The Innocent Man

“Annette’s lifelong inability to say no to her little brother came back to haunt her as he constantly wheedled money out of her for clothes and girls.” 

When Ron was born, Annette loved to babysit her little brother. But as they both grew older and it became clear that Ron needed a lot of help to survive in the world, Annette become more like an actual mother to him, always ensuring that his basic needs were being met and treating him with near-infinite patience.

"According to an early police report, Fritz was ‘a suspect or at least an acquaintance of a suspect in the Carter murder case.’" 

The police believed that the murder could not have been committed by one person acting alone, and they had already decided on Ron as a suspect. Since Dennis Fritz was one of Ron's few known friends, he became, in the police department's eye, the most likely accomplice, though he had no other connection to the crime. 

"He certainly seemed suspicious; he acted strange, kept weird hours, lived with his mother, didn't have a job, was known to pester women, was a regular at the honky-tonks, and, most damning of all, lived close to the murder scene. By cutting through a back alley, he could be at Debbie Carter's apartment in minutes!" 

The police's case against Ron Williamson was built almost entirely on speculation, and supported by Ron's bad reputation. Detective Smith is so completely convinced that Ron committed the murder that he ignores all evidence to the contrary, even when it comes from the state's scientific experts.

"I do know that he was an outstanding athlete but was always handicapped by temper tantrums on and off the court and generally rude, immature behavior, and a highly self-centered, arrogant attitude. His prima donna attitude, his inability to get along with people, and his disregard for rules and regulations made him an unfit player about everywhere he went." 

An excerpt from a psychologist's evaluation of Ron encapsulates the ways Ron's emotional difficulties kept him permanently on the fringes of both society and the law. He made life difficult for those who cared about him; his inability to stop himself from breaking rules and his loose grasp of reality made him an easy and obvious choice for a police officer looking for a suspect in a bizarre killing. He is consistently portrayed in a sympathetic light by the author, though, and the people who can see his heart underneath his mental illness find many qualities to love.

"The case against Ron consisted of two 'inconclusive' polygraph exams, a bad reputation, a residence not far from that of the victim's, and the delayed, half-baked eyewitness of Glen Gore." 

Throughout the book, Grisham emphasizes the paucity of evidence against Ron and the arbitrary nature of the accusation. There is further irony in the fact that the only person to identify Ron as having been present in the Coachlight bar on the night of Debbie Carter's murder would eventually be convicted of the murder. 

“Tommy decided to play along. Since he was completely innocent, and he assumed Karl Fontenot and Odell Titsworth were too, then give the cops what they want. Play along with their fiction. The truth would quickly be discovered.” 

After hours of intense questioning, Tommy Ward believes the cops will never let him go unless he tells them what they want to hear, and he imagines that if he lies, it will be such an obvious lie that his statement will be dismissed. It’s a tragic miscalculation, though, because an entire jury does believe his confession, and Tommy is sentenced to death for the murder of Denice Haraway.

"Even though Dennis Fritz had remained in Ada for four years after the murder, he was considered an escape risk. Like Ron's, his bail was exorbitant and out of the question. Like all defendants, they were presumed to be innocent, but nonetheless kept in jail so they wouldn't flee or be loose on the streets killing others." 

Grisham draws the reader's attention to many instances of official hypocrisy throughout the investigation and trial. Although technically considered to be innocent until proven guilty, both Ron and Dennis are treated as though they have already been convicted, with everyone from the police to the DA to the local newspapers assuming their guilt and pressuring them to confess. 

"The jailers had fine-tuned the Thorazine. When Ron was in his cell and they wanted peace, they pumped him full and everybody was happy. But when he was scheduled to be in court, they reduced the dosage so he would appear louder, more intense, more belligerent." 

Ron's treatment by the guards during his forgery sentence is a prelude to the "care" he would later experience in prison. Though he was evaluated many times by psychiatric specialists, all of whom indicated that he was in need of prescription medication for his schizophrenia and bipolar disorder in order to function, the guards used these medications for sedation purposes only, and frequently withheld them for long periods. Behavioral therapy, of course, was out of the question.

“The state’s last witness was by far its most effective. Peterson saved his knockout punch for the last round, and when Melvin Hett finished testifying the jury was convinced.” 

Although microscopic hair analysis had long been discredited as legal evidence, it was not technically inadmissible. Hett packed his testimony with complicated scientific terms and impressively enlarged photos, and the jurors were swayed against Dennis (and later Ron), as the state intended.

“Judge Jones knew that Ron has been a great athlete, so he used the analogy of a sports contest. ‘It’s kind of like a sporting event as far as the adversary process. Each side has an opportunity to be on offense, and they have the opportunity to be on defense, but you can’t take issue with the fact that each side gets these opportunities. That’s just part of the process.’

Ron: ‘Yeah, but I’m the football being kicked.’”

The judge speaks to Ron before his trial in an effort to ensure that he won’t act in a disruptive manner. Ron’s reply shows that while he does have emotional difficulties, he is very capable of understanding his situation.

"Ron jumped up, pointed at her, and yelled, 'You are lying! I ain't never said nothing like that in my life! I did not kill this girl, and I call you a liar.'" 

This is Ron's response to the testimony of Terri Holland, one of the main "jailhouse snitches" who gave fabricated testimony saying that Ron had confessed the murder to her, in exchange for a significantly-reduced sentence for her own, unrelated, crime. Instead of rejecting Holland's obvious lies, the jury takes Ron's outbursts in court as a sign that he could easily be a killer.

