Suzie Seemann, Jessie Hunt and Terri Vroman Little in 2011 after finishing a marathon in Santa Rosa. Photo courtesy Terri Vroman Little.

The double-murder trial of Jason Anthony Warren lasted a full month, and as anyone who sat through it can attest, the proceedings included a lot of disturbing evidence and painful testimony about the brutal and, by all accounts, utterly senseless acts of violence Warren committed on the morning of Sept. 27, 2012.

Warren has now been found guilty of murdering Hoopa woman Dorothy Ulrich, and doing so after lying in wait and torturing her. He was also found guilty of murdering HSU lecturer Suzanne Seemann and attempting to murder her friends and fellow educators Terri Vroman Little and Jessica Hunt. The three women were out for a run that morning when Warren, driving a car he’d stolen from Ulrich, passed them in the opposite direction, turned around and ran them down from behind at high speed.

The trial lasted a month, and the tragic morning itself is now more than three years past. But for the survivors most directly impacted by those heinous crimes, time has been distorted. For Hank Seemann, his wife’s death still feels so fresh and irrational that early in the trial he realized he was obsessing over the details in part because he thought maybe, if every last element were reconstructed, he could somehow go back and change things, prevent the tragedy.

For Hunt and Vroman Little, their perceptions have been altered for another reason: the traumatic brain injuries they suffered in the collision. 

All three are still coming to terms with the tragedy. Earlier this week they sat down in Vroman Little’s living room to talk about the crimes, the trial and the aftermath.

The living room was warm, and through a window bright sunshine peaked intermittently past the rainclouds. In one corner stood an undecorated Christmas tree, ramrod straight and so tall that, despite the vaulted ceilings, the tip where the star might go was bent over. Vroman Little explained that her family had recently driven to U.S. Forest Service land just outside the county line to find the tree and cut it down (with a permit, of course). They were waiting until some special lights arrive in the mail to decorate it. On the other side of the living room, a lacquered wood bassinet was filled with little stuffed animals and draped with red Christmas stockings.

Vroman Little prepared coffee and hot water for tea, and the three friends sat down to talk.

The Trial

As mentioned above, justice was a long time coming in this case. But even by the time it finally arrived, Hunt was reluctant to go into the courtroom. “My initial inclination was maybe not to go very much at all,” she said. “I had to go the first day [to testify], but I didn’t feel a need to go, and I felt a great fear. I didn’t want to live through it all in those details.” 

Ultimately, though, she did attend many days of the trial. She wanted to make sure she had enough information to understand both the defense’s case and the jury’s verdict.

Both Seemann and Vroman Little attended every single day of the trial. Like Hunt, Vroman Little was initially reluctant, but that changed. 

“I ended up with this kind of need to go even though it would have been better for me in some ways to miss some of it,” she said. It was hard to relive, in intricate details, the collision that came out of nowhere, stole her friend and altered her life forever. But attending the trial was a way to reclaim some agency over her own life, she said.

“I could control whether or not I went in there, and so much else was out of my control. And part of it, too, was an abiding need to stick up for myself and see it through and be able to watch the people who were in charge of making our case happen,” she said. “And then to stick up for my friend [Suzie], because she can’t.”

Seemann said his compulsion to be there every day stemmed partly from a kinship with Suzie’s parents and Hunt and Vroman Little and also Ulrich’s mother, Shirley Ortega. They were there to represent the deceased and to bear witness, he said. But he was also aware that the fate of the man who killed his wife was being placed in the hands of two attorneys – prosecutor Paul Sequeira and defense attorney Glenn Brown – and he wanted to hold them accountable.

“We needed to convey that there can’t be any mistakes,” Seemann said.

