NINE

Desert winds from the west were running loose in Olathe, spiraling in different directions in the courthouse square. In its center stood a gazebo, where a cluster of lunch-time workers took refuge from a scorching Kansas sun. With his softly trembling hands clutching a packet of papers, John Harmon, who had always prayed for guidance on how to be incorruptible in his faith despite all that had happened over the years, ambled toward the front doors of the courthouse. It was May 12, 2006. The sudden end of David Harmon had come more than twenty-four years ago in a duplex just a few minutes’ drive away.

Mark and Melinda were due to be sentenced for David’s murder. The sentencings would unfold in staggered fashion, and John, never known for saying much except to his elementary school students, would be allowed to say whatever he wished. A man who always deferred to the preferences of others would get his final say. He had already started in the windswept courtyard, handing out protest fliers, some of which were immediately carried off by the arid wind. They had a pair of photos of David on them, one from when he was about twelve, the other from his early twenties. David was wearing a nearly identical sport jacket, white collared shirt, and tie in each—the shirt starched in the later photo, the smile a bit more ready in the first.

IN MEMORY OF DAVID HARMON, a caption on the flyer read. JUSTICE FOR DAVID, WE WANT JUSTICE, and JUSTICE OBSTRUCTED, JUSTICE DELAYED, JUSTICE DENIED! ran across the top in large bluish-purple Magic Marker letters.

John’s fiancée Regina was beside him. She was a different woman from Sue. Regina actively pushed him along in his new role of avenging father, capable of handing out flyers demanding justice, something that for the old John Harmon, with his entrenched concept of Christian forgiveness, would have been unthinkable.

When sentencing came up at Melinda’s trial the year before, John had told Paul Morrison that she should be spared jail time altogether.

“You sure?” Morrison had asked, apprehensive. He pushed John along toward a tougher stance, knowing that John’s religious ideals would give way to human nature. Morrison had been right, it turns out—and he hadn’t needed to push John too far.

When Morrison told John that Mark had agreed to plead guilty and would agree to serve a term of ten to twenty years, John was elated and signed on immediately in utter disbelief. He didn’t understand, of course, that parole could be in as little as five years. Now John, perhaps with Regina’s help, felt he had been duped into accepting the sweetheart plea deal expected to be ratified today.

Morrison, now smack in the middle of a race for attorney general, defended himself, saying he had explained the deal thoroughly, and was reacting to the realities of a tough case that, at the very least, would put both defendants behind bars for at least five and a half years. Mark was aware that, while this would be a short enough time for Kristina, it might not be short enough for his father, who was living in Wyoming in declining health. Ray Sr. had not made any of the court appearances and, barring a miracle, would not be able to visit Mark in jail when the time came.

During the three months between Mark’s plea and his sentencing, he took the opportunity to visit his father (now widowed and Catholic) in Cody a final time, a layover appended to a long vacation he’d taken out West with Kristina, all five of his children, and his brother Ray.

Inside the courtroom, where Mark was to be sentenced first, the familiar faces began to gather. The Jakabosky brothers swapped old floor-hockey stories with a former MNC student, all of whom had a good laugh about Mark’s official title his junior year in college being “sergeant-at-arms.” Joy Hempy, David’s friend from Patron’s Bank, was there as well.

She had recently played a starring role as herself on 48 Hours, a documentary television show that covered the Harmon murder case in an episode. Hempy was filmed walking down the aisle in an Olathe supermarket, throwing groceries into a grocery cart, pretending to shop as she spoke about the case. A production assistant ran behind her, retrieving each crashing grocery item (which with luck did not ruin the sound) and restocking the shelves. The bank ladies who watched the show when it aired guffawed when Mark and Kristina were shown, playing themselves, on a couch together reading the Bible, going so far as to point to certain passages.

In the aftermath of David’s death, the bank ladies had taken food offerings to his widow, even as they kept an eye out for the attackers who might yet try to gain entrance to the bank. They knew then how politically charged David’s wholesale slaughter would become; who knew then who and what Melinda Harmon really was?

After handing out protest flyers in the courtroom hall, John, followed by Regina, took his seat across the aisle from Kristina and her parents, who sat behind the defense table. When the call came to order, Mickey Sherman was nowhere to be found. He was in the bathroom, the court was told, and Kristina laughed with resignation, rolling her eyes at her parents. There was more general chatter among the benches of the courtroom, and discussion of the “after party,” to be held at the Bergstrands’. The Bergstrands had moved, and everyone who had seen their well-appointed new home was talking about it to those who hadn’t yet.

Mickey came running in moments later, giving Joy a small wave. There was a second call to order, but such was the reputation of Judge Thomas Bornholdt that there would be no need for a third.

