(CNN) -- After almost 17 years in prison, this was it: This
was The Moment.
Gloria Killian's murder conviction had been overturned.
Carrying a small bag of her belongings, she walked out of prison as a free
woman.
Only ex-prisoners can fully know the emotions that overtake
someone during such a moment. It's a mix of two feelings: joy -- for surviving
their ordeal -- and fear about the challenges they surely will face in the
outside world.
For Killian's friend Joyce Ride, then in her late 70s,
picking up Killian was also very emotional. "Seeing her walk out was a
really great joy," Ride told CNN, recalling that day in 2002. "It was
like a load was lifted off my shoulders."
The two women noticed a crowd of inmates and visitors had
gathered to watch this magic moment. Suddenly the inmates started waving
goodbye.
The sendoff was sort of a thank-you note. "Gloria was
very popular," Ride said. Killian had used her education as a former law
student to perform legal work for some of the inmates.
Killian settled into Ride's passenger seat and Ride steered
toward the exit. "We did a lap around the parking lot to wave back at
them," said Ride.
Half an hour later, the two friends enjoyed a meal at an
Italian restaurant, where Killian savored her first glass of wine since 1986.
For someone sentenced to 32 years to life, it was a sweet victory following a
hard-fought journey.
"I'm annoyed by injustice. Profoundly annoyed,"
Ride said. "This was clearly an injustice."
Six suitcases of silver
It all started in 1981, when Stephen DeSantis -- disguised
as a phone repairman -- entered the home of elderly coin collector Ed Davies
and his wife, Grace, in suburban Sacramento, California. According to the Ninth
U.S. Circuit Court of Appeals, DeSantis tied up the couple and was joined
inside the house by his cousin Gary Masse. Ed Davies was shot and killed. His
wife was also shot, but survived. The cousins stole six suitcases of silver.
After an anonymous phone tip accused Masse and DeSantis,
police went on the hunt. "When officers attempted to find Masse, they
encountered his wife, Joanne, who told the officers that a woman named Gloria
planned the robbery," appeals court documents said.
Killian was a former law student in her 30s who'd never been
in trouble with the law. Masse's wife told police her husband had met Killian
through a mutual friend, according to Killian's book, "Full Circle."
Police questioned Killian and held her without bail for about four months.
She told police she was innocent and had never met Masse,
and was released for lack of evidence. Then, without warning a year later,
police locked Killian away again without bail. Masse had suddenly told
authorities that Killian was the crime's mastermind.
For a time, the death penalty loomed over Killian, but in
1983 the California Supreme Court changed the rules regarding the execution of
accomplices to murder. That ruling made Killian eligible for bail until her
trial began, more than two years later.
Although Masse implicated Killian at the trial, his cousin
DeSantis had testified at his separate trial that "Killian was not
involved in the crime in any way and that he had never even met or heard of
Killian," according to court documents.
But the jury believed Masse's story and convicted Killian on
charges of murder, robbery and conspiracy. She was locked up at the California
Institution for Women prison at Chino.
'She probably wasn't a criminal'
It wasn't until the early 1990s that Joyce Ride came to the
rescue.
She was visiting women inmates as a member of Friends
Outside, one of many nonprofits across the nation that help inmates and their
families cope with incarceration and transitioning to and from prison life. By
supporting prisoner visits by friends and family members, Friends Outside says,
it reduces stress among prisoners, preventing despair and unhealthy behavior.
Ride had already raised two daughters as a California
housewife. One had grown up to become a Presbyterian minister. The other, the
late Sally Ride, had become NASA's first woman astronaut.
A nun who volunteered by visiting women in jail inspired
Ride to learn more about why so many women who are victims of domestic abuse
end up in prison. After her husband died, Ride began dedicating many of her
days to visiting incarcerated women. "It interested me," she said.
Ride's younger daughter, the minister, understood. But it
confused her astronaut daughter. "Sally couldn't figure out why I was
visiting prisons," Ride said. Compared to her work at NASA, she said,
"it was a whole other world."
It was pure coincidence that Joyce Ride met Killian in
prison. They hoped to work together to help women inmates who had suffered from
domestic violence.
"Gloria had a good sense of humor and we just got along
very well," Ride remembered. After about a year of visits, "it dawned
on me she probably wasn't a criminal. So I asked her why she was there."
Killian told Ride her story.
Ride was convinced Killian was innocent. She felt that she
had to do something.
Despite Killian's objections, Ride started financing a
private investigation and legal battle that eventually would win Killian's
freedom.
"I was willing to be stubborn and do what it
takes," Ride said. "Of course when I started out I didn't know what
it was going to cost." The decade-long battle cost Ride about $100,000.
She sold stocks to raise money for Killian's defense and had to pay taxes on
that income, she said.
Ride's private investigator, Darryl Carlson, uncovered a
damning piece of evidence:
It was a letter that proved the prosecution's star witness,
Masse, had struck a deal. In exchange for leniency, Masse testified that
Killian was the master planner of the home invasion and murder.
Killian's prosecutor had never shared that letter with
Killian's lawyers during the original trial.
In hopes of overturning the conviction, Killian's lawyers
used this and two other letters to appeal to the U.S. Ninth Circuit Court of
Appeals.
Circuit Judge Michael Daly Hawkins wrote that the letters
"exposed Masse's motivation to lie and tended to show that he did
lie." The letters made Masse's testimony worthless and "without it,
there was no case," Hawkins wrote.
Hawkins noted that one of the other documents discovered by
Killian's team was a letter Masse "wrote to the prosecutor shortly after
Killian's trial in which he emphasized that he 'lied (his) ass off on the
stand' for the government."
Eventually, prosecutors dismissed the charges against
Killian.
The ordeal was over.
But not before Killian had spent nearly two decades behind
bars.
Housemates
In 2008, State Bar of California prosecutors brought
"prosecutorial misconduct" disciplinary charges against the
prosecutor, Christopher Cleland. The court ruled Cleland was "culpable of
failing to disclose exculpatory evidence (one letter) to the defense..."
As a result, the court determined Cleland should receive an
"admonishment" — which is considered neither discipline nor exoneration.
Now, a dozen years after her release, Killian and Ride are
still supporting each other as the best of friends -- sharing Ride's home in
Claremont, California.
"All of Gloria's relatives died while she was in
prison," Ride said. "So, when she got out, I offered her a place to
stay." They've recently taken in a third housemate, a woman Killian
befriended in prison.
In the decade since her release, Killian has raised money to
help women prisoners. She has founded an advocacy group, the Action Committee
for Women in Prison. She also tells her story on the speaking circuit.
At age 90, Ride isn't stopping either. She's still
volunteering and visiting inmates.
"Prisoners are persons like the rest of us, and they've
made mistakes," Ride said. "I think prisoners need friends on the
outside."
For Killian, having that friend made all the difference in
the world.
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