The Cruz Waiver

Or any more mistakes, he might well have said. From the beginning, this case has been tinged with anger and blame over a legal maneuver that allowed Warren to commit the crimes. Roughly a month before the murders, Warren was granted a Cruz waiver, part of a plea deal that allowed him out of jail and promised a lighter sentence. In exchange, Warren agreed to obey all laws and show up for a Sept. 7, 2012, sentencing hearing. He did neither, of course, and thus the Cruz waiver proved to be a catastrophic error in judgment.

Judge Timothy Cissna, who heard the double-murder case, was the one who granted the Cruz waiver, but Hunt said she’s more angry at the deputy district attorney who was in the courtroom at the time and especially his then-boss, former DA Paul Gallegos.

“That’s who I blame,” Hunt said. “Part of their job is to be on top of who is getting processed in the courtroom, to be able to speak with authority about yes or no, that’s an OK person to get a Cruz waiver.”

In the aftermath of the crimes, Gallegos refused to admit that Warren should not have been set free. While saying he wished to God that his office had opposed the Cruz waiver or that the judge hadn’t granted it, Gallegos was quoted in the Times-Standard saying, “I don’t question the decision that was made. It was the right decision for that time.”

Seemann said that “decision” was likely ill-informed. “I actually arranged for a Public Records Act request to see what policies that office had for Cruz waivers, and what we discovered was that they had none,” he said. “So I think there was clearly a lack of clarity and direction” in the office.

Seemann said that he and friends worried that the defense attorneys might resort to manipulating or distorting the facts in the case and were relieved when that didn’t happen. “I thought Glenn Brown was honorable,” he said. And he offered even higher praise for Sequeira, a Mendocino County deputy district attorney who was brought in specifically to argue this case by Humboldt County’s current DA, Maggie Fleming.

“It was great to see how systematic and organized he was,” Seemann said. “Clearly a veteran, clearly had a strategy. He adapted on the fly as testimony came out, and he was just able to wrap it all together.” With help from DA investigators, and the behind-the-scenes leadership of Fleming, the office’s commitment to the case was clear, Seemann said.

Facing Warren

On the first day of the trial, both Hunt and Vroman Little took the stand to testify. From that vantage, they were facing Warren – not quite directly, but able to look him in the eye if they so chose. 

“I did,” Vroman Little said.

“Tell why,” Hunt told her with a knowing smile.

“I can’t remember,” Vroman Little said, cocking her head.

“Because Terri has a good friend – “

“Oh, thank you!” Vroman Little chimed in, her memory jogged.

” – who used to be a prison guard,” Hunt finished.

Vroman Little said that she’s known her prison guard friend since they were in high school together in Michigan, and they remain close. The friend recommended facing Warren down from the witness stand. “And I wasn’t sure [if I wanted to], even when I was sitting there,” Vroman Little said. “But then I just decided I would. There was just a brief moment of making eye contact, and I had no emotion attached to that. I didn’t really feel I needed to give any kind of visual message at that point. But it felt empowering to make the choice to look at the guy who inflicted so much harm.”

“I didn’t look at him,” Hunt said. “I was horrified when Terri told me what her guard friend had said. I said, ‘I am not looking at him.’” Instead she chose to focus on Sequeira in the foreground and her supportive friends sitting in the background. 

Seated in the public portion of the courtroom, Seemann looked at Warren periodically and mused bitterly about the accommodations he received. “It was striking to me just how the criminal justice system leans towards the benefit of the defendants and the presumption of innocence,” Seemann said. “He [Warren] gets to have bailiffs pouring him cups of water.”

“if he’s not feeling well court can close,” Hunt agreed.

‘So Clearly Senseless’

Starting with the jury selection process, Sequeira explained that the prosecution didn’t have to prove – or even suggest – a motive, and indeed throughout the trial there was no attempt to explain Warren’s murderous actions. His attack on Ulrich came after spending 18 hours with her, helping her to pack boxes for storage so she could join her husband on his long-haul-trucking travels. An audio recording of the murder revealed that Warren’s samurai sword attack followed a long period of total silence.

