Killer Nurse (12 page)

Unfortunately, Ms. Risinger did not live to see the Saenz trial. A year and a half after Saenz's indictment, she and her husband were in an early-morning one-car accident in Nacogdoches. Jim Risinger, the driver, sustained some head injuries as a result, but his wife died. Mr. Risinger, a witness for the defense, was not allowed to listen to testimony. Perhaps a small mercy, since at trial former DaVita employee after employee swore that Ms. Risinger was one of the patients Saenz disliked the most, and would get really upset if assigned to care for her.

* * *

Just as it can be argued that the families of murder victims are also victims, the family of the suspect could be victims as well. Imagine being the parents of an accused serial killer.

After the indictments, only one member of Saenz's family spoke publically in her defense. Kent Fowler, Saenz's father, told KETK-TV, “My daughter is a Christian woman and the truth will eventually come out. She is the victim and that DaVita is the one to blame for the deaths. She was only using bleach because her superiors at DaVita told her it was part of her daily cleaning duties.”

The public as a whole still had little idea who Kimberly Clark Saenz was. All they knew was that she was charged with some pretty horrific crimes—ones almost too unimaginable for the little town of East Texas to contemplate. Her immediate family, church members, and other people who knew her would or could not believe her guilty of these crimes.

With all the media coverage, it seemed inevitable that the Lufkin Dermatology Clinic where Saenz worked was bound to find out about her indictment and arrest. After all, the news had swept the country like wildfire. But it actually wasn't until her husband called to inform them that she couldn't come to work because she was being indicted for murder that they fired her on March 31, 2009—the same day she was indicted by the grand jury, arrested, and put in jail.

About a week later, on April 8, 2009, Saenz was released from jail on a $500,000 attorney bond from her new attorney, Ryan Deaton. On Thursday, April 16, most Angelina County residents got their first look at Kimberly Clark Saenz, when a picture was published in the newspaper of her standing next to Deaton in the Angelina County Courthouse.

Saenz, along with several other people, was awaiting arraignment before Judge Barry Bryan, one of the district judges. Saenz stood out in a vibrant, almost fluorescent, green shirt, which seemed to draw attention to her like a bug to light.

Saenz would have commanded people's attention even without her bright clothes. Not many people are charged with five counts of capital murder. “Capital murder” differs from “murder” when the murder in question happens during the commission of a felony. For example, the murder of a policeman or fireman in the course of their duties; murder for hire; murder in an attempt to escape; murder during a robbery; murder in retaliation; murder of someone under ten years of age—or multiple murders (defined as two or more murders during the same “criminal act,” which can involve a series of events not taking place at the same time), which was what applied to Saenz.

Perhaps the largest difference between murder and capital murder in Texas is this: those convicted of murder go to prison; those convicted of capital murder can be put to death. And the world knows how Texans feel about the death penalty.

Deaton gave a statement to the press defending his client against the allegations. “Police have not offered a motive in the case. Saenz is a married mother of two and has no motive for the crimes she is accused of committing. She has no motive to kill anyone.” He then plugged the theory that DaVita was using her as a scapegoat, and said, “The investigation is very narrow. I think when the dust settles the truth will come out.”

What he said was in part true. Saenz was a married mother of two, and the Lufkin Police Department had not offered a motive. Of course, what Deaton failed to say was that police departments seldom if ever speak to the media before a trial, and the Lufkin Police Department was no exception—especially Sergeant Stephen Abbott.

Nor was motive part of the proof that the prosecution needed to convict.

PART III

THE ARMIES PREPARE

When men are most sure and arrogant they are commonly most mistaken, giving views to passion without that proper deliberation which alone can secure them from the grossest absurdities.

—DAVID HUME

CHAPTER
13

THE DEFENSE GROUP

The definition of arrogance: having or showing an exaggerated opinion of one's own importance; being conceited; or overbearingly proud. When people survey the American public about which profession exemplifies this persona, most say attorneys—especially defense attorneys. In a recent survey done by the American Bar Association, the results concluded that the public considers the legal profession among the least reputable institutions in America. The only group that ranked lower was the media, but even then, it was close.