John Harmon was given his choice of whom to address first: the court or Mark. John saved the more charged confrontation for last. Perhaps he had to work himself up to it.

“All right,” John said to Judge Bornholdt. “I guess I will start with you.”

John went on a long, pre-planned tirade on the terms of the plea, how Morrison—so focused on his political future—had all but fast-talked and tricked him into it on the February day they had gathered for Mark’s pre-trial hearing. At the ensuing guilty plea, John said, the sound system was so bad that he could not hear all the details.

John said he had been the victim of a gag order since 1982. His voice was rising.

Morrison’s bald head turned red and he let it fall into his hands. Plea deals often left victim’s families somewhat short of satisfied. They were a necessary evil, but this was a delicate matter, especially during a political campaign. Morrison would have to do damage control when he made his statements, but this was John’s turn to speak after twenty-four years of silence. He thanked the judge, before asking if he could turn and speak to Mark.

“Can you hear me, Mark?” said John, the waver in his voice more obvious as it rose. This was not a volume at which he ever spoke—except on the rare occasion he wanted to quiet a boisterous schoolroom.

“Yes,” Mark answered, sitting thick-shouldered and stiff at the defense table.

“Mark, I met you once before when David introduced you to my wife and myself. I waited for twenty-four years, twenty-four years to talk to you in just this setting. My comments to you, Mark, are based on what I have observed, heard about, and read about your life since that fateful day in February, 1982. I’m just drawing conclusions based on your actions and your behavior. Actions have consequences. Mark, when Melinda and you conspired to commit premeditated murder, you both unleashed a chain reaction of consequences that continue to this very day. And I guess I’m very much afraid will continue to the future that will affect you and Melinda and your respective families.”

Kristina, sitting with her parents behind Mark, had been poised and self-composed, but here she dissolved into tears.

John, who believed so much in Jesus as a champion of peace, was warning Mark and Melinda—however obliquely—about God’s potential wrath. But he was not jubilant about it. John went right from all that Mark would one day have, to what he, himself, never would. “Your senseless act took away any chance we had for grandchildren. Mark, in some ways I do envy you. You have five children. Chances are that at some point you’ll be blessed with grandchildren. Do you have any idea, any remote concept of what it feels like when well-meaning friends talk about”—at that John paused and caught his breath—“and show pictures of their grandchildren in my presence? It tears me up every day inside.” John then summed up Mark’s fairy-tale life before struggling one last time to find meaning in the action that had nearly rotted his soul.

“In spite of all you have done I forgive you unconditionally, but I am filled with sadness for you, Mark,” he said. “[With] the chain of reactions that you started, you’ve destroyed yourself. What a waste. What a complete waste of human life. I also still pray for you now—maybe, just maybe, Mark, deep down inside your psyche, someplace, somewhere there still lingers a tiny bit of conscience. Maybe, just maybe, that will get and bring you to a complete and honest reconciliation with your God. Then, once that is done, you can start on the road to restitution. I pray, Mark, I truly pray that God has mercy on your soul.”

Detective James then testified, speaking about how, when he, Wall, and Paul Morrison took up the case, it was still an open wound to the community and the Olathe Police Department. He did not reach for higher meaning. “What penalty could provide comfort for the family of a murder victim?” James asked rhetorically. “I don’t have an answer for that. What I do know is that David was described as a kind and gentle man by those who truly cared about him. And I know he most certainly did not deserve the sentence he was given.”

Then without any pause or ceremony, it was Mark’s turn to rise.

“Thank you, your honor,” he said. “I’m Mark Mangelsdorf and I would like to make brief comments, if I may. And if it’s okay, I would like to turn around so I can address Mr. Harmon.”

“You may,” said Judge Bornholdt.

“Mr. Harmon, I can’t even begin to imagine the grief and sorrow you and your wife experienced for the loss of David. I can tell you as a father of five how much I love my children, and I know the special bond that exists between a parent and a child. So what I can say is that I’m truly, truly sorry for David’s death and for the loss of the time that you’ve experienced not being able to spend time with him. There has not been a lot of time on a lot of days since 1982 that I haven’t wished I could turn back the clock and do something that would change the events of that night. I thought of David on that horrible night and I wished that I could change something to bring him back but I can’t, of course. What I do know is that I have pled guilty to this. I’ve acknowledged my involvement and I hope in some small way that helps for you to have some closure to this. While I can’t go back, and I wish I could, I can’t.”

Mark went on to say that he had tried to live an admirable life since David’s death and his effort was genuine. “So,” Mark continued, “my commitment going forward is that I will in every fashion that I’m able to continue to try to do what is right the best I can. And for the foreseeable future, I don’t know how that will play out, but I will look for those opportunities, however that exists. I am sorry. I’m very sorry.”