By the same token, Warren had no connection to the three running women he pummeled with an automobile. There was no comprehensible reason for him to turn around and use the vehicle as a weapon to attack three women he’d never met.

“I think normal, compassionate, law-abiding people with hearts shouldn’t be able to comprehend it,” Vroman Little said. “I had to decide early on that whoever this Warren person was [he] isn’t wired that way; [he] is not a typically functioning human being. And then I gave up on even caring about what might have been the motive.”

Hunt agreed, saying the only explanation lies in a phrase Sequeira used. “I think it was his very last statement: ‘In his murderous mind-state, he turned around and ran them down,’” Hunt quoted. “There was no motive, obviously.”

Seemann said he gave up on understanding the crime almost immediately. “It’s just so clearly senseless,” he said. “It’s not worth any time to grapple with.”

The Death Penalty

The District Attorney announced back in March that her office would not be seeking the death penalty for Warren, and Hunt, Vroman Little and Seemann said they were all consulted and ultimately all in agreement with the decision, as was Ulrich’s mom, Shirley Ortega. Seemann said they explored the possibility of using the death penalty as a bargaining chip for a plea deal but quickly saw that the defense wasn’t interested.

Still, there were several good reasons not to pursue capital punishment. The decision was made, Seemann said, “recognizing that the death penalty is rarely being applied [in California], and it carries the risk of making [Warren] a sympathetic figure. It also makes him entitled to basically twice the legal representation.” And it would have delayed the judicial process even further while opening up the door to appeals, Seemann added.

“I don’t think there’s any question that we feel he deserves to die, and I don’t say that casually,” he continued. “But at the same time, for him to have his lifetime to think about what he’s done, I think that’s a greater penalty.”

Vroman Little agreed. “I think in some ways [the death penalty] may have been the more compassionate way to go, instead of going to prison for the rest of your life,” she said.

But the latter punishment can be hard to stomach, too.

“We are going to feed him for the rest of his life,” Hunt said resentfully. “He’s fattened up considerably.”

“Three hots and a cot,” Vroman Little said. “He can have that.”

None of them are planning to spend much time contemplating the matter.

“I think we’re very anxious to begin the process of forgetting about him,” Seemann said. “We’re ready for him to disappear.”

‘Something Else That Got Killed’

Both Hunt and Vroman Little suffered badly broken legs that kept them from running – seven months for Vroman Little and 17 months for Hunt. But that damage pales in comparison to the brain injuries each suffered. Those injuries have had lasting effects on their lives.

Vroman Little said that due to damage to the nerve that operates her left eye she gets double-vision when she tilts her head down or looks over her shoulder, which makes running a challenge, especially in settings such as a forest. Far more significant, though, are the changes in how her brain functions. Before the incident, Vroman Little helped found Redwood Coast Montessori, a K-8 public school. She was a teacher, and she loved it. But her brain injury made it difficult to be in busy places, such as school classrooms. She cried just thinking about it.

“I tried so hard to go back to the classroom,” she said through the tears, “because my school is a school that I made – with help, but it was my vision.” When she thinks back to the morning of the collision, she doesn’t think of her own experiences, of which she has no memory, but of her school. They had just moved into a new building, and her husband is a school administrator who was set to be on board at the school.

“And so that Thursday morning,” the morning of the incident, she said, crying still, “all these people came to school, and I wasn’t there. So I went from being the leader of the school, the go-to person, to not there. And I didn’t lie in the hospital thinking, ‘I need to get back. I need to get back.’ But my nature is such that I don’t quit stuff.”

So she did go back, as soon as she was able. She was still in a wheelchair, and her husband would roll her into the classroom. She’d work with students one-on-one, but the noise and bustle of the environment proved overwhelming after about 15 minutes or so.

“I was in a wheelchair so there was no flight happening, but I had that flight urge to just get away and go hide, and I would have to come home and sleep,” Vroman Little said. She kept trying and trying, and her tolerance improved, but it just wasn’t the same. As of last year, Vroman Little no longer works in the classroom at all. As she recalled packing up all of her classroom materials the summer prior, the tears came again.

