Jardine: Deadly Routine

It's convenient to blame a judge who lets a man, convicted of domestic violence, have two months of freedom before reporting for his 60-day county jail term.

It's easy to bash the prosecutor who accepted that arrangement as part of the plea agreement.

It's popular to rattle sabers and claim the system failed 26-year-old Katherine Voelker of Waterford, who police say was stabbed to death by her former boyfriend, 38-year-old Erick John Vogel, as their two small children watched. This happened last week in a McHenry Avenue motel, where somehow he found her in hiding.

But considering the circumstances of the case, could the killing have been stopped?

"The only person who can prevent it is the abuser," said Belinda Rolicheck, executive director of the Haven Women's Center in Modesto, where Voelker and her children holed up for a month before moving on to another victims program. "He's the only person who could stop what he's doing."

"It sounds like he was hellbent on going after her," Stanislaus County Probation Chief Jerry Powers said.

Therein lies the tragedy, or at least a part of it: Voelker was in the minority among women who are domestic violence victims. She'd had enough of an abusive mate. She sought help to escape him.

Far too often, victims stay in abusive relationships, controlled and terrorized for years. The abuse escalates over time before an arrest is ever made. Then, the black eyes, bruises and physical pain from the beatings fade, replaced by the fear of what might happen if she testifies against a man who has been so brutal and controlling.

"Victims become uncooperative with us in virtually every case," said Stanislaus County District Attorney Birgit Fladager, who prosecuted domestic violence cases here as a deputy district attorney in the mid-1990s. "They're afraid of the defendant. They'll make a statement, then they'll go back and lie to the police and say, 'I didn't say that.' Or, 'I walked into a wall,' and I know that's not true."

The victim frequently becomes the roadblock to a conviction, Fladager said. Hence, a plea bargain.

"Essentially, we'll take what we can get and get (the abuser) into a mandatory counseling program, which lasts a year," she said.

Fladager remembers all too vividly the case of Darius Kirvin. In 1994, as a deputy district attorney, she prosecuted him for domestic violence. His wife begged Fladager to drop the charges and threatened to leave the county. Kirvin ultimately pleaded guilty and was sentenced to jail. But like Vogel, he was given several weeks before reporting to the jail.

A few weeks later, he killed his wife. He eventually was sentenced to 25 years to life and is in prison at the Sierra Conservation Center in Jamestown.

"I think of that every time there's a domestic violence case," Fladager said.

Got to have a paycheck

Prior convictions and overcrowding at the jail become factors as a judge determines whether a convicted abuser should be incarcerated immediately or can be allowed time to get his affairs in order before lockup. Many times, the victim will plead for that window of time for economic reasons, Fladager said.

"If he's going in for a significant stay, the family loses the ability to make house and car payments," she said. "(The victims) don't want to be homeless. (Defendants) also need to pay for their counseling. If they lose their job, they can't do that."

Which means that in many cases, a man convicted of domestic violence returns home to the woman he abused and lives with her until reporting for his jail term.