Q You did?
A Yes, sir, I really did. Major case prints were sent that I took up there, and I don’t know how the hair samples never made it.
In the deposition of Gerald Skinner on the same day, Skinner testified that hair samples were never taken from him in the first place—one more astonishing instance of the state’s indifference to the forensic evidence, newly revealed after Merritt had spent three years in prison contemplating death by electrocution.
At one point in his closing argument, prosecutor Terhune told the jurors their role was to consider “the weight of the evidence,” a synonym for the “preponderance of the evidence” standard used in civil cases. The weight of the evidence—51 percent is enough to tip the scales—is sufficient to win when bickering friends and neighbors go to court in the types of cases featured on the “Judge Judy” program. This message to the jury might have been nothing more than an unintentional slip on Terhune’s part, yet is consistent with the casual, careless way the state conducted the entire case. Ironically enough, not only did the evidence against Merritt fail to meet the stringent “beyond a reasonable doubt” standard demanded in murder prosecutions and other criminal cases, it even fell far short of the much more lax “weight of the evidence” standard.
The underlying dynamics that produce such a grossly unfounded verdict are hardly unique to Columbia County, Florida. Far too often, in all 50 states, for prosecutors and defenders alike, the overriding goal is winning the case, not achieving a just result. For reasons no more complicated than simple ego, many are reluctant to admit a mistake when it appears an innocent person has been convicted or a guilty person acquitted.
The trial transcript and depositions provide a disturbing look at a justice system willing to use nothing more than the conflicting testimony of richly rewarded felons to convict a man of first-degree murder, while literally ignoring solid physical evidence. The Merritt conviction thus has implications that go far beyond this single case. If a man can be found guilty and initially sentenced to death so cavalierly, one wonders how many others have been wrongfully convicted and how many innocent people have been executed. (The extent of the systemic failure even surprised as seasoned a criminal-law veteran as Grisham, who, after chronicling the Ronald Williamson case, told an interviewer, “My eyes were opened to the world of wrongful convictions…unfortunately, they happen all the time in this country, and with increasing frequency.”)
Merritt’s case is now being considered by the Florida Innocence Initiative. If they decide to go forward with it, a vital element will be his request for DNA testing of the hair found on the shard of glass—something he has repeatedly asked for since 1988. Records show that the hair was turned over to the Microanalysis section of the Florida Department of Law Enforcement lab, but never tested. The DNA testing he seeks—ideally, a comparison of the hair with that of himself, Skinner, Hopkins, and perhaps others with similar criminal records in Columbia County in 1982—has the potential to shine valuable new light on the gruesome killing of Darrell Davis.
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