By Terrence McCoy
By Scott Fishman
By Deirdra Funcheon
By Allie Conti
By New Times Staff
By Ryan Pfeffer
By Deirdra Funcheon
By Kyle Swenson
On June 20, 2002, however, the U.S. Supreme Court voted 6-3 to reverse the Virginia jury's decision, ruling that putting a mentally disabled murderer to death would be cruel and unusual punishment. "Mentally retarded defendants may be less able to give meaningful assistance to their counsel and are typically poor witnesses," Justice John Paul Stevens wrote in the court's majority opinion. Such defendants may also be unable to show remorse for their crimes because they do not fully understand what they've done, Stevens added.
Liberal organizations heralded the decision. "The U.S. Supreme Court has finally ushered the United States into the circle of civilized nations when it comes to such executions," Amnesty International Executive Director William F. Schulz said in a statement at the time.
But the Atkins decision never addressed a fundamental problem in diagnosing mental retardation: IQ levels can be deceiving. Although psychologists widely consider a 70-point IQ the line, some people with low IQs can live on their own, hold down jobs, and be responsible citizens. Even in Atkins' case, for instance, psychologists quarreled over the murderer's mental ability. The state's psychologist disagreed with the defense psychologist's assertion that Atkins was mentally disabled and instead insisted that he was of at least average intelligence.
"The details of Atkins' crime demonstrated some sophistication," says Michael Rushford, president of the Criminal Justice League Foundation, a pro-death penalty group that filed a brief in the Supreme Court case. "This wasn't someone like Lenny in Of Mice and Men."
The problem in prohibiting such executions, Rushford says, is that tests for mental disability can be easily rigged. "If I tell you that you are probably going to be executed if you run fast," he says, "my guess is that you'll run slow." In its Supreme Court brief, Rushford's organization predicted that ruling in Atkins' favor would open floodgates on death row. All of a sudden, Rushford predicted, death row inmates from across the country would claim mental retardation.
And that's exactly what has happened. An estimated 10 percent of the nation's 3,500 death row prisoners are now appealing their sentences based on claims of mental disability. Among those in Florida now claiming mental retardation are Kenneth Watson, who was sentenced to death for the 1988 murder of a pastor's wife in Miami-Dade County, and Tommy Groover, condemned to die more than 20 years ago for a murder in Jacksonville.
"If my client was found guilty, he'd immediately become retarded," Rushford says jokingly. "I'd play One Flew Over the Cuckoo's Nest in his cell a couple of times. When you think of a mentally disabled person, you think of some helpless childlike person. This wasn't Atkins."
But was it Kevin Moore?
Kevin Moore's life was hard from the beginning. Joseph Moore, Kevin's father, was a ladies man who dabbled part-time in drug dealing, according to court records and depositions taken from the family. The accused killer's mother, Bernice, ignored her husband's infidelity because she had another lover herself: the bottle.
The family lived in a neighborhood of Deerfield Beach not far from the Palm Beach County line. Kevin was in many ways a strain on the family, remembers Priscilla Robinson, a neighbor who was also one of Joe's mistresses. Even as a small child, Kevin appeared to have significant mental deficiencies. "You [could] see that he looked like he had a little Down syndrome," Robinson said in a deposition. Kevin needed attention, more time and patience than his parents were either willing or able to provide. "It's like they really didn't have -- you know, he wasn't raised too much in a loving way, put it that way," Robinson commented.
Kevin was alone early in life. When the boy was 6 years old, Bernice died from complications of chronic alcoholism. He then lived with his father and one of his mother's brothers, a man the family called "Baby James." But that arrangement didn't last. When Kevin was only 10 years old, Joe Moore was charged with murdering 17-year-old Londrick Mauney.
On May 30, 1988, Joe Moore and an accomplice were cruising around North Broward in a white Pontiac with a vinyl top. They were hoping to score a kilo of cocaine. When the Pontiac pulled up near a graveyard in Pompano Beach, their purported cocaine supplier got in the back seat. It was Mauney. But instead of reaching for drugs, Mauney pulled a gun. "Give up the money," he ordered. Jumping into the back seat, Moore struggled with Mauney for control of the weapon until finally gunshots cut through the balmy night air, bullets piercing Mauney's body. Kevin's father later surrendered and pleaded guilty to third-degree murder, which resulted in a seven-year state prison sentence.
Kevin's grandmother, Hazel, took care of the boy. In 1989, she brought him to a psychologist who worked for Broward County Psychological Services. The boy's teachers had recommended that he be examined. In Kevin, psychologist Harvey J. Broman found a deeply troubled kid. In addition to having an IQ of 55, the boy suffered from frequent nightmares and was obsessed with masturbation, Broman found.
Kevin was picked on mercilessly in school, recalled Tremaine Robinson, Kevin's younger half-brother. In a deposition, Tremaine acknowledged that he made fun of Kevin until he learned in elementary school that they were related. "[The kids] picked on him a lot," Tremaine said. "At first, I didn't even know he was my brother until my auntie -- she had told me... I was one of [Joe Moore's] kids too... Until she told me, I used to pick on him a lot. And I was like defending him when I know him [as my half-brother]."