Was prison officer’s slaying preventable?

MONROE — The Jan. 29 killing of corrections officer Jayme Biendl has left many people grasping for answers.

How could this happen? What could have been done to prevent the tragedy? Where did the prison system fail her?

There has been a rush to offer theories and possible explanations,

even as detectives continued to gather evidence last week in the chapel at the Washington State Reformatory. That’s where a convicted rapist serving a life sentence is suspected of having strangled Biendl.

Here are some of the opinions being aired, and the facts as they are known now:

Claim: Biendl’s death is linked to budget cuts

The Monroe Correctional Complex where Biendl worked is the state’s largest prison. It houses about 2,500 inmates in five units, including the reformatory. There are about 1,200 people who work at the complex. About 775 are correctional of

ficers.

The corrections department has been cutting its budget, but the trims connected to recent budget cuts have not resulted in wholesale staff reductions. At Monroe, a single corrections officer position was cut, and that was in the kitchen service area. Some maintenance and management positions also were cut, Superintendent Scott Frakes said. Cuts to non-custodial recreational staff are likely next month.

Cuts have led to modified lockdowns once a month at Monroe. That budget-cutting measure (it is cheaper to keep inmates in their cells) was unpopular with corrections officers, who were required to take off an unpaid day each month. The lockdowns were halted Friday.

Regardless, staffing at the chapel where Biendl worked was not affected by the lockdowns. The post has been staffed by a single corrections officer for the last 15 years, state corrections secretary Eldon Vail said.

“I can’t just make the leap that this is tied to staffing issues,” Frakes said.

Biendl applied for and landed the job more than five years ago. Much of the time she was not alone with inmates. A chaplain would spend about 25 hours a week there. There also were volunteers who worked in the chapel.

Inmates had to check in with Biendl to be allowed access to the chapel. That could be hectic when there were multiple programs going on, Frakes said. At times, up to 100 offenders were in the chapel.

Claim: A surveillance camera could have prevented a killing

Union leaders say Biendl was concerned for her safety and requested, in writing, that extra surveillance cameras be installed in the chapel.

The chapel already has four cameras. All are on fixed mounts. Officials say all the cameras were working the night she died.

The cameras largely record movements down hallways, through doorways and into the chapel bathrooms. There was no camera in the chapel sanctuary, a large, open space with a stage, where Biendl’s body was found.

In a sworn statement, corrections Sgt. Jimmy Fletcher said he received and signed Biendl’s work order request for additional cameras. He placed it in a captain’s box in August or September. Prison administrators, including the captain, say they haven’t found that work order, and that such requests would normally be handled electronically. They have recovered dozens of work orders and memos from Biendl, Frakes said, including an e-mail she sent describing how much she loved her job.

Getting to the bottom of what happened with Biendl’s work order will be one focus of the corrections department’s internal investigation, Vail said. That probe is on hold while the homicide is under investigation.

Surveillance cameras in prison serve dual purposes. They record inmates and can be used to monitor their movements, in real time. The cameras operate full time but they aren’t necessarily being monitored by somebody around the clock.

Two lieutenants at the prison spent hours searching digital video recording footage from the prison the night Biendl died. They found nothing suspicious, according to a search warrant. The only relevant images were of Scherf leaving his cell block and returning after an evening meal.

The chapel is generally considered an unlikely place for trouble — one of the spots in the prison, along with the visitor center, where the inmates’ code is to do nothing that will jeopardize access.

“Even had it (the chapel) been camera-ed, it was pretty unlikely there would have been anyone looking at that area,” Frakes said.

State corrections director Bernie Warner said running a prison requires a balance of technology and the human interaction of corrections officers.

“There are so many eyes and so many screens to pay attention to,” he said. “That’s one of the reasons why there shouldn’t be an over-dependence on cameras. They really augment the staff’s ability to get around the facility. You have to have both. You want to be careful not to have an over-reliance on cameras.”

Claim: A violent rapist serving life should have been locked in his cell

When he was free, Scherf committed monstrous violence toward women, kidnapping, raping and threatening to kill them. He set one of his victims on fire after dousing her with gasoline.

