Man Contends POW Stress Led Him to Kill Son-in-Law

More than 50 years ago, Dick Keech was a prisoner of war, a U.S. Marine held captive by the Japanese for most of World War II.

Last spring, he shot his son-in-law, Nick Candy, to death.

This week, Keech, now 77, is due to stand trial for murder in Long Beach Superior Court. His provocative defense: 50-odd years later, the stress of being a POW caused him to snap--to fear, just as he had in the camps, for his life.

Keech alleges that he and his daughter, Nancy, Candy’s wife, are the real victims in the case--targets of a campaign of emotional abuse waged by Candy that left Keech with no other choice but to shoot. Ultimately, Keech alleges, killing Candy was an act of self-defense.

Prosecutors call that ridiculous. In court papers, they say Keech executed Candy. They ask: If Keech didn’t already have killing in mind, why did he meet Candy that evening with a 9-millimeter handgun tucked into his waistband?

If he is convicted of murder, Keech could get 25 years to life in prison. He remains free on bail.

It’s a case that echoes the issue that so captivated public attention, and polarized debate nationwide, during the two trials of the Menendez brothers: Even if there was abuse, does that justify killing the abuser?

The Menendez defense is actually something of a blueprint for Keech. As laid out in court papers, his strategy is to focus on the dead man and his character, as a way of explaining why a shooting seemed the only way out.

Last week, Superior Court Judge William T. Garner ruled the defense could put on such evidence. “We all want to know what was in his [Keech’s] mind,” the judge said.

Meanwhile, fearing a Menendez-like explosion of publicity during jury selection, the judge imposed a gag order on the lawyers in the case. He also barred TV cameras from a pretrial hearing.

Keech has two of the pillars of the Long Beach bar on his side: Albert C.S. Ramsey, who has been practicing law for 60 years, and Edward P. George Jr., a lawyer for 35 years.

Already, their strategy has produced sharp emotion.

In court papers, prosecutors Ronald M. Geltz and Amy-Hannah Broersma call the killing “coldblooded murder.”

Candy’s friends and family can hardly believe the defense strategy is for real.

His supporters insist that Candy, 47, was neither violent nor abusive. They say he was a hard-working manager at Universal Studios. He’d just gotten his master’s degree in business. He had a hearty laugh and a big tummy.

And they are aghast at the assassination of his character sure to unfold in the wood-paneled courtroom.

“He was never violent,” said Candy’s first wife, Daniele, 47, who was married to him for 19 years. She called Keech’s defense strategy “a too-convenient way of trying to escape justice.”

Candy’s friends and family also say he had been increasingly wary in his dealings with Keech--as if it were Candy who somehow had sensed danger. “He was actually frightened of Dick Keech,” said Denis Cook, 51, who was best man at Candy’s wedding to Nancy.

The court file, meanwhile, is full of testimonials to Keech’s character and reputation as a solid citizen: Thirty-plus years at the same job before retiring. Married for 48 years. Four kids. A “very kind, trustworthy and caring man,” wrote one neighbor.

Few facts in the case are undisputed.

Among them: Nancy and Nick Candy were married in 1991. A son, Martin, was born in September 1994. The parents split up in August 1995.

And, on May 21, 1996, Keech shot Candy to death.

That Tuesday evening, Candy showed up at the Keeches’ peach-colored stucco home in the 3100 block of Carfax Avenue in Long Beach to pick Martin up for a visit.

The two men began arguing at the curb. Keech pulled the gun and shot Candy once in the chest, Long Beach Police Det. John S. Boston said.

Candy staggered down the street. Keech followed. When Candy fell, Keech shot him four more times. “He just walked [the bullets] up his back,” Boston said.

After the shooting, Boston said, Keech announced to the neighborhood, “It’s all over. He won’t bother anyone anymore.”

The defense contends that Keech suffers from post-traumatic stress disorder--the same affliction that bedevils combat veterans as well as police officers, battered women, rape victims, disaster survivors and others.

Keech’s POW experiences happened more than 50 years ago. He was captured at Corregidor in the Philippines and spent 40 months in a POW camp before his release in September 1945.

“In a reasonably good camp,” Keech said in an interview, “people still got beaten. People still got starved to death.

“In a bad camp, and the one I was in was considered among the worst, they didn’t issue us shoes or clothing because they didn’t expect we were going to live that long.”

Experts said it is at least possible that the horrors of POW camps could manifest themselves 50 or more years later. “In theory, it’s possible,” said Sylvia Marotta, a professor at George Washington University.

Under the law, however, post-traumatic stress disorder is not a defense.

Instead, as defense lawyers explained in court last week, it serves to explain why Keech believed he was in acute danger when he met Candy at the curb.

No witnesses heard or saw the argument that preceded the shooting, according to police. Keech, on the advice of his attorneys, declined to speak about the shooting.

In court papers, Nancy Candy, now 39, says her husband was an alcoholic who “constantly berated me in front of our baby, which caused me great emotional harm.” So, she says, she left him.

According to the defense, that enraged Nick Candy, so he engaged in a “war of hostility against the entire Keech family.”

Full details remain to be revealed. Defense attorneys said they didn’t want to preview their case for prosecutors, and the court files contain only a few examples:

Once, Nick Candy kicked in a kitchen cupboard door, Nancy Candy says.

After the couple split, she says, he spent “little or no time” with his son except for an “occasional ‘coochie-coo.’ ”

According to the defense, he complained that Martin was not being cared for properly at the Keech home. He filed a formal complaint, and county investigators appeared at the Keech home “in the middle of the night.”

“The complaint was, of course, determined to be unfounded,” defense lawyers say, asserting that it was made solely to harass the Keech family.

Candy’s friends and family say such examples would hardly seem to justify homicide. They also dispute many of the particulars.

For example, Cook said the claim that Candy was an alcoholic was “rubbish.”

And to the charge that Candy was harassing the Keech family over Martin’s care, Candy’s former boss, Anita Jones, 45, said: “There’s a fine line between concern and harassment. [Nancy] took things as harassment that Nick meant as concern.”

Jocelyne Candy Bunyan, 55, Nick Candy’s sister, said: “I find it all a bit bewildering, hard to understand.”

Sighing, she said of her brother: “He didn’t deserve this.”