He was quite content for a few months. He was clean and sober, determined to kick the habit with God's help. He joined Alcoholics Anonymous and seldom missed a meeting. His medications were balanced, and his family and friends enjoyed his company. He was funny and loud, always ready with a quick retort or a humorous story. To startle strangers, he enjoyed beginning a new tale with "Back when I was on death row... " His family stayed as close as possible, and were often amazed at his ability to recall minute details of events that happened when he was literally out of his mind.
The Transition House was near downtown Norman, an easy walk to Mark Barrett's office, and Ron dropped in often. The lawyer and the client drank coffee, talked about music, and discussed the lawsuit. Ron's primary interest in the litigation, not surprisingly, was when it might be settled and how much money he might get. Mark invited Ron to attend his church, a Disciples of Christ congregation in Norman. Ron joined a Sunday school class with Mark's wife and became fascinated with the open and liberal discussions about the Bible and Christianity. Anything could be questioned, unlike in the Pentecostal churches, where the Word was exact and infallible and contrary views were frowned upon.
Ron spent most of his time on his music, practicing a Bob Dylan song or one from Eric Clapton until he could closely imitate it. And he got hired. He landed some gigs in coffee shops and cafes around Norman and Oklahoma City, playing for tips and taking requests from the slim crowds. He was fearless. His vocal range was limited, but he didn't care. Ron would try any song.
The Oklahoma Coalition to Abolish the Death Penalty invited him to sing and speak at a fund-raiser held at the Firehouse, a popular hangout near the OU campus. In front of two hundred people, a much larger crowd than what he normally saw, he was overwhelmed and stood too far from the microphone. He was barely heard, but appreciated nonetheless.
During the evening, he met Dr. Susan Sharp, a criminology professor at OU and an active death penalty abolitionist. She invited him to visit her class, and he readily accepted.
The two became friends, though Ron soon considered Dr. Sharp his girlfriend. She worked to keep things on a friendly, professional level. She saw a deeply scarred and wounded man, and she was determined to help him. Romance was not an option, and he was not aggressive.
He progressed through phase one at Transition House, then graduated to the second phase-his own apartment. Annette and Renee prayed fervently that he would be able to live by himself. They tried not to think about a future of nursing homes, halfway houses, and mental hospitals. If he could survive in phase two, then the next step might be to find a job.
He held things together for a month or so, then he slowly fell apart. Away from structure and supervision, he began to neglect his medication. He really wanted a cold beer. His hangout became a campus bar called the Deli, the kind of place that attracted hard drinkers and kids from the counterculture.
Ron became a regular, and, as always, he was not a pleasant drunk.
On October 29, 2001, Ron gave his deposition in his lawsuit. The room, at the stenographer's office in Oklahoma City, was packed with lawyers, all waiting to quiz the man who'd become a celebrity in the area.
After a few preliminary questions, the first defense lawyer asked Ron:
"Are you on any type of medication?"
"Yes, I am."
"And is that medication that a physician has prescribed or directed you to take?"
"A psychiatrist, yes."
"Do you have either a list, or do you have information as to what medication you are taking today? "
"I know what I'm taking."
"And what is that?"
"I'm taking Depakote, 250 milligrams, four times a day; Zyprexa, in the evening, once a day; and Wellbutrin one time a day."
"What do you understand the medication is for?"
"Well, Depakote is for mood swings, and Wellbutrin is for depression, and Zyprexa is for voices and hallucinations."
"Okay. One of the things that we're certainly interested in today is the effect that the medication may have on your ability to remember. Does it?"
"Well, I don't know. You haven't asked anything for me to remember yet."
The deposition proceeded for several hours and left him exhausted.
***
Bill Peterson, as a defendant, filed a motion for summary judgment, a routine legal maneuver designed to get himself removed from the lawsuit.
The plaintiffs claimed that Peterson's immunity was dissolved when he stepped outside his role of prosecutor and began running the criminal investigation into the murder of Debbie Carter. They alleged two clear examples of evidence fabrication by Peterson.
The first came from Glen Gore's affidavit, prepared to be used in the civil suit, in which Gore stated that Bill Peterson actually came to his cell in the Pontotoc County jail and threatened him if he didn't testify against Ron Williamson. Peterson, according to the affidavit, said that Gore had better hope that his fingerprints "did not show up in Debbie Carter's apartment" and that "he just might be coming after Gore."
The second instance of creating evidence, again alleged by the plaintiffs, involved the reprinting of Debbie Carter's palm. Peterson admitted that he met with Jerry Peters, Larry Mullins, and the Ada investigators in January 1987 to discuss the palm print. Peterson expressed the opinion that he "was at the end of my rope" with regard to the investigation. Peterson suggested that a better print could be obtained some four and a half years after the burial and asked Mullins and Peters to take a second look. The body was then exhumed, the palm reprinted, and the experts suddenly had new opinions.
(Lawyers for Ron and Dennis hired their own fingerprint expert, a Mr. Bill Bailey, who determined that Mullins and Peters arrived at their new conclusions by analyzing different areas of the palm print. Bailey concluded his own analysis by stating that the source of the print on the wall was not Debbie Carter after all.)
The federal judge denied Peterson's motion for summary judgment, saying, "A legitimate question of fact exists as to whether Peterson, Peters and Mullins, as well as others, engaged in a systematic pattern of fabrication in order to obtain the conviction of Williamson and Fritz."
The judge went on to say:
In this case, the circumstantial evidence indicates a concerted pattern by the various investigators and Peterson to deprive Plaintiffs of one or more of their constitutional rights. The repeated omission of exculpatory evidence by investigators while including inculpatory evidence, inclusion of debatably fabricated evidence, failure to follow obvious and apparent leads which implicated other individuals, and the use of questionable forensic conclusions suggests that the involved Defendants were acting deliberately toward the specific end result prosecution of Williamson and Fritz without regard to the warning signs along the way that their end result was unjust and not supported by the facts of their investigation.
The ruling, which came on February 7, 2002, was a major blow to the defense and changed the momentum of the lawsuit.
For years, Renee had tried to convince Annette that she should leave Ada. The people would always be suspicious of Ron and whisper about his sister. Their church had rejected him. The pending lawsuit against the town and the county would create more resentment.
Annette resisted because Ada was her home. Her brother was innocent. She had learned to ignore the whispers and stares, and she could continue to hold her ground.
But the lawsuit worried her. After almost two years of intense pre-trial discovery, Mark Barrett and Barry Scheck felt the tide was turning in their favor. Settlement negotiations were on and off, but there was a general feeling among the lawyers on both sides that the case would not go to trial.