A Two-Part Series

The Innocence Defense 

Jan. 24, 2003

Coming out. With attor­ney Linda McDermott, Holton leaves prison. I just want to take one day at a time. I for­give everybody.” 

Story By DAVID KARP
Photos by John Pendygraft,
of the Times staff
© St. Petersburg Times
pub­lished February 92003

A lit­tle over two weeks ago, Rudolph Holton walked away from death row. This is why he spent 16 years there: Tampa police nev­er pur­sued a sus­pect accused of rap­ing the mur­der vic­tim. A jail­house snitch said Holton con­fessed, though lat­er he said he made it up to get a break in his own case. The pros­e­cu­tor told the jury a hair found on the vic­tim was Holton’s, but he could­n’t prove it. The judge refused to wait for a key defense wit­ness. To set Holton free, it would take a lawyer who was too young and too reck­less to know what she was up against.


June 24, 1986 Going in. Holton was in jail on a bur­glary charge when detec­tives ques­tioned him about the mur­der of Katrina Graddy. TAMPA — That after­noon she appeared in court, lawyer Linda McDermott was 27, two years out of law school, with no job and no prospects. She was liv­ing in a sparse­ly fur­nished apart­ment in Tampa Palms and bor­row­ing mon­ey to pay the rent.

She want­ed one thing from the judge: to rep­re­sent Rudolph Holton, who had been sen­tenced to death for killing a 17-year-old Tampa woman. McDermott believed he was innocent.

She had quit the state agency that rep­re­sents death row inmates, con­vinced it put pol­i­tics ahead of clients.

Though on her own, she told the judge she was the best attor­ney for Holton. If he did­n’t believe her, she dared him to ask the agency lawyers even the most basic facts of Holton’s case. They would­n’t know.

Her for­mer boss told the judge she was not qual­i­fied to han­dle a cap­i­tal case on her own. She meant well, but she had no job, no office.

McDermott promised she would find a way, if she had to bang on every door in Hillsborough County.”

The judge was amused; he was used to see­ing lawyers try to get out of death appeals.

Related links
State of Florida vs. Rudolph Holton
The crime scene: The state’s ver­sion and Holton’s ver­sion [2/​09/​03]

Previous cov­er­age
Delays in death row case irk gov­er­nor
Bush may order a review of the case because of a long-delayed police report and recan­ta­tions by two wit­ness­es that led to a release. [1/​28/​03]

Freed after years on death row
A man con­vict­ed of a 1986 mur­der is released; the state says it lacks enough evi­dence to retry him. [1/​25/​03]

We don’t have peo­ple fight­ing over these cas­es too often,” Circuit Judge Daniel Perry said.

Two weeks lat­er, Feb. 26, 1999, Perry ruled, the case was hers.

McDermott hauled 25 box­es of files to her apart­ment and stacked them in the din­ing room, four box­es high.

June 231986

The smell of a house fire waft­ed through the Central Park Village hous­ing project for 21/​2 hours before any­one both­ered to call it in. Firefighters rec­og­nized the white house with red trim. They had been there twice before to put out fires start­ed by crack addicts.

Using axes, they tore down the ply­wood nailed over the doors of the con­demned house. The rooms were lit­tered with news­pa­pers, butane lighters, Vaseline jars, a syringe on the win­dow sill, Schlitz Malt Liquor empties.

On the floor lay a young woman, a nylon cloth wrapped four times around her neck as if some­one had tied his shoelaces and squeezed. A fire had charred her body and burned a path into the car­pet around her.

It was ear­ly on a Monday morn­ing, June 231986.

Homicide detec­tive Sandy Noblitt can­vassed the neigh­bor­hood and quick­ly encoun­tered Big Carrie,” who lived along the alley behind the house.

Carrie Nelson said she was on her porch about 11 the night before and saw Rudolph Holton and a man she did­n’t know enter the con­demned house at 1236 E Scott St. She rec­og­nized Holton: He had bro­ken into her home four times.