“I just felt like that was something else that got killed, was my ability to teach,” she said. This year she’s been preparing for the trial and so hasn’t been involved in the school much, but her kids still attend and her husband still works there. He comes home and talks about the school that Vroman Little misses dearly. 

“So that’s been really hard,” she said. “I knew I was a decent teacher, but looking at how I function now, and the difference, I’m amazed at what I was able to pull off… I can see when it’s going wrong. There are times when I can’t find the right words or I’m saying the wrong thing, or I have an idea but I can’t express it. And it got to the point where it didn’t make sense to stay in the classroom. It wasn’t fair for the kids.”

Hunt, too, has suffered the effects of traumatic brain injury, and one of the hardest parts, she said, is that people can’t see the damage, which makes it difficult to understand or even sympathize. 

Running

But they both still enjoy running, and Seemann has taken up the discipline as well. It has given him a coping mechanism, a way to process his thoughts and reflect on his life as it is now.

“I see a pattern where early in the run I find out what’s on my mind, what in my daily life needs to be addressed, things I’m carrying with me,” he said. “And then as I go on I’m able to let those [things] go. And then just feelings and ideas bubble up through the course of a run, and those are the times I feel connected to Suzie. It gives me a chance to check in and see if I’m on the right course as a parent.”

Seemann now has two marathons under his belt. Running for such long distances is often painful and exhausting, but he also reaches a state of ecstasy, he said. 

In the three-year run-up to the trial, running also served as an analog to that and other challenges, demonstrating the importance of pacing and persistence.

Life in the Aftermath

It’s easy to imagine that having your life upended by such a senseless tragedy might also upend one’s faith in humanity, but Hunt, Vroman Little and Seemann have responded differently, in part by deliberately focusing on the gifts amid the rubble.

Hunt said she was flooded with cards and correspondence following her injuries, from friends and family but also from complete strangers, people in the running community and others who’ve suffered through tragedies. The outpouring of love and support had a profound impact.

“I mean, it was just kind of breathtaking and hard to believe, and it has given me a renewed faith in humanity and a renewed compassion for other people and their traumas and tragedies,” Hunt said. “I felt like a compassionate person before, but it feels a lot different now.”

Seemann’s kids were just 4 and 8 when their mom was killed, and in a way it was a saving grace for them to be so young, he said, because they were so focused on growing up and learning about the world. But at the same time they both have memories of Suzie, who Seemann called “an amazing parent, just involved in their lives and affectionate and warm and caring.”

Seemann now co-parents the kids with his mom, and he said they have a great support system in the community and through Garfield Elementary School. They’re flourishing, he said. 

Suzie’s death illustrated for Seemann the fragile nature of mortality, the temporary nature of each of our lives. He remembers feeling like he could see the end of his own life not so far off, and it made him feel determined. “I was just very resolved in the immediate aftermath that I was gonna go out strong,” he said.

Hank and Suzie were together for 18 years, married for 12. “That’s just a tremendous gift,” he said. “So I parent the way we were parenting. I look for goodness in the world and try to cultivate that, the way Suzie did… She was extraordinary – defending our society, pursuing and defending the good.”

The tragic end of her life doesn’t define her legacy. “Our story is a love story,” Seemann said.

A scholarship has been set up in Suzanne Seemann’s name at Humboldt State University. The criteria reward those who demonstrate character strength and virtue. As for himself, Hank Seemann finds meaning through his job as deputy director of Public Works with the County of Humboldt, developing projects that bring value to the community such as the McKay Community Forest and the Bay Trail.

Jason Warren’s sentencing is scheduled for Jan. 14. Earlier this week, crimes from his juvenile record were deemed a strike under California’s three-strikes sentencing law. He faces a sentence of life in prison without possibility of parole. 

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