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To the dismay of their victims' families, death row inmates are pleading their innocence on the Web.
By TOM ZUCCO, Times Staff Writer
© St. Petersburg Times, published August 8, 2002
John Marquard, a 35-year-old widowed father whom his friends call J.C., posts intricate pen-and-ink drawings on his Web page. Anthony LaMarca, a former Dunedin resident, uses his page to show off samples of his poetry and handmade greeting cards. And Michael Rivera, 40, who announced recently on his page that he got engaged, says he's quite handy with a crochet hook.
You can buy some of his work. Or he can make something to order.
"If you'd like an afghan, baby blanket, baby booties, baby bonnets or some types of sweaters," writes Rivera, "contact me and we can work something out."
What Rivera doesn't highlight on his Web page is that in 1987 he was convicted of pulling 11-year-old Staci Jazvac from the bicycle she was riding near her home in Lauderdale Lakes, molesting her, choking her to death when she struggled, and dumping her body in a field in Coral Springs.
Like Marquard and LaMarca, Rivera was convicted of first-degree murder and is awaiting execution on Florida's death row. (Marquard was convicted of killing a North Carolina woman, LaMarca of shooting his son-in-law twice in the head.)
Rivera, Marquard and LaMarca are among at least 50 Florida death row inmates who have Web pages where they display their artistry or literary talents, plead for donations and legal help, solicit pen pals, and in nearly every case, swear they are innocent.
It's a voice they've never had before. It's free to the inmates. It can be accessed by people all over the world. And it's legal.
In Florida, no death row inmate has ever seen his or her page. (Of the three women on death row, at least one has a Web page.) None of the 372 inmates on death row has any access to a computer. At most, a few inmates have small portable radios or black-and-white TVs outside their cells that get only local stations.
But inmates are allowed to write letters.
"And that's how it's done -- through the mail," said Sterling Ivey, a spokesman for the Department of Corrections. "They write letters to groups that host these sites -- mostly antideath penalty groups outside the United States. We can't do anything to prohibit them from sending mail to anyone other than victims or their families.
"It's a shame," Ivey added, "that these groups are using these Web sites to perhaps cause further conflict to the victim's families." The father of one victim wants to know what he can do to stop the practice.
But the people who set up and maintain the pages say their concern goes beyond the inmates' guilt or innocence.
They don't want to see anyone, even a convicted murderer, put to death.
Jimmy Newton was celebrating his 25th birthday and the recent birth of his son at the City Lites nightclub near Pinellas Park on Oct. 12, 1991. According to witnesses, Newton and some friends left the club at closing time. In the parking lot, they found Troy Merck, 19, and a friend leaning against one of their cars. Newton asked Merck and his friend to move.
Merck, who had come to Florida a few days earlier from North Carolina, challenged Newton to a fight. Newton, a Little League coach, refused. Witnesses said Merck then removed his shirt, grabbed a hunting knife from his car, and attacked Newton from behind. He lifted Newton's head by the hair, slit his throat and stabbed him at least a dozen times. Witnesses heard Merck tell Newton, "Guess I'm going to have to show you how to bleed," and "Happy birthday!"
As Merck and his friend left the parking lot, witnesses said Merck repeatedly boasted, "I f--- killed him" and "If I didn't kill him. I'll go back . . . find him in the hospital and finish the job."
At various points during his two trials (the first ended in a hung jury), Merck gave the thumbs-up sign to Newton's family, blew kisses to Newton's sister and made remarks about her figure. He smirked at the judge, sang country songs, and threw a temper tantrum that got him hog-tied by deputies.
The vehemence of Merck's attack and his attitude afterward were among the aggravating circumstances Pinellas-Pasco Circuit Judge Nelly Khouzam cited when she sentenced Merck to death in 1993, heeding a jury's recommendation.
After hearing Khouzam's instructions during sentencing, Merck responded, "You mean it takes 30 minutes to say this s--?"
Nothing more was heard from Merck until 1998, when his Web page appeared. On it, he claims police hid crucial evidence, that his juvenile record was improperly used against him, and he suggests that the real killer was his companion on the night of the murder.
"It was proven I wasn't the person who started the argument with the victim," Merck writes. "A man that was possibly the one who had the best and most contact with the killers was supposedly never questioned by anyone as to what he saw. Another witness who said he got a very clear look at the driver of the getaway car was never shown a photo lineup or questioned."
