GREELEY, Colo.—After 9 1/2 years of incarceration, the remaining material vestige of Tim Masters’ previous life is a 1996 Pontiac.
On Tuesday, a week of freedom behind him and no longer facing murder charges in the 1987 death of Peggy Hettrick, Masters sat in his lawyer’s office with his temporary driver’s license in his pocket waiting for the weather to clear to so he could take the car he thought he’d never see again for a drive through the mountains.
He got his driver’s license on Friday and his car back on Sunday after an aunt bought the car from one of his cousins and gave it back to Masters. He hasn’t driven much since his conviction and life sentence were overturned Jan. 22 and he was released from prison.
“It’s still a nice car,” Masters said of the vehicle that over the years was sold to four family members. “It looks better than it did when I was arrested. A lot more miles.”
Masters and his attorneys did not wish to describe the car for fear it might draw unwanted attention.
Masters was trying to pick up his life, spending time with his family, shopping for a laptop, learning to use his cell phone and marveling at the outpouring of support from well-wishers who have sent him dozens of letters and cards. Some contained checks ranging from $5 to $1,000.
“I’m so grateful,” he said of the nearly $4,500 he’s received. “You know, I don’t have a job right now and I need the money.”
Masters, who spent eight years in the Navy, was working as an aircraft structural mechanic in California and just starting a vacation when officers knocked on his door and whisked him away to jail.
He was convicted of murder in 1999 on a circumstantial case that hinged on violent drawings he did and a psychological analysis that said Masters planned Hettrick’s death to coincide with the anniversary of his mother’s death four years earlier. Hettrick’s body was found stabbed and sexually mutilated near Masters’ boyhood home in Fort Collins.
A district judge granted a special prosecutor’s request to overturn Masters’ conviction and life sentence after DNA evidence analyzed with new techniques pointed to at least one other suspect, but couldn’t place Masters at the scene.
Masters was 15 at the time of the slaying. His previous scrapes with the law involved shoplifting Matchbox cars from Target when he was 10, and breaking a window at school when he was 12 or 13. Masters had been questioned the day after the slaying and in the next 11 years, thought the case was closed.
“I pretty much convinced myself. I thought, ‘No, they’ll never blame me.'”
District Judge Joseph Weatherby granted Larimer County District Attorney Larry Abrahamson’s request to drop the charges against Masters because of the new evidence. In his request to the judge, Abrahamson stopped short of declaring Masters innocent, saying the state lab could independently validate only part of the DNA evidence.
For now, Masters, who’s living with family in Fort Collins, contemplates his next move, hopeful he can return to his former profession.
“I don’t even know what that industry looks like after 9-11,” he said. “I don’t know if having spent 10 years in prison is going to show up on my record. If it’s going to show up that I was convicted of murder, if that’s going to be a barrier to me getting a job. I don’t know.”
His attorney Maria Liu, said they would have to file a civil lawsuit to seek to have Masters’ record expunged or sealed. She said it’s too early to decide if they would seek government compensation for Masters.
Two investigations continue in the case. On Tuesday, Gov. Bill Ritter appointed Colorado Attorney General John Suthers as special prosecutor to investigate the death of Hettrick, a clothing store manager.
In a separate investigation, Weld County District Attorney Ken Buck will look into allegations of misconduct by at least one investigator who built the case against Masters.
While Masters was in prison, his family tried to keep his Richcrest, Calif., house which he lost three years after his arrest. He also lost a motorcycle that belonged to his father and his clothes and other personal belongings were taken into evidence, Liu said.
Masters said he’s angry over the investigator’s case that focused on his mother’s death and angry about his incarceration, though he said he’s not letting it overtake him. His father, Clyde, who retired after 22 years in the Navy and died in 1996, taught him to keep his emotions under control, he said.
“They take the most tragic event of my childhood and twist it around against me,” he said of the theory surrounding his mother’s death. “I didn’t learn about that angle until I was arrested. I read the arrest warrant as I was sitting in the county jail. I was furious over the majority of the arrest warrant, it was all just bullshit. A bunch of psychobabble of opinions, it was crap.”
Prosecutors also used gruesome drawings, including one depicting a person dragging a female figure, to convince the jury of Masters’ guilt. Asked if he still draws Masters replies: “No, for some reason, I don’t feel much like drawing any more.”
After camera crews from a series of interviews packed up and the last reporter filed a story as the sun set over the Rockies, Masters and his legal team were reading the cards and letters that were beginning to pile up on a table in a conference room.
“I got this one letter with a check for $20 from a woman who is unemployed,” he said as he glanced down at a letter, smiling. “I think I’m going to frame that one.”
