The Fateful Day
June 20, 2001, was just another typical Wednesday in Houston for me: sweltering hot and fast paced. With temperatures expected to reach the high 80s, the blistering heat and humidity are what Texans live and breathe in the “city on the bayou.” On this particular morning, driving to the Harris County Criminal Courthouse to file a motion, I was early for my day. I took my time, planning the strategy for the felony charge, and savored the rush of air conditioning before the anticipated yet unwelcome day-long perspiration ahead.
As usual on my drive to the courthouse, I tuned my radio to the easy listening station. A little after 9:30 A.M., breaking news interrupted, announcing that a mother in Clear Lake City had killed her children by drowning each of them in the family bathtub. My stomach instantly tightened, and I changed the station. At that time, I had been practicing for approximately 30 years and been exposed to every reprehensible, unimaginable act known to humankind, but the thought of a mother harming a child brings its own kind of bewilderment. Really, how could a mother harm the very people to whom she gave life?
However, changing the station made no difference. The airwaves were filled with venom and vitriol about this mother. Callers volunteered to drown the murderous mom, sparing the taxpayers of Harris County the expense of a trial and endless appeals—and her ultimate and inevitable execution by the State of Texas. News reporters conjured up images that were too distressing for me to stomach. I turned off the radio and popped in a CD. After all, I had a client in court to worry about who deserved my undivided attention. As I reached the courts and crowded elevators and hallways, calls of “Did you hear about the mother?” were a relentless buzz and constant distraction.
At the back of my mind murmured a “What if...?” that I shook away. As a veteran Texas defense attorney, I knew I could well be on the short list of possible defenders for this mother. While I had shuddered initially at the crime, my firm belief is that everyone has the right to the presumption of innocence and effective counsel. I have a deep commitment and sense of duty to defend against governmental authority, whose burden it is to prove its allegations of wrongdoing beyond a reasonable doubt. Yet now I wondered: in this situation, with this mother, what would I do if I got the call? The day unfolded as a typical defense attorney day, except for the lingering possibility that quietly gnawed at me in unexpected moments.
That night, when I arrived home, a message was waiting for me on the answering machine. It was John O’Sullivan. In 1998, John, then a young lawyer, had asked me to help him defend a man accused of murder. I agreed, and we had proceeded to a jury trial that ended in conviction. I had not heard from John since then except in passing in the courthouse. His message to return his call now sounded urgent, and the “What if...?” murmurs in my mind became deafening. First, I spoke with my wife to consider her thoughts, and then I made my decision. When I returned the call, John explained that he was involved in another matter that drew him close to the mother who had drowned her children, and she was in need of a defense attorney as soon as possible. My hunch was right: he asked if I would consider meeting with the family. True to the values fashioned from my days in the seminary, I agreed without a moment’s hesitation and was retained on the case.
I can calculate the influence of the seminary on my life as a criminal defense attorney, fighting for the underdog—for no one in a courtroom setting fits that role more than the person accused. To search for and find an element of value in an individual accused of the most factually horrible crime is personally rewarding; to then paint the picture for the jury of this newfound virtue is a goal worth pursuing. In the seminary and in my legal practice, I was helping my fellow man. I saw spirituality, intangible at best, as a common denominator in both religious life and lawyer life. The holdover area (where lawyers meet with the accused in jail) was in many ways my “confessional.”
The summer of 2001 in Houston was the summer of the great flood. Rising water had invaded the new criminal courthouse, displacing prisoners and judges from their natural habitats. It was memorable for me because Andrea Yates was confined in the Harris County Jail and attended by a makeshift staff of mental health professionals. The next morning, as I rounded the bend across the bridge over the bayou to meet Ms. Yates, I knew that this experience would forever change me. Little did I know just how much.
