Jury Duty and How NOT To Get Picked

by Kelly Siegler

How do you feel when you get that familiar jury summons to appear in court on some future date? Excited? Nervous?

Maybe you're one of those people who simply toss it into the trash?

If you are one of those people, why are you avoiding jury duty? Because you think you have too much going on that day or because it will cost you money if you show up rather than go to work? Or maybe because that is a civic responsibility "for other people"?

Ever thought about what would happen in our criminal justice system if every responsible citizen thought they were too busy or too "important" to report for jury duty?

The system would utterly collapse; that's what would happen. Can you imagine what our juries would be like if they were totally made up of citizens who wanted to be on a jury?

When someone who resides in Harris County and who is either a registered voter OR has a Texas driver's license gets summoned for jury duty, the procedure they are required to follow is pretty typical. They are encouraged to visit a Web site where they can read all about what exemptions they can legally use or what might truly disqualify them or how to reset their jury duty if their designated date is not convenient for them.

As a lawyer with enough experience picking juries or should I say, "trying to pretend like I knew what the heck I was doing when I picked juries," let me give you a clue. . . .

There is a really easy way to get out of being picked for a jury by either side's lawyers.

It's called answering the questions. Answering every question. In minute detail. Ad nauseum. Until everyone gets tired of hearing the sound of your voice.

Because the more you talk, the more you increase the odds of being struck by one side or the other, if not both. Remember jury "selection" is not really that at all; no individual juror is selected at all.

In reality, the six or twelve people lucky enough to make the final jury are really "what's left" when all of each side's strikes are gone and their juror numbers happen to be low enough in the panel to make it on the jury.

Why do I say talk and answer the lawyer's questions A LOT? Because a good many years ago when I was a new prosecutor in felony district court and on a day when I was charged with the responsibility of picking a jury in a routine no-big-deal possession of crack cocaine case, I made the big mistake of NOT listening to a lady called down for jury duty.

I selected (which really means that I did not exercise a strike on) a very verbose, very opinionated, but very state's oriented lady on the panel because I was so busy focusing on her answers that I did not listen. Had I listened I would have appreciated that she was SO opinionated and SO strong and SO disagreeable that eleven other people would never be able to stand being in the same small room with her long enough to come to two (guilt AND punishment) independent verdicts!!

But I was young, and can we say naive? The very experienced and wise judge who presided over that trial called it in a heart beat and asked me what I was thinking as soon as all twelve jurors were seated in the jury box. I responded that she gave all "state's oriented" answers to all of the questions put to her. And he sagely replied, "Maybe so, but they will be ready to strangle her before they're done."

And he was right.

Since that day and that trial, which I pretty quickly lost, I have given a name to jurors like that lady with personality traits like hers. I call it the "bow-up" factor.

Bow [Bo] up.

You know. People who "bow up" over any little thing, who are always getting worked up over things that most others would consider petty or insignificant. People who enjoy arguing. Who like to be contrary and difficult.

We all know people like that. If you're one of those kind of people, just let your true colors shine through if you get called down for jury duty. You ought to be safe.

If you aren't one of those people and you want to get OFF of jury duty, then the first step is to keep on talking.

Tweet

What Makes a Good Trial Lawyer

by Kelly Siegler

The opinions of individual trial lawyers—if asked what makes a lawyer a good trial lawyer—would be as varied as their own egos. Most laymen and the average citizen called down for jury duty probably assume that all lawyers are good trial lawyers or ought to be anyway. Isn't that what they are paid to do? And way too many lawyers who call themselves trial lawyers, when they aren't, would in some way try to describe themselves in answering the question.

The simplest answer I've given before when asked this question is "preparation." While that is certainly true and a huge part of what makes any trial lawyer good at what he does, preparation alone could never explain it completely. Or even come close. Lots of lawyers try their hardest to be prepared. But does that necessarily carry over to the "presentation" aspect, the part that catches a juror's attention convincingly? Does preparation lay the groundwork for a sought after verdict, even most of the time?

Probably not.

Then what does?

Eloquence perhaps. Tenacity. Aggressiveness. Intelligence. All of these qualities would seem to answer the question.

