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'Guilty'
Nervous jurors relate to
Coachman's fear: `It was eerie'
At 9 a.m. on Sept. 16, 1992, the six jurors began
deliberating Coleman' s fate. Fifty minutes later, they asked that
Coachman's testimony be read back to them.
After 3 1/2 hours of deliberation, the jurors had a
verdict: Coleman was guilty of both first-degree murder and attempted
first-degree murder.
Pleasanton and Orsley were stunned.
``It was surreal when they came back and said
`guilty,' '' Orsley recalled. ``I never expected it.''
Jurors themselves seem to recall a different trial.
One juror described Pleasanton's job as ``lousy.''
Geesey, by contrast, received high marks.
All the jurors interviewed said they based their
verdict on a thorough review of the case.
``We took this very seriously,'' one juror said.
``We went over and over and over things until people were satisfied.''
The panel's consensus:
Coleman's witnesses told conflicting stories and
were not credible for other reasons, including their criminal records.
Coachman, by contrast, was older - like the jurors
- and had a clean record. Just as important, he was scared. Jurors
saw him as a man who had overcome his own fears to take the stand.
They understood that apprehension because they felt
it, too. The trial had exposed them to a foreign world populated by
felons, where violence was an everyday event.
One juror said she still worries about reprisal for
the verdict. She tracked obituary notices for months after the trial,
looking for names of witnesses.
Her fears were confirmed, she said, when she saw a
death notice in February 1993 for Henry Coachman.
An autopsy report says Coachman died of pneumonia,
but the juror remains skeptical. She believes he may have been killed
because of his testimony.
She also remembers how she felt when the judge
assigned sheriff's deputies to escort the jurors out a back door to
their cars after the verdict.
``It was eerie,'' she said. ``We kept looking over
our shoulders the whole time.''
COLEMAN'S STORY
`It was my fault, because
I didn't speak up at the time'
Kevin Coleman's view through the razor wire at Lake
Correctional Institution is all spreading sycamores and rolling green
hills - a world apart from the shadeless, littered streets of Riviera Beach.
Coleman's schedule has changed along with his surroundings.
In Riviera Beach, he sold crack cocaine on a street
corner and stayed out much of the night.
In prison, he's up at 6 a.m., with plenty of time
to think about what might have happened if he had told police right
away what he knew.
Coleman never took the stand in his own defense,
even though Pleasanton had promised jurors he would.
He never told jurors what Avery Clayton told him
after driving back to Avenue S from the bar.
``Avery told me they had shot somebody up at the
Roadburners. He told me Dejuan is the one who shot Bobby. They was
laughing. I told them, `Man, somebody going to jail for this.'''
But Coleman didn't want to turn on his friends, so
he never spoke up.
``It was my fault, because I didn't tell what I
knew,'' he said. ``I really don't know why I ain't say nothing. I
just never thought it would get this far.''
Coleman has a new attorney now, Carey Haughwout,
who volunteered to help Coleman after his second court-appointed
attorney, Philip Butler, missed the deadline to file an appeal.
Coleman has only one more shot at a new trial.
Haughwout must convince the judge that Coleman didn't get a fair
trial because Pleasanton was ``ineffective,'' or she must present new
evidence that Coleman is innocent.
Finding new evidence won't be easy.
Dexter Smith now lives in northern Florida. He
maintains there were two shooters, a detail he waffled on during the
investigation. He still insists Coleman is the man who shot his cousin.
Back in Coleman's Riviera Beach neighborhood,
people shake their heads when asked about Coleman's conviction.
``Everyone knows Kevin didn't do it,'' they say.
But when asked who did do it, they only laugh
nervously. No one wants to name names.
Avery Clayton, Coleman's former buddy, says he
knows who killed Roddy. When Clayton first talked to police, he told
them the shooter was Early. A week later, he changed his story.
Today, he will say only that the killer is another ``homey.''
``I ain't going to go and tell on my homey, even
though Kevin's my homey, too,'' Clayton said.
``I love Kevin to death, but I can't do nothing
about this. Kevin knows that. He knows how we conduct our business. I
know he understand.' '
Staff writer Christine
Stapleton contributed to this story.
* sidebar:
Grounds For Appeal?: Juror Didn't Reveal His Arrest Record
*Chart:
The Jury
*Chart: The
Detective and the Lawyers
*beginning of story
*top
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