A Question of Mercy

When compassion hurts the innocent.

by Michael Washburn

Derek Orchard was not a close friend in college, but he definitely made my experience a better one. He was laid-back and likable, he always greeted me when we crossed paths around campus, and his sense of humor and affability made it easier to fit in at parties. On a campus known for its political fervor, he had a refreshingly offhand manner.

When the Grinnell College alumni magazine came in the mail the other day, I never expected to find out that someone had been murdered.

Let alone Derek.

The details are still under investigation, but it appears that one evening in mid-May, four young men in Kansas City, where Derek worked, made a plan to steal his Honda Accord. They forced him out of the car and made him hand over his keys and wallet at gunpoint; then they shot Derek in cold blood and drove away. A few hours later, around midnight, the police found the perps in Derek's car with the murder weapons and his credit cards. A construction worker found Derek's body lying in a park early the next morning.

Need it be asked whether the criminals in this case had long records at the time of the murder? You probably know the answer. The case is of a piece with a number of recent high-profile murders, yet their uniting thread is not widely discussed — I daresay that members of the criminal justice establishment studiously ignore it.

The assailant in the ambush of the three armored car workers at the Wachovia branch in Northeast Philadelphia two weeks ago had been in and out of the state's custody before, after committing violent offenses including bank robberies. Clearly, the sentence handed down for his early bank robberies was too light, and the parole board's decision did not take into account the very high rate of recidivism among violent thugs. Not many people commit a felony once and then straighten out, but rather, savages go on being savages until you lock them up or execute them.

The case is reminiscent of another one that riveted New York's attention in July, when police officers Russel Timoshenko and Herman Yan spotted an SUV on a Crown Heights street whose license plates matched those of a vehicle reported stolen. When Timoshenko and Yan approached, one of the three ex-cons inside, Dexter Bostic, opened fire, hitting Timoshenko in the face. He clung to life for all of five days. Yan would have died too if not for his bulletproof vest.

In January 2005, the murder of 28-year-old actress Nicole duFresne on the Lower East Side made headlines from Seattle to Senegal. DuFresne was walking home with her fiancé and two friends when parolee Rudy Fleming and some other thugs confronted them and demanded money. After Fleming pistol-whipped duFresne's fiancé, Jeffrey Sparks, Fleming confronted duFresne and shot her at point-blank range. (Because of sloppy reporting, many people misconstrued duFresne's final words as a challenge — "What are you going to do, shoot us?" What she actually said was "What are you going to do next, shoot us?" which has a different ring to it.) Fleming had a prior conviction for a violent offense, and was out on parole after serving only two years in prison.

Where will it end? The policy of granting parole in the name of "humanity" or "compassion" is extremely ironic in light of the consequences it has for the innocent. Last spring, City Paper ran a guest opinion piece by William DiMascio, executive director of something called the Pennsylvania Prison Society. To my astonishment, Mr. DiMascio criticized the justice system in Pennsylvania for being too "draconian" and insufficiently "compassionate" — meaning that, in his view, sentencing boards were too reluctant to grant paroles, and the pardon board too unwilling to commute the life sentences of first-degree murderers. I am curious as to what Mr. DiMascio makes of cases like the above, and if he believes that our public life is more decent and enlightened than a "draconian" one like Singapore, where there's hardly any crime.

Rest in peace, Derek. I have no idea what people have told your two small sons. I wonder if they might become voices of a generation that finally sees how "compassion" makes the world an uglier and more brutal place.

Michael Washburn is a local journalist.