A mass of reporters surrounded the jail facility, and satellite dish trucks from both local and national networks swarmed the area. I had never seen the likes of it. Everyone wanted to know any and all details about the case and about this mother. As I walked across the bridge, I saw a dead snake that had washed up on the bridge as the floodwaters receded. An NBC affiliate seized the moment: Phil, a hardworking reporter with impeccable integrity, noticed the proximity of the snake to the courthouse and quipped, “How appropriate,” referring to defense attorneys who stand behind their clients. As I made my way through the sea of cameras and reporters to the steps of the jail, a cameraman I knew silently mouthed, “Is it you?” I shook my head and proceeded through the front doors, aware that if they knew I had been retained, I would have had to fight my way to my first visit with my new client. Once inside, I saw the lobby was crowded with attorneys and family members of inmates and sheriff’s personnel, not unlike any other day.
FACE TO FACE WITH ANDREA YATES
Yet this day was quite different. There was discernible chatter about the mother on the third floor who had killed her children. Ms. Yates’s family was in the crowded lobby. I thought how important it would be for the family to show a united front in supporting her. Securing that unity would likely prove to be tough. However, meeting with the defendant was the priority. The family also was there to visit with Ms. Yates, except for her husband, Rusty Yates (a telltale sign of possible disruption in the family). They were ushered upstairs by the deputies to a deserted third floor of the jail, with me in tow. The other inmates from that floor were shuttered in their cells, their visitors long ago dismissed. Mr. Yates appeared at last, and when all was secure, the steel jail door opened, breaking the silence.
I caught a glimpse of a frail figure in an orange jumpsuit. Andrea Yates appeared on the opposite side of the plexiglass window. The space behind her was darkened, giving her a shadowy appearance that added to the macabre scene and heightened my nerves. I focused first on meeting the family. As I talked with Andrea’s oldest brother, I watched out of the corner of my eye as Rusty talked to his wife. His words were muffled and indiscernible but were obviously words of comfort. His wife, my new client, pressed her head against the plexiglass and stared silently ahead. At the end of our conversation, her brother whispered, “Andrea told me she was Satan.”
When the family visit ended, I spoke briefly with Dr. Melissa Ferguson, the psychiatrist who had been on duty when Andrea was arrested. Dr. Ferguson informed me of her initial assessment. I did not comprehend much of what she said, but I knew enough to know that Andrea Yates was severely mentally ill. After my discussion with the psychiatrist, it was my turn to meet with Andrea. I sat in the attorney/client booth, no longer surrounded by her family or the deputies. Andrea appeared as the door to the prisoner’s side opened. I saw her unkempt hair, clenched cheeks, and dark and sunken eyes—darkened, with no discernible pupils. My initial thought was that she had eyes like a shark. Soon after, I recognized that those vacant eyes were symptomatic of psychosis.
Two days later, on June 22, at 7:30 A.M., I again met with Andrea, who remained the buzz of rumor and speculation. I had with me a medical history request form that required her signature. Completing it meant I could query her past mental and physical health records, which is always procured in these cases. I gave the consent form to the jail worker to pass on to her, and as Andrea’s eyes scanned the paper, I realized she had no idea what she was looking at or being asked to do. It would be futile to explain the importance of signing the form; it was clearly beyond her capability to sign, at least on that day.
A SOLEMN PROMISE
I told Andrea I would return the next day, thinking she might sign after a night’s reflection. As I turned to leave, I realized that the pen in her hand could be used to hurt herself. I wondered why the jail attendant would leave a pen with her when she was on suicide watch. I brought this to the guard’s attention, and he soon retrieved the pen, much to my relief. I reflected that many people would not want this mother to end her life and thus be absolved of her wrongdoings, but I, on the other hand, was genuinely concerned for her welfare.
As I stood to leave, Andrea hunched forward, laying her forehead against the plexiglass and mumbling inaudibly. I leaned forward, my right ear pressed firmly against the plexiglass, and heard her barely audible whisper, “Please don’t leave me alone.” In that moment, I realized how alone she felt and that the isolation in her world, both physically and within her psychotic mind, must have been excruciating. My seminarian past and lawyer present dovetailed. Without a moment’s hesitation, and although intensely perspiring from the heat and my serious focus on her, I dropped all plans to leave. I spoke to Andrea, expecting nothing in return. Nothing else mattered. She was my client, and she needed me to stay with her. From that moment on, I knew I would not leave her; I would always be there for her in her defense and in the defense of other mothers with maternal mental illness. I ended my visit with a promise to return the next day. I headed back to the lobby of the jail, and while I was talking with family members, the strangest thing happened. Rusty came up from behind and tapped me on the shoulder. He shook my hand with a smile and said, “Well, I guess it’s welcome to the team.” I had been retained and accepted to defend Andrea Yates. I was a legal team of one and sorely in need of teammates.