And with that stutter step toward contrition, Mark thanked his wife and in-laws for standing by him as if he was accepting the grown-up version of the Pioneer Award.

The judge told Mark to rise and sentenced him to the anticipated ten to twenty years. Kristina finally lost her reserve completely while Mark was being cuffed and led away. Scott Kreamer, acting quickly, arranged with a guard for Kristina to spend a moment with her husband in a room behind the courtroom.

Mark’s sentencing was, with few exceptions, a premonition of Melinda’s, which took place two hours later in a courtroom upstairs. It was the same crowd, in a tighter space. Melinda sat pale, slight, reduced, her hair no longer highlighted, wearing the striped Johnson County Jail jump suit. The matter of John’s opposition to parole commenced the proceedings. “I just want to be sure that the defendant does understand before we proceed with sentencing,” began Judge Leben, a slight and professorial figure who seemed perched upon the bench, “that Mr. Harmon’s position is that this has no guarantee from him that he will not oppose her receiving parole at any particular date, and that with that understanding, she isn’t asking to withdraw her plea.”

She wasn’t. Who would be? Months ago, she was facing life. Now, with one year to her credit, there was a good chance she would be out in four short years. She would take her chances against John Harmon’s wrath, perhaps winning him over for the second time in her life. Paul Morrison then preemptively defended the plea agreement yet again. He pointed to the savagery of the murder, noting how difficult the case against Mark would have been without Melinda’s assistance. Punishing Melinda for life with Mark free as air would have been one final note of unfairness in what had already been a long convoy. To defend the plea deal, Morrison essentially had to defend the inherent decency of Melinda, a convicted murderer.

“I can assure you,” Morrison said, looking down at his papers, without the verve he used at trial or on the campaign trail, “that Mark Mangelsdorf would not have pled guilty to second-degree murder were it not for the fact that Melinda Raisch had agreed to help us. Now, did she do it as an altruistic act to help humanity? I think not. I sincerely doubt that. I am sure she did it to secure a lesser sentence for herself. But as the Court is well aware, sometimes that is necessary in a criminal justice system to make it work as well as it does, as imperfect as it is.”

Morrison defended his dealings with John, revealing that at one point he had to ask John to remain silent about his wish that Melinda be given no jail time so that they could work toward a compromise. He said the only reason John’s name was not on the plea agreement was that John was in Chili when it was typed. John, for his part, gave Melinda the same speech he gave to Mark when it came time for him to speak, the same cadences, the same points-of-emphasis, substituting the name Melinda for Mark, but in substance leaving it at that, save for one crucial departure.

“Melinda,” John said, “I hold you more responsible than Mark. You, as the wife, could have called a halt to the plot at any time. You could have stopped it.” In his rage, John had come a long way from telling Morrison that he wanted Melinda to skirt jail altogether.

Then, another departure. Regina asked for an opportunity to speak to the gallery. Her statement came out in a torrent. It was long and, to the increasing discomfort of those in attendance, dense. The technicality that she did not know David did not slow her down. Morrison, forehead in his palm, was staring down at the state’s table. But John gazed up at her, rapt.

“Do we really know if Melinda did or did not commit other criminal offenses before she murdered David or since she murdered David? The records would tell if we were aware of them. Well, one thing I can rest and have assurance in is God knows. He holds all our records. Thank you for being allowed to speak my heart to this courtroom on behalf of the silence of David Harmon. Sincerely, Regina.”

It seemed the end was at hand. “Your honor,” she said, “may I speak to Melinda?”

There was an uncomfortable fidgeting in the courtroom. Judge Leben seemed to blanch. “Yes, ma’am,” he said, before adding, “is it brief?”

“Not really,” she answered, scoring, at the least, a point for honesty with the fidgeters.

Judge Leben told her she had to be. As the attention in the courtroom continued to unspool and a bit of sympathy even crept Melinda’s way, Regina spoke about the comparative stigma of divorce versus murder and the need for Melinda to get a psychological evaluation, with a final demand that Melinda pay restitution in the form of an amount equal to the $40,000 in life insurance that she collected. “With interest,” she said.

Finally, mercifully, Regina was done. Melinda was given the opportunity to step up to the podium to speak. When she got there, though, she pivoted to speak to the assembled instead of the judge, squinting in the light and cupping a hand to her eyes to help her see.

“John, where are you, I can’t see.” Embarrassed, she laughed, too flippantly for the occasion.

Melinda had acquired an unhealthy pallor during her time in the penitentiary. Her eyes roved about the first two rows in the hopes of settling on John.

She caught sight of John and laughed casually again. “Oh, there you are.” She then turned toward the judge.

