There were no empty seats at all. No room for the regular court watchers. The tension in the room was palpable, the air itself difficult to draw in. Someone coughed and an infant wailed.
Deputy Prosecutors Sean O’Donnell and Ian Goodhew took turns reading the sentence guidelines for each victim’s murder, and what was over quickly in an ordinary hearing took a long time for this one. “The defendant has pled guilty and agreed to a mandatory sentence of life in prison without the possibility of early release or parole.”
O’Donnell repeated the phrases forty-eight times, naming each victim. It was only fair. Each victim had died her own death at Ridgway’s hands. Each deserved to have her life matter. His sentences would run consecutively, not concurrently.
Ridgway would be in prison for eternity, and Goodhew said that he would also face a fine of $50,000 on each charge. The families would be allowed to submit their claims for restitution at a future time, although there would be little reason for doing that. He had no money. With her greatly reduced income and attorneys’ fees, Judith had had no choice but to sell their home at a loss.
The Son of Sam law would be invoked, preventing Ridgway from profiting from his crimes. Under no circumstances would he ever be allowed to contact his victims’ families.
Deputy Prosecutor Patty Eakes acknowledged the family members in the courtroom who had chosen not to speak to Ridgway, and also those who could not be there but who had sent letters to Judge Jones to be passed on to Ridgway. Then she introduced each family member as they approached the lectern next to the jury box to speak directly to Gary Ridgway. At the Court’s direction, he had turned in his chair so that he had to look into their eyes. As the survivors stood at the lectern, they were, perhaps, fifteen feet from the killer.
Those who still mourned deeply were from all backgrounds, all races, all ages, all demographic groups. Although it was probably the first time most of them had spoken in public, they were remarkably eloquent as they stared at the man who had taken the lives of the young women they loved. No one else could have scripted what they needed to say. All of their stories were different and yet, in some ways, the same.
They told Ridgway what the girls he had called “garbage” and “trash” were really like, and about the sadness and loss he had caused their families: the premature deaths caused by grief, the suicides, the memories that crowded back, especially at holidays or when babies were born who would never know their aunts.
Garrett Mills recalled his lonely memorial to the little sister he had promised to protect forever. He had visited the junior high where he and Opal had their last happy times, and he’d left roses in the dirt beneath the swings where they used to play. He’d also eatena doughnut—something Opal always enjoyed—in her memory, remembering how she worried continually about losing weight. At the Green River, he had sat and cried for Opal. He recalled two fishermen who had paused as they tossed beer cans into the water, staring at him and clearly wondering “what kind of fool I was.” They were unaware that Opal’s body had once lain there. Garrett said he had left roses and doughnuts on the riverbank, too.
One woman said that her sister had “met her first monster” in her own home, enduring a family member’s abuse until it drove her out to the streets in a desperate escape. And there, the teenager had met her second monster: Gary Ridgway.
Many family members wanted Ridgway to “burn in hell,” or wished him a long and miserable life behind bars. They warned him of what lay ahead and said they would rejoice in the news that a guard had been distracted just long enough for an avenging prisoner to attack him. They called him a disposable man consumed with evil, “garbage” and “trash” himself, the spawn of the devil, and almost every epithet known in the English language. And yet they did it with a dignity born of years of suffering. They were not out of control; they had waited so long to face an unknown terror but their words were measured and well thought out.
I never saw Ridgway change his expression. He seemed incapable of grasping any emotion at all. Their words bounced off his “plastic” face, and only rarely did he even blink behind his thick glasses.
Beyond seeing their limitless pain, I was most impressed by how many of the dead girls’ survivors said they refused to remain hostage to Gary Ridgway. They had come to realize, they said, that if they continued to despise him, he would win. And they would not allow it. He would not be part of their thoughts any longer, not even as an object of hatred.
Many of those who spoke thanked the Green River Task Force, specific detectives who had helped them, Sheriff Reichert, and the prosecuting team for bringing justice to their loved ones. One even thanked the defense team for doing a job that must have been onerous for them. Original poems had been written and classics were quoted, and the ghosts of the long-dead victims were somehow present in the courtroom, silent and invisible witnesses. Almost all of us had tears in our eyes.
And still Gary Ridgway’s facial expression remained the same. Untouched. Removed. It wasn’t until three survivors forgave him that his eyes filled. Opal’s mother, Kathy Mills, thanked him for the fact that there had been no trial. She didn’t think she could have gone through that. “You have held us in bondage for all these years,” she intoned, “because we hated you. We wanted to see you die, but it’s all going to be over now…. Gary Leon Ridgway, I forgive you. You can’t hold me anymore. The word of God says I have to.”
Ridgway blinked at that. He was as he always had been. If something directly affected him, he reacted. He had always felt sorry for himself.
Linda Rule’s father, Robert, was a large man with a snowy beard, and I jotted down “Santa Claus type” next to his name. As it turned out, he did work as a store Santa Claus during the holiday season. But he, too, got a reaction from Ridgway. “Mr. Ridgway,” he began, “there are people here that hate you. I’m not one of them. I forgive you for what you have done. God says to forgive all so you are forgiven, sir.”
At this, Ridgway took off his glasses so he could wipe the tears that coursed from his eyes with his handkerchief. He had told Dave Reichert that he hoped he wouldn’t cry during the sentencing, but he appeared touched by forgiveness in the face of so many who had not forgiven him, and probably never would.
I didn’t believe his tears. It was obvious that they weren’t for his victims—they were for himself. As Green River investigator Kevin O’Keefe said, “I think he’s got all the emotions of a reptile.”
Trish Yellow Robe’s sisters were the last to approach the lectern. When they had spoken, committing her to “The Great Spirit,” it was time to hear any remarks the killer might choose to make. He did have words, and he shuffled up to stand before Judge Jones and haltingly read his statement, stumbling over what he had printed. He did not look at his victims’ families, however, the group to whom he should have directed his “apology.”
“I’m sorry for killing all those young ladys,” he said, choking up a little as he read the short sentences he or someone else had printed on a single sheet of paper. The words were mostly spelled correctly in this document, unlike the letter he had once sent to the newspaper. There were commas and periods.
I have tried hard to remember as much as I could to help the detectives find and recover the ladys. I’m sorry for the scare I put in the community. I want to thank the police, prosecutors, my attorneys and all the other, that had the patience to work with me and help me remember all the terrible thing I did and to be able to talk about them. I know how horrible my acts were. I have tried for a long time to get these things out of my mind. I have tried for a long time to keep from killing anymore ladys. I’m sorry that I’ve put my wife, my son, my brothers and my family through this hell. I hope that they can find a way to forgive me. I am very sorry for the Ladys that were not found. May they rest in peace. They need a better place than where I gave them. I’m sorry for killing these young Ladys. They had their whole life ahead of them. I am sorry I caused so much pain to so many families.