Merck, 30, also writes that he enjoys reading about mythology and listening to Garth Brooks. An example of his art work appears on his page. A sketch of flowers, trees and ferns.
Ron Cheek is 59. Retired from his job as a supervisor at GE, Cheek now works part-time as a bartender at a Clearwater VFW hall.
He is also Jimmy Newton's father.
He remembers Merck giving him the thumbs-up sign during the trial. And 10 years later, it still eats at him.
Cheek had heard that some death row inmates had Web pages, including the man convicted of killing his son. But he never looked.
"I think it just sucks," Cheek says from his St. Petersburg home. "I mean, come on. The criminals get all the rights. The victims get nothing. This is just disgusting."
Cheek has Internet service. He volunteers to log on to Merck's page for the first time. But before he even sees it, he wants it gone.
"What can I do about this?" he asks. "How do we stop them? If I need to talk to a Congressman, I'll do it.
"This isn't right."
In Toronto, the Canadian Coalition Against the Death Penalty maintains Web pages for about 350 death row inmates nationwide (including the 50 in Florida, which can be found at ccadp.org/florida.htm) and plans to add another 300 pages soon. Coalition leaders say they want to humanize the men and women on death row, create a permanent record in case someone is executed and later found to be innocent, and ensure that no one falls through the cracks of the justice system.
"We get a lot of angry e-mails," said Tracy Lamourie, co-founder and director of the CCADP. "But also a lot of positive comments."
The CCADP was founded in 1998 and receives no funding. "We work out of our own pockets and we're all volunteers," Lamourie said. "We do these pages in the evenings and on weekends out of our homes. We don't ask for membership and don't charge for the pages."
Lamourie said her group does not pass judgment on the inmates' claims of innocence. "We just think a lot of people don't know about executions. They think the death penalty is simply the killing of the worst of the worst. The Ted Bundys. But it's mostly the ones who had the worst lawyers. You don't see millionaires on death row.
"We're seen as being mean or insensitive to the victims and their families," Lamourie added. "All we can say is we'd have no interest if they (convicted murderers) weren't being killed. That's why we don't have Web pages for people sentenced to life."
Lamourie said nothing is posted on the death row pages that would be considered objectionable or would glorify the crime.
"I deeply apologize for any added distress or pain," Lamourie said. "I can understand how people can be angry.
"But it's not about agreeing with (the inmates) or supporting this person and what he did. It's about killing people. I'd rather see them do life in prison without parole.
"This is a human-rights issue," she said. "In other countries (where there is no death penalty), when the victims or their loved ones walk away (after a murderer has been convictedand sentenced to life without parole), they don't feel like they've gotten second-best. They feel they've gotten closure. That person is going to die in prison, and they know it.
"Killing another person is not necessary. These people are locked away forever, and society is protected. It's over."
Ron Cheek calls. He says he found the page and saw the man who killed his son. He read what Troy Merck had to say.
"This irks the s-- out of me," Cheek says. "What right does he have? He's a convicted murderer. They shouldn't have rights. End of story.
"Why isn't there a Web site where people like myself can say, 'Here's the guy's record. Judge for yourself'?"
Cheek says the Canadian death penalty group doesn't understand the magnitude of the inmates' crimes, especially the one involving his son.
"These people don't see the whole picture," he says. "They're against the death penalty, but they don't realize how heinous, brutal and unnecessary this was.
"This guy (Merck) doesn't deserve this. Look, I'm a logical-thinking guy. I know people get wrongly convicted. But in this case, there's no doubt.
"And Jimmy wasn't a violent kid. He never had a fight in his life. He was a night-shift supervisor for Wal-Mart. He was handing out cigars that night because his son was born . . .
"If they gave Merck life, he probably wouldn't live long anyway. Not someone like him. But I just don't want to take that chance.
"And then he turns around on this Web page and pulls all this horse s--.
"I just hope I live long enough to see it (Merck's execution). If they have to carry me on a stretcher, I want to be there.
"And I hope the last thing he ever sees is me standing there at the window, giving him the thumbs-up sign."
Serial killer Danny Rolling, Florida's most infamous death row inmate, doesn't have a Web site; he has not sent any material to the Canadian death penalty opponents who are posting Web sites for condemned people. But least a dozen Internet sites are devoted to Rolling and the 1990 murders of five Gainesville college students. Most are accounts of the crime and profiles of Rolling.