Our Final Day In Court

Me and my sisters at dad’s grave after court

My dad

This blog post is a little longer than usual and was a difficult entry to write. I hope this part of my story will speak to you.

For almost 4 years, Kenneth Allen Keith, a former pastor who was charged with the murder of Daniel P. Smith (my dad), Michael Hockensmith, and Angela Hockensmith,  maintained and proclaimed his innocence.

For 3 years and 8 months, I kept my phone within arm’s length, hoping to get a call from the district attorney’s office concerning a new case development or piece of evidence the police/prosecution would be able to disclose. My heart ached to know basic details, such as how many times dad was shot and what happened right before he died, that could only be released after the case was closed.

The families suffered through monthly court appearances, agonizing over how long it was taking to set a jury trial. The Hockensmiths’ son had to deal with preparing to testify as a key witness against Keith and the fear of Keith being released from jail and coming after him and/or his sister. It was a nightmare.

Meanwhile, Keith tried every legal defense to cover up his crime.

As we, the victims’ families, waited for the wheels of justice to turn, he arrogantly garnered sympathy from his unsuspecting church members, taunted the victims’ family members inside the courtroom, and crafted semi-convincing sob stories for any reporter willing to listen.

My journalism training kept tugging me into a neutral mindset. This man charged with my dad’s murder had the right to a fair trial; he was innocent until proven guilty. I didn’t know all of the evidence, so how could I pronounce his guilt. If he was truly innocent, I did not want him to go to prison.

44 months and 6 days later, he pleaded guilty.

The victims’ families received a few calls from the district attorney’s office throughout May to inform us that Keith might change his plea to guilty. Since he could change his mind at any time before he entered his new plea, we were all asked to keep the information confidential.

On May 26th, I walked into the Boyle County courthouse with a mixture of peace, knowing that God was with me and the legal battle was almost done, and heartache over what I was about to face. I quickly located a spot in the front row of the hard, church pew style, benches and waited for the court session to begin.

It was 9 am.

I sat on the edge of my seat, watching as the shackled, orange-clad, prisoner was quietly escorted by officers and two attorneys into the judge’s chamber.

My lip quivered uncontrollably and my heart pounded, as I quietly held back a waterfall of tears. Those fifteen minutes felt like an eternity. The judge’s door opened again and the prisoner shuffled to a spot directly facing the judge’s bench, his back to those in attendance.

This was not my first time seeing Keith. I had sat a few feet away from him during one of our early court appearances. He seemed rather cocky back then, but now looked slightly broken.

The judge asked him a series of questions, things like whether he understood the plea agreement and whether his medication was impairing his decision-making abilities. After the judge received satisfactory answers, he asked Keith if he wanted to plead guilty, if he agreed to the plea terms, if he understood a guilty plea meant life in prison with no parole, and if he waived his rights to a separate sentencing date.

To each question, Keith answered, “yes, your honor.”

The judge accepted the guilty plea and he was served with his sentence.

For 1,345 days, we waited for a verdict. It took 8 1/2 minutes from start to finish.

I did not feel a sudden surge of vindication or instant closure. Keith’s imprisonment could not erase the pain we have felt and will continue to deal with every day of our lives. It won’t bring our loved ones back. The only thing it guarantees is that he cannot kill again.

Immediately following the guilty plea, my family and I gave statements to the media. Then, we went to the Danville police department for a two-hour evidence briefing with the lead detective and district attorney, who patiently and compassionately shared details about the murders and answered many of our questions. Some questions will not be answered this side of Heaven, and I have to accept that.

I am still trying to process everything we heard and saw in that meeting.

I have cried a bucket of tears in the last month, some from grief and others out of thankfulness. The legal ordeal is over. We do not have to face a 3-week trial, and I do not have to wonder about Keith’s guilt. It’s over.

Moving forward, I am embracing my new “normal.” I am choosing life, rather than death.

I have forgiven my dad’s killer.

Although forgiveness is not an easy choice, it is a necessary and healthy one. It is a decision I have to walk out every day, through each painful memory and cutting loss. I refuse to let unforgiveness hold me captive, and I will not allow Keith’s actions to define my future. I have given Keith’s final sentence over to God, and I am praying God will redeem even a murderer’s story.

My dad’s brutal death will not become his final legacy.