FORT COLLINS, Colo.—A deputy reached for Timothy Masters’ arm to lead him out a side door of the Larimer County Courthouse, and Masters dipped his shoulders in compliance, his wrists handcuff-width apart.
It was a habit Masters developed during the 9 1/2 years he spent behind bars or being hustled between cells and courtrooms. But he wasn’t wearing handcuffs anymore, and he wasn’t returning to a cell. His murder conviction and life sentence had just been overturned.
Defense attorney David Wymore waved the deputy off and insisted that Masters was walking out the front door this time.
“That was vital,” said Maria Liu, another of his defense attorneys. “Since his arrest, he never walked through the front doors. He always walked through the side doors.”
Masters’ symbolic front-door exit last Tuesday was the climax of a dizzying, days-long sequence of public announcements and behind-the-scenes phone calls that ended years of legal wrangling to free Masters.
He had been convicted in 1999 of the 1987 brutal stabbing death of Peggy Hettrick, a Fort Collins clothing store manager, on a case built on circumstantial evidence. Since last summer, his new defense team had been in court hearings challenging the conviction.
Then late on Jan. 18, authorities learned that new DNA tests failed to place Masters at the scene and instead pointed to another suspect.
“I couldn’t keep Tim Masters in jail once I knew the results of the tests,” said Don Quick, a special prosecutor who had been assigned to Masters’ case.
“I can’t imagine anything more relevant than to say whether the DNA of this person was or wasn’t on this body,” he said.
Quick said he began scrambling to get Masters released as soon as he learned of the test results, but that was at 3:10 p.m., and the logistics proved daunting.
Within five minutes Quick called Masters’ lawyers and left a message for Larimer County District Judge Joseph Weatherby, who was hearing Masters’ case.
Weatherby called back about an hour later, but by then it was clear Masters would have to wait through the three-day Martin Luther King Jr. holiday weekend before he could be released.
“The Department of Corrections is real nervous about releasing prisoners based on a phone call,” Quick said.
During the weekend, Liu called jail officials to arrange for Masters to walk out of the courtroom immediately after the hearing instead of the normal process, which calls for an inmate to return to jail for processing and be released hours later.
Relatives began planning a welcome-home party. Defense lawyers bought Masters a sport coat, khaki pants, a white shirt and tie to wear in court. Prison officials threw him a celebration after the DNA results were announced, his aunt said, and then transferred him from the Buena Vista penitentiary to the Larimer County jail.
In court Tuesday morning, Weatherby set aside the conviction and vacated the sentence. When the moment arrived, Masters walked out the courthouse doors to the cheers of teary-eyed family members and well-wishers.
“I’m a little overwhelmed here,” he told reporters. Asked what he planned to do, he said simply that he wanted to spend time with his family.
“It was very overwhelming to actually see a man be able to walk out of the courthouse,” Liu said. “It was critical, just to be treated as he should be, as no longer having this conviction.”
Late last week, Larimer County District Attorney Larry Abrahamson asked a judge to dismiss the original charges, which still stood even though the conviction did not. Masters is due back in court Feb. 5.
Masters spent his first days of freedom readjusting to the outside world. He was taking the driver’s license test when he learned Abrahamson would move to drop the charges.
On a shopping trip for more clothes, he said he didn’t remember the stores being so bright, Liu said.
He used the money he saved from working in a prison saddle shop to realize a dream: He bought his own laptop.
“His nieces and nephews were showing him how to use it, and also his cellphone,” Liu said.
He also opened a checking account, a task made more difficult because the only identification he had was his prison ID.
“Luckily, the bank president recognized him,” Liu said.
