Luke Ford

From Daily Beast: Miscarriages of justice don’t come much more outrageous than the case of Steven Avery, a resident of Wisconsin’s rural Manitowoc County, who in 1985, at the age of 22 was arrested, tried, and convicted of raping Penny Ann Beernsten along the shores of Lake Michigan. Though no direct evidence tied him to the crime, Avery was found guilty thanks in large part to a series of unfavorable dynamics: He was uneducated and working-class while Beernsten was well-to-do. A disgruntled relative’s relationship with law enforcement officers furthered the idea that he was an ideal suspect; and a police sketch of Beernsten’s attacker was created based on a prior mug shot of Avery—which, naturally, helped compel Beernsten to finger Avery as her assailant.

With the help of Wisconsin’s Innocence Project, and on the basis of new DNA tests that definitively proved another man’s guilt, Avery was freed after serving 18 years in prison. And yet that amazing story of misconduct, incompetence, and coercion is merely the first-episode prologue to Netflix’s Making a Murderer, which spends its remaining nine hour-long installments digging into the true tragedy that would subsequently befall its subject.

Though providing a superb true-crime bookend to a year that began with HBO’s stunning The Jinx, Laura Ricciardi and Moira Demos’s decade-in-the-making documentary series is more akin to the Sarah Koenig-hosted podcast Serial, in that it’s concerned with a real-life conviction that raises far more questions than it answers. Or rather, convictions, as Beernsten’s rape is the focus of only Making a Murderer’s first jaw-dropping trial. In that instance, Avery had 16 alibis, none of which were enough to sway a jury that believed Beernsten’s (erroneous) eyewitness account. Not helping matters was the fact that the jury ignored evidence that exonerated Avery, and was also denied access to other key details—such as a local Manitowoc officer receiving a phone call from a nearby district which alleged that another convict in custody (the real rapist, as it turned out) had stated that the Manitowoc sheriff’s department had an innocent man locked up.

Such ineptitude is merely the appetizer for the real meat-and-potatoes indignation elicited by Avery’s saga, which takes a horrible turn after he’s finally released from prison and files a $36 million civil lawsuit against Manitowoc County. That complaint seems primed to cost the area an enormous sum. However, before depositions can be finished, a young Auto Trader photographer named Teresa Halbach visits the Avery family’s 40-acre auto salvage yard on Oct. 31, 2005 to snap pictures of a van, and promptly disappears, with Steven as the last person to have seen her alive. Within days, he’s fingered for her murder by Manitowoc County officers—including the very ones implicated in his civil-lawsuit depositions weeks earlier—who have taken control of Halbach’s murder investigation, even though they have a blatant conflict of interest with regards to Avery, and are supposed to be ceding the inquiry’s lead to neighboring Calumet County officials.

Making a Murderer
Steven Avery from the Netflix original documentary series “Making A Murderer”. (Netflix)
Shortly thereafter, Halbach’s missing SUV is found in the Avery salvage yard (with Avery’s blood in it), the vehicle’s key is located in Avery’s bedroom, and her charred bones are discovered in a fire pit behind Avery’s house. And if that weren’t enough, Avery’s 16-year-old nephew Brendan Dassey, who has an IQ of 70 and reads at a 4th-grade level, tells police he helped Avery rape, stab, shoot, and dismember Halbach. It seems like an open-and-shut case, except that by thoroughly examining this story’s every element, Making a Murderer makes plain that Avery has no motive and is far from the monster he’s depicted as by Calumet County district attorney Ken Kratz. Rather, with a meticulousness that’s exhaustive to the point of exhausting, it contends that Avery—as he argued in his eventual courtroom defense—was the victim of an evidence-planting, witness-tampering frame job perpetrated by a police force, and local government, eager to prevent him from censuring them through wrongful-imprisonment litigation.

REPORT: MANITOWOC COUNTY — In five days since its release, plenty of buzz has been generated about the Netflix series “Making A Murderer.”

The series takes an in-depth look at Steven Avery and his history with Manitowoc County law enforcement.

The creators and executive producers, Laura Ricciardi and Moira Demos, were New York film graduate students when a New York Times article about Avery drew them to Manitowoc County. They boiled hundreds of hours of footage into 10, one hour episodes.

After spending 18 years in prison for a crime he didn’t commit, Avery was a free man in 2003. However, two years later, Avery was arrested for the murder of Teresa Halbach. Avery’s nephew, Brendan Dassey, was arrested for his role in the murder a few months later. Netflix’s “Making A Murderer” has a much wider audience learning about the story ten years later.

“When we started this project, we cast a very wide net,” said Demos. “People had very different responses to the invitation to participate.”

Members of Avery’s defense team were among willing participants. Throughout the series, the defense suggests the Manitowoc County Sheriff’s Department planted evidence to frame Avery for murder. It’s a theory series’ viewers are heavily backing on social media, leading to online petitions to free Avery from his life sentence.

“We just think it’s important for people to be reflecting on this and talking about it and trying to process it in a healthy way,” said Ricciardi.

“Anytime you edit 18 months’ worth of information and only include the statements or pieces that support your particular conclusion, that conclusion should be reached,” said Ken Kratz, the special prosecutor on Avery’s murder case.

Kratz says before the series’ release, he wasn’t provided the opportunity to answer any allegations made. Kratz says that’s led to him receiving dozens of threatening and insulting messages.

“Suggestions that I shouldn’t even be walking around was offered, the good cheer that I happen to develop stomach cancer for Christmas and really lots of really troubling pieces of correspondence,” said Kratz.