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A city faces its deadly reputation

Five months into the year, there have already been 66 homicides in Jacksonville. What do you do when your murder rate tops the state?

By TAMARA LUSH
Published May 28, 2006

JACKSONVILLE — Shenice Holmes had finished reading one book and had started on the second when she was shot and killed.

Shenice, who was 13, was lying on her bed on May 13 when the stray bullet pierced the window, a pillow and finally, her chest. Witnesses said two men had a shootout in the parking lot of the apartment complex, then fled.

The next morning, Sheriff John Rutherford awoke. It was Mother’s Day, and he had planned to take his mom to lunch. Instead, he drove to the city’s western edge to comfort Shenice’s mother.

Rutherford discovered that Shenice was an honor roll student. She had encouraged her mom to save to buy a house. She was never in trouble and spent her last day alive at a bookstore.

She was also the 61st person killed in Jacksonville since Jan. 1.

“The epitome of the senseless murders we’re seeing this year,” he thought to himself.

Even before Shenice’s killing, Rutherford knew he needed to do something about the city’s skyrocketing murder rate. It was all he had thought about, ever since 13 people were killed in January alone.

Coincidentally, and not because of Shenice’s murder, he had scheduled a news conference on the city’s violence the next day, one that would announce a partnership between his office and federal law enforcement.

“I don’t want another murder to occur here in Jacksonville,” he told the local newspaper on May 18.

That day, five days after Shenice’s death, Jacksonville logged its 65th homicide. Another followed this weekend.

*** 

Nobody is sure why there are so many killings in Jacksonville. There are a lot of theories — poverty, unemployment, illiteracy, drugs, easy access to guns — but nothing concrete.

What is certain is this: People are starting to get nervous, and Rutherford knows it.

Jacksonville’s slogan is “The Bold New City of the South.” It wants to be known as the city that pulled off a great Super Bowl in 2005. It wants to be hip, family friendly, on the move.

It does not want to be Florida’s Murder Capital, but that’s exactly what it is.

“How is it that Jacksonville has been No. 1 or No. 2 in murders in the state for the last 16 years?” wonders Rutherford. “There’s something here that doesn’t make sense to me.”

Rutherford is charged with not only solving these murders, but fighting the growing perception that Jacksonville is a violent city.

He is quick to point out that while there have been 66 homicides, only 51 have been classified as criminal murders. The rest have been incidents where people legally shot an intruder, accidentally shot a family member or police shot a suspect.

He is quick to point out that since 2000, the number of all violent crimes has decreased nearly 20 percent. It’s only murders that are on the rise .

He is quick to point out that many of this year’s murders have been spontaneous, aggressive incidents that his deputies probably couldn’t have prevented.

Not everyone is as quick to accept those explanations.

State Attorney Harry Shorestein is the county’s other top lawman.

Shorestein says that if you look at all violent crime since 2003 — not just murders — Jacksonville’s per-capita crime rate is greater than that of Tampa. Or Miami. Or New York. During that  period, the crime rate of those three cities has plummeted, while Jacksonville’s has held steady.

“We can all agree on the root causes of crime: poverty, drugs, teen pregnancy,” said Shorestein. “Jacksonville has all those root problems. But Tampa has them, Miami has them.”

The two men agree on one thing: The city can’t solve this streak of murders by arrests alone.

“I could hire 200 more officers, but I could not stop those murders from occurring,” Rutherford said. “We can’t fix all the social problems."

“I think a lot of this is a battle between good and evil. The Lord’s work gets done through people, and that’s what I’m doing.”

***

One week after Shenice’s murder, Rutherford found himself in the city’s oldest African-American neighborhood in the northwest section of the city. It’s a mixture of rundown bungalows filled with crack addicts, and tidy concrete ranches owned by proud retirees.

Every couple of weeks, Rutherford and some of the agency’s top brass walk around the city’s dicier neighborhoods. It’s a way to meet folks and promote the agency’s community groups. Rutherford has walked a lot lately; not only is Jacksonville Florida’s largest city geographically, but the city’s murders aren’t confined to just one area.

Rutherford walks fast through the neighborhood, eager to meet as many people as possible in two hours. He wants to get home at a reasonable hour to spend time with his 2-month-old granddaughter.

Leaning over chain-link fences, Rutherford fixes his blue eyes on the residents who have stopped to chat. He tells people about Operation Safe Streets, the initiative that was unveiled the day after Shenice died.

He repeats the same thing, over and over: Gun crimes will bring harsher prison sentences. The state attorney has dedicated a special prosecutor to these cases. Some federal agencies are sending help.

