VICTIMS' PAIN NEVER ENDS

Get-Out-Of-Jail Bids Add To The Suffering

The words come out slowly for Erika Mulligan.

When asked to describe her 17-year-old son, Michael Tarasuik, she has to
pause and look again at the picture of him.

The memories of Michael's long brown hair, which hung to his shoulders, and
how he always insisted on pushing his late stepfather's wheelchair help her
speak.

"It was the 1970s," she said. "He was a typical teenager. He liked working
with his hands and worked landscaping jobs after school."

But Mulligan's happy memories of her son are quickly clouded by thoughts of
Michael's murder in a Douglas County park.

It's a memory she revisits time and time again. The constant recollections
are made worse, she says, by the frequent requests from Michael's killer to
be considered for release from prison.

Under Colorado Department of Correction policies, some parole-eligible
inmates can request a release to community corrections - most typically, a
halfway house - every six months.

Each request results in a hearing before a board, and Mulligan insists on
going to every one, even though the process rips open her wounds.

"It never heals," she said.

Community corrections officials point out that their programs cost less
than prison, an important reality given the booming inmate population.

But some victims say the emotional cost is too high. They are seeking
changes to the rules, arguing that six months is not enough time to recover
from the painful memories exhumed at the hearings.

"We need a more level playing field that is more sensitive to victims,"
said Joe Cannata, who became a champion for crime victims and their
families after the 1987 murder of his 20-year-old daughter.

Mulligan's son was killed almost 25 years ago because three people believed
he was a police informant.

Court records show that Valerie Shaughnessy, Steven Lloyd and Robert M.
Williams sold drugs to Michael several times. After the three were arrested
for possession of cocaine, they became suspicious.

The trio made plans to kill Michael on Sept. 11, 1980. The four met at
Daniels Park in Douglas County for what Michael believed was another drug
purchase.

Twenty-four hours later, Michael's body was found in the park. He had been
stabbed 61 times.

Williams was found guilty of first-degree murder and conspiracy to commit
murder in 1981. He is serving a life sentence in prison.

Prosecutors ruled out the death penalty because Williams was 19 at the time
and they believed he might be rehabilitated.

Shaughnessy and Lloyd were convicted of lesser charges. They served shorter
prison sentences.

Williams became eligible for parole in 2001 under the terms of an old state
law, which said a person serving a life sentence could apply for parole
after 20 years.

The Colorado legislature has since changed the law. Life now means life
with no possibility of parole.

Williams was denied parole four years ago and can't apply again until 2007.
Since he is parole-eligible, however, he is allowed to seek release to a
halfway house.

When and how often a prisoner can apply to a halfway house depends on the
prisoner's record behind bars, according to Alison Morgan, of the Colorado
Department of Corrections. Williams has had a good prison record since 1990.

Williams applied to attend a Denver halfway house in 2004 and again in
February and was denied both times. He did not apply this month.

Applications go in front of a board at a public meeting. In some districts,
people in favor of the person entering community corrections can speak.
Those against the halfway home bid are asked to send a letter denying the
request.

A prayer every day

Mulligan doesn't consider herself a religious person, but she has started
saying a German prayer every day: Nehmen Sie meine Hand und fuhren Sie
mich, which means "Take my hand and guide me."

Before attending the hearing in February, she repeated the prayer for close
to an hour in her living room.

"Last year, I made up my mind to go," Mulligan said. "I have to do
everything in my power. If I didn't try to fight this, I would be guilty."

She repeats the lines she wrote in a letter to the board: Michael was
murdered just days before his 18th birthday. Williams has never apologized
to her or her family. Williams wasn't content to stab Michael just once,
but 60 more times.

She wants to stay strong, but thoughts of the killer being on the street hurts.

"Bringing up everything doesn't bring my son back," she said.

Nevertheless, Mulligan doesn't allow herself to cry at the hearings anymore.

Halfway houses cut costs

"They revictimize themselves (at these hearings)," said Tom Moore, director
of the Denver Community Corrections Board. "It's very bitter and very
emotional. My heart goes out to victims."

At the same time, Moore believes halfway houses are "very necessary and
very important to society."

Halfway homes serve as a transition stage from prison life to the real
world. Prisoners are monitored, screened for drug and alcohol abuse, and
are required to have a job and pay rent.

"We have this thinking: This person will eventually come out," Moore said.
"Would you rather see that person have training and get required treatment
for his problems or have him just leave the jail by giving him $100 and
sending him on a bus?"

Moore said halfway homes also help ease prison overcrowding and save
taxpayers money.

It costs $7,192 to keep an offender in community corrections for a year,
according to the Colorado Division of Criminal Justice. A year in prison
for one convict can cost as much as $64,174, depending on the level of
security.

The State Planning and Budgeting Office reported that Colorado's prison
population grew an average of 7.9 percent a year in the 1990s and is
expected to grow another 25 percent by 2008.

To cut the costs of building prisons, President Bush proposed earlier this
year that Congress spend $300 million on prisoner rehabilitation programs.

"We can't keep building prisons or we will have to start closing schools.
We need to be smarter," Moore said.

But he also acknowledges that not everyone is suited for community corrections.

'There is no remorse'

Mulligan and her other son, Jerry Tarasuik, believe Williams cannot change.

"Robert said he was remorseful, but he has never apologized to the family,"
said Jerry Tarasuik. "There is no remorse."

Like his mother, Tarasuik suffers through the hearings.

"You can't even relax or put it away. It's not ending," he said.

Tarasuik commutes from his Wyoming home every six months to attend the
hearings. He is determined to let the board know that his family fears
Williams.

In at least one letter he sent to those considering Williams' release,
Tarasuik wrote that his brother's killer has vowed to "get even."

Mulligan also worries about her family's safety if Williams is granted
access to a halfway house.

"My life is almost over; losing my other son, I couldn't take," said the
70-year-old grandmother.

Working to change laws

Cannata knows the Mulligan family's pain. His daughter was murdered 18
years ago - and her killer became eligible for parole in 1997, after nine
years in prison.

"I don't object to people going to a halfway house," Cannata said. "(But)
if parole is denied, you should also be denied for a halfway house."

Cannata backed a law passed last year that requires offenders who have
committed violent crimes to serve at least 75 percent of their sentence,
minus time off for good behavior, before becoming eligible for parole.

Now he is working on forming a group to change how many times a convict can
apply to a halfway house and for stricter guidelines on who is eligible.

Mulligan hopes her family's story will help with those efforts.

While looking at an old picture of Michael posing with Tiffany, his dog,
she remembers a moment with her son.

It's a thought she holds close as she ponders the fate of his killer.

"Mike once came home with a Bible and asked me if anyone could be
forgiven," she said. "I told him, 'You have to really be sorry, with all
your heart.' "