So do qualities like having a photographic memory or having a way with words. Having a commanding presence in the courtroom certainly helps.

Whatever adjectives you or others might use to try and describe what makes one lawyer a successful trial lawyer where another is not are probably all good answers. But what is that ONE quality or trait or characteristic without which a given trial lawyer fails to pass the test most of the time??

I believe it is the ability to know people.

To empathize with them. To understand what they must be thinking as you put on your case. To appreciate their unique perspectives. To see and hear your evidence and the opposing lawyer's case as if you were inside their minds and their hearts.

To evaluate what is going on inside the courtroom critically from someone's point of view besides your own.

Where does anyone, lawyer or not, get such a trait or ability?

Are you either born with the ability or not? Can a good trial lawyer lose such an ability the more successful he becomes if he allows himself to lose touch with his "old" way of thinking? Don't some people simply have no clue of what it means to understand others' perspectives?

Are how you are raised and where you are from two of the most important contributors to being able to understand, empathize and appreciate other people's opinions?

I would say that they are. For whatever reason someone might have been forced to or called upon to "get along" in the world or "adjust" to a difficult situation, contributes directly to making him deal with human nature. Because to deal with human nature, you have to try and understand it.

Then, when it comes time as a lawyer in a trial to critically decide which citizen would best serve as a favorable juror, you have a better understanding of that juror's possible perspective in viewing your evidence. As any witness testifies, you have a better appreciation of how that witness comes across to twelve, normal citizens. As you interview and prepare your witnesses for their time on the stand, you can prepare them in ways that others might not be able.

If you understand people, you have a different grasp of the words that not only might appeal to them, but also sing to them and stay with them.

Long after any trial lawyer has left the courtroom.

Tweet

Justice or Mercy

by Kelly Siegler

"There's an old, old saying that goes people cry and cry for justice until they get it . . . and then they beg for mercy."

As a prosecutor, I have used that line to begin more punishment final arguments than I can count. The first time I heard the phrase, it struck me in so many ways. The most obvious meaning was what compelled my using the line in confronting what was all too often an attempt by a skilled defense attorney to argue to a jury that they should deliver "justice" to his client.

You have heard it all yourself. Pleading along the lines of "You have in your hands the ability, the opportunity, to right a wrong. A wrong that has been done to everyone here today. You have already righted one wrong by finding my client guilty, now you can right the wrong that has been done to this defendant. For all of the abuse this defendant has suffered in his own life that led to the events of that tragic night where a life was lost (or injured or abused)."

A skilled defense lawyer would continue . . . "Today you are like God, with the ability and the power to be kind and forgiving and just . . . to render justice today in this courtroom."

Justice. Really?

Real justice?

We could talk for days and I've made that argument many times to jurors that true justice does not exist. Just ask the parents of a dead child whether even a life sentence without parole or a death penalty seems like justice to them.

Justice is defined as "deserved; merited; reward or penalty as deserved." Getting exactly what is coming to you.

Mercy, on the other hand, is defined as "refraining from harming or punishing offenders; kindness in excess of what may be expected; the power to forgive or be kind; a fortunate thing; a blessing."

What do you think a good criminal defense attorney is truly asking and imploring a jury to do?

Could there be a more perfect phrase?

I'm not sure who coined the phrase. If you know, please pass it on. I do know that the Bible makes reference to the difference between mercy and justice in the Book of Ezra in the Old Testament. Chapter 9, verse 15 says, "O Lord, God of Israel, you are righteous! We are left this day as a remnant. Here we are before you in our guilt, though because of it not one of us can stand in your presence."

The NIV version footnotes go on to explain: "Ezra recognized that if God gave the people the justice they deserved, they would not be able to stand before him. Often we cry out for justice when we feel abused and unfairly treated. In those moments, we forget the reality of our own sin and the righteous judgment we deserve. How fortunate we are that God gives us mercy and grace rather than only justice."

What if we applied that same phrase to how we live our own lives?

In all of those quiet moments in our own lives when we talk to God. In our times of prayer, alone or with a group of people. When we have those talks with our children about how they should behave and when we attempt to do our best to mold their little minds. When we don't understand the ups and downs of our own lives and turn to God for answers. . . .

