funeral is, because there are rituals, and some of the rituals I never appreciated the benefit of because they had always been there. And when they're not there, you don't have the opportunity to grieve.

“You don't have a viewing. Rather than a piece of plastic with a bullet hole in it, you generally have a wooden coffin. And you go to the funeral home, and you can say your prayers and hug everybody collectively that's there to support you. So instead of a funeral, we have a cooler for a coffin and we have images that are just very, very painful.”

As pitiful a substitute as it was, they
had
all gathered around the cooler and prayed for their sister. Now, as Robert spoke, people began to cry; even reporters who
never
let their emotions show in public had tears running down their faces. Anne Marie had been with them all along, but as part of a legal puzzle, and it had been easier to look away from the real woman. But as her brother talked about her, the sounds of sniffling and nose-blowing grew stronger.

“Rather than Anne Marie being buried in a family plot next to her grandmother and her mother,” Robert said, “instead of being surrounded by her family when she died, Anne Marie was surrounded by her killer and her killer's brother.

“And she was thrown over the side of a boat, wrapped in chains and anchors and rope, rather than in her finest dress. And rather than being in a coffin—whether it was a hundred thousand dollars or ten thousand—she was in an Igloo cooler.

“And rather than being buried next to her mother, she was thrown into a piece of water that's known as Mako Alley. So instead of my mother, she had sharks.”

Robert remembered how his family and grandmother had gone to the shore for a week every summer. He said he and his siblings would continue to do that for their children, but it would never again be the same. “I can't go anywhere near the Atlantic Ocean, because
I know my sister is out there, probably in a million pieces, and it's not a real pleasant thought.”

They would never know, any of her brothers and her sister, if Anne Marie had been beaten or tormented before she died. And even though their religious beliefs told them she was safe with God, their minds would go back forever to that night when she died and wonder about that.

Kathleen would say, “I hope he shot her from behind and she never had to be afraid. I cannot bear to think that she was afraid.”

A
ND
now, Judge Lee thought of all those things as he struggled to make the most awesome decision any man can make, and one few would seek to make.

On March 16, 1999, he was finally prepared to sentence Tom Capano. The day before St. Patrick's Day was cold, much colder than the two days in January when crowds had gathered to hear the decisions the jurors had made. Spring seemed months away, the sky was leaden, mounds of dirty snow covered the curbs in front of the Daniel J. Herrmann Courthouse, and spectators bundled up against the wind. With each increment of this seemingly endless legal procedure, the crowds had grown. Now there was no room to walk; reporters, cameramen, families, friends, bystanders, and the curious filled every spare inch of the sidewalk and the wide apron of steps. People even began to climb onto the concrete walls around the steps. Some watched with binoculars from Rodney Square across the street. The television trucks weren't just from Wilmington and Philadelphia; there were network news trucks, too.

Would Tom Capano get the death penalty? Most said no. They couldn't see how the man could fall any lower than he already had. Others said he was “gonna fry,” even though the death penalty in Delaware is accomplished by lethal injection.

“I feel so sad for his mother,” a woman said to her friend. “Look at her there in her wheelchair with all the cameras poking in her face—they shouldn't treat an old woman like that.” But, of course, they did. Running backward, photographers aimed their cameras directly into the faces of Marguerite and Tom's daughters.

Above the clamor of people talking and the sounds of traffic on the busy corner opposite the Wilmington Public Library, a crazy, cacophonous noise penetrated the air sporadically. Two men in a long 1950s Cadillac convertible drove repeatedly around the block, apparently so they could show off their horn. They laughed and waved but the crowd only stared at them. Whichever side they were on,
none of the people who had gathered here found anything remotely funny about this landmark day.

The Faheys and the Capanos had arrived and gone up to the courtroom. Kay Ryan had come downtown with her daughters but she could not bear to walk past the cameras again. Her daughters entered the courthouse while she waited down the street in a friend's car. She didn't really want to hear what the judge would say.

Marguerite's wheelchair sat in the aisle near the railing on the right side of the courtroom in which Tom's sentence would be pronounced. For some reason, now that it was almost over, the Capanos and the Faheys had reversed sides of the courtroom—but then, it wasn't even the same courtroom. Another hearing was being held in Courtroom 302.

Father Balducelli held Marguerite's hand and her family crowded around. It had been one thing after another for her; Joey had undergone heart surgery and survived, again. Now she trembled as she waited to hear if her Tommy would survive.

The room was packed, and for once, Judge Lee allowed people who could not find seats to stand along the walls. Tom walked in and looked toward his mother—toward his daughters. And once more, he mouthed, “It will be all right . . . It will be all right.”

Judge Lee looked at the gallery, the attorneys, and the convicted man. No one knew what he might have been thinking during all the months of Tom's trial; judges rarely betray their feelings. He had been unfailingly gracious and in control of his courtroom, but he had never once commented on the proceedings in any personal way.

Now, he began to read the statement he had prepared.

“This is the time established for the sentencing of Thomas J. Capano, who has been found guilty of murder in the first degree by a jury which also found the existence of an aggravating statutory circumstance by a vote of eleven to one, and recommended the sentence of death by a vote of ten to two. . . .

“The Court is required to give great weight to the jury's recommendation. I have completed that process.”

But Judge Lee said he had found the law itself inadequate to describe what had happened during the trial just held, and he had decided to supplement his decision with further remarks.

“The gradual revelation of the personality and character of the defendant,” he began, “clearly was a factor in both the verdict of the jury and its recommendation concerning appropriate sentence. It is a significant factor in my sentencing decision today.

“Thomas J. Capano entered this courtroom on trial for his life,
a man presumed innocent, and almost immediately embarked on a course of conduct to rebut that presumption. Intelligent, educated, affluent, accomplished, and charming by reputation, he proceeded to negate all of the advantages his life had provided during the harsh confrontation with reality which is a criminal trial, and eventually revealed an angry, sinister, controlling, and malignant force which dominated the courtroom for months.

“From the beginning, he systematically and contemptuously degraded all of those who participated in the proceedings: the prosecutors, the witnesses, prison personnel, the Court, and his own attorneys.