Rutherford also tells people that 50 percent of the people killed in the city this year are black (blacks make up 30 percent of the population); he is heartened that Jacksonville’s black pastors have taken such an active role in trying to reduce the violence.

Many folks listen to Rutherford, and many mention Shenice’s killing. They don’t live far from where Shenice was shot, and her death has concerned many in the neighborhood.

“That made you feel like you can’t be in your room safe,” said Ronesha Pulins, a 13-year-old who accepted a silver sheriff’s sticker from Rutherford with a big grin. She also took a sticker for her 1-year-old son and affixed it to his little chest.

“We hear gunshots every night,” Pulins added, then pointed to a painfully thin woman walking down the street.

“Crack addict,” Pulins whispered.

Nearly everyone in the neighborhood tells Rutherford the same thing: Gunshots are as common as crickets chirping and drug dealers stalk the sidewalks nightly.

When the walk ended, Rutherford asked the deputies who normally patrol those streets to gather around him.

“You know better than we do what we’re battling,” the sheriff told the group. “It’s not just flesh and blood.”

In 1977, when Rutherford was a 22-year-old rookie officer, he went to a call at a tiny apartment. A man had just shot himself and lay bleeding on a bed. The man’s wife and eight children screamed and wailed. Pure chaos.

Rutherford tried to stop the bleeding, but couldn’t. The man died, practically in Rutherford’s arms.

Rutherford looked around the apartment. He saw a shirt draped over a chair; on it was a law enforcement badge. The suicidal man was a retired cop.

“I’d seen death before,” said Rutherford. “But I’d never had my hands on someone who was dying, to hear that death rattle and shake. The smell of blood got into my system, every time I closed my eyes I could smell it.”

Rutherford didn’t sleep well for weeks. Seeing a man die made Rutherford question his own mortality. He wanted to know what would happen after death. He wanted proof — “beyond a reasonable doubt” — that he would go to Heaven.

Rutherford turned to the Bible. Started with Genesis and kept on going. One year later, on May 28, 1978, he accepted Jesus Christ as his savior, because, as Rutherford put it, “Being a good person wasn’t enough.”

He read that Bible cover to cover. Twice. He has carried the same Bible in every police car he has ever driven. Shortly after his salvation, Rutherford’s career took off. Maybe it was because he never looked at being an officer as work.

“From that point on, my job became a calling,” he said.

He supervised burglary detectives and he prayed that burglaries would decrease. He was promoted to head the county jail and he prayed for the rehabilitation of the inmates. And in 2003, when he was elected sheriff, he prayed for the safety of the whole city.

That year, there were 92 murders.

And 104 the next year.

***

If the killing this year continues at the same pace, Rutherford projects a total of 138 murders, deadlier even than 1991 when 128 people died at the height of the city’s crack epidemic.

Jacksonville’s mayor prefers not to dwell on this prospect.

Last week, John Peyton urged 600 business leaders to ignore local news reports about the city’s crime.

“Let’s not lose sight of the great things happening here,” he said.

For the past few weeks, Rutherford has also tried to put a positive spin on the numbers.

“There’s this hysteria almost, that’s been created,” he says.

On any given day, Rutherford looks at his handheld computer to find out where he’s scheduled to speak next. The Jacksonville Hotel and Motel Owners Association, the Shriners, the City Council — all want to hear his opinion on the killings.

His message is the same for everyone. Adults should mentor kids. Parents should be more vigilant. Churches and pastors should take a more active role in the community.

Overall crime is down, he says. Jacksonville isn’t as unsafe as everyone says.

Tuesday night at the City Council meeting, council member Pat Lockett-Felder stands up, visibly troubled.

“That 13-year-old baby,” she says, referring to Shenice. “That was the last straw.”

The audience applauds.

Rutherford nods. He mentions all the good programs he has started, the ones called “study circles,” “advisory councils” and “dialogues to action.”

“I’m tired of studying,” Lockett-Felder says.

A couple of City Council members pledge to pay for increased patrols, almost unheard of in the world of law enforcement budgets.

“If you need more officers, we’ll get you more officers,” said council member Art Shad.

Finished with the council, Rutherford races over to the Young Republicans Club. He’s 45 minutes late, but he goes anyway.

He needs to reassure them that Jacksonville is safe.

There hasn’t been a murder in Jacksonville for more than a week.

Times researcher Caryn Baird contributed to this report. Tamara Lush can be reached at lush@sptimes.com or (727) 893-8612.

[Last modified May 28, 2006, 22:04:52]