I'll Be Watching You (39 page)

I

There was an inmate at Connecticut’s maximum-security prison who said he had taken a deathbed confession from a friend of his—that this “friend” had, in fact, killed Carmen Rodriguez. The proposed murderer, a convicted rapist many times over, who, the snitch said, “had never used condoms” during his many rapes, had picked Carmen up in his van on the corner of Broad Street and Franklin Avenue. (He could not recall the exact date, nor was this the corner that Ned said he had supposedly dropped Carmen off at.) He raped and murdered her that night, and had recently committed suicide. Before he died, however, at the very moment he was about to hang himself, the inmate said he had whispered across the hallway to his friend’s cell and admitted killing Carmen.

He gave no details. He had no particulars of the crime itself. Not even a last name. Only, “I killed her…. I cannot live with myself.” On top of that, the witness was classified as a psychotic who took a pharmacy of meds for delusional thinking, besides routinely seeing and hearing people who just weren’t there.

The judge decided to hear the witness out without the jury present. It was only three weeks ago that the guy had come forward. It was clear he wanted something out of it all. And the admitted killer—well, he was dead.

O’Brien got to work right away and asked, “So the same day that he committed suicide, he told you that he—”

“Yeah.”

Err…
“—killed Carmen—”

“Yes.”

“—Rodriguez?” O’Brien finally finished.

“Exactly.”

“Do you remember if he said anything else about Carmen Rodriguez?”

“No.”

“At any point during the time that you were with him?”

“No.”

After a few more questions, O’Brien finished and motioned to Zagaja, who said, “And when the private investigator [the ex-cop that O’Brien had hired to help him with Ned’s defense] spoke with you, did he tell you the last name of—”

“Yes,” the witness said, not allowing Zagaja to finish.

“—Carmen?”

“He told me the last name,” he said, meaning O’Brien’s investigator.

“Did he tell you when she was killed?” Zagaja asked.

“Yes.”

“When did he tell you she was killed?”

“September.”

“And did he tell you if her body was found?”

“Yes.”

“And where did he tell you her body was found?”

“In another state.”

“And you already said that you asked, ‘What can you do for me?’”

“Yes.”

“Did he provide you with a response?”

“Yes.”

“What did he say to you?”

“He could try to get me out of jail.”

In her decision, Judge Espinosa explained what she thought of Ned’s star witness: “A statement from a psychotic inmate, if you will,” she said, “a statement from a guy who has delusions, who hears voices, who takes at least three medications for psychiatric problems, that leads one to believe that this person was not very reliable if you believe [the witness], which, frankly, the court does not. It’s a very self-serving situation on [the witness’s] part.”

Ned shook his head. His last chance…gone. “How is it self-serving, Your Honor?” O’Brien stood and asked.

“Well, it’s also interesting that this just came to light a couple of weeks ago. When, in relation to [other] testimony, did this come up? The court’s impression is that inmates are trying to jump on the bandwagon of coming in, and everybody has got something now to say about this case.”

The jury wasn’t going to hear
any
of it.

Gavel.

Next witness.

II

By February 1, the trial was getting
old
. O’Brien was calling witnesses who were adding nothing to the process. Most of the testimony was weak and repetitious, if not totally unbelievable. Most believed Ned was behind it all. At lunchtime, the judge had finally heard that Ned was not going to testify. He had discussed it with O’Brien and came to the conclusion that it wasn’t in his best interest.

Smart move. Zagaja would have mopped the floor with him. Still, Espinosa wanted to be 100 percent sure that Ned was making the call, not O’Brien. “Now, let me ask Mr. Snelgrove,” she said, “…your lawyer has told us that you do not want to testify. And I want to ask you some questions about that decision. Have you used any alcohol, drugs, or medicines of any kind today?”

“No.”

“Now, have you had enough time to discuss with your lawyer your decision not to testify?”

“Yes.”

