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 By Patrick Tepoorten
Last week I had the unique experience of covering Craig Fleming’s trial on a daily basis online (You can read the stories at the “Fleming on trial” page of the Post Review Web site). It was an experiment for this weekly newspaper and, judging by readership, a successful one.
I would be remiss if I didn’t mention the superb job by court security officer Sgt. Pat Romano and his crew of bailiffs and deputies on security duty. Despite concerns, the trial went off with only one minor hitch right at the end, and Romano and his staff were extremely professional, accommodating, and proficient. They never let their guard down and because of that the safety of everyone who attended was never a concern.
When the odyssey began I was so excited. What a story. My greatest hope was that somewhere in all of the testimony we would find out why this death had to happen. Along the way, Fleming attorney Gregory J. Rebeau kept insisting the “why” was the key. And his counterpart, Fred Fink, said the trial was about “truth and justice.”
In light of events, I would disagree with Fink. The trial was about facts and justice. “Truth” might better be characterized as “perception of fact.” And, as to “why,” why Fleming shot Marty Carlson, why they disliked each other to start, why someone had to die at all that summer morning, well, that was even harder to come by.
It is incomprehensible to me that Carlson’s death was the result of a “word fight” over why Fleming was hanging out at Tory Mogensen’s house. But by trial’s end, I was resigned to the idea that we will never know the truth or the “why.”
Despite an overwhelming amount of law enforcement and scene analysis testimony, this trial was a human drama. It was so because the question of who shot Carlson was already answered. It was a matter of intention: Did Fleming kill Carlson as part of a plan, or was it something that happened in the moment? Or was it self-defense? As such, the trial wasn’t about bloody clothes or ballistics, it was about the recollections of three eyewitnesses, human beings with all the imperfections implied.
What I didn’t expect going into the trial was how hard it would become to report on those human beings. Carlson’s murder deeply affected the lives of everyone involved, regardless of what side of the courtroom they were seated. In some cases it may even have had a positive influence. At least two people involved have since overcome addictions that certainly played a role in a situation that ended in death.
But overwhelmingly, the impact was negative. All week long, the courtroom was heaped with the detritus of a killing. No one was left unaffected, especially not me.
When the verdict was read it was to a room full of losers. Fleming’s side, hoping for a self-defense verdict, lost. Carlson’s side, hoping Fleming would be put away for life, lost. Those, like me, hoping for an explanation for Carlson’s death that would make sense, lost.
People talk often about closure. We need it, have to have it, our mental health depends on it. We seek it in our relationships, from counselors, pastors, and even television. But if I learned anything this week it was that closure is an elusive concept.
As someone noted during the course of the trial, the hills we climb are measured not in elevation, but in years. And I’m less convinced than before that we ever reach the top.
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