What if God truly gave each and every one of us exactly what we deserved or merited or had coming to us based on how we lived our lives and treated other people every single day?

That thought is a little scary, isn't it?

Aren't we blessed that God is in the mercy-granting business.

Tweet

Freedom of the Press vs. Sense of Decency

by Kelly Siegler

A sentence of death was recently imposed by a Wharton County jury against defendant James Garrett Freeman for the capital murder of Texas Game Warden Justin Hurst.

Jury selection began on September 8, testimony on October 20, and Freeman was sentenced on November 7, 2008. The most compelling and gripping evidence included the in-car video footage of the defendant getting out of his pick-up immediately after an hour and a half chase down the back roads of Wharton County.

The video showed him emptying 11 rounds of his Glock semi-automatic weapon and then retrieving his AK-47 and firing both at six different police cars. The clip ends when Freeman shoots out the camera in a deputy's car.

Because so many law enforcement officers were involved in the chase and gunfight, there were seven separate in-car videos from different vantage points offered before the jury. One of those videos is the one described above. Another video depicts the tragic death of Warden Hurst when he was shot by the defendant with his AK-47.

The point of discussion has to do with the fact that the video depicting James Garrett Freeman (pictured right) firing his weapons was posted on YouTube within a week or so after the trial concluded. I learned of this when I got a phone call from Freeman's lead defense attorney, a well-respected attorney from here in Texas, Stanley Schneider. I do not know how the posting of the video on YouTube came to Stanley's attention. I do know that we made a point of notifying Justin's family and his fellow Texas Parks and Wildlife "family" of its posting immediately.

They were upset. They were angry. Do you blame them?

But were they surprised? For the most part, not really.

And THAT surprised me. Maybe because I'm still proud of myself for being able to e-mail in this tech-savvy day and age. Maybe because I have looked at something on YouTube a grand total of two times with this being one of them. Admittedly, I am way "behind the times."

All of that is beside the point. As is asking ourselves the question regarding how a piece of evidence in a public trial could get posted on YouTube so quickly. The link is http://www.liveleak.com/view?i=7f4_1226297782. Doesn't really matter and we'll never know for sure.

The question that SHOULD be asked is . . . How will it make Justin's loved ones and friends feel when they see such a clip on the World Wide Web?

To you the "post-er": Did you think about that? Did it ever cross your mind? Did you contemplate the idea that Justin's wife and mother and father would have to deal with seeing that clip for years? That his now infant son would also be faced with the same tragic situation years from now?

From Stanley Schneider's point of view and that of Freeman and his family: Did you appreciate the effect of the posting from an appellate perspective?

In this media-hungry world, in this day of non-stop 24-hour "breaking" news, should we be surprised? Probably not.

Might we still hope that there exists some remnant of integrity and sense of decency when it comes to writing or posting whatever piques our interest? We can only wish.

I wouldn't hold my breath.

Tweet

One Cop Who Never Quit

by Kelly Siegler

We are all raised to believe that what we should strive for in this life is the knowledge that when we leave this earth, we do so having made this world a better place. Isn't that what we have always been told?

If leaving this world better off because you have lived means helping people when they believe that everyone else has failed them or forgotten about them . . . If it means teaching someone that doing the right thing means telling the truth when you would rather not get involved . . . If it means convincing people to speak up and speak out even when doing so might put their very lives at risk . . . If it means taking on the cause of those among us who oftentimes never get heard . . . then I know such a man.

His name is Johnny Bonds. He recently retired from a lifetime career in law enforcement. He spent the first part of his career working for the Houston Police Department eventually finding his way to the Homicide Division. He retired from the Harris County District Attorney's Office as an Investigator. He spent most of his life doing what few have done better, as a "murder cop."

Johnny worked on the high-profile cases often enough during his career. One of his most difficult cases is profiled in The Cop Who Wouldn't Quit , a book Rick Nelson wrote about Bonds. But this article is written to tell you about all of the not-so-high-profile deeds that Johnny Bonds did for so many years.

Because my friends and I were fortunate to work alongside Johnny Bonds for so long, we got to see him in action close-up. His ability to convince people who were reluctant or defiant witnesses to come clean and tell what they knew the truth to be was masterful. His easy-going approach to handling dangerous and tragic situations was a lesson that all rookies would be lucky to study. His innate perception at how best to approach people from all walks of life was impeccable. The number of investigations and unsolved cases he closed are too numerous to count.