And although the media itself, mainly TV, can be blamed in part of this perception, some of that blame has to fall on the attorneys themselves.

Some seem to be drawn to the spotlight. In many cases, these are the ones perceived to have overinflated opinions of themselves—the self-centered egomaniacs. Others choose to keep themselves as far away from the public spotlight as they can, recognizing that, like cops and the clergy, they are always in the public eye. They are judged by their behavior not only in the courtroom, but also in the hallways, grocery stores, and even church.

At the moment of the arraignment, Kimberly Clark Saenz and her family had retained Ryan Deaton to represent her against the charges. However, in July 2009, prosecutor Clyde Herrington notified Deaton and the court that he planned to seek the death penalty against Saenz. This meant the structure of the defense would have to change—Deaton was not a certified death penalty specialist, and the defense was required to have one appointed by the court.

Like most states, in order for an attorney to defend someone facing the death penalty, that attorney either needed to be certified by the State of Texas as a death penalty specialist or had to have someone at the defense table who was certified. Most counties like Angelina in Texas have an abundance of attorneys, but few are certified to handle death penalty cases.

Stephen Christopher Taylor, an attorney from Conroe, Texas—approximately a hundred miles south of Lufkin—was a certified death penalty specialist. He was an extremely experienced attorney—twenty-three years—and a board certified criminal defense attorney whose practice included North, South, and East Texas. He was also one of the first attorneys in Texas to receive certification in criminal appellate law. With this certification, he could appeal on a client's behalf in state and federal courts, and other aspects of the appeal process. Like certification to defend clients facing death, to become a certified criminal appellate attorney, there are many processes to undergo, and Taylor had successfully completed them.

In truth, Taylor could have been that defense attorney that everyone talked about—the one who strutted around, the one the public had a low opinion of. But he wasn't. He'd taken a circuitous route to becoming a lawyer—born, raised, and educated in Houston, he began working in the computer industry after graduation from high school, and several years later started taking college-level night classes. Eight years after he began those college classes, he graduated with a bachelor's degree. Three more years of night school followed as Taylor obtained a master's degree in business administration.

At the age of thirty-six, Taylor began what he calls a midlife change. He entered law school at the Thurgood Marshall School of Law at Texas Southern University in Houston. In true Taylor fashion, he chose this school because it was only a couple of miles from where he worked.

After graduating from law school at the age of thirty-nine, Taylor had to decide what he wanted to do, but in many ways, his decision was taken out of his hands. In his own words, unless he wanted to chase divorces, he didn't have enough money for civil litigation unless he was lucky enough to get into one of the big civil litigation firms. Also, Taylor said, he didn't go into the prosecution side of criminal law because no one wanted to hire a thirty-nine-year-old baby fresh out of law school. That left criminal defense, an area he immersed himself in.

However, the baby would grow into a sixty-three-year-old intense, tenacious attorney. The short, solid attorney had thinning, short gray hair, full cheeks, and high blood pressure, which revealed itself in his face when he was angry or upset. His attitude at times seemed like that of a tenacious little bulldog who would sink his teeth into something and not let go until he was ready.

Although intense and focused both in and out of the courtroom, Taylor had an unpretentious, engaging personality. He talked to people and made friends. At times he could be seen talking to an attorney or judge, and the next time a bailiff. He engaged just about everyone in conversations, including long discussions with the janitor.

In order for someone to earn respect, they first must respect others, and this seemed to be a Taylor calling card. He appeared to truly respect other people's feelings, opinions, and jobs—no matter what they did. Even the prosecution team thought he was genuine. When they spoke about Steve Taylor, it was always with respect. Not a single attorney from the prosecution team ever doubted that a client of Taylor's would get anything but the absolute best defense from him that was humanly possible. At the same time, they didn't need to worry about his conduct in a courtroom. They also never doubted that he'd be honest and respectful in his dealings with everyone.

