closeup, dark, no people
I still remember getting the call that hot July day in 1997. A quadruple murder means editors need all hands on deck. That was the first time I heard Joseph Corcoran’s name.
I was a cub reporter with only a few years under my belt, trying to find family, friends and neighbors to talk about Corcoran and his four victims. I had no idea that one way or another I would cover the case through its entirety — over 27 years.
My roommates and I talked about how young he looked — and how, if we’d seen the 20-something at a Fort Wayne bar, we would have thought nothing of chatting with him.
But beneath the surface, Corcoran was clearly not all there. Now, I’m not a lawyer or a psychiatrist but something was wrong inside him.
When Corcoran’s case went to trial, I was the Fort Wayne Journal Gazette’s court reporter. I remember how frustrated his attorneys were that he wouldn’t plead guilty — not unless his vocal chords could be severed.
During jury selection they admitted their client’s guilt immediately. After all, Corcoran called the police and turned himself in after he shot the four men, one of whom was his brother and another who was his sister’s fiancé.
That meant the guilt phase of the trial was actually pretty anticlimactic. But the sentencing phase was full of emotional testimony and mental health evaluations.
I still recall how the room gasped a little when the judge read a question that the astute jury sent out: why didn’t Corcoran’s parents testify on his behalf? Of course, she couldn’t answer it. But the reason was because they were dead. And though acquitted, reports since then show he likely killed them.
I interviewed the jury foreman at the conclusion of the trial and he said the judge shared that detail with the jury privately after.
James Cullen told me then, “A tremendous amount of relief was shared by all. Not only did we do the right thing, but we did the right thing in spades.”
Through the process
The next few years I would cover various appeals in Corcoran’s case.
He announced moments after he was sentenced he didn’t want to appeal. And honestly he was mostly consistent on that over the next two two decades.
While Corcoran’s guilt has never been in question, I do wonder whether a short delay for a competency exam would have been worth it. Two members of the Indiana Supreme Court also wanted that, but their colleagues denied the stay.
It doesn’t matter now. Corcoran took his last breath early Wednesday morning after a lethal dose of pentobarbital was administered.
I covered the case from start to finish in various capacities — a rarity in journalism. And I am glad, in the end, that Corcoran allowed Capital Chronicle Senior Reporter Casey Smith to be a witness as the death warrant was carried out.
Impartial witnesses are key to public confidence in the system. We still have lots of questions and there will be time to evaluate the process in the coming days. Meanwhile, Attorney General Todd Rokita has already sought a date to execute another killer: Benjamin Ritchie.
And it appears at least one bill will be filed to repeal the death penalty, so a discussion in the legislature is a possibility.
Remember the victims
The only regret I have is not being able to speak with more family of the four men who lost their lives in this final chapter. Their grief and pain are unimaginable, and I understand their choice to remain quiet. But I would have loved to share more about their lives and personalities as the execution drew close.
Pamela Reams, mother of victim Timothy G. Bricker, delivered a speech rife with sorrow and despair during his sentencing in 1999. She recalled that she was tent-camping in Michigan when two state troopers called her name in the darkness to tell her something was “very, very wrong.”
Reams begged Corcoran to explain it all and recounted how she prayed countless times for him to walk in the room and plead guilty. Then she handed Corcoran a book — a shiny black Bible with his name inscribed in gold lettering. She said that the answer was within the binding, and that if she doesn’t see him in heaven, “I will know you didn’t take the time to read it.”
I don’t know if Corcoran did read that book, but he died with his reverend by his side.
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