I immediately contacted my office mate, Wendell Odom. Wendell’s easygoing nature and calm demeanor disguised an extremely brilliant mind able to cut through complex legal layers. He agreed to join me, knowing as I did that it was going to be the most publicized case of our lives. We also welcomed his sister, Molly, to our team. With no road map to guide us except common-sense experience, our knowledge of the law, and our bootstrap determination, we took on the case. We had no idea how much more was to come in learning about maternal infanticide and filicide offenses.
A Media Maelstrom
After my baptism of journalistic fire at the steps of the jail house, I began a long, fruitful, and mostly enjoyable relationship with the media. Despite this rapport, many leaked terrible rumors about Andrea and the deaths of her children. Often, by the time the false stories surfaced, they would indelibly be set in stone in the public’s mind—even to this day. I set out to try to level the playing field of public perception. There was no question to me that Andrea Yates was a severely mentally ill mother and not the cold-blooded, monstrous killer the media depicted. I pored over DSM and read up on postpartum depression and the most extreme biological and gender-based illness: postpartum psychosis. Then I hit the airwaves. I took every opportunity afforded to educate the community—the potential jury pool—about the difficulty of understanding my client’s mental state. I suspected that after the weekend of media blitz, a court-imposed “gag order” would soon be ordered, which would mean no more vilifying of Andrea in the media but also no more advocacy for her. My time was running out to correct public perception.
The morning talk shows on NBC, ABC, CBS, CNN, and Fox all contacted me, and I was eager to speak. I set up shop at Total Video, a Houston media center used by all national and some local television affiliates for Houston-based stories. The owners ran a tight ship, and through this process, we became dear friends. By Sunday evening I was utterly exhausted. Monday provided more platforms to discuss mental health issues, Andrea, and her beloved children, but my instinct about the gag order was correct: I received a call from the court to be in the chambers of Judge Belinda Hill of the 230th District Court first thing Tuesday morning. I, as Andrea’s mouthpiece, was to be legally shut—but I had made my points.
A quickly circulating rumor in the media was that Andrea was pregnant, which made it imperative that she sign the medical history consent form. Each media source wanted an exclusive interview to confirm this news. Someone within the jail personnel evidently had suggested to a media representative that the mandatory pregnancy test given to female inmates had come up positive for Andrea. I had to learn the truth immediately, but without a signed consent form, the doctors would neither confirm nor deny anything. Urgency demanded action. If the story aired, more degradation of this already demonized mother would make a guilty verdict all the more satisfying to the general public. I was able to convince a source knowledgeable about the pregnancy test that I had a “need to know” basis for information, with or without a signed consent form. After all, it was painfully apparent that Andrea—despite her keen intelligence and educational background—had no idea what she was being asked to sign and therefore in all probability would never sign.
As it turned out, the pregnancy rumor was false, but how could I alert the media that the story they were about to air was simply not true? After all, the ink on the gag order had barely dried. I decided that arranging a shorthand, confidential communication with Phil of Channel 2 would be appropriate given the circumstances. After my third jail visit with my client, as I passed his parked television van, Phil simply shouted a rhetorical question to “no one” in particular: “Is the rabbit alive or dead?” A thumbs-up meant alive and a thumbs-down was my signal for dead. Thumbs up it was; the rabbit was alive, and Andrea was not pregnant. The “story” of Andrea’s pregnancy, with one exception, never aired. I later discovered that Channel 13, the ABC affiliate, had aired the scintillating matter without determining its credibility. Phil, in a later story, was able to dispel the rumor without revealing his source. In hindsight, I am certain that the letter of the gag order was not obeyed, but although the judge was well aware of this, I was never chastised by the court for such a violation. Priorities sometimes demand creative ingenuity.