For the first time during the trial, Ned was terse and respectful. “And I note that during the entire trial you’ve been very active in your defense, assisting Mr. O’Brien, so is it correct to say you’ve discussed with him, fully, the pros and cons of testifying—”

Ned wouldn’t let her finish: “Yes.”

“—on your behalf?”

“Yes.”

“And do you agree with the decision, or, I take it, it is
your
decision that you do not want to testify? Is that correct?”

“That’s correct.”

“And you understand that you have a right to testify?”

“Yes.”

“And you’re giving up that right?”

“Yes.”

“Are you doing that knowingly?”

“Yes.”

“Voluntarily?”

“Yes.”

“With understanding of the consequences?”

“Yes.”

“Are you satisfied with the representation you’ve received from your lawyer?”

“Yes.”

“All right. Very well….”

Gavel. Time for closing arguments.

I

After introducing himself to the jury and thanking them for sticking it out through such a long process, David Zagaja put it as plainly as he could, “What you have here,” he said, “what happened to Carmen Rodriguez on September twenty-first—the evening of September 21, 2001—up to the point where her body was found in Rhode Island on January 6, 2002, is a reflection on the evolution of a killer.

“What does all of that packaging speak to?” Zagaja asked the jury halfway through his closing. “It speaks to his reflection on Ted Bundy and it speaks to his intent…he planned this. He planned this for the evening of September 21, 2001, he had his goody bag all packed. He had everything that was necessary to kill and dispose of the body ready to go: tape, staplers, one or more rope, two types of bags, a cutting implement to cut the rope. It speaks to the planning, it speaks to a well-laid-out plan to execute a murder. Look at the dumping of the body right over the state line in Rhode Island. What I think was so amazing was the constant questioning about the defendant’s familiarity with Rhode Island. That’s missing the point. What you need is the familiarity with the eastern border of Connecticut. It was the first possible turn you could take off of Route 138, once you hit the state of Rhode Island, the first possible turn. Not the second, not the third, not a well-plotted-out turn, the first possible turn. There is literally no other turn. And you know what’s great about dumping the body in Rhode Island? Connecticut is not going to go help in investigating that matter, Rhode Island is….”

Zagaja went through the entire crime, moment by moment, while Ned sat. Twisted in his chair. Winced at times, smiled at others, and repeatedly frowned.

Zagaja spoke of the letters and how significant they were. “You get down to these writings. Are they the same as Ted Bundy or are they different?” Zagaja allowed a moment. Raising his voice, “I would tend to believe that they are actually the same because what Ned Snelgrove became was…Ted Bundy.” Then, concluding, “And although he fails to see how he turned into Bundy—he did. In his mind these are things that will actually shift the police attention from him and not allow them to identify him as the true suspect in the killing of Carmen Rodriguez. But when you look at it and you look at his impression as to what Ted Bundy did and the mistakes
he
made, so did Ned Snelgrove. He wrote himself right into a guilty verdict, ladies and gentlemen. The evidence so supports.”

II

What could Donald O’Brien say? He hadn’t much to work with. He had a client who would have probably given the closing argument himself, if the court allowed. He had a client who had killed one woman and attempted to kill another. He had an ex-con for a client. An admitted liar. An admitted maniac who could not control himself around women. Thus, about the only option O’Brien had was to try and break down Zagaja’s arguments and attack each one. “Now, the state wants to say that there’s this evolution, that he is becoming a better killer, and that he’s not going to do what Ted Bundy did and how Ted Bundy screwed up. Well, if that’s the case…if he were trying to do better than Ted Bundy, would he go to Kenney’s and would he be seen leaving with an individual—and everybody saw him leaving—a woman that he knew, as Mr. Zagaja points out, somebody he signed up for his frozen-food contract?”