Noblitt looked up Holton’s crim­i­nal record. At 33, he had been arrest­ed 25 times on 39 charges, most­ly bur­glar­ies and thefts asso­ci­at­ed with his cocaine habit.

Finding him was easy; he was in jail. He had bro­ken into a busi­ness in Ybor City that after­noon and stolen a microwave, a gold watch and stamps. They caught him walk­ing down the side­walk with the microwave.

Detective Kevin Durkin brought Holton from jail to the police sta­tion for an inter­view. Noblitt gave him some of his Winston Ultralight 100s to smoke.

Where was he Sunday night?

Linda McDermott, on Holton: He has influ­enced my life in ways he doesn’t realize.” 


Rudolph Holton, on McDermott: She was like a bud­dy, a pal, one of the guys, a lit­tle sister.”

He said he stopped in the Little Savoy, a bar on Nebraska Avenue, talked to a girl out­side named Red” and bought $20 of cocaine at the hole” in the projects. He rent­ed a room at the board­ing house behind the Red Top bar between 11 and mid­night, and slept until noon Monday.

Did any­one see him at the bar?

Holton could­n’t remem­ber names, just Red.”

What was he wearing?

A black T‑shirt and blue shorts. He’d thrown them away, which he did when his clothes got rat­ty. He bought new ones at the thrift shop next to the Tropicana restaurant.

Had he been inside the crack house?

About a week ago, but not since. Definitely not Sunday night.

Did he score drugs in the front room of the house?

He nev­er went into the front room.

The detec­tives stood to leave.

Next time you come see me,” Holton said, how bout bring­ing me a pack of Kools?”

* * *

Two days lat­er, fin­ger­prints con­firmed the stran­gled wom­an’s iden­ti­ty Her name was Katrina Graddy.

She was 17. She lived with her moth­er and her 2‑year-old, Benjamin, on Joed Court in Central Park Village. For mon­ey and drugs, she picked up men from behind the Star gas sta­tion, sev­er­al blocks up Nebraska Avenue.

The day Graddy was iden­ti­fied, the detec­tives returned to the burned house, hop­ing to find some­thing, any­thing, they had overlooked.

In the mess on the floor were emp­ty cig­a­rette packs, Marlboros, Newports and a con­tain­er of Kool Lights. They sent the Kools, and only the Kools, to be checked for fingerprints.

About an hour lat­er, the detec­tives ran into Johnny Lee Newsome, Georgia Boy,” who had helped them with infor­ma­tion on oth­er cas­es. Noblitt asked if he had seen Holton on Sunday night.

Well, yes.” Holton and Graddy were walk­ing down Scott Street together.

The detec­tives fetched Holton from jail for a sec­ond inter­view. It was 5:10 p.m. Thursday.

Again now: Was he sure he had­n’t been inside the house on Sunday?

He was sure.

They told him about Georgia Boy, how he’d seen Holton and Graddy togeth­er Sunday night.

Yeah, he’d seen Georgia Boy, but ear­li­er, around 2 p.m. And he was­n’t with Graddy. He was alone.

He said he nev­er left any­thing in the house. They told him about the Kools and the fin­ger­prints they had matched to his.

It ain’t mine. I don’t even smoke them kind of Kools.”

Okay, he said, maybe he had been there, drink­ing beer in the front room. But it was a week ago. He left two hypo­der­mic nee­dles, noth­ing else. He did not kill the girl.

The detec­tives left Holton and filled out the arrest paper­work. Holton doo­dled an abstract draw­ing; part of it had a pack of Kools melt­ing into a black face. It said, Hi boy.”

Making the arrest, police alert­ed the press, and the next morn­ing, the Tampa Tribune had a pic­ture of the detec­tives escort­ing Holton back to jail.

