After Marysville teen’s killing, ‘a whirlwind of grief and anger’

MARYSVILLE — At Chad and Xochitl Hofland’s house in Marysville, a painting of Andre hangs in the living room.

Their son holds his chin thoughtfully, surrounded by colorful leaves and flowers.

In the portrait, he’s still 17. Still a kid with curly dark hair. Still a 6-foot-4 “gentle giant” who likes to skateboard.

It has been more than a year now since he was robbed, shot and killed just outside his parents’ home. Dominic Wilson and Morzae Roberts, then 16 and 17, were arrested and charged in the shooting.

Chad and Xochitl Hofland have the misfortune of being both survivors of and witnesses to the killing of their son. They want to know everything, but cannot, or at least should not, for fear their memory will be tarnished if they’re called upon to take the witness stand.

For them, the march toward justice has been plodding. Aggravating, at times.

Police interviews have felt like interrogations. The pandemic has delayed trials. It has been a “whirlwind of grief and anger,” Chad Hofland said.

‘He didn’t shoot Andre’

On Thursday, Roberts pleaded guilty to first-degree manslaughter at Denney Juvenile Justice Center. He was soft-spoken, giving abbreviated “yes” or “no” answers to the judge’s series of due process questions.

His family filled one side of the room. On the other was Andre Hofland’s father and various friends, what he called his “court family.” His wife stayed away from the court, worried she would become too emotional, angry.

As part of the plea agreement, Roberts’ case was moved to juvenile court, where he’ll receive a lesser sentence. Deputy prosecutor Martina Wong and Roberts’ defense attorney, Samantha Sommerman, agreed to recommend a sentence of about four years, well above the standard range for a juvenile, but not nearly the amount he faced if convicted as an adult.

Wong noted testimony isn’t heard at plea hearings, but if it was, Andre Hofland’s parents would voice their opposition to the agreement. She told the judge she did the best she could to explain to them why she arrived at her recommendation.

The Hoflands told a Herald reporter they believe Roberts has lied about the extent of his involvement. In court papers, police noted he gave statements that conflicted with other evidence.

A judge could diverge from the agreement. But in juvenile court, state law dictates Roberts couldn’t be held in custody beyond his 25th birthday.

Roberts was charged as an accomplice. Even though he was the older of the two, Wilson was the leader, Sommerman said.

“He never held a gun, never pointed a gun at anyone,” she said of Roberts. “He didn’t shoot Andre.”

Roberts’ sentencing is set for Sept. 16.

The alleged shooter, Wilson, is still being charged as an adult for first-degree murder. His trial is set for May. If found guilty as charged, he could face 20 to 26⅔ years behind bars, under state guidelines for adults.

But he, too, may see some leniency. The U.S. Supreme Court ruled in 2012 that “children are constitutionally different from adults for purposes of sentencing.” And in recent years, there has been a push to further reform sentencing for younger people, whose brains are still developing.

‘Dominic from school’

The Hoflands remember the night their son died vividly.

They were there.

Shortly before 9 p.m. on Jan. 5, 2021, cold rain poured outside their Marysville home.

Police believe Andre Hofland was selling “Puff Bars,” disposable vape pens similar to Juul e-cigarettes. A mutual friend reported to police that Wilson was a “Puff Bar fiend” who was “always sucking on them,” and that he sometimes bought them from Andre Hofland for resale. The friend reported Wilson posted pictures of vape pens, cannabis and guns on his Snapchat account.

The three boys met up within view of a neighbor’s security camera. The footage reportedly shows the two buyers arriving in grayish hoodies. After making a hand-to-hand exchange, Wilson raises an object “presumed to be a gun,” and the other two boys start to walk away from him, according to the charges. Wilson then goes into the street, between two parked cars. According to the charging papers, Andre Hofland “moves towards him, appearing to attempt to grab at the suspected firearm.”

Then, Andre Hofland doubles over.

The two other teens ran south through the Marysville Pilchuck High School campus.

Xochitl Hofland said she heard the gunshot and her son’s screams. She recalled him saying “Dominic from school” shot him.

Initially, a 911 caller reported Andre Hofland was shot with a BB gun. That was incorrect. He had been shot with a 9 mm bullet.

Police soon arrived, but for the parents, it felt like eternity passed before firefighters showed up. An officer helped move the wounded teenager to the garage, where he wouldn’t be pelted with rain. Chad Hofland held his son as he gasped for air.

At 10:38 p.m., Andre Hofland died at the hospital during surgery.

“Taking that first step out of that hospital is the first time we ever left Andre’s life,” Chad Hofland said.

Marysville detectives arrested the suspects by the next morning. According to police reports, Wilson was advised of his right to an attorney, then he blurted out, “(Expletive) it, I’m gonna be in jail for the rest of my life.”

‘A forever friend’

Classmates wrote notes on a page dedicated to Andre Hofland in the high school yearbook.

“A forever friend.”

“Genuinely the nicest person I knew.”

“I wish I could clone his goodness.”

“He knew he was my brother before I knew.”

“His presence was like being in the most magical dreams anyone could ever have.”

Chad Hofland said his son was diagnosed with autism at 9 years old, though many of his friends never knew. He was trusting to a fault and incredibly polite when meeting new people.

“He would stand up straight, shake your hand, eye contact, actually listen for a response instead of just saying something,” the father said.

Andre Hofland’s parents knew he was selling and trading items to people over OfferUp and Snapchat.

“He was an entrepreneur,” Chad Hofland said. And besides, the extra cash meant his parents didn’t have to buy him as much FTP apparel. The brand name stands for “(expletive) the population,” as in society’s standards, not the police, Chad Hofland assured.

Andre Hofland had never encountered problems while selling stuff. He’d never been robbed. His parents never thought a transaction would lead to his death. They caution other parents to be aware of who their children interact with, and what they do on social media apps.

His parents still buy FTP products, as a tradition of sorts.

“We just got this in the mail,” Xochitl Hofland said, as she set down a big box. She took out items one by one and tossed them on the table. All of them branded with FTP.

“Sandals.”

“Ash trays.”

“Backpack.”

She laughed, the way grieving mothers laugh.

They hung up a memorial on the fence outside Marysville Pilchuck High School. On it were pictures of Andre Hofland skateboarding. He knew tricks, his father said: He could do an aerial kickflip, a handplant, a boneless.

Like all kids, Andre Hofland dreamed of what he would do as an adult. Maybe become a marine biologist or a botanist. He wanted to have kids, to carry on the Hofland name.

Chad Hofland said he and his wife had “a very unique and different” bond with their son. They spent all of their time together. Then suddenly he was gone.

“We had so much love,” he said. “How do you live your life with that loss of constant love we had?”

Zachariah Bryan: 425-339-3431; zbryan@heraldnet.com. Twitter: @zachariahtb.