Great points. But again: O’Brien was asking the jury to throw away the facts and insert opinion and speculation. Who said Ned had planned to kill Carmen on
that
night? Maybe the opportunity presented itself and, as he had with Mary Ellen, he seized the moment. “Is that improving on Ted Bundy?” O’Brien asked. “Ted Bundy screwed up because he had a credit card and he had all of these receipts they can trace…a paper trail for Mr. Bundy, and that was his mistake. But what does Ned have? Ned has gas receipts. He has mileage that goes back to 2000…. He’s keeping a paper record, he’s keeping gas receipts. Do you think, for a moment, that if he was trying to evolve as a killer, as the state says, that he would keep those receipts?”

He kept those receipts, Zagaja had said throughout the trial, because he was going to use them to clear himself if the murder ever came back in his face. Those receipts were Ned’s alibi.

In the end, O’Brien concluded: “The state is relying on you people focusing on that very powerful evidence of his past crimes. They’re counting on you to use that to mask the lack of evidence they have in this case…. The evidence of the present crime, what he’s here for, must be proved beyond a reasonable doubt. Please consider the evidence very carefully and we’re confident that you’ll return a verdict of not guilty. Thank you.”

III

After Zagaja and O’Brien rebutted each other, on February 2, 2005, Judge Espinosa put the trial into the jury’s hands. On February 3, the jury asked for several calculators and an easel. They were obviously adding up the mileage.

Bad news for Ned.

IV

Midway through the afternoon of the following day, the jury foreperson, Michael Silva, stood and read the jury’s verdict: “‘Guilty.’”

James Rovella and David Zagaja jumped up and down and hugged.

Was there ever really any doubt?

Still, although several might have predicted Ned would be found guilty, no one could have forecast what he was about to say.

I

On April 14, 2005, Ned was back in court to face the judge for sentencing. First the judge ruled on two motions O’Brien had filed on Ned’s behalf: one for acquittal and another for a new trial. Quite direct in her ruling, she kept it short and simple: “Both of these claims—or all of these claims—have previously been made to the court during the course of the trial. The court considered all of the arguments and the circumstances surrounding the arguments, and the court found that they were without merit then and the court finds that they are without merit today. So for the reasons previously stated, both motions are denied.”

Ned looked as though he had expected it. He sat and he trembled with anger and resentment, both of which clearly washed over his face.

For the next hour, members of the Rodriguez family—including Carmen’s sisters Luz and Petra—read statements through an interpreter. When Barbara Delaney spoke, she placed a photograph of Karen on the desk in front of the lectern she stood behind. The bottom line for all was that Ned had destroyed their lives, but not their will and their memories. He could
never
take those away.

As Barbara spoke, Ned cried.

After O’Brien went through and cleared up a few things members of Carmen’s family had said about him, he turned it back over to the judge, who asked if Ned was ready to say anything for himself—and, boy, was he ever.

“I would like it stated, on the record, Your Honor,” Ned said after standing, “for today, that I believe that I’m entitled to a copy of everything in discovery pertaining to this case for purpose of preparing my appeal.” Ned paused. Then began again: “I
believe,
” he said rather loudly, “I’m
entitled
to that material and I should
not
be subject to fees or delays. Whoever is responsible for making sure I get a copy of everything in the discovery…I want it on the record today that I have made that request and I will not allow stalling, on anybody’s part, to go without becoming part of the appeal.”

Zagaja sat back. Rovella, sitting next to him, listening intently, smiling at times, shook his head.
How pathetic is this guy?

