After A Wrenching Trial, Victim's Brother Can Now Say To The Killer: `I Don't Hate You Anymore'

(Phil Sturholm, executive editor for KIRO-TV news and author of this piece, is the brother of KIRO reporter Larry Sturholm, stabbed to death two years ago near Issaquah. Last week, Richland businessman William Pawlyk was found guilty of Sturholm's murder and that of Debbie Sweiger, an emergency-room nurse and business associate of Larry Sturholm. Phil Sturholm wrote this as he awaited the jury's decision.)

For nearly two years, I've hated William John Pawlyk more than anyone or anything on the face of the earth.

Every waking moment has been devoted to hating him, day and night, Saturdays and Sundays, holidays - especially holidays. If I had had the chance, I might have attempted to do to Pawlyk what he did to my brother.

He killed my only brother, Larry Sturholm.

He also killed Debbie Sweiger, a nurse and business associate of Larry's. Pawlyk and Sweiger had been living together for several months, but when he learned Larry and Debbie planned a trip to the Cayman Islands together, he assumed they were also having an affair. At Pawlyk's trial, the medical examiner testified there were 181 knife wounds on Larry's body - some knife blows so vicious that several of Larry's chest bones were shattered. Debbie went through her own tormented hell. There were 123 wounds on her body. Pawlyk admits he murdered Larry and Debbie, says he was "temporarily insane" at the time.

THURSDAY, JUNE 27

The first day of jury deliberation.

I never really got a good look at Pawlyk until he walked into the courtroom on the 28th of May for jury selection. Back in August 1989, when he was arraigned for the murders, I saw only the back of his balding head. My colleagues in the press said the man lost 66 pounds his first year in jail, he was so depressed.

The Pawlyk I saw at the trial had regained most of that weight. He looked trim. Each day, when he was brought into the courtroom I searched for eye contact with him. Our eyes met many times. Sometimes he'd break it off by looking away, other times we simply stared at one another. I can't tell you if there was hate in his eyes - surely there was hate in my eyes.

FRIDAY, JUNE 28

There's no verdict Friday; the jury will take the weekend off. I'm not worried about the outcome. I'm not worried about Pawlyk's fate. I'll never forgive him . . . I can't . . . but I don't HATE William Pawlyk anymore.

Why don't I hate him? I don't know why . . . I wish I knew. I almost hate myself for dropping out like this. He killed Larry and Debbie in the most savage way possible. In fact, I pushed very hard for the death penalty. But, the King County prosecutor said, in so many words, Pawlyk was a nice guy who made a mistake and the mitigating circumstances were too strong to support the death penalty (my interpretation). So the worst sentence Pawlyk will get is life in prison without the possibility of parole.

I believe in the death penalty as strongly as I ever have. There are men and women out there who have no conscience; killing people - little kids included - is simply one of life's little rituals that separate girls from women, boys from men.

My wife, Janet, says my hate has been pushed aside by the love, support and prayers from our friends, relatives, neighbors and people who took the time to care about our ordeal. Maybe so. God certainly worked a lot of overtime handling the requests that helped our family through this thing.

Each day, as I sat behind Pawlyk, I wanted to lash out at him. Not to hurt him but I wanted him to tell me everything about Larry's last moments. I wanted to know every word Larry said. I knew Pawlyk wouldn't take the stand, but I put a lot of hope in the videotape interview a psychiatrist did with him.

Pawlyk remembered opening the front door for Larry. He remembered the "small talk" discussion they had. He remembered having a conversation with Larry about Debbie, but he suddenly went blank when asked to be more specific about that conversation.

I remember the hate in me virtually disappeared at 9:54 on Monday, June 24, when Jeff Ellis, Pawlyk's attorney, said, "the defense rests."

I don't know why I noted the time. The trial continued for another two days, four days short of a full month, but that Monday, it was over for me.

MONDAY, JULY 1

The deliberations continue. They've been at it for three days. Rather than wait at home for the verdict, my wife and I return to our jobs.

Waiting has brought with it some bizarre moments. My telephone answering machine has recorded many warm and compassionate calls, even some from people we don't know. But then there were other messages, anonymous, that told me I was vindictive.

