Strange voices were telling him what to do. The details were a blur, and at one point Simmons said, "It seemed like a dream." Oddly, at this point Smith and Rogers did not get excited over the prospect of yet another dream confession.
When pressed on why he had waited almost five years to come forward, he was finally able to explain that all the recent gossip around town had led him to remember that fateful night back in 1982, or maybe it was 1981. But he couldn't recall how he entered Debbie's apartment, or how many rooms it had, or in which room he killed her. Then, suddenly, he remembered the catsup bottle and scrawling words on the wall. Later, he said a friend at work had been talking about the details.
Simmons claimed to be clean and sober during the confession, but it was obvious to Smith and Rogers that the crank had taken its toll. They dismissed his story immediately. Though it had as many inaccuracies as Tommy Ward's, the detectives were not impressed. Smith finally heard enough and announced, "In my opinion, you didn't kill Debbie Carter." Then he offered to get counseling for Simmons.
Simmons, confused even further, insisted that he had killed her. The two detectives insisted he had not. They thanked him for his time and sent him away.
Good news was rare at the Pontotoc County jail, but early in November, Ron received an unexpected letter. An administrative law judge awarded him disability benefits under the Social Security Act.
A year earlier Annette applied for the benefits on Ron's behalf, claiming that he had been unable to work since 1979. The judge, Howard O'Bryan, reviewed the extensive medical history and ordered a full hearing on October 26, 1987. Ron was driven over from the jail.
In his decision, Judge O'Bryan noted: "Clearly the claimant has adequate medical documention to show a history of alcoholism, depression that was stabilized with lithium, and has been classified as having an atypical bipolar disorder complicated by an atypical personality disorder, probably borderline, paranoid and antisocial. Clearly, without medications he is belligerent, abusive, physically violent, has religious delusions, and a thought disorder."
And, "There are repeated episodes of disorientation to time, impaired attention span, as well as impaired abstract thinking and level consciousness."
Judge O'Bryan had little trouble reaching his conclusion that Ron had "severe bipolar disorder, personality disorder, and substance abuse disorder." Further, his condition was serious enough to prevent him from obtaining meaningful employment.
Ron's period of disability began on March 31, 1985, and was continuing.
The administrative law judge's primary job was to determine if claimants were disabled, either physically or mentally, and thus entitled to monthly benefits. These were important cases, but not life and death. Judges Miller and Jones, on the other hand, had a duty to ensure that every defendant, especially one facing death, received a fair trial. It was sadly ironic that Judge O'Bryan could see Ron's obvious problems, while Judges Miller and Jones could not.
Barney was concerned enough to have Ron evaluated. He arranged for testing at the Pontotoc County Health Department. The clinic director, Claudette Ray, administered a series of psychological tests and issued a report to Barney. It ended with: "Ron is consciously anxious due to sit-uational stress. He feels helpless to alter his situation or better himself. He may behave inappropriately, such as not attending preliminary hearings which would benefit him, because of his panic and confused thinking. Most individuals would be demanding to hear information and opinions that would influence their future life or death."
The report was tucked away in Barney's file and left there. A request for a competency hearing was a routine matter, one Barney had handled before. His client was sitting in jail, about a hundred feet from the courthouse, a place Barney visited almost every day. The case was begging for someone to raise the issue of competency.
The prosecution of Dennis Fritz got a huge boost from the testimony of a semiliterate Indian by the name of James C. Harjo. At twenty-two, Harjo was already in jail for burglary-he got caught after he broke into the same home twice. In September and October, while he was awaiting transfer to a state prison, his cell mate was Dennis Fritz. The two became somewhat friendly. Dennis felt sorry for Harjo and wrote letters for the boy, most of them going to his wife. He also knew exactly what the cops had planned. Every other day they would pull Harjo out of the cell for no apparent reason-his court appearances were over-and as soon as he returned, he began quizzing Dennis about the Carter murder. In a jail full of accomplished snitches, Harjo had to be the worst. The scheme was so obvious that Dennis prepared a one-paragraph statement that he made Harjo sign every time the cops took him out. It read, in part: "Dennis Fritz always says he is innocent."
And Dennis flatly refused to discuss the case with him.
That didn't stop Harjo. On November 19, Peterson listed James C. Harjo as a witness for the state. On that same date, the preliminary hearing for Dennis resumed before Judge John David Miller.
When Peterson announced that his next witness would be Harjo, Dennis flinched. What could this stupid boy dream up?
Harjo, under oath and lying badly, explained to an earnest Bill Peterson that he had been cell mates with Fritz, and while at first things had been friendly, on Halloween night a conversation had turned ugly. Harjo was quizzing Dennis about the details of the murder. Dennis was having trouble with the details, and Harjo deftly managed to poke holes in his story. He became convinced that Dennis was guilty, so he confronted him. This made Dennis very nervous. He began pacing around the bullpen, obviously struggling with his guilt, and when he returned to their cell, he looked at Harjo, with tears in his eyes, and said, "We didn't mean to hurt her."
In court, Dennis couldn't sit through this crap. He yelled at the witness, "You are lying! You are lying!"
Judge Miller settled things down. Harjo and Peterson plowed ahead with their tales. In Harjo's account, Dennis expressed concern for his young daughter. "What would she think if her daddy was a murderer? " he asked. Then, some truly incredible testimony. Dennis confessed to Harjo that he and Ron had taken some beer to Debbie's apartment, and when they finished with the raping and killing, they picked up the empty cans, wiped down the apartment to remove their fingerprints, and left.
On cross-examination, Greg Saunders asked Harjo if Dennis explained how he and Ron wiped off their invisible fingerprints while leaving dozens of others. Harjo had no clue. He admitted that there had been at least six other prisoners nearby when Dennis had made his confession Halloween night, but no one else heard it. Greg produced copies of the statements prepared by Dennis and signed by Harjo.
Harjo was discredited when he took the oath, but after Saunders's cross-examination he looked downright foolish. It didn't matter. Judge Miller had no choice but to bind Dennis over for trial. Under Oklahoma law, a judge at a preliminary hearing was not permitted to determine the credibility of a witness.
Trial dates were set, then postponed. The winter of 1987-88 dragged on with Ron and Dennis enduring life in jail and hoping their day in court would soon arrive. After months behind bars, they still believed in the possibility ofjustice and that the truth would be revealed.
In the pretrial skirmishing the only significant victory for the defense had been the ruling by Judge Jones that they would be tried separately. Even though Bill Peterson had fought the motions for separate trials, there was a huge advantage in trying one before the other. Put Fritz on first, and let the newspaper report the details to an anxious and very curious town.