“One of the most memorable aspects of this trial,” Ned explained, “was at the end when the verdict was announced when David Zagaja and Jim Rovella jumped up and down and congratulated themselves as if they had really accomplished something significant…. For cryin’ out loud, a twelve-year-old could have prosecuted this case with all the help the judge provided them throughout this trial.” Espinosa raised her eyes, nodded her head casually, but allowed Ned to continue. “As a matter of fact,” he said, “there was
no
judge in this trial. Carmen Espinosa was the lead prosecutor and Mr. Zagaja was just a little apprentice prosecutor taking instructions from his mentor every time the jury was excused and benefiting from every significant ruling regarding what may or may not be mentioned to the jury as evidence.” The courtroom sat stunned. Ned didn’t get his way. And here he was, once again, blaming everyone around him. Speaking of the judge in the third person: how insulting. “This conviction will
never
stand and I think everyone knows it,” Ned added. “Whoever heard of a trial where a parade of detectives and one death penalty inmate just takes—lines up to take the witness stand and put words in the defendant’s mouth. Just as Mr. Zagaja said, on Wednesday, January nineteenth, that an acquittal by a jury is not probative that the defendant is innocent of a crime. While using Zagaja’s own logic, we can acknowledge here, in this case, that a conviction by a jury is not probative that the defendant is guilty of a crime. And those are David Zagaja’s words,
not
mine….”

Ned turned and invited all the reporters in the room “to get a copy of the transcript to confirm…that a prisoner, who never met me, took the stand and gave a detailed account of how his cell mate, now deceased, had confessed this murder to him.” He poked his index finger into the table: “His testimony was just as reliable and much more believable than Mark Pascual’s. But, true to form, the chief prosecutor,
Carmen Espinosa,
made
sure
the jury never knew about someone actually confessing to this crime. I wonder what the jurors on the case now think of this judicial process after learning about this minor detail? Please, members of the media, get a copy of the transcript from January 28, see if I know what I’m talking about. The integrity of the Hartford Police Department…is not exactly above reproach. The newspaper writers here know very well that every month or so a Hartford police officer is arrested for stealing or lying…. The Hartford Police Department itself[is] full of criminals and liars. As for the jurors, I hope they didn’t base their decision too heavily on the testimony of Mark Pascual. His story did not come from him or me—did it, Inspector Rovella?”

At that moment, Ned turned and stared at Rovella. The judge leaned forward, quickly saying, “Address your comments to the court—and no one else!”

“I can’t prove it now,” Ned raged, ignoring her, “but give me two years, members of the media, and I will be able to
show
you,
unequivocally,
that Mark Pascual’s testimony and police statements were provided to him to memorize, they did not come from him or me. So, please, whatever news organizations are represented here today…wherever I am in April 2007, two years from now, please locate me and contact me and I will put you on my visitors list.”

II

I made contact with Ned, per his suggestion. Over and over, I begged him to put me on his visitors list. I begged him to put me on his telephone list; so this way he could call me and explain this. I begged for this
proof.
He’d had his two years. He’d had time to come up with the evidence to prove his claims. Instead, though, Ned sent me a package of meaningless documents and never put me on his visitors list.

III

The gallery could not believe that Ned was carrying on and on. His speech seemed born in the cynicism one assumes a defeated man might spew. Ned was a sore loser, with hatred in his voice, saying, “Now, Judge Espinosa, this is the part where you gather yourself together and tell everyone here that the evidence against me was overwhelming. ‘Overwhelming,’ that’s a word judges like to use. In my case, however, there was
no
evidence. As a matter of fact, there was exculpatory evidence at the crime scene on the body of Carmen Rodriguez that actually belonged to somebody else. (Author’s note: This was untrue.) But, not to worry, you and your apprentice, David Zagaja, simply used my past convictions as a substitute for no evidence. Problem solved. Things that happened more than seventeen years ago totally unrelated to Carmen Rodriguez.” (Karen and Mary Ellen were now
things
.)

“The judge in this trial made sure, early on,” Ned said, speaking of Espinosa as if she weren’t present, “that the defendant would have no chance to be vindicated by conducting a trial in this fashion. You could easily charge me with any unsolved crime in Connecticut in the last six years. A clever court-assisted substitute for no evidence. That is one reason, among many, why the appellate court, any appellate court, will erase this conviction and force Judge Espinosa to conduct a fair trial…. This conviction will never stand. Mr. Zagaja is in no position to take credit for it, and I’ll see you in a few years, after the appeal…. I also know that you’re going to sentence me to the maximum penalty, for the time being, but you, of course, decided that
before
the trial even started…. So go ahead and sentence me to life and I’ll see you after the appeal in two or three years.” Ned began to sit down, then stopped, adding, “Don’t forget to tell everyone how overwhelming the evidence was.”