A coun­ty jail inmate named Flemmie Birkins asked for a phone. As a trusty, Birkins cir­cu­lat­ed through the jail with a cart of sun­dries he sold to the inmates. He said he had picked up some information.

Noblitt vis­it­ed him ear­ly the next week. Birkins said he had known Holton all his life. They had run into each oth­er at the jail clin­ic Thursday, between 5 and 5:30 p.m. Birkins asked what he was in for.

He told me that he had killed a girl, that he had stran­gled her.… That he went to the Star ser­vice sta­tion on Nebraska and got a can of gas and came back to the house and set it on fire.”

On July 9, 1986, the grand jury for Hillsborough County indict­ed Holton. The charges were arson, sex­u­al bat­tery and first-degree murder.

* * *

The pros­e­cu­tion of a drug addict for stran­gling a pros­ti­tute in a crack house nev­er made its way to the front page.

The case was assigned to Circuit Judge Harry Lee Coe III, who proud­ly wore his Hanging Harry” rep­u­ta­tion. Coe ruled that Holton qual­i­fied for a pub­lic lawyer; from a list of attor­neys accept­ing court appoint­ments, he picked Mina Morgan.

Again and again, Morgan asked Coe for more time. She was jug­gling four oth­er tri­als, one with 14 co-defen­dants. She was try­ing to track down a man known as Pine,” who she had heard might have raped Graddy.

Coe denied the requests and made clear what he thought of Holton’s sto­ry that he was sleep­ing off his cocaine at Red’s, his so-called” ali­bi. He start­ed the tri­al five months after Holton’s arrest.

The pros­e­cu­tor was Joe Episcopo, known for his flush face and the­atri­cal hand ges­tures. He had lost an elec­tion for the cir­cuit bench three months ear­li­er. A major in the U.S. Air Force Reserve, he also pros­e­cut­ed court-martials.

Episcopo showed the jury the awful pho­tos of Graddy, tied up, with third-degree burns over 85 per­cent of her body. He entered in evi­dence the pack of Kools and Holton’s fin­ger­print match. Carrie Nelson and Georgia Boy put him at the burned house. Birkins repeat­ed the confession.

Episcopo told the all-white jury that Birkins was a small-time crook, fac­ing just three years in prison, and had tes­ti­fied with­out get­ting a deal: Ladies and gen­tle­man … this is a hor­ri­ble crime that even a fel­low black inmate will not tolerate.”

Another of Episcopo’s wit­ness­es was Carl Schenck, the man police found sleep­ing in a Toyota out­side the burn­ing house. The night before, he said, he drove a hitch­hik­er from the Pinellas side of the Gandy Bridge to Central Park Village. Holton looked like the hitch­hik­er, but he was­n’t sure. Unlike Holton, the hitch­hik­er had a gold tooth.

It’s not a pos­i­tive ID,” Episcopo told the jury, but beyond a rea­son­able doubt, it looks like him.”

An FBI hair ana­lyst tes­ti­fied about a hair found in Graddy’s mouth. The hair was not long enough to link to a par­tic­u­lar sus­pect. The FBI expert could say only that it came from the pubic area of an African-American. I can­not exclude Mr. Holton,” he testified.

Episcopo told jurors to use their com­mon sense. The hair could not have come from Graddy, it must have come from Holton.

How are hairs down there going to get in her mouth?” he said. I would just defy any­body to tell me how those are her hairs, how she got them.”

He entered in evi­dence the sur­re­al images Holton drew while detec­tives ques­tioned him. Kools. Kools,” Episcopo told the jury. And you can take a look at the rest of the twist­ed mind that drew this.”

Holton did not tes­ti­fy. If he had, the jury would have learned his long crim­i­nal his­to­ry, most­ly prop­er­ty crimes, but felonies nonetheless.

In his brief defense, his lawyer called Red Clemmons Jr., who lived behind the Red Top bar. Red said Holton paid $5 for a room about 10 the night of the mur­der. The room was next to his, and he did­n’t hear Holton go out. Red’s dog, a pit bull mix, with her lit­ter of four pups, did­n’t bark all night.