Inside prison walls, though, Scherf was a compliant inmate, who for a decade had a spotless disciplinary record.

In 1997, after being convicted of kidnapping and raping a real estate agent near Spokane, Scherf became a three-strikes offender under state law and was sentenced to life in prison without possibility of parole.

He initially was confined in close custody at the Clallam Bay Correctional Center. Close custody is the most restrictive classification for general population inmates. It includes extra-tight security, such as sliding solid steel doors and greater staffing levels. The initial classification was to keep everyone safe while Scherf demonstrated through his behavior just how he was going to do his time, officials said.

Scherf later was transferred to the reformatory, initially still in close custody. But in 2002, five years after being convicted and sent to prison for life, Scherf was moved to medium-security custody.

Inmates’ security classifications largely are based on their behavior inside prisons, not the crimes they committed on the outside, Warner said. It’s an incentive system. The better the behavior, the more privileges, including the opportunity to see visitors, to purchase items at the prison store and access to classes.

Scherf was a medium-security inmate for longer than Biendl worked as a corrections officer. Up until 2009, the reformatory also housed close-custody offenders. Scherf lived with them. His medium-custody status meant that he wasn’t on the list of the roughly 250 inmates who were reassigned two years ago to close-custody prisons at Clallam Bay and the state penitentiary in Walla Walla.

On paper, prison officials say, Scherf had several factors that would have indicated reduced risk. He hadn’t had any infractions in more than a decade. At 52, he was older than most aggressive prisoners. He had regular visits from his wife, including a conjugal trailer visit Dec. 24. His mother also made regular visits. He had a prison job and participated in programs offered at the reformatory.

“On a statistical line, you would say this guy is fine,” state corrections deputy director Dan Pacholke said.

At the same time, records show Scherf, the rapist, was known for planning his attacks. While there is no obvious evidence of sexual assault, in this case, he allegedly hid under a table waiting to attack Biendl in the one place in her work area where she truly was alone.

Claim: A woman corrections officer shouldn’t have been left alone

Women began working in male prisons in the 1970s. Numbers have increased since then, but, nationwide, male corrections officers continue to outnumber female officers 3 to 1.

Women make up about 16 percent of the 3,700 correctional officers in Washington’s prisons. At Monroe, about one in 10 corrections officers are female.

Prison officials say it makes sense to have a diverse workforce; the inmate population at Monroe, while all male, still reflects a diverse society.

Pacholke said he noticed a change in inmate behavior with the introduction of female corrections officers. “The place got cleaner; the language improved,” he said.

Prisoners who are aggressive toward female staff often are stigmatized by other inmates, he said.

Through the years there have been academic studies on female officers in prisons. One concluded that female officers are assaulted less often than male officers. Another study noted that prisoners were more apt to come to the aid of a female officer.

There doesn’t seem to be a consistent nationwide accounting of assaults on correctional officers, and because of that, it isn’t easy to know whether women officers are disproportionately attacked in prison.

Prison officials say female officers receive the same training as men. Even the biggest, strongest male officers can’t rely on their size to control prisoners. That’s because officers are always outnumbered. The officers must rely on their communication and interpersonal skills and the relationships they develop with inmates. That isn’t gender-specific, prison officials said.

In law enforcement, there aren’t different hiring or training standards for men and women, said sheriff’s Lt. Susy Johnson, a 21-year veteran.

Officers play to their strengths, she said. Some officers may hone their verbal skills more so they can avoid going toe-to-toe with someone bigger. They still have to prove that they’re proficient in physical tactics before they’re put in the job, Johnson said.

Evidence suggests Biendl fought hard. The suspect was bitten, clawed and scratched.

There were four assaults on staff at Monroe last year that were considered severe enough to seek a criminal investigation. Two of those assaults were on male staff members. The other two were on women, neither of whom were corrections officers.