Judge Espinosa could have done a lot of things, but she said, “Thank you.” Paused, then, “State?”

Zagaja brought up a great point: “The court will note that the defendant did not indicate he
didn’t
kill Carmen Rodriguez.”

With that, Ned screamed: “I did
not
kill Carmen Rodriguez.”

“Thank you,” Judge Espinosa said. Then, “Tell me, Mr. Snelgrove, I noticed that when Mrs. [Barbara] Delaney was speaking, you were crying. Why was that?”

“Because I…,” Ned started to say while sitting down, but the marshal ordered him to stand. “Because I
did
kill Karen Osmun.”

“You did kill Karen Osmun. So you were crying because you’re a murderer?”

“I was crying because of the hurt I have caused to the family of Karen Osmun.”

Judge Espinosa paused. Sat back. She had a few words for Ned before she sentenced him. “Well, we’ve just seen a prime example of who Mr. Snelgrove is. Everybody else is bad, everybody else is wrong, and he is the only one who is right. Psychiatrists have examined him, and I’m not a psychiatrist, but those professionals have described him to be an extremely dangerous individual who requires professional psychotherapeutic treatment in a secure setting. Unfortunately, those were the words of a psychiatrist who examined him
before
the sentencing for the murders of Karen Osmun and the attempted murder of Renard. We’ve just seen a display of the personality that is Mr. Snelgrove.

“Self-centered.

“Manipulative.

“Psychopathic.

“Detached.

“A braggart.

“…Those are the words of even his own family, his family members who wanted nothing to do with him because they were afraid of him,” Judge Espinosa said, “who would not allow their children to be near him, alone with him.
That
is Edwin Snelgrove. As the probation officer stated, Mr. Snelgrove has been plagued by lifelong, persistent, violent, deviant, sexual fantasies—despite his level of education, intelligence, and self-reports acknowledging these fantasies were problematic, he never sought treatment for them. To the contrary, he appeared to get pleasure from the fantasies. The central theme of his fantasies were focused on the degradation and humiliation of females, both during and following their murders.” (Members of the Rodriguez family began sobbing.) “As evidenced by his criminal record,” Judge Espinosa said with sincerity and professionalism, “the offender turns these fantasies into actions for the sole purpose of fulfilling sexual gratification. By his own admission, Mr. Snelgrove is a murderer and he will always
be
a murderer. You talk about the evidence in this case—well, that’s why we have appellate courts and you’re going to have a long time to work on your appeal and consider all of the legal avenues available to you and all of the assistance that the system will give you…to pursue those appeals and to seek to overturn your conviction…. Sometimes psychiatrists and psychologists spend a lot of time trying to figure people out, but sometimes people are just bad. Sometimes people don’t have redemption, there’s no recourse. The only thing that the criminal justice system can do is warehouse them, separate them from society so that no one else is murdered, no other female is murdered by Edwin Snelgrove.”

Then, after a break to catch her breath, Judge Espinosa shuffled a few pieces of paper in front of her and proceeded to say what everyone but Ned was thinking: “The court is convinced that if he
ever
gets out on the street, he
will
kill again. Accordingly,” she said, then stopped and addressed Ned directly, saying, “please stand.” Ned stood without emotion. “It is the sentence of the court that you be committed to the custody of the commissioner of [the Department of] Correction for life and that is, in Connecticut, sixty years.”

The courtroom exploded with applause. Whistles. Cheers.

“All right,” Judge Carmen Espinosa said, slapping her gavel. “That’s enough.”

But they wouldn’t stop. “That’s enough,” she said again, over the roars. “That’s
enough.
”