In the world of homicide cops, Johnny would tell you that he was no different than any of the other guys he worked alongside. He had far much less machismo and ego than one might expect. He was first and always a team player more committed to getting the job done than to anything else. His ability to laugh and to make others laugh when all seemed so bleak and his ability to size up a situation will always be remembered.

Ah, Johnny Bonds, the families you have given justice, sometimes single-handedly. The grieving parents you have given some measure of solace. The innocents you have helped make safe from the evil visited upon them. The wrongs you have helped right. The good you have done in this at-times terrible world. May God's blessing be always upon you. For all you have done for all of us.

You have truly left our world a better place because you decided to become a cop.

Tweet

Trying to Control the Uncontrollable

by Kelly Siegler

Ever thought about what it feels like to be the person in charge of a trial? The orchestrator, if you will, of the witnesses and of the evidence? The person who should by all appearances have the presentation completely planned and under control? What does it really feel like to be the prosecutor trying a serious case?

I can tell you. In a word, miserable.

Not fun.

Sick to your stomach.

Scary.

The truth might surprise a lot of people. It might even surprise a lot of long-time prosecutors. Yeah, yeah, we know. . . . We've all heard the lectures and the stories about how "exciting" and "challenging" and "exhilarating" it is to be a trial lawyer. Anyone who truly enjoys being in a trial is to be admired. I wish I could feel that way.

Truth is there aren't a lot of other situations in the job market very much like the stress that comes with preparing for and enduring a jury trial. Throw into that conflict the fact that a heck of a lot of prosecutors tend to like to CONTROL their world as much as possible and their "world" is loaded with nothing but UN-controllables.

Least in our control are the witnesses, as much as we like to think we can prepare them. . . . Other uncontrollables: the jury we ultimately end up with, because we kid ourselves that we picked them—funny; the Judge whose courtroom we find ourselves attempting to orchestrate our "symphony" in; the defense attorney, whose sole purpose it is to try to derail our carefully laid plans; the scheduling, the timing, the cross-examination of every, single witness. . . . Geez, I'm getting sick just thinking about all of it.

And what about the part over which we really think we have control? Our own performance?? How brilliantly we PLAN to make a point or argue our case or kick some butt. . . .

Maybe all of our angst and nerves and stress are the reasons why we resort to such lame and even silly attempts to convince ourselves that we are truly in control. It is pretty amusing to know that a lot of us have ourselves convinced that wearing a certain color on the "big" day will bring us luck or that wearing a certain color will ward off evil spirits. Think I'm making this up? WCI's defense lawyer Katherine Scardino recently disclosed she has a fairy wand.

Believing that if we eat the exact same food every single day of trial or placing our trial "tools" on the table in the courtroom the exact same way every day will guarantee a successful resolution are other "tricks of the trade." Following one of those "tricks" led to a friend of mine getting really sick of eating red Jell-O after three weeks in a trial.

The most commonly seen "side effect" of being in trial is losing weight. We even call it a "trial diet." There aren't too many prosecutors out there who are able to eat a real meal while trying to put on a "perfect" presentation of evidence. Heck, most survive on Diet Cokes and don't eat at all! It once got so bad during a trial that the jury asked the bailiff to see if there was something wrong with me because I was starting to look so lousy after about week five.

So now you know. The next time you see a prosecutor looking ever-so-cool in the middle of a trial . . . nothing could be further from the truth.

Tweet

Too Beaten Down to Cry

by Kelly Siegler

The most commonly asked question I have faced during my twenty-plus years as a prosecutor in one of the most-populated counties in the U.S. is, "How do you not let all of those things that you see affect you?"

As a prosecutor in Harris County, Texas, I have seen horrible things: photographs, statements, and details of the worst atrocities one human being can commit against another. Depraved, cruel, sick, heartbreaking crimes. Committed in the name of love, for money, just for the "fun" of it, because it was the easy way out, or for no reason at all.