Holton’s lawyer want­ed Pamela Woods to tes­ti­fy. She and Graddy, teenagers and best friends, worked togeth­er from the Star gas sta­tion the night of the mur­der. It was Woods who told the defense that Pine” raped Graddy about a week before she was murdered.

But the jury nev­er heard from Woods. Private inves­ti­ga­tors could not find her, and Coe would­n’t give Morgan more time.

What am I sup­posed to do, declare a mis­tri­al because we can’t find her?” Coe said. And we go two weeks and have anoth­er mis­tri­al, anoth­er mis­tri­al, anoth­er mis­tri­al, anoth­er mis­tri­al, anoth­er mis­tri­al, and anoth­er mis­tri­al, and anoth­er mis­tri­al, and anoth­er mis­tri­al, and anoth­er mistrial.”

The jury start­ed delib­er­at­ing the next morn­ing. Then Woods showed up, too late.

After lunch, the jury pro­nounced Holton guilty as charged. The judge want­ed to move direct­ly to the next phase, when the jury would rec­om­mend life or death. Morgan asked for a break, to col­lect her­self and calm a wit­ness, who was crying.

Well, I will deny it,” Coe said. Let’s just go on.”

That after­noon, the evi­dence was pre­sent­ed, the argu­ments made, the instruc­tions giv­en, the ver­dict reached: The jury said Holton should be put to death for the mur­der of Katrina Graddy.

Judge Coe sen­tenced him on the spot.

* * *

Birkins’ turn came two weeks lat­er. He was before Circuit Judge Donald Evans to be sen­tenced for bur­glary and grand theft. Episcopo came to court to stand up for him.

Episcopo told the judge that some­one in his office had mis­cal­cu­lat­ed Birkins’ sen­tenc­ing score­sheet. Because of the mis­take, Episcopo had told Holton’s jury that Birkins was small time and faced only three years.

Actually, he had been con­vict­ed of attempt­ed mur­der, sex­u­al assault and armed rob­bery. He had been acquit­ted of first-degree murder.

Birkins real­ly was fac­ing life — which the judge said sound­ed right.

The defen­dan­t’s back­ground total­ly jus­ti­fies him being sen­tenced to life impris­on­ment with­out the right to parole,” Evans said. You have com­mit­ted some of the most atro­cious crimes.”

I would just like to have a chance,” Birkins said.

Well, you have had many chances.”

Episcopo told the judge Birkins helped solve a hor­ri­ble homicide.”

His tes­ti­mo­ny led to a con­vic­tion in a very cir­cum­stan­tial” mur­der case, Episcopo said. Birkins’ tes­ti­mo­ny was espe­cial­ly help­ful because the pros­e­cu­tor could char­ac­ter­ize it for the jury as giv­en with­out motive to lie.

We were able to present his tes­ti­mo­ny with­out any deal, and we nev­er have made a deal,” Episcopo said. We have nev­er made any promis­es to him from the time of his depo­si­tion to just before trial.”

He sug­gest­ed five years pro­ba­tion. The defense agreed.

Evans made it clear he did­n’t like it, but he gave Birkins his probation.

A true believer

The year Rudolph Holton was sen­tenced to death, Linda McDermott turned 17, a junior at Reavis High School out­side Chicago. By the time she grad­u­at­ed law school, Holton already had spent 10 years on death row.

At age 26, McDermott sent out her first job appli­ca­tions, includ­ing one to the Capital Collateral Representative, the Florida agency that defends the condemned.

I strong­ly oppose the death penal­ty,” her appli­ca­tion said, and am con­fi­dent that my com­mit­ment would make me an excel­lent post con­vic­tion attorney.”

