Hundreds of homicides unsolved in Bridgeport

By Tom Cleary Connecticut Post BRIDGEPORT, Conn. (AP) -- Star Beauregard won't let her son be forgotten. She doesn't want his case to become just another file stacked in a drawer in the Bridgeport Police Department Detective Bureau, along with the more than 350 open homicide cases that remain unsolved since 1978, when records were first kept by the city police. Beauregard's 24-year-old son, Juan Marcano, was shot to death at the bottom of a stairway at the Charles F. Greene Homes housing project after a dispute with two men. That shooting happened in 2007. Police have chased leads, but no witnesses have come forward. She calls the detective bureau frequently, but often there is no new information to be had. Marcano is one of 102 homicide victims in the city since 2007, according to police statistics. Of those victims, 47 cases, or 46 percent, remain unsolved. During the 1980s and 1990s, the city averaged more than 45 homicides per year and around 250 remain open. Neither the city, nor the state or federal authorities kept accurate homicide records prior to 1978, so it's not known how many cases before that year remain unsolved. Bridgeport's closure rate of 53 percent for homicide cases since 2007 is on par with or better than the state's other major cities, New Haven and Hartford, according to state and local crime statistics. But that doesn't make the wait for justice any easier for the family and friends of victims. "With every homicide I feel like my son's case is being pushed further and further back," Beauregard said. "I just want closure." Experts and police say most crimes will be solved within the first 48 or 72 hours. But if leads dry up and there is little evidence, the trail to the killer grows cold. The chief obstacle to solving crimes include a lack of eyewitnesses willing to come forward, a backup in the state crime lab that is one of the worst in the country, an overworked detective squad and lack of the most updated equipment. The 47 homicides that have occurred since 2007 have a lot in common. The method used to kill is often the same. And many of the unsolved homicides occurred in the same neighborhoods. And the victims are similar. All but three of the victims are black or Hispanic. Their ages range from 14 to 49, but the average age is 29. Most of the victims are in their twenties. The majority of the cases that remain unsolved involve guns. Two of the victims were stabbed to death and two were beaten. Many of the unsolved homicides have occurred in the city's housing projects. There are seven unsolved cases in Marina Village alone. "A lot of times you go into a housing project, where a lot of people live and a lot of that activity happens and no one will say anything," said Det. Heitor Teixeira, who has worked for the department for more than 20 years. "It's sad because you live in the neighborhood; you see these things going on. If you see a guy behind a gun, tell us who he is, pick up the phone. The guy with the gun might end up shooting you or one of your kids." Police say some cases are open and shut, like those related to domestic violence. But experts and city detectives agree it's much tougher to solve crimes involving gangs and drugs. Capt. James Viadero, who oversees the city's detectives, said involvement from family and friends is often essential to an old case being solved. "If you get a family that's persistent, that helps you immensely," Viadero said. "You have someone out there in the community who is your eyes and ears, with a vested interest." He said family members and friends can often help direct them toward witnesses. When Marcano was shot in 2007, police and Beauregard pleaded for witnesses to come forward. Bullets pierced Marcano's back as he tried to fight his way past a man who confronted him for an unknown reason, police said. The shooter is believed to be a second man who came down the stairs while Marcano was scuffling with the confronter. Beauregard said her son -- who lived on Park Avenue, worked at Staples in Fairfield and had two children -- was visiting a woman in the Green Homes housing complex. His body was later found there, at the base of one of the five buildings. The shooting happened shortly after midnight on Feb. 27 while several people were still awake and outside the apartments. Several of those people flocked to the scene as police arrived. No one came forward with information, Beauregard said. But last year there was a glimmer of hope in solving the case. Prison officials intercepted a letter that revealed a person who may be Marcano's killer. State law allows guards to search mail. Beauregard said she learned police suspected a city man of the shooting. When the friend of the man, who was in prison at the time, learned his friend was being targeted, he wrote the letter to a different friend admitting his participation in the crime and also revealing the name of the other man who was involved. He wrote that he wanted to make sure his friend didn't get busted for something he did. Police said they investigated the letter, but because the man wouldn't admit to the killing and no witnesses could confirm the story told in the intercepted mail, they couldn't press charges. Gloristine Thomas, 