Strangers murder strangers. Loved ones hurt loves ones. Mothers kill their babies. Daddies abuse their children. Children torture their parents. There is no line drawn anywhere that has ever stopped or ever will stop the horrific ways our world has found to hurt one other.

The details of the many cases and crimes I have handled would disgust and frighten "normal" people and there are too many to list.

Every police officer, medical examiner, or prosecutor who has given chunks of his or her life to law enforcement probably feels the same way. I could tell you about the time I had to display and discuss autopsy photos of the internal organs of a one-year-old girl, spread out on a metal tray, so a jury could see with their own eyes evidence of internal hemorrhaging. Or I could describe autopsy photos that showed the exact marks a hammer left on the skull of the woman Joseph Ezell swore that he loved. I could tell you what the weight of the world felt like when I questioned a little boy about being sexual abused. His eyes clung to mine while I asked him about sordid details he wishes he could forget but will remember forever.

So how do you not let any of that affect you?

Funny. I thought for a long time, that I didn't let it affect me. I answered people who asked me that question, "You just have to learn how not to bring it home with you, how to leave it all at work . . . to just not think about it." That was a skill I thought I'd mastered.

That ended the day I met a young lady named Amber Shore. Amber Shore is the biological daughter of Anthony Allen Shore (pictured right). Anthony Shore now sits on Texas Death Row, convicted of capital murder in Harris County in 2004. Corey Mitchell wrote about the horrible crimes committed by Shore, an admitted serial killer, in his book Strangler.

In preparing for Shore's trial, another prosecutor, Terese Buess, and I spent weeks lining up witnesses and physical evidence from Shore's many murders, in which he raped and strangled his female victims. It wasn't until the second phase of the trial, the punishment phase, that I met Amber in person. She flew to Houston because she had agreed to testify against her father, whom she had not seen for more than seven years. I met with Amber at a Houston hotel, where our office typically houses witnesses, one evening after her father's trial ended for the day. In her early twenties, Amber had dark hair and eyes like her father. She was shy and obviously nervous to meet me.

That evening, I explained all of the questions I would need to ask her on the witness stand the following day and delicately worked my way through her answers. She answered every question, as painful as they had to have been for her, about being raped and humiliated and scorned and degraded by her own father. She talked about being called "stupid," an "idiot," and "retarded" so often by him that she came to believe it. Without flinching and never shedding a tear, she told me everything she remembered.

She told me about her younger sister, Tiffany, and how beautiful and smart and how much more of a "people-person" Tiffany was. I can still see how her eyes lit up when she talked about her "successful" little sister.

But the answer that will always haunt me is when I asked Amber why she finally told someone her father was sexually abusing her. She looked at me and said, "because it didn't matter what he was doing to me. I'm nothing. But I couldn't let him do that to my sister. She's different, and she's special. And I had to protect her."

The contrast of her utter belief that she was "nothing" and her determination to protect her little sister affected me more than any other single moment in my career. It took incredible courage for Amber to stand up in a strange courtroom, years after the fact, and detail her horrific abuse, while her father/abuser, the man who'd convinced her she was nothing, sat directly in front of her.

Amber Shore, believing she was "a retard," testified in the face of the monster who was her father, all for the love of the little sister she was determined to protect. How could a father do to his baby girl what Anthony Shore did to Amber? And to Tiffany? And from where in her genetic make-up did Amber find such amazing courage? So terribly scarred by her father, who had the IQ of a genius, Amber continued to struggle in life.

Please God, watch over Amber.

Now when people ask me that question, "How do you not let all of those things that you hear and see affect you?" I tell them what I have always told them. That you have to learn to keep the two "lives" separate.

I lie. Because it's too painful to think about Amber Shore.

Tweet

WIN AT ALL COSTS? NOT REALLY

by Kelly Siegler

Why is it that the media and Hollywood seem to be obsessed with the idea that prosecutors are always after the "win," the "scalp," the conviction? How many times have we read a book or watched a movie that was all about some unethical prosecutor seeking to advance his or her career by convicting an innocent citizen? Not just about blurring the lines and disregarding the rules of evidence but flat out doing their utmost to convict someone who the make-believe prosecutor knows full well is innocent of any crime.

Oh, it all makes for a very touching and absorbing story. As well as feeding into the kinds of tales that Hollywood likes to tell.