Claim: Biendl’s death hints at a larger problem of violence at Monroe

Data show that the number of assaults against corrections officers in Washington’s prisons has remained relatively steady the past five years. There was an increase in assaults against officers in 2008 and a corresponding increase of violence among inmates. Since then, violence in some of the state’s largest prisons has dropped by about 20 percent.

That decline has been even greater at Monroe. Since 2008, there has been a 30 percent reduction in assaults on officers, inmate fighting, weapons possession and sex assaults, according to the corrections department.

“The reformatory (unit) drove those numbers,” Frakes said.

There were 120 violent incidents reported at Monroe between July 2005 and late last year, records show. By far, the bulk of those incidents involved inmates assaulting each other. There were 35 reported incidents of inmates assaulting staff members. Those assaults happened most often in the intensive management unit, the place the state sends its most unruly prisoners.

The decrease in violence happened even as the state prison system saw increasing numbers of inmates serving time for violent crimes, Pacholke said.

Prison officials attribute some of the decline in violence to closer tracking of offenders who are affiliated with gangs. Gang members account for about 20 percent of the prison population, yet they account for about 45 percent of the violence, prison officials said.

Corrections officers and others stepped up efforts to identify gang members as soon as they arrive. Members of rival gangs aren’t housed together.

They also fought violence with “soft safety” measures. Studies show that inmates are less likely to commit violent infractions if they’re involved in programs and have more frequent visits with relatives, corrections spokesman Chad Lewis said.

Fights and other violent incidents that perhaps don’t rise to the level of a crime are investigated by prison staff. Inmates can be placed in segregation and lose access to programs. They also can lose early-release credits that they may have earned through good behavior.

Inmates who continue to commit serious infractions also can be charged with persistent prison misbehavior, a felony. Local prosecutors have filed those cases, tacking on more prison time for inmates who refuse to behave.

Claim: Corrections officers would be safer if they carried weapons

Biendl worked unarmed in the chapel. That’s typical of corrections officers at prisons and jails around the U.S. While there are rifles and shotguns in the towers above the prison, officers who mingle with inmates don’t carry weapons because of the risks: They are outnumbered, can be disarmed, and can then have the weapons turned against them.

Just like police officers, all corrections officers are trained how to fight without weapons, how to gain control of crowds by how they carry themselves, and how to use verbal tactical skills to defuse confrontation.

“We’re really good at talking offenders out of doing bad things,” Frakes said.

Claim: Fix this now; there is no need for investigations

Several agencies are expected to scrutinize what went awry the night Biendl was attacked.

Gov. Chris Gregoire wants an independent review by National Institute of Corrections, an agency within the U.S. Department of Justice.

State corrections officials plan an internal probe once police finish the criminal investigation.

Corrections secretary Vail announced on Friday some immediate changes, including closer monitoring of officers who work alone at their posts.

The state Department of Labor and Industries is conducting a separate investigation into Biendl’s death. It will determine whether state workplace safety laws were violated, agency spokesman Hector Castro said. They’re required by law to wrap up the investigation in six months. If they find something wrong, they can issue citations and fines.

Careful review has been important in making Monroe safer in the past.

In 1953, a riot at the reformatory ended in an inmate death and substantial damage after offenders set buildings afire. The inmates later said they ran amok for 36 hours to call attention to what they claimed was brutal treatment by officers. State hearings revealed sharp disagreements among officials over how the prison should be run and long-term problems with apparent corruption. The state’s top prison official cleaned house.

In 1982, Monroe inmate Charles Rodman Campbell killed two women and a girl in Clearview while he was on work release. He was hardly a model prisoner at Monroe, with write-ups for trying to assault a nurse, fighting and using drugs.

Investigators discovered that prison officials had been providing incomplete information about prisoner behavior to the parole board. Hearings and lawsuits helped usher in current mandatory sentencing ranges for offenders. They also brought legislation requiring notification for victims when offenders are released. The state hanged Campbell for the triple murder in 1994.

Scherf, too, may face an aggravated murder charge. Killing a corrections officer is among the handful of crimes that can bring a death sentence in Washington.

Herald Writer Rikki King contributed to this story.