Ritchie, 39, is serving a 22-year-to-life sentence for the July 1995 slaying of her daughter, Samantha. A jury convicted her of murder, gross abuse of a corpse, two counts of tampering with evidence and two misdemeanors: making a false alarm and inducing panic.
Ritchie did not testify during her trial, but maintained she was innocent after her conviction.
Her hearing will not be before the full 8-person board, and could have only one of the board members present. If those present recommend that she be paroled, the full board would vote on that, said Jessica Dennis, spokeswoman for the corrections department.
Both Ritchie and her attorney, if she has one, can submit information to be considered before the hearing. So can victims’ representatives or prosecutors, Dennis said. That material is all confidential, she said.
Dennis said she could not release any information about whether Ritchie currently has an attorney. Neither the Ohio Public Defender’s office nor the Montgomery County Public Defender’s office is currently representing her.
Montgomery County Prosecutor Mathias H. Heck Jr. said his office sent a letter to the board April 14 opposing her parole. Ritchie showed no signs of remorse after committing one of the worst murders in the county’s history, Heck said.
“From the very beginning, all the way through, we will be adamantly opposed to any release of Therressa Jolynn Ritchie,” Heck said.
For the most part, Ritchie has behaved in prison, Dennis said. She had no infractions for the first 10 years, then was in segregation for 15 days in 2007 after a fight. The following year, Ritchie had a minor rule infraction for disobeying a direct order, Dennis said.
“A lot of people will have several (violations),” Dennis said.
Tom Hagel, professor at the University of Dayton School of Law, said a single fight would probably not hurt Ritchie before the parole board.
“Prisons are hotbeds for conflict, for a lot of reasons,” Hagel said.
But her relatively good record would probably not balance out the public outrage and heinous nature of the crime, which will also be considered by the board, Hagel said.
On July 18, 1995, Ritchie called 911 to report her daughter missing. Friends, neighbors and volunteers searched for Samantha for days before search dogs found her body submerged in a water-filled pit at the abandoned GHR Foundry, which was at 400 Detrick St., just blocks from Ritchie’s home at 809 Herman Ave. in Dayton’s McCook Field neighborhood.
Two weeks later, Dayton police Chief Ronald Lowe Sr. announced that Ritchie had confessed to the girl’s slaying.
During the trial in early 1996, Ritchie’s boyfriend, Ernest Vernell Brooks, testified that they were having sex in the basement of Ritchie’s home when the girl interrupted them. Ritchie, who had a broken arm, struck the girl in the head with the cast, then used a wrench to cave in the back of the girl’s skull, according to trial testimony.
Brooks, who testified that he helped Ritchie hide Samantha’s body, pleaded guilty to three charges: obstructing justice, tampering with evidence and gross abuse of a corpse. He was released from prison in January 1998.
At the time, his attorney Dennis J. Adkins said he did not know where Brooks, 45, was and that he probably moved away from the Dayton area because he was “fearful for his own safety.”
The parole board will weigh other factors, such as whether Ritchie is genuinely remorseful and accepts responsibility for her offense and whether she is a danger to the public, Hagel said. Regardless, convicted murderers are rarely released following their first parole hearing, he said.
“Almost never,” Hagel said. “Especially in a case like this.”
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