After she inter­viewed in Tallahassee, she fol­lowed up with a letter:

Illinois exe­cut­ed a man ear­li­er this morn­ing. This indi­vid­ual has freely admit­ted that he killed sev­er­al peo­ple so there is no doubt about his guilt. Despite the bru­tal­i­ty of the crimes and the guilt of the man, I felt repulsed by the bar­bar­i­ty of our jus­tice sys­tem. I have always desired to gain employ­ment where I could help those that faced such injustice.”

CCR was cre­at­ed in 1985, after two exe­cu­tions were stopped because the men did not have lawyers. Agency lawyers rep­re­sent­ed soci­ety’s worst and made lit­tle more than school­teach­ers. The office space, a con­vert­ed A&P gro­cery next to a Gun & Pawn shop in south Tallahassee, sym­bol­ized the total lack of prestige.

CCR offered $30,915 a year; McDermott start­ed Dec. 21996.

She had just passed the Florida Bar, and here the state was going to let her han­dle death cas­es. She was honored.

Her par­ents, British immi­grants who set­tled in the Midwest, a pipe fit­ter and a sec­re­tary at UPS, could­n’t under­stand why their youngest want­ed this work. She owed more than $110,000 on stu­dent loans at the University of Chicago and Northwestern. This job would­n’t help her finan­cial­ly, and her dad said the men on death row deserved to be there.

McDermott came to work Sunday morn­ings and quick­ly made a rep­u­ta­tion for get­ting excit­ed about the lat­est the­o­ry in anoth­er of her hope­less cases.

An over­achiev­er who missed three class­es in all of law school, her first full assign­ment was Holton’s case. The night before she drove to death row to intro­duce her­self, she hard­ly slept.

For him, she was just the next attor­ney, they came and went. A new one would get up to speed and leave for a bet­ter job. Now came McDermott.

They met in a vis­i­tors room and sat at a table bolt­ed to the floor. He was hos­tile, yelling at times.

Look. I’m a bur­glar. I’m not a murderer.”

McDermott tried to assure him, but she did­n’t know what to say. All she could man­age was:

Everything is going to be fine.”

* * *

Holton spent his days draw­ing. He had a set of col­ored pen­cils and chalk and kept a Salvador Dali art book in his cell. He favored pas­tels and col­lages of images blend­ed together.

He was up every day at 5 for break­fast and did pushups for an hour. He read law books and watched TV. He wrote to a woman from Germany who cor­re­spond­ed with death row inmates. She had vis­it­ed him, and he called her his girlfriend.

He cor­re­spond­ed with two elder­ly ladies in Tallahassee who opposed the death penal­ty and hoped reg­u­lar con­tact would help even the most iso­lat­ed per­son feel human.

His pen pals shared pic­tures and news of their chil­dren. He sent them cards for anniver­saries and Mother’s Day. He told them about his upbring­ing, how he was raised by his grand­moth­er, dropped out of high school, worked as a long­shore­man and a dish­wash­er, and got into drugs.

Months passed with no vis­i­tors. His son and daugh­ter, whom he had with his girl­friend from Middleton High School, nev­er drove up from Tampa.

He grew so hope­less that he wrote Gov. Lawton Chiles in 1996 and asked him to sign his death warrant.

* * *

In 1997, hop­ing to speed up appeals, the Legislature divid­ed CCR into three region­al offices, the Capital Collateral Regional Counsel.

To run the Tampa office, Chiles picked John Moser, a life­long pros­e­cu­tor who had nev­er han­dled a death penal­ty appeal. The year before, he had lost a run for Hillsborough state attorney.

Moser promised to end friv­o­lous claims and pro­vide an ade­quate defense with­out wast­ing tax dollars.”

McDermott and oth­ers who kept their own hours in Tallahassee found things dif­fer­ent when they were trans­ferred to Tampa. Moser want­ed them there 9 to 5. Interviews were to be done by phone; inves­ti­ga­tors need­ed writ­ten approval to con­duct an inter­view out­side the office.