65, whose son Greg was killed just hours into New Year's Day 2012, hopes that by keeping in contact with the police department, she'll learn of new information about who killed her son. But so far the case isn't close to being solved. "Each day that goes by, I become more angry, and more frustrated," said Thomas. In March, Anthony Smith, 32, a Housatonic Community College student and former drug dealer, was shot to death behind a vacant Iranistan Avenue home. The case remains unsolved and Smith's former girlfriend, who asked that her name not be used, hopes Smith's killer won't be free for long. "I want to know why, for what reason did he get killed," the woman said. "He was motivated to do better for himself and was finally on the right path when it happened." The woman said Smith was trying to stay away from the street life and something from his past may have come back to haunt him. She said his old friends, still dealing drugs, were jealous of the life he was trying to make for himself and his young son. "He didn't deserve it," she said. "He tried to be friendly with everyone, he was amazing. He said he was never going to go back to the streets." Homicide investigators often depend on witnesses to tell them what happened. In some cases, the crime is caught on tape. That happens more commonly now as the use of private surveillance systems have increased. But often the only way to find out what actually happened is to talk to someone who saw it. But in Bridgeport, many are afraid to talk to the police, fearing the label of a snitch. John Smriga, the state's attorney for the Fairfield judicial district, has called it the "Number 1 impediment to solving unsolved homicides in Bridgeport." Police say the danger is real. "If you really look at it, what's the benefit?" said Joe Pollini, a professor at the John Jay College of Criminal Justice and former New York City Police detective. "Unless it's someone that is close to you, what's the purpose? You are scrutinized as someone who is giving info, then you go through endless statements, court hearings, grand jury, a trial. It opens you up to potential danger." Det. John Tenn, a 14-year-veteran, said people need to help the police if they want to keep their neighborhood safe. "We do have killers who walk amongst us every day," Tenn said. "And I guarantee in some neighborhoods everyone is wondering 'Why isn't that person in jail for doing that killing?' Well, he's not in jail because you don't tell the police he did the killing." Tenn said those who see a homicide and don't tell police can be just as responsible as the killer, "because you let them live out there to kill again." Anthony Smith's ex-girlfriend wanted to speak out about his death. She wants to see justice. But with his killer still on the loose, she is fearful. "People are afraid," she said. "If a killer can do it once and get away with it, what is going to stop them from doing it again?" Bridgeport police say the department will take measures to protect witnesses. While witnesses are afraid of getting hurt if they speak up about what they know, police say the advantage to coming forward is that they may be protecting their own life because they could be next. Viadero said it often helps when family members urge witnesses to come forward. He said witnesses will likely keep detectives at an arm's length, but it's tougher to speak to a grieving mother and tell the mother they won't help. Greg Thomas' mother, Gloristine, hopes that will be the case with her son's homicide investigation. Thomas said she hasn't had a good night's sleep since her son, Greg, was gunned down. The 26-year-old aspiring musician banged on her door and then collapsed at her feet, dying, from a gunshot wound to the torso. Greg Thomas, who was about to release his first self-made CD project, was with his girlfriend the night he died, his mother said. "She knows who did it," Thomas said. "I've told the cops that, but they haven't been able to do anything with it. She is cooperating, but only saying what she wants them to know." In many people's minds, a homicide investigation goes somewhat like what is seen on TV, on CSI or NCIS or Law & Order. A crime happens, police investigate the scene, forensic testing is completed and the perpetrator is arrested. All is neatly wrapped up in 60 minutes. "It's not realistic," Pollini said. "It takes time and information to build up a case. There usually isn't a smoking gun." In Bridgeport, the crime scene technicians do the best they can with the tools given to them, police say. But the high-tech gadgets and toys shown on TV crime dramas aren't typically available because of budget constraints. Adding to the problem is a major backlog at the state's crime lab, which handles forensic testing for all of Connecticut's cities and towns. "Our lab, it's not like you call them up and next week they'll give you results," cold case said Teixeira, the veteran Bridgeport police detective. "It waits, it sits. By that time we've either forgotten about it or they are still waiting." He said it sometimes takes up to a year for results to come in. Often city homicide cases end up in the same line as smaller cases such as burglaries in smaller towns, Teixeira said. But crime lab officials said homicide cases do