Learning From the Andrea Yates Case
The horrific circumstances surrounding the Andrea Yates case and the deaths of her five children present a multitude of complex issues that are legal as well as emotional, both professional and personal in nature. The foremost task as Andrea’s defense lawyer was managing my own shock and bewilderment about the offense, but once I understood the nature of mental illness and its potential to significantly warp the reality of the mind, I knew that Andrea, too, was a victim. Because she had physically caused the children’s deaths, the entire family was in duress, with the potential for divisive and catastrophic results that would erode the very foundation of a support system that I, her lawyer, sought to create and solidify. In a case with such overwhelming notoriety, public perception of family unity was crucial to compel the compassion I hoped to garner from the public. Adding to the state’s leverage was the fact that the insanity defense was the least understood and probably the most difficult to present and persuade a jury to accept.
The Yates case exemplified both personal and professional failures within the systems, as well as legal and medical missteps in managing severe mental health issues. The tragic deaths of Noah, John, Paul, Luke, and Mary Yates were the inevitable and unfortunate result of those failures. To know and understand what happened and why, as dark and uncomfortable as this situation was, enables us not only to properly deal with mental illness in the criminal justice system but also, we hope, to prevent reoccurrences of June 20, 2001.
It is not easy to review from afar the reasons behind the tragedies of that fateful day and the manner in which the justice system reacted to the mental illness of Andrea Yates. However, we must review them here, if for no other purpose than to answer the question, “Why?” Before the drowning of the children, all the signs were there, to be recognized by the professionals and the nonprofessionals alike. There was no question that Andrea Yates had the most severe form of postpartum illness: postpartum psychosis. Her medical records were replete with references to, and diagnoses of, postpartum mental illness. From the severity of her depression after Luke’s birth in 1999, doctors documented Andrea’s fears that she might hurt the children or that they would all go to hell and recorded the physical effects of her mental illness—catatonia, mutism, severe psychomotor retardation—that were all present. Andrea’s first hospitalization at Methodist Hospital on July 21, 1999, had been under the care of Dr. Starbranch, her psychiatrist. Dr. Starbranch had noted observations that Andrea “hadn’t eaten in days. [Has a] bald spot on her scalp where she had been scratching,” and, finally, made a diagnosis of postpartum depression with psychosis (probable delusions). Dr. Starbranch had also noted that “any additional pregnancy will surely guarantee future psychotic depression” and prescribed the harsh antipsychotic Haldol. This medication worked, and her symptoms abated.
Andrea was admitted into Devereux Hospital for her second hospitalization on March 31, 2001. She had stopped taking Haldol and had given birth to her fifth child, Mary, the preceding December. Andrea physically presented the same symptoms as with her hospitalization after Luke was born. The admitting psychiatrist, Dr. Albritton, indicated that she was catatonic and had flat affect, severe psychomotor retardation, and so on. Dr. Albritton tried to get a medical history from Andrea and her husband, but Andrea could not speak due to her condition, and Rusty was unable to recall the positive effects of Haldol in the previous hospitalization. Andrea was subsequently admitted with a diagnosis of major depressive disorder, postpartum onset (rule out psychotic features). The insurance company relied on a precoded determination and allotted 11–13 days for the hospital stay before withdrawing financial assistance.
Dr. Saeed was Andrea’s treating physician during this second as well as a third hospital stay at Devereux Hospital. She had been released on April 13, 2001, and been readmitted the third time a little more than 2 weeks later on May 4. There had been no communication between Dr. Saeed and Dr. Starbranch the entire time that Dr. Saeed was her psychiatrist. During Andrea’s second stay at Devereux Hospital, after Rusty informed Dr. Saeed that Andrea had previously been placed on Haldol and it was successful, a fax was sent to Dr. Starbranch’s office for medical records, but it was unclear whether those records were received, for they were never mentioned in her treatment plan at Devereux. Nonetheless, at Rusty’s suggestion, Dr. Saeed placed Andrea temporarily on Haldol.
On June 4, after Andrea was discharged from Devereux Hospital, Dr. Saeed decided to take her off of Haldol. On June 18, Rusty brought his nearly catatonic wife to Dr. Saeed’s office for an outpatient visit. Instead of administering an antipsychotic, Dr. Saeed gave Andrea a “pep” talk—“You must begin to think ‘happy thoughts’”—and sent her home with a slight modification in her antidepressant medication. Two days later, her five children were dead.
