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Muscles, Murder, and a Messiah, Part 2

Continued from page 2

But Carbone's testimony was enough to convict Fernandez and Christie. A jury found them guilty of three counts of first-degree murder but spared them the death penalty, instead sentencing the pair to three consecutive life sentences.

Fernandez and Christie seemed to have little hope of release or parole until eight years after their conviction. In July 1999, Broward Circuit Judge Susan Lebow overturned Christie's conviction based on ineffective legal counsel and granted the Mob boss a new trial. She found that Christie's attorney, Louis Vernell Jr., had not adequately defended him. Contini agrees and claims that Vernell did as much damage to Fernandez's case as the prosecution did.

"I'd shoot holes in a witness' testimony, and then Vernell would get up and undo all the damage," Contini says today.

Vernell, who had previously defended other alleged Mob associates, had a documented relationship with organized crime. Among evidence submitted in Fernandez's and Christie's murder trial was a November 1987 report from the Broward Sheriff's Office. A confidential source told BSO that Vernell asked members of the Colombo crime family to kill his wife, who was allegedly having an affair. Vernell, who was not charged with the alleged crime, wasn't known for his ethics. The Florida Bar suspended him for six months in 1979 after he was convicted of failing to file income tax returns for five years and then again in 1987 for three months after he withheld money from a client. Finally, in September 1998, Vernell was disbarred after misappropriating another client's money.

"Louis Vernell wasn't there to defend Bert Christie. He was there for one reason — to make sure Christie didn't talk," Pat Diaz, the Miami-Dade homicide detective who investigated the murders, tells New Times.

Christie, who was 66 years old and in poor health when he won a new trial, died six months later.

Fernandez is still waiting for a successful appeal of his own.

His chances are slim. "He's already been through every state and federal appeal and post-conviction motion," says Mike Gelety, a Fort Lauderdale appellate attorney who shares offices with Contini and agreed to take Fernandez's appeal. "Plus, there's no judge I know who's dying to jump in on a 15-year-old case."

Winning a new trial may be highly unlikely. But Gelety believes Fernandez might have a chance at having his sentence overturned. Fernandez is serving three consecutive life sentences, each with a minimum mandatory sentence of 25 years. He won't be eligible for parole until 2065, when he'd be 112 years old.

"I feel confident that I found a problem in Fernandez's sentencing," Gelety says. "It's an illegal sentence."

When Fernandez and Christie were convicted in 1991, Judge Tyson gave the jury a verdict form that ranged from first-degree murder with a firearm as the most severe to not guilty at the bottom end. Beneath first-degree murder with a firearm was the verdict first-degree murder without a firearm. The jury chose that verdict, even though first-degree murder with a firearm and first-degree murder without a firearm were on the same level of offense and carried the same punishment. Having two verdicts of the same level on a single form is technically illegal, Gelety says.

"The jury instructions and the way the verdict forms were set up caused confusion and basically caused Fernandez to be sentenced on a higher degree than the jury intended," Gelety contends. "You had multiple choices which appeared to be lesser-included offenses but which turned out to be the same offense."

Adds Contini: "The prosecution got two bites at the apple. They missed on the first but got the second."

Based on the mandatory-minimum sentences at the time of his conviction, Fernandez could be eligible for parole immediately if he wins his sentencing appeal.

On a dark fall night, Contini drives his black Mercedes down State Road 100, which cuts through the middle of the state toward Raiford. He's on a trip to visit Fernandez in prison. He's done this dozens of times. But one visit two years ago was particularly important. Contini had a confession to make.

"Our sickness lies in our secrets," Contini says. "This was bothering me, and bothering me more over time."

Contini was an ambitious defense attorney when he took Fernandez's case in 1991. He'd done two stints as a prosecutor at the Broward State Attorney's Office, and he knew Fernandez's case would give his career a boost.

There was one problem: Fernandez insisted on having a Christian attorney.

"I led Gil to believe, when I first became his lawyer, that I was as sold out in the faith as he was," Contini remembers. "I knew it was a big press case. It was on the TV nightly news every night. It was going to remain that way for a good year. It was in the paper, the Miami Herald and Sun-Sentinel, every day for weeks. I knew it was going to stay that way for at least a year. And it was a possibility to make a six-figure fee. I took the case for all those reasons. It wasn't because I was coming to the aid of a brother in Christ or because I was a sold-out believer, and yet I led him to believe I was right where he was at spiritually. I was disingenuous. I felt like a fraud. I was even embarrassed to be seen praying with him."

Contini sat down with Fernandez at a table in Union Correctional Institution. He feared the worst, expecting Fernandez to pound on the table and yell: "See! That's the reason! The enemy was in our camp!"

But he didn't.

Instead, Fernandez smiled broadly.

"What are you smiling at?" Contini asked him, suddenly annoyed.

"John, don't you see? It's Jesus," Fernandez replied. "Only Jesus could do this."

Since then, Contini's relationship with Fernandez has grown stronger. He talks about Fernandez's transformation in churches around the state and uses him as an example of redemption. He wants to write the book so more people can know Fernandez's story.

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