Agency crit­ics said the new rules pre­vent­ed over­time abuse. Let’s just say you would have inves­ti­ga­tors who would sit dur­ing the week with their feet up all day long, and say, I have to do inves­ti­gat­ing at night,’ ” said Michael Reiter, Moser’s chief deputy.

Investigators felt ham­strung; their wit­ness­es some­times were home­less drug addicts who did­n’t keep office hours.

The old CCR would sub­poe­na all pub­lic records, which crit­ics con­sid­ered a delay­ing tac­tic. Moser direct­ed his assis­tants to cur­tail this prac­tice; he said he did not want to anger law enforce­ment and have his fund­ing cut.

McDermott thought Moser’s approach did not serve the clients. The sub­poe­nas spurred police to dis­cov­er new doc­u­ments and forced them to swear they had turned over everything.

The Tampa CCRC office divid­ed into two camps: the old guard, most­ly from Tallahassee, and Moser’s new hires.

The new group con­sid­ered McDermott too emo­tion­al­ly invest­ed in cas­es. They resent­ed being cast as vil­lains; they lit­i­gat­ed what they con­sid­ered wor­thy issues rather than fil­ing every pos­si­ble claim, for delay.

McDermott clashed with her super­vi­sor, Amy Settlemire, to the point that McDermott refused to pre­pare a brief. Settlemire thought she was out of con­trol and had McDermott tak­en off all her cases.

McDermott wrote a let­ter to one of those clients, George Porter, warn­ing that with her gone, his rep­re­sen­ta­tion would suf­fer. She did­n’t care that her let­ter reflect­ed poor­ly on her employ­er, the client came first.

In my opin­ion, your case is at a crit­i­cal point and remov­ing the attor­ney most famil­iar with the facts and argu­ments regard­ing the appeal (me) does not serve your best inter­est. Unfortunately, I can­not con­trol admin­is­tra­tive decisions.”

* * *

The first motion for a new tri­al McDermott ever filed was Holton’s. She was ter­ri­fied she would screw up.

She read and re-read the tri­al tran­script and police reports, and she vis­it­ed Holton every month. He had a good grasp of the evi­dence, and she learned more each time.

He liked that at long last, some­one was lis­ten­ing, and mailed her his sketch­es. She hung them in her office.

* * *

In November 1998, McDermott returned to Northwestern for the National Conference on Wrongful Convictions and the Death Penalty. DNA expert Barry Scheck spoke about new tech­nol­o­gy that had helped exon­er­ate dozens of people.

Could it help Holton?

Episcopo had told the jury, I would just defy any­body to tell me” how the hair found in Graddy’s mouth came from her.

With the new tech­nol­o­gy, they could find out for sure.

But test­ing car­ried a huge risk. If the hair was Holton’s, the case was over, none of the oth­er issues would mat­ter. On her next vis­it, McDermott explained the situation.

It’s not going to come back to me,” he said. It’s not my hair. I don’t know that woman.”

* * *

McDermott’s let­ter to George Porter — warn­ing that with her gone his defense would suf­fer — cir­cu­lat­ed on death row. Moser did­n’t hear about it for more than a year, until an inmate argu­ing that Moser’s office was­n’t defend­ing him effec­tive­ly read the let­ter in court.

Moser con­front­ed McDermott: What is this let­ter? Did her super­vi­sor sign off before she sent it? Why was­n’t a copy in Porter’s file?

McDermott said she cir­cu­lat­ed it like any memo, received no feed­back and put a copy in Porter’s file. She could­n’t say why it was­n’t there.

Moser want­ed to fire her, but he need­ed her. The Legislature had told the agency to move cas­es, and he had a hard time attract­ing qual­i­fied lawyers.

McDermott put out her resume and accept­ed an offer from the New York Legal Aid Society. On Jan. 13, 1999, she gave notice with­out speak­ing to a super­vi­sor. She just left a res­ig­na­tion let­ter for Moser.