Kim Saenz's other lawyer, Thomas Ryan Deaton, was another story.

Deaton had been raised in Lufkin and looked East Texas country all the way from the cowboy boots he wore with his suits to the smokeless tobacco he dipped and spit during court sessions. He was one of Lufkin's all-American boys—all about hunting, fishing, dipping, and football—an image he seemed to promote.

In many ways, Deaton was like that person who was born on third and thought he hit a triple. Without a doubt he had to work in high school, college, and law school to get where he was—college degrees aren't given away and neither are doctor of jurisprudence degrees or admittance to the state bar. But he didn't have to scrape or pinch pennies getting there, and the probability of eleven years of night school to obtain his goal likely would've never entered his mind.

Deaton's list of high school activities can make even an active person tired. Besides starting on the football team's offensive line, he also played basketball, ran track, and was a member of the LHS student council; the Key Club; and Kyssed, the high school's drug-free club. He was also a member of Young Life, a national program that benefits all high school students, but is a multicultural ministry focused on kids in diverse cultural communities and those in economically depressed areas. His activity on the football field came to the attention of several colleges, and even with all his extracurricular activities, Deaton graduated with honors. This didn't hurt when Tulane, a very prestigious private research university in New Orleans, came calling to offer him a football scholarship—a fact that he was rightfully proud of.

After graduating from Tulane, Deaton married his high school sweetheart, then followed in his father's footsteps to law school. Like prosecutor Chris Tortorice, Deaton attended the prestigious South Texas College of Law in Houston. When he graduated from law school in 1998, he returned to his East Texas roots and the newly created Deaton & Deaton law firm.

Quite a few people seemed to think Deaton was conceited and full of himself. The polite word most used for him was “cocky.” It certainly appeared that Deaton had never read Dale Carnegie's
How to Win Friends and Influence People
—especially when it came to law enforcement. He wasn't bashful about making comments and accusations against law enforcement in the newspapers.

Taylor, the most experienced attorney and a death penalty specialist, had been assigned by the court to defend Saenz. But Deaton was Saenz's attorney of choice, the one she paid and listened to, and whose directions she followed.

Few people in the Angelina Courthouse had doubted that Deaton would be first chair in Saenz's defense. They said that his ego wouldn't let him take a backseat to Taylor. If he lost the case, no one would blame him—the state had the evidence against her. However, he'd be a big hero if he won, and everyone recognized the size and scope of the trial.

Some people said that, for Deaton, the trial was less about Saenz's innocence than it was about what he would get out of it. At one point, Deaton had attempted to back out of the defense because he wasn't getting paid enough, but Judge Bryan had already given one continuance because of a change of attorneys and wasn't going to give another.

People on the defense team said that Deaton was so confident that he was going to get Saenz off that he had plans to hire her to work at his law firm when the trial was over—once she returned from the cruise that, rumor had it, she'd already booked. This would be the prelude to a $10 million lawsuit against DaVita, which, of course, her attorney would get a hefty chunk out of.

Personality issues aside, some professionals in the Angelina County Courthouse doubted whether Deaton had the ability to win the trial.

According to his adversaries, he also had a problem with leading questions. A leading question is one that lets the witness know what answer is expected of them. “Did you have a hamburger for lunch?” is an example of a leading question. It's obvious from the question what the expected answer is. In contrast, an open question would be: “What did you have for lunch?”

Leading questions are allowed when attorneys cross-examine a witness but not during direct examination, and Deaton had a reputation for either being unable or unwilling to conform to this legal requirement in the courtroom. Attorneys in the DA's office knew this.

But leading questions weren't all Deaton had a poor reputation for in the DA's office. When the office attorneys opposed him in court, they had to be ready for what they called Deaton's propensity for “misrepresentation of facts.” And then there was the issue that one prosecutor predicted. He said, “In the Saenz trial, we will mostly present circumstantial evidence with forensic experts to testify to the veracity of that evidence. Deaton has to counter that testimony with his own experts, and Deaton's understanding of the rules of evidence is as bad as any attorney I've ever seen.”