"How can you call yourself a human being and support the death penalty?"

"The death penalty is inhuman and barbaric. Where is your compassion?"

"It's over, man. You'll never get Pawlyk."

"Get rid of your hate, anger and vindictiveness. After all Pawlyk is a human being, too."

I've heard them all before, but it still amuses me that people who want to send the most vicious message are the ones who always hide behind anonymity.

I feel some empathy for William John Pawlyk . . . God, I cringe just reading that sentence. I'm sorry, Larry. I can't help it. But I can't imagine sitting in court listening to witnesses say I was boring, my girlfriend was going to dump me, then listen to my love letters being read aloud - knowing that everyone found them amusing and made fun of me - and knowing that I didn't know it then.

It's ironic. Pawlyk is our stereotype of an all-American boy. He worked hard as a youngster, good Catholic boy, earned top grades in school, appointed to and graduated from the U.S. Naval Academy at Annapolis, served on nuclear submarines with distinction, resigned from active Naval duty but stayed in the reserves, returned to school for his MBA degree, then settled in to become a respected business and community leader. He punched all the right buttons.

TUESDAY, JULY 2

It's 10:58 when my telephone beeper goes off. I'm at the doctor's office with a bum right foot and the doctor is trying to explain the X-rays to me. There's a verdict and Judge Jim Bates will announce it at 11:30. I have a half-hour to get from Northwest Hospital to the courtroom. I dial Janet's beeper and enter four "1's." That's my signal to Janet that she has to proceed to the courthouse on her own. At least one of us will be there when the verdict is read.

As I enter the hallway leading to the courtroom, I'm greeted by the lights of TV cameras. For 30 years, I've been on the other side of those cameras - a TV news photographer taking the pictures. I'm painfully aware that the circumstances are reversed. It's 11:29, I made it with a minute to spare.

Janet and I have talked a great deal about the kind of verdict this jury will bring in. We have explored so many options about what Pawlyk might get that today we are convinced (upset actually) that the jury will reduce the charge on Larry's death to second-degree murder.

I'm also convinced the jury will reject the insanity plea because Pawlyk's attorneys didn't and couldn't prove he was insane. In my mind, Pawlyk knows more about what's taking place in this trial than the psychiatrist from Detroit flown to Seattle to testify on Pawlyk's behalf. My main worry is that the jury will consider Pawlyk a victim, that he was mentally tormented by Debbie and that maybe they'll see this killing as a crime of passion and become deadlocked over the issue.

The verdict is handed first to Judge Bates; he passes it to his clerk to read aloud.

"We the jury find William Pawlyk guilty of aggravated murder on count one (Larry). We the jury find William Pawlyk guilty of aggravated murder on count two (Debbie)." It takes less than one minute to read a verdict that has taken one year, 11 months, 27 days and 13 hours to reach.

Pawlyk will be sentenced sometime in August - most likely life in prison with no possibility of parole.

I congratulate prosecutors Lee Yeats and Jeff Baird for all the help they have been to our family. I thank several jury members who are still hanging around the courtroom. Then Janet and I walk out into the hallway. We're greeted by a wall of press people who ask us for our reaction.

"Should Pawlyk have received the death penalty?"

"No, I don't think Mr. Pawlyk should receive the death penalty."

"Why? You were so sure."

"I still believe in the death penalty, but I'm willing to back off now in Pawlyk's case. With what we learned at the trial, I'm satisfied with the jury's verdict."

Tonight, as I read through these notes, the phone rings. It's Ed Carlos, a KIRO assignment editor. He says he's heard the verdict and hopes the Sturholm family can get on with their lives.

"Oh, by the way," Ed says, "isn't tomorrow Larry's birthday?"

"Yes," I moan. "It didn't even occur to me."

Larry would be 48 years old. Mr. Pawlyk, you took my brother's life and there's no way you or I can bring him back. I want so desperately to hate you. And I did for a while. I can't explain it, but, Mr. Pawlyk, I DON'T HATE YOU ANYMORE.