Sunday Observer

OHIO: "I'm Angry & Innocent" Brit's 16 yrs on US DR

 the 16-year hell of Death Row Briton Backed by Amnesty, Kenny Richey wants to prove he's no child killer

 The rolls of razor wire on Mansfield Correctional Institution's perimeter fence cast jagged shadows in the late morning sun. From the car-park, Jim Richey points out the block in which the state of Ohio's 200 death row prisoners are held. He has driven 3,000 miles to visit his son, Kenny, who's been on death row since 1986 for an arson attack which left a 2-year-old girl dead. 'The area beyond the razor wire is known as the death zone,' he explains.

 'Guards have the right immediately to fire on anyone in there and fire with intent to kill.' Jim Richey, a slight, softly-spoken man in his sixties, has just emerged from visiting his son for the first time in 2 years. He's visibly shaken. 'Seeing your boy on death row is like hell itself,' he says. For 16 years I have never been able to touch him. Every time I visit, it's in a small cubicle, with a plate glass window between us.'

 When Jim Richey tells me with certainty that Kenny is 'going to get out' after his latest appeal - a ruling from the Sixth Circuit Court of Appeals in Cincinnati, Ohio, is due in January - it is easy to dismiss this as a father's blind faith. But he is in a unique position. Back in his home state of Washington, his eldest son, Thomas, is serving a 65-year sentence for murder. 'There's no doubt whatsoever that Thomas is guilty,' admits Jim. 'He was on acid and shot 2 people execution-style in the way he was taught in the army. One of them died. He got a life sentence for it. But Kenny didn't murder anybody and he's paying the full penalty.'

 Kenny Richey grew up in Edinburgh but when his parents divorced, he decided to move to the US with his American father. In his early twenties, with a brief marriage and spell in the marines behind him, Richey was living in government-subsidised housing in the small town of Columbus Grove, Ohio. He describes himself as 'wild man' and a 'crazy head' in those days. He was regularly drunk and getting into fights. On the night of 30 June 1986, prosecutors claim Richey, in a drunken fury, set fire to an apartment to kill his ex-girlfriend who was sleeping with her new lover in the apartment below.

 A 2-year-old girl - Cynthia Collins - died in the blaze. Richey, the only suspect, was arrested and charged with arson, aggravated murder and child endangerment. The following morning, I return to the prison to meet Richey.

 On arrival, I am frisked and go through an airport-style metal detector. 'Any knives, guns, hand-grenades, rocket-launchers, marijuana cigarettes?' asks a guard, one of 500 security staff overseeing a total of 2,000 inmates. I think he's joking about the rocket-launcher but he isn't. I wait for Richey in a small room. After a few minutes he's led in wearing shackles around his wrists and ankles. His walk is awkward and painful.

 He is wearing a prison-issue white T shirt and dark trousers. His complexion is pale and his red hair has been shaved close. Despite 20 years in America he has retained, as if through sheer will-power, a Scottish accent.

 Almost immediately it is clear he is not an easy character. He is pumped up and talking very loudly. When I ask him not to shout due to the sensitivity of the microphone being used to record the interview for radio, he takes offence. 'Do you want an interview?' he snarls. He repeats the question. Of course I do, I say. 'Okay then, leave me alone.' After that he is more reflective and sombre. He has had two cell-mates in the past but prefers being on his own. 'I'm not the easiest person in the world to get along with,' he admits. 'I get very agitated at times. I have severe mood-swings.

 I've been here for nearly 17 years and I'm not the same person any more. I've changed a great deal. I'm full of hostility and rage. I'm extremely bitter. I shouldn't be here but I am. After all this time it builds up on you till you're about ready to explode. At times I've felt like taking my own life.

 Getting it over with. I'm tired of the courts dragging it out. I'm not 21 any more, I'm 38. I've lost most of my life.'

 9 years ago, Richey came within an hour of the electric chair - use of which has since been abolished by the state of Ohio and replaced by lethal injection. He had written his farewell letters. His head and legs had been shaved in preparation. But he was given a last-minute reprieve. 'I was ready to go,' recalls Richey with a slight shudder. 'I'd said my goodbyes, told my mum I loved her. I was ready.' The case against Richey ran that he had motive to start the fire: revenge on his ex-girlfriend.

 He had the means: access to a supply of gasoline and paint-thinner from a nearby greenhouse. And the opportunity: the flat was unlocked and the mother of the 2-year-old girl had gone out with her boyfriend, leaving the child home alone. There were also witnesses who testified that Richey had vowed to burn the building that night. And most damningly, a smoke detector had been disabled - evidence which earned him the death penalty.

 For his part, Richey claims to have no idea how the fire started.

 'Someone probably dropped a cigarette down the back of the sofa,' he says. 'I was extremely drunk, I was on drugs too. And my right hand was broken, it was in a half cast and a sling. Yet the prosecution claimed that I carried a can of petrol and a can of paint thinner from a hundred yards away, through a field, up onto a tall shed, jumped onto a balcony and spread this stuff around without making a sound or getting a drop on me... And disposed of the cans too. Amazing... I'm Superman! I'd certainly have to be.'

 Boston-based attorney Ken Parsigian has been working on Richey's case for nearly 10 years as it has inched its way through America's labyrinthine appeals system. He did not defend him at trial and blames his client's state-appointed lawyer at the time, William Kluge, for making a series of blunders. A prosecution expert claimed to have found traces of gasoline and paint-thinner on a carpet from the burnt-out apartment. Crucially, says Parsigian, Kluge failed to find a competent expert to counter.

 Parsigian has hired leading scientists who examined the state's test and concluded there was no evidence of arson. Kluge, according to Parsigian, had evidence that the toddler, Cynthia Collins, had previously started two fires and she was described by one of the prosecution witnesses as having a fascination with matches. Kluge chose not to present this evidence to the court 'because it would be "blaming" the little girl'.

 It was a similar story with the disabled smoke detector. A witness told Kluge that the child's mother regularly detached it because it went off when she cooked. Again, he chose not to present this evidence to the court as it would be 'trying the victim'. 'It's unbelievable that we can consider executing somebody,' says Parsigian, 'when we know all this today.

 'Amnesty International describes Kenny Richey's case as 'the most compelling case of innocence we have come across on death row'. But Richey certainly didn't do himself any favours. Before the trial he threatened to kill then assistant prosecutor, Randolph Bassinger, saying the official was 'out to get him'. Today he quickly admits it: 'Aye, I threatened him. I told him I would cut his throat,' he says without missing a beat. 'And I was serious. The man was after me.' Does he concede it was bad mistake? 'No, I don't like the man.' I ask him what he would say to Bassinger - who is now a judge - if he was here now? 'I am going to cut your throat!' he shouts before exploding into laughter. 'No, I'm joking...' He appears to give it some thought.

 'What would I say? I dunno... I would love to put my hands around his neck and strangle 17 years out of his arse.' This time he isn't laughing.