On June 20, 2001, sometime after 9:00 A.M. (about the same time I was stepping into my car to drive to Harris County Criminal Courthouse), Andrea, alone with her children ages 6 months to 7 years, drowned each child in the bathtub, one by one. After their deaths, she dialed 911 and requested police assistance. When officers arrived and discovered the children’s bodies, she was immediately arrested. Andrea confessed her actions in an unemotional statement to City of Houston homicide detective Eric Mehl. Afterward, she was placed on suicide watch in the psychiatric ward of the Harris County Jail, where I first met her.
The Trial
The State of Texas charged Andrea Yates with capital murder and gave notice that it would seek the death penalty. Our legal team immediately filed its notice to utilize the insanity defense. Andrea Yates was determined by a jury to be competent to stand trial, and in February 2002, she was tried on three of the five deaths of the children and was convicted of capital murder. When the guilty verdict was announced (after only 1 hour of deliberation), it was devastating to everyone involved with Andrea’s defense, including the attorneys, clerks, expert witnesses, and, of course, her family. Andrea herself remained reserved. With the sentencing phase still facing us, however, we had no time to grieve. We now were literally fighting for her life.
At sentencing, the jury rejected the State’s plea for the death penalty, thereby automatically sentencing Andrea to life in the penitentiary. Although life in prison is by all accounts a harsh sentence, in retrospect it is a more favorable verdict than the ultimate penalty, execution. Andrea again showed little emotion compared with me and my staff when the sentencing phase of the trial concluded. “Euphoric” best describes our reaction; for the effort we had put forth in this case, of all cases, success at saving her life was by far the best resolution.
THE APPEAL
Pending her appeal to the First Court of Appeals of Texas, Andrea was placed at the Skyview Unit in the Texas Department of Criminal Justice, a facility for mentally ill individuals within the penitentiary system. Andrea was incarcerated at Skyview for more than 3 years while her appeal was pending. The court of appeals granted oral arguments in the case as requested in our brief. Regarding a particular “point of error” in the defense’s appellate brief and taking almost 1 year after arguments to make their decision, the court agreed with the defense that the State’s expert witness, Dr. Park Dietz, had been untruthful during his testimony. He had testified under oath that an episode of Law and Order, for which he was a consultant, had involved a woman who killed her children, pled not guilty, and was acquitted. He testified further that the show had aired in the Houston area shortly before Andrea killed her children. The jury already was aware that Rusty and Andrea regularly watched Law and Order. Yet Dr. Dietz’s testimony was false, and the defense argued that the perjured testimony had been used in the cross-examination of a defense witness and again during the State’s closing arguments. Defense also argued that this testimony had been weighed heavily during jury deliberations and had helped the jury reach its verdict of guilty. Ultimately, the First Court of Appeals agreed and reversed the guilty verdict, sending the case back to the trial court for a retrial—basically starting from “square one.”
Andrea was returned to the Harris County Jail to await retrial. The State was precluded from again seeking the death penalty in the second trial because the issue of future dangerousness (needed to sentence someone to death) had already been decided by the first jury and was not in dispute on appeal. Pending retrial, a bond was placed, and the defense arranged as a condition of bond that Andrea be sent to a state mental health facility at Rusk State Hospital in Rusk, Texas, where she was voluntarily committed as a mental health patient awaiting retrial.
The challenge as a defense attorney was to educate the jury about the unreal world of the person on trial, who had been experiencing a psychotic delusion on the day of the offense. A person who is delusional has a different mindset and decision-making process than one who is not delusional. However, the delusional individual may be able to perform certain tasks and make certain decisions that indicate an awareness of the nonpsychotic reality. For instance, Andrea had planned to drown her children well in advance, had waited until her husband and mother-in-law were absent from the home, had called 911 and asked for the police to come, had confessed to the homicide sergeant, and had admitted that she knew her actions were wrong. At the same time, Andrea had believed unequivocally that ending her children’s lives was the right thing for them. By taking their lives at a tender age, she was saving their souls from eternal damnation. Andrea had known that the criminal justice system would punish her, and therefore had known that it was legally wrong (a wrongful act) to do what she did. She had wished to be executed so the Governor of the State of Texas would be the one to “slay Satan,” who singularly lived within her. Through her own execution, she had believed that she would save the world from Satan.
