The War on La Familia

"Are you guilty?" his mother asked.

"Of course, yes," he responded.

Perez didn't take the stand, and he didn't respond to The Pitch's request for an interview. After three days of testimony, it took the jury just four hours to find Perez guilty of first-degree murder. Last week, Judge John McNally sentenced Perez to life in prison with no possibility of parole for 20 years.

During a stormy week in April, Franco sat in the same chilly courtroom facing charges of first-degree murder. Prosecutor Michael Russell argued to the jury that Franco was just as guilty of murder as Perez because he gave the order and then helped plan the shooting.

Franco was dressed in a polo shirt and khaki pants. His long black hair was neatly slicked back. Unlike Perez, with his empty stare, Franco looked scared as he surveyed the courtroom with tired eyes.

Gonzalez again recounted the events leading to the shooting. This time, he seemed more anxious. His legs bounced nervously. He looked more frequently toward the defendant's table. After nearly an hour of questioning by the prosecutor, Gonzalez rubbed his face, as if on the verge of tears. Franco stared straight ahead.

William Dunn, Franco's attorney, questioned Gonzalez's story. On July 19, Gonzalez told police it was Franco who went on the dry run. In a September 6 statement, he said it was Hernandez. Dunn argued that the discrepancy should make jurors wary of Gonzalez's account.

When Cisneros took the stand, he surprised prosecutors by becoming uncooperative. Cisneros pulled out a small piece of paper and read, "With all due respect to Mr. Russell and the court, I refuse to testify on José Franco until the safety of my family can be assured."

Judge McNally told Cisneros that he had no right to refuse to testify. He wasn't being charged in the case; if he kept quiet, he'd be held in contempt. Cisneros said he understood the consequences but still refused to talk.

Dunn didn't call any witnesses. He didn't have to, he argued in his closing statements. No physical evidence connected Franco to the crime. The only person linking Franco to the shooting was Gonzalez, a guy who rolled on his lifelong friend and changed his story in police statements, Dunn said. A guy who got a sweet deal in exchange for testifying, he added.

"You cannot convict on that kind of witness," Dunn continued in closing statements. "You've got a jailhouse snitch. That's it."

As the jury filed out, Franco looked each of them in the eyes. Before lunch, the count was 9-3 in favor of conviction. The sticking point was Gonzalez's credibility, whether his story could be trusted. After lunch, one juror still wasn't convinced. At 3:30 p.m., the jury told McNally they were deadlocked. The judge declared a mistrial.

Russell assured the Guzmáns that the case would be retried. But sitting through a trial gets harder each time, Fernando says. Twice, he and Ramona had to look at photos of the house, lit up like a skeleton in the eerie glow of the police lights that night. Twice, they listened to the coroner describe Yelena's wounds and saw images from her autopsy.

Fernando says it is striking to see such young kids sitting there in the defendant's chair. But he doesn't feel any sympathy. The teenagers, he says, have never tried to show him that they were sorry.

A month after Yelena's death, Ramona found out she was pregnant. She gave birth to Fernando Jr. on January 11. The couple doesn't want him to grow up surrounded by the kind of gang violence that cut short his sister's life, so they're considering leaving Kansas City, Kansas.

But Kansas City was Yelena's home. This is where Fernando had hoped she'd play sports in high school before going on to college. So they buried her at the Maple Hill Cemetery in the Argentine District. They visit her most Sundays, on a slope dotted with evergreen trees. Her grave is marked with a graceful black headstone. In the middle, there's a picture of the 2-year-old with pigtails and a subtle smile. Above the photo is written her affectionate nickname, "La Choky."

On April 4, Yelena's family and friends visited her grave to mark the one-year anniversary of her death. They brought her balloons and roses, placing them next to the silk daffodils, miniature Elmo toys and porcelain angels that surround the headstone.

Because of the harsh weather and the distance from the parking lot to the grave, Ramona had always insisted that Fernando Jr. keep warm in the car. But for the first time since he was born in January, the afternoon was mild and sunny.

"Look, Yelena, this is your brother," Fernando told his daughter as he carried his son to her grave. "He loves you. He misses you."

Fernando told her the family had to let her go but she'd always be in their hearts.

And then they let the balloons float into the sky.

Click here to write a letter to the editor.