get priority. It can take between three to 18 months for tests in a homicide to be completed, lab officials said. Currently, 20 homicides are being worked on. With an increase in the amount of evidence sent to the lab and no additional staffing, the backlog has become one of the worst in the country, state officials have said. In mid-2006 there were less than 250 DNA cases that hadn't been started at the lab. That jumped to nearly 3,900 in 2011. Meanwhile, the lab has also fallen behind on other key evidence testing, including nearly 1,700 firearms cases and 1,400 latent fingerprinting cases. "Currently we have approximately 5,000 cases in DNA, and the analysts are processing approximately 400 cases," said Maj. William R. Podgorski, the lab's commanding officer. "The major reason for the rise in DNA submissions is the CSI effect and greater reliance by law enforcement in utilizing DNA. We have seen reductions in the backlog latent prints, however firearms backlogs continue to rise." Podgorski said a rationing plan was put in place in January to ensure the lab focuses its efforts on the most serious cases. "As result, we have had 806 cases year to date. During the same period last year we had 1,427 case submissions; this is a 44 percent reduction." He said new personnel will be joining the lab in the new fiscal year to help reduce the delay. The lab also works closely with police departments and prosecutors on cold cases. "If investigators develop new evidence, leads, and theories we will always honor these requests for forensic exams," Podgorski said. "At any one time we are processing evidence for approximately five cold cases." Despite the impediments detectives face, unsolved homicides do get solved. Witnesses come forward. Evidence is finally returned from the state lab. A gun used in one homicide turns up in another investigation Or, most frequently, someone who saw the crime or was involved in it gets arrested on a separate charge and decides to talk. "I don't consider them cold cases," said Teixeira. "I think the concept of cold cases to a lot of people is that they've been languishing in some dusty building somewhere and somebody pulls it out." In reality, that's often not the case, said Teixeira, who makes up a two-man major crimes/special investigations unit with Det. Robert Sherback. Many of the investigations Teixeira and Sherback conduct are on homicides that are not that old, sometimes they may have even happened within a year. When Teixeira pulls a case from a sergeant's drawer, he reinvestigates the case as if he's looking at it for the first time, he said. He reads all the statements and reports, he re-interviews witnesses and he follows leads that for whatever reason were never developed. "Sometimes being cold, a lot of the heat and the pressure is off," Teixeira said. "People are more willing to talk than they were when the guy who did it is looking out the window, more willing to talk now than they were in the past. Sometimes it goes somewhere, sometimes it doesn't." DNA testing and other forensics can also help lead to an arrest. Facing a prison sentence, the person arrested often chooses to talk about what they know. "They are behind the eight ball so to speak," Teixeira said. "Now they want to talk, they say, 'I was there, or I heard about it from someone.' People who wouldn't ordinarily give us the time of day will actually give us information." At times, police push the envelope by rounding up a group of people and pressing them for information. Earlier this month, weeks after Kaqwan Glenn was shot to death in the Trumbull Gardens housing complex in the North End, federal and local authorities swept through the area and made eight arrests, hoping to find out information about the shooting. Pollini, the John Jay professor, said federal prosecutors can turn the case into a conspiracy and instead of a one- or two-year prison sentence a gang member would be willing to take, they instead face 20 years or more behind bars. "When you lock up everyone collectively, they start racing down to the U.S. Attorney to make a deal as quick as possible," Pollini said. The strategy does work. Earlier this month, detectives solved the 2006 homicide of Jermaine Reese in the East End, arresting 34-year-old city resident Travis Satawhite after a witness came forward. In 2006, the city's cold case unit cracked one of its most well known homicides when Emanuel Lovell Webb, the "East End Killer," was charged with killing four women in the early 1990s. The crack in the case came when in 2003, 10 years after the women were killed, when a DNA hit came back from the state lab, directing Teixeira and Sherback toward Webb, who was in prison in Georgia. His DNA was in the federal system because of his Georgia arrest for vehicle theft and involuntary manslaughter. When the detectives connected Webb to two crimes, they re-examined all cases involving women killed in the city during the time Webb lived here. Two more cases were uncovered. Webb was convicted of the four killings. Some cases can languish for years, police said, but there will always be some hope. "At some point (the investigation) slows down," said Viadero. "But you don't forget about it. You never give up on a case." Published: Mon, Jun 11, 2012