Another challenge as a defense attorney is in raising awareness in the minds of jurors, who decide the fate of mothers such as Andrea, about the general, as well as specific, experiences of the mother–child relationship in order to counterbalance the bizarre nature of a mother taking the lives of her children. Normally—although there are exceptions—the nature of the mother–child bond embodies protection and love, which, in fact, is often quite evident in the relationship of the mother to her children prior to the filicide event. If anything, that knowledge embodies the distinction between the unreal reality of what occurred and the true nature of the mother and child relationship, which can be helpful for jurors to have as a barometer for just how much Andrea was not in her right state of mind.
THE SECOND TRIAL
On July 26, 2006, a non-death qualified jury, after 2.5 days of deliberation, adjudged Andrea Yates as not guilty by reason of insanity (NGRI). She was sent to a state mental health hospital in Vernon, Texas, which is the initial facility for assessment once a defendant is found NGRI in Texas. She was assessed semiannually to determine whether she constituted a danger to herself or others. This assessment includes evaluation regarding self-harming, homicidal, or suicidal ideations. After her first assessment, Andrea was able to be moved to a less secure facility and remains there today. She also remains under the jurisdiction of the court and comes up for annual reviews.
Present-Day Reflections
Looking back, the Andrea Yates case was a landmark for maternal mental health awareness not only in the State of Texas but also nationally and internationally. Prosecutors are now more acutely aware of mental illness and the impact it has on criminal behavior. In October 2002, the Mental Health Association of Houston agreed to sponsor an effort to establish a memorial for the Yates children: Noah, John, Paul, Luke, and Mary. The Yates Children Memorial Fund was founded for the purpose of raising education and awareness in the community about the reality and ravages of postpartum mental illness and has conducted seminars on women’s mental health, as well as the law relating to insanity and its inadequacy in addressing postpartum issues, for groups across the country. If future lives are spared, the Yates children will not have died in vain.
I take every opportunity possible to speak to groups because of my devotion to this issue, yet so much more awareness is still needed today. Nineteen years later, I remain steadfast in lobbying for awareness of maternal filicide and legal expertise for mothers who take the lives of their children while in the grips of psychiatric illness. I held true to my promise to Andrea that second day of our meeting: I have not left her. I continue my relationship with her and hold her dear to my heart. This book is emblematic of my desire to honor Andrea and my continued drive to educate and guide others in this field.
MAIN CLINICAL/LEGAL POINTS AND CULTURAL PERSPECTIVES
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A lawyer’s perception of the client’s offense must be through the eyes of the mentally ill defendant and the reality she held at the time of the crime.
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Public perception that those closest to the mother are fully supportive of her is vital to compel compassion and understanding.
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Legally, the ability to distinguish the different meaning of to know and wrongful act as it pertains to the case is foundational.
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Core competencies of legal experts involved in maternal filicide cases include
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Greater awareness and appreciation of mental illness as a legitimate reality that potentially can trigger maternal filicide
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Enhancement of law enforcement’s as well as mental health professionals’ ability to understand mental illness and its role in criminality
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Development of an appreciation of the indicators of mental illness that separate the mentally ill from those who are criminally responsible for their actions
Practice and Discussion Questions
1.
Reflect on your own experiences and belief systems that might impact whether you would take a maternal filicide case. What support and resources would help you in this endeavor?
2.
What is your knowledge of the Diagnostic and Statistical Manual of Mental Disorders (DSM), and how can you ensure you are aware of the classification of mental disorders relevant to maternal filicide?
3.
Should the actions of Andrea Yates and her ultimate prosecution for the drowning deaths of her children be governed by the Webster’s Dictionary definition of the word know or by the reality of her psychotic world, in which she protected the children she loved from a danger that was real to her but was nonexistent to minds absent from mental illness?