The only problem with such stories is that nothing could be further from the truth. Quite the opposite, in fact, from the standard, typical everyday problem that truly exists with prosecutors. Ask any veteran police officer or detective. Ask any long-time crime victim advocate. Ask any respected judge. They know what the true problem is with way too many prosecutors. And it has nothing to do with trying to convict innocent citizens.

The real problem is that far too many prosecutors are worried about taking on a difficult case, a case that is not a slam-dunk or a whale ("as easy as harpooning a whale in a barrel," as we say in Harris County, Texas). Too many prosecutors demand that the cases presented to them for the filing of charges come to them with all the questions answered and wrapped in a pretty, little bow. What prosecutors seem to forget is that the question they need to be asking is whether a jury of twelve, ordinary, normal, non-lawyer citizens would convict on the evidence presented to them or evidence easily developed by the prosecutor after the filing of charges.

Evidence easily developed after the filing of charges. Maybe it's laziness that's the problem. Or maybe prosecutors get away with rejecting charges because everyone forgets that a lawyer can work up a case and investigate it further just like the police officer who initially worked on the case can. There is absolutely no reason for someone preparing to go to trial to not try to make the evidence stronger. The truth is the truth and a prosecutor can find that one additional witness or one little piece of evidence just as easily as a cop can.

I betcha if you could interview a group of experienced detectives and ask them what their number one pet peeve about their job was, the answer you would get would be having to present their cases to prosecutors who have no guts. As a prosecutor with over twenty years of experience, I can't count the number of times I have heard well-respected police officers vent about this problem.

So why is this "chicken" attitude such an unknown problem? Simple. Primarily because prosecutors don't usually talk about it. And those same righteously upset cops don't typically tattle about it; they just try to figure out a way to work around the problem. So instead of officers being able to go to a prosecutor to seek advice on an investigation, what happens more often than you would ever expect is that the officers find the prosecutors they are forced to deal with to be an obstacle in their investigations.

And that is a tragedy.

What is even more tragic is the number of victims in our society who have been made to believe that the crime committed against them or against their loved one is a crime that does not merit the prosecution or filing of charges. It would be a rare case for a police officer to say to a grieving family member that he believed that there was enough evidence to file a charge and convict a guilty defendant BUT the PROSECUTOR he went to decided there was not enough evidence. Cops don't do that because all that does is cause a victim more pain. So in effect what happens is a cowardly prosecutor is shielded from having to make a tough call or take on a difficult prosecution. And a hurt or grieving family is left to suffer even more.

So let this serve as a wake-up call or a call to arms to victims. If you have a true understanding and appreciation of the evidence in a case that concerns you, ask your detective what he thinks about the state of the evidence. If necessary, complain. To the police officer's supervisor, perhaps more importantly to the prosecutor's supervisor. What if the prosecutor is the elected DA who has no boss? Then complain to your local media; that's a story they would love to jump all over. They would get a twofer: the ability to investigate a REAL crime and criticize the local prosecutor's office while showing them up. Besides, what do you have to lose by complaining?

What seems to get lost in all of this is the fact that prosecutors are like any other professionals. By that I mean that no two are alike. Do you think every teacher handles her classroom the same? Or every orthopedic surgeon agrees on when surgery is necessary? Is there a difference in attitude between NFL quarterbacks Brett Favre and David Carr? Or between Diane Sawyer and Nancy Grace? Same thinking applies to prosecutors and how they do their jobs. It's just that we don't seem to appreciate that personalities do affect their decisions, such as what constitutes enough evidence to file charges.

Prosecutors' differences are more apparent in the courtroom during trial. We need to realize that those same differences apply to their decision-making, especially when it comes to that initial decision on whether to take on a case that might well be more difficult than most.

In contrast to the very rare, despicable prosecutor like Mike Nifong (below), how many more are out there handling cases but refusing to accept charges when the evidence seems more than sufficient to you? Nobody truly knows ALL of the evidence in any case but the investigating officers. Do we really know ALL of the evidence in the JonBenét Ramsey case? (See Stacy Dittrich's blog for an update.) Or Natalee Holloway's case? Or even in a case that concerns you?