“Practice makes perfect, and executions at McAlester are carried out with precision.” 

Since Oklahoma executes more people per capita than any other state (by far), the administrators of the death chamber there have more opportunities to practice than most. Grisham emphasizes the regularity of the procedure surrounding executions and the exactness with which each ritual is played out. 

“Moving through the layers of the Big House was like singing into the dark belly of a beast.” 

As Annette visits Ron in McAlester Prison for the first time, she feels as though she is crossing into another, more dangerous world. Ron had been swallowed whole, and it would be very tough to get the beast to spit him out again.

“Dennis vowed to spend every possible moment working to free himself from his sentence.” 

Serving a life sentence in a medium-security prison, Dennis has more time to spend in the law library, educating himself about everything that might be relevant to his case. He writes letter after letter to any person or group that might be able to advocate for him. He never gives up on trying to prove his innocence, even though the odds are stacked against him.

"His hair turned completely gray, and he looked like a ghost." 

When she visited Ron after he had been moved into H Unit, Annette didn’t recognize him. He had lost 90 pounds and could no longer concentrate on one subject for any period of time. She was so concerned, on seeing him, that she asked the prison guard to have him tested for AIDS.

“‘Ron, this is God,’ a haunting voice called into Ron’s cell deep in the night. ‘Why did you kill Debbie Carter?’” 

In H Unit, as in every other jail or prison block he had been on, guards and inmates alike tormented Ron for the pleasure of watching him fall to pieces. Ron was obsessed with his innocence, and without psychiatric medication, he was both psychotic and suicidal. The guards’ taunts were torture to Ron, and contributed to the steep decline in his health. 

“You have been sentenced to die for the crime of murder at 12:01 a.m. on Tuesday September 27th, 1994.” 

The notification that his execution has been scheduled is delivered to Ron on paper, and also read aloud to him by the warden. Though receiving such a notice is distressing to the inmates, it also marks the beginning of a new round of appeals, and in Ron’s case, this last-ditch effort was the one that finally led to his freedom.

"This case is a bizarre one about a dream that turned into a nightmare for Ronald Keith Williamson. His arrest came nearly 5 years after the crime--after Mr. Williamson's alibi witness was dead--and was based almost entirely on the 'confession,' related as a dream, of a seriously mentally ill man, Ron Williamson." 

This is the opening paragraph of the habeas corpus brief filed by Indigent Defense System lawyer Janet Chesley on Ron’s behalf. It was this first paragraph that captured the attention of magistrate Jim Payne, who was persuaded that there was doubt as to the fairness of Ron’s trial. He passed it on to the judge assigned to Ron’s appeal. Judge Seay would eventually be the one to order a new trial. 

"In conclusion, Amnesty International found that conditions on H Unit amounted to cruel, inhuman, or degrading treatment in violation of international standards." 

The new Death Row unit was designed as a "non-contact" facility, meaning that prisoners were cut off from each other as well as from guards. In addition to being denied human interaction, the inmates were housed in spaces that were much too small, fed tiny portions of nearly inedible food, and kept in facilities with no air circulation. The opening of this wing was greeted with great celebration by prison trustees and administrators, and with horror by the prisoners themselves. Amnesty International's report, though shaming, was in no way legally binding.  

“I’m flabbergasted, bumfuzzled, angry, confused and a lot of other things. To have had this case go through so many appeals and so much scrutiny without ever having anyone question the conviction, and then for this opinion to come down, it simply doesn’t make any sense.” 

This is a direct quote from Bill Peterson on hearing that Ron has been granted a new trial as a result of his habeas corpus appeal. Although the ruling and the trial have been the subject of many questions, and multiple reviewers have pointed out constitutional violations, Peterson insists on the legitimacy of his previous actions and is offended that this ruling would dare to question his judgment.

“Because I know Joe Gifford. When I was growing up, I mowed his yard, as a kid, with Burt Rose, my next-door neighbor. And knowing that, if Mr. Carter and Ms. Stillwell bought monument here in Ada, Oklahoma, they bought it from Joe Gifford, because he is the only monument works here. I grew up by Gifford Monument works.” 

At Ron’s second trial, he is barely out of treatment and his testimony is rambling and full of details that don’t make sense. Yet he is clearly aware of the gist of the trial, and his anger at having been framed has not faded in the nine years since his first trial.

"Ron and Dennis were placed in separate cells, lest they start killing again. Sheriff Glase explained, 'I'm going to keep them apart. I just don't feel right putting two convicted murderers in the same cell together—and until the judge says so, that's what they are." 

This quotation captures the atmosphere of the Pontotoc County Courthouse on the night before the hearing which would decide what to do with the newly-discovered DNA evidence that exonerated Ron and Dennis, and expresses the attitude that the local authorities held toward the two men. Though incontrovertible proof had been found that showed neither Ron nor Dennis was the killer, and the sheriff was well aware of it, he—like other members of the police department and the prosecution team—simply refused to reconsider his belief that the two were guilty. 

“They were liberated, free, exonerated, yet no one had offered an apology, an explanation, or even a dime in compensation—not a shred of aid of any type.” 

The moment when Judge Landrith announced that Ron and Dennis were to be set free was sweet, but not completely without a shadow. No judge, lawyer or police officer would ever apologize to Ron or Dennis for the humiliation they had been put through and the years that had been stolen from their lives. And although the case had been dismissed, they were not cleared as suspects, and they lived for years under the threat of Peterson’s vengeance.