“First of all, Judge,” she began, “I wish to express my deep remorse and sorrow for ever having been involved in this. I am extremely remorseful and horrified that this event ever occurred.” She spoke in the passive voice, a common tactic—both strategically and subconsciously—for those who want to put distance between themselves and an action. Mark had used it as well. “I in no way intend to minimize it,” she then said. “If I need to be specific about my guilt to you today,” she said, “it is that I had knowledge about this event occurring and that I lied about it subsequently. It is a shame and remorse that I will carry with me the rest of my life.”

“To the Harmon family, I am really,” she stammered, “I am really sorry. Words do not adequately express the things I feel in my heart. Just words are not enough. I would love to have better than words. I just don’t. I am very, very remorseful and would in no way ever expect any amount of time to make up for this.

“The life of David Harmon was an inspiration to all who knew him, including me, and I am horrified beyond words that I was ever connected to this.”

John Harmon shifted in his seat.

“I knew the minute it happened that it was wrong, and I was scared to death and didn’t know how to be strong enough to tell the truth about it. For that I am very, very sorry. I also apologize that I have not had the chance to contact Mr. Harmon all these years. I would have done so but was prevented from doing so by my attorneys, and through my year of incarceration here I have also been prevented from contacting him in any manner. So today is the first chance I have had. I am very, very remorseful. David Harmon was an uplifting and very caring person to all who knew him. They would agree with that. I considered him to be a fine example of how to live a life. I greatly missed him from the moment of his death, and I will always miss him for as long as I live.”

Tom Bath, Melinda’s defense attorney, then rose to speak, immediately conjuring up the judgment day—the one with the uppercase J—that Melinda was still due to face. As both a prosecutor and defense lawyer, the low-key Bath had learned that such references tended to fare well in Kansas courtrooms.

“She understands that she has got to serve a sentence that is determined by man, and there is a sentence that is going to be determined by a higher authority,” he said, beseeching the judge to consider Melinda’s help in bringing Mark to justice. He added by way of explanation that Melinda did want to meet with John in private, not to sway him, but simply to avoid doing it in public. Melinda also wanted to pay back the life insurance funds she collected from David’s death even though they were not a formal portion of the restitution required by the court, and negotiations were ongoing. In short, Melinda had done everything possible to end all of this cold-blooded business, and Bath asked one last time that the court honor the plea struck by both sides.

Before adhering to the deal, Judge Leben made one last futile stab at making sense of it all. “Since moving to Ohio, and especially in the period following her marriage to Dr. Raisch, the defendant has led an exemplary life,” he said. “The Court surely cannot know and I do not know her motives. I can’t make a finding about her motives. Perhaps she has been trying to make amends for her past crime. Perhaps she has simply regained her senses and truly possesses a strong moral character as so many of her friends attest and David Harmon once believed.”

The judge shrugged. He then officially sentenced Melinda to the ten to twenty years proscribed by the plea agreement. Perhaps it was because she had already been jailed for a year, or because there was relief that she was serving much less than the possible life sentence she faced, or because the overflow crowd had lost their way in the torrent of words, but there were no tears for Melinda as she was taken away.

What John had always wanted had now come to pass. The culprits had been brought to justice, but it simply wasn’t enough. Even as Mark and Melinda were carted off to serve out their sentences, he was neither consoled, nor lifted, nor cured by any stretch of the imagination. He and Regina filed outside to the foyer and then the courtyard to hand out more protest flyers. Many were taken and John was given pats, platitudes, furrowed brows, and serious nods. Other flyers were lost in those hectic winds, which blew that whole day long.

John was left without the feeling that justice had been served, and without any persuasive answers as to why his only son had been murdered. While Mark had longed for acceptance, John had finally been brave enough to risk losing it. And look at what it had earned him—a half-hearted apology from Mark, a repeated passel of apologies from Melinda, and a sense that he had disappointed those who had done the most to bring this case to some form of conclusion. Though he knew what had happened to David and, on a superficial level, why it had happened, the question of how two people who had the capacity to live such otherwise decent lives were capable of such brutality remained unanswered. You can solve a mystery, John realized, without having answered any of the questions it posed.

And look at how the two who guarded the answers could change their natures and be rewarded. Even Olathe, changed irreparably in its nature, could rest in self-satisfaction now that the most unsightly blot on its recent history had been set right.

John lingered in the hallway outside the courtroom, then walked downstairs and out into the beating sun of the courtyard. “We’re protesting the hand slaps given to the killers of David Harmon,” John intoned, time and again, trying to sell his story. News cameras trailed him and those with notepads and fast angling pens did too, but to no effect, other than to earn him the occasional sympathetic nod.

And at that, the story of David Harmon, from the public’s perspective, was over.