I cer­tain­ly believe that, under your tenure, this agency could become a place where I would be proud to work,” she wrote. However, that place appears to be a long way off. I fear that in the mean­time many clients will suf­fer from grave mis­takes that will be made.”

Leaving the office meant leav­ing Holton; anoth­er agency lawyer would get the case. What if they weren’t ded­i­cat­ed enough?

McDermott already felt she had let Holton down for fail­ing to get a dying wit­ness’ tes­ti­mo­ny on video­tape. Now she had to tell him he would be get­ting a new lawyer. Again.

Facing him, she could­n’t do it.

She told Holton she was mov­ing to New York but would find some way to keep his case. She would go to court, she would get the judge to let her con­tin­ue as his attor­ney though she had not a clue how she would cov­er expens­es that could run $200,000.

A week after quit­ting, she real­ized her mis­take. Moving to New York made no sense; she would earn less and could­n’t afford to keep her promise. She asked Moser for her job back. He would­n’t take her.

She inter­viewed at cor­po­rate law firms back home in Chicago, telling prospec­tive employ­ers that who­ev­er hired her had to let her fin­ish her defense of a cap­i­tal case in Florida. A friend told her she was nuts. She was in no posi­tion to make demands.

* * *

Moser’s office had the heav­i­est case­load of the three CCRC branch­es, but he was­n’t about to let this case go. Not to Linda McDermott. When Judge Perry heard her motion to take Holton’s case away from Moser’s office, he sent his top assis­tants to court.

Perry, who had spent 11 years as a pub­lic defend­er, had to decide: Give the case to the ide­al­is­tic, young lawyer with no mon­ey? Or leave it with expe­ri­enced hands at a mul­ti­mil­lion-dol­lar state agency? The judge asked Holton. What did he want?

Ms. McDermott, she’s a very good attor­ney. I trust her with my life, and I have a lot of respect for her.”

Holton did not trust Moser’s office.

Any time you get peo­ple who do a good job on a death row case, you don’t want them here, just like you don’t want Ms. McDermott. You just pick peo­ple up and throw them on a case. And they are just as green as the leaves on the trees out there.

Put your­self in my place. Would you want CCR rep­re­sent­ing you? Yes or no?”

* * *

After Perry gave the case to McDermott, friends at the agency encour­aged her to apply at the Tallahassee branch.

Greg Smith ran the office. Before Gov. Chiles appoint­ed him to the CCRC, he argued for the exe­cu­tions of a dozen men, includ­ing Ted Bundy. At the agency, he had a rep­u­ta­tion for giv­ing his assis­tants room to oper­ate and for back­ing them.

The Tallahassee branch had become a refuge for McDermott’s old group. But she was too proud to go crawl­ing back. It took her about two months to accept that she had to.

Smith not only hired her, his North branch paid the expens­es of defend­ing Holton.

She is a superb lawyer,” said Smith, whom Gov. Jeb Bush lat­er chose not to reap­point. I thought the whole office and a lot of clients would benefit.”

McDermott told Smith she had nev­er put on evi­dence and could­n’t lit­i­gate Holton’s case alone. Smith lat­er agreed to hire out­side inves­ti­ga­tors and Martin McClain, a nation­al­ly known death penal­ty lawyer.

Their first task was to test the hair. At a hear­ing before Judge Perry in August 1999, pros­e­cu­tor Wayne Chalu argued that it was a delay­ing tac­tic, a wild goose chase for which there was no legal author­i­ty. Why relit­i­gate the case? Holton had been on death row 13 years.

It’s going to set a kind of prece­dent that’s going to open flood­gates for this type of motion,” Chalu said.

The judge ordered the test. A month lat­er, the results were back: The hair was not Holton’s, after all. It was Graddy’s.

– Times researcher John Martin con­tributed to this report.

Continue to Part II: The Innocence Defense