Last Dance, Last Chance

“She was a compassionate person who, to the extent that anyone can, lived by Christ’s example. Her faith sustained her.”
    He recalled an idyllic childhood when he and Eloise were small. That made her seem more real than anything the jury had heard yet.
    The next morning, Jim Elledge himself took the witness stand. He was 55, but he looked 15 years older. He was testifying for the defense, but in his case, he declared there was no defense. He looked impassively at the jury and tried to explain to them that he had no way of knowing when the “dark times” would creep up on him, although they usually happened just when things were going well for him. He spoke of rage that boiled up inside of him like a volcano erupting, explosive anger that burned like the fires of hell, even though someone watching him wouldn’t be able to sense it.
    And things had been going well for him. He was happily married, and shortly before the murder of Eloise Fitzner, he’d paid off a $3,000 debt. “I even bought a car. I don’t think anyone who knew they were going to be in trouble would go out and make all those payments and buy a new car.”
    The jurors looked mystified. Was Elledge suddenly denying that he was guilty? He sat in the witness chair, his expression calm, if dour.
    “There’s no doubt in my mind,” he said softly, but with profound conviction, “that there is a very wicked part of me. And this wicked part of me needs to die.”
    Final arguments began, and both Bill Jaquette and Deputy Prosecutor Mark Roe spoke of the need for Jim Elledge to be executed. It was an almost unheard-of situation, and it was difficult to tell which of the two brought up the most damning information from Elledge’s past.
    Jaquette was personally against the death penalty, but he was obeying his client’s instructions to fight to get him the death penalty.
    “If you are worried that you might be assisting my client in suicide, don’t be. You won’t be taking the law into your own hands. You will be obeying the law.”
    It was the first and only time in Jaquette’s career that he had implored a jury not to show leniency for his client.
    Roe spoke of Eloise’s pain and fear as she lay on her back, bound and gagged, helpless to fight as Elledge cut off her airway.
    Deputy Prosecutor John Adcock, the co-prosecutor, urged the jurors to remember Eloise and the brutal way she had perished at the defendant’s hands.
    When both the prosecutors and the defense attorney were finished, Jim Elledge thanked them all and hugged Bill Jaquette.
    “I feel Mr. Jaquette has done an excellent job,” he said. “I think the prosecutor’s office has done an excellent job, too.”
    It took only 90 minutes for the jurors to return with a verdict. The nine men and three women gave Jim Elledge what he wanted. Death.
    But it would not be soon. In death penalty cases, it is mandatory that the Washington State Supreme Court review the case. On July 5, 2001, the high court agreed that Jim Elledge had waived his right to appeal “knowingly, voluntarily, and intelligently.”
    Within a few weeks, the American Civil Liberties Union and the Catholic Archdiocese filed a clemency petition with the state Clemency and Pardons Board. They insisted that the jury might have voted differently if they had been told about Jim Elledge’s miserable childhood or if they had known that he had once helped foil a prison escape and saved a guard.
    On August 6, the Clemency Board voted three to two to recommend that Governor Gary Locke allow the execution to proceed. On August 17, Locke acted on their recommendation.
    James Elledge’s execution date was set for August 28, 2001.
    There would be no delays. Bill Hubbard, the former Lynnwood City Council member who had once shared his apartment with Jim Elledge for a few months, lived in Kansas City in 2001. He left his telephone number at the prison in Walla Walla, just in case Jim wanted to call him collect. A week before August 28, Jim did call him. He declared his continuing faith and said he knew his death alone would not make up for killing Eloise.
    He had something more to confess, too, so that he would go to his death with a clear conscience. “He said the $400 I thought I lost years ago wasn’t lost; he had taken it,” Hubbard said. “He was sorry.”
     
    On Monday night, August 27, 100 anti–death penalty demonstrators began to gather outside the prison in Walla Walla, holding signs that said, “Execute