Win at all costs? Funny. Unfortunately, the truth is, all too often, prosecutors won't even get in the game.

Tweet

There's No Such Thing as "Closure"

by Kelly Siegler

There are those moments that scar your soul when you have been a prosecutor for as long as I have. Those moments when it is your job to tell a mother and a dad who have lost their baby what to expect from the real criminal justice system, a system that is a far cry from what they imagine it to be.

Parents who have lost a child expect that somehow this archaic thing we call the criminal justice system will in some way make things better or right or just. And somehow that defendant who has taken their baby away from them in an unimaginably brutal way will not only be held accountable but also be punished as he or she should be by twelve members of our society.

Can you imagine the bottomless pain that a parent endures when they have learned that their child has been murdered? As many times as I have met with and counseled with parents suffering through that agony--and told them that we are there to do all that we can to make sure that the defendant is convicted and punished justly—I have also had that "other" conversation with them.

You see, in our world, the world of a prosecutor who handles such cases (as I have, far too many times), we also talk about the fact that as parents, they shouldn't put their lives on hold waiting for a defendant to be charged or arrested . . . or waiting for a trial to commence . . . or waiting for an appeal to be exhausted or even waiting for an execution to happen. I tell them that too many other parents, who have walked in their steps and truly do know their pain, have told me the truth.

The truth. The truth is that there is no such thing as "closure."

Sure, you hear it all of the time. You hear that closure is what we should be seeking on behalf of victims everywhere. You hear experts and psychologists and even law enforcement officials all over the country talking about closure as if it is some "state of mind" that we can help a mommy and a daddy, who have learned they will never see their baby again, obtain.

But when you ask those same victims if any of that—the arrest, the conviction, the sentencing, the execution—ever truly helped them gain "closure," you know what they all say? They all say no. They all say there is no such thing. They all say they are glad that phase of the process of the criminal justice system is complete. They all say thank you, and then they go back to having to figure out how to get up again the next morning and live another day in a world that no longer has the same color and light and joy in it that it did "before."

I remember the day I met a lady named Pat Kiesewetter. She came to my office so that we could discuss the case and the investigation and the upcoming trial of Richard Walter Holtje, the man charged with murdering her 16-month-old son, Samuel, in 1975. Pat is a shy lady, tall and slender, with red hair, who will tell you that she has never been the same since her baby was drowned in a scalding bathtub more than thirty years ago.

She told me about how she came to know the man who drowned her little boy, how they met each other at an Alcoholics Anonymous meeting and became involved. She told me about the evening she left for her night class and came back to find her baby on life support in a hospital--and about kissing him goodbye before he was taken off of life support.

As she told me the story that day—and as she told the jury and the Judge the story during the later trial—we could not all help but be affected. To listen to Pat talk about losing her baby boy and then the added pain and anguish she dealt with as years went by, more than twenty-five years, before the man responsible was charged with murder, you couldn't help but be touched.

But what scarred my soul in hearing Pat's story was when she told me this. She talked about the day there was a knock on her apartment door. When she opened it, there were two men standing there, who introduced themselves as Detectives Roger Wedgeworth and Harry Fikaris (pictured left and right, respectively) with the Harris County Sheriff's Cold Case Squad. They told her they were there to talk to her because they had re-opened the investigation into the murder of her baby.

Pat told them—and she later told me and then the jury—that in that moment of disbelief, she began to cry and tremble. Because she had long ago given up on anyone but herself caring about what happened to little Sam. Because she had lost all hope in law enforcement and in the criminal justice system. Because she blamed herself for what happened to Samuel and because she had long ago lost all interest in living.

I made sure Pat Kiesewetter got to say all of that out loud, to a courtroom full of people, to the world, and to the man who was responsible. Not only for taking little Sam's life, but for taking hers too.

Does Pat have closure today? She gave up on that a long time ago.

KELLY SIEGLER has worked as a prosecutor for Harris County, Texas for the past 21 years. She has handled approximately 150 jury trials including 19 death penalty cases. Her cases have been written about in four true-crime books and her trials have been featured on Court TV and CBS's "48 Hours." Kelly has tried 15 cold cases to juries with many of those defendants now on Death Row.

Tweet