MiamiHerald.com | 11/24/2006 | No quick healing for victims of birthday party shooting

MiamiHerald.com | 11/24/2006 | No quick healing for victims of birthday party shooting:
Posted on Fri, Nov. 24, 2006 CRIME
No quick healing for victims of birthday party shootingThe family wounded in a shooting at a birthday party last month still grapples with physical and emotional wounds.
BY DAVID OVALLE
dovalle@MiamiHerald.com
The suspects
CRIME
No quick healing for victims of birthday party shootingThe family wounded in a shooting at a birthday party last month still grapples with physical and emotional wounds.
BY DAVID OVALLE
dovalle@MiamiHerald.com
The suspects
The suspected killers are jailed. The healing has just begun.

That October afternoon, the man who shot Ann Maynard, 31, at point-blank range before a child's birthday party left her with a mangled jaw and a broken arm.

Her sister, Shentara Maynard, 25, still needs surgery to remove a bullet lodged near her spine.

As for Shentara's two little ones, they still haven't grasped the severity of their own wounds.

Here at Jackson Memorial Hospital, Shanterria Kearse, 7, eases her embarrassment by unstrapping her helmet. She wears it to protect the portion of her missing skull.

And Tony Chester, 4, wears thick bandages wrapped around his head, his gait a bit woozy.

''Wiggle, wiggle! Chicken noodle! Chicken noodle!'' He dances a jig for his family.

For now, his spirit is undrained even though his right eye is gone forever.

All four victims still have bullets embedded in their bodies. The physical healing is slow; recovering from the emotional wounds is even slower.

To be sure, there is joy. Tony, his family figures, should have died. The would-be killer fired through the top of his head. The bullet lodged in his eye socket.

''That's modern medicine -- and prayers,'' said his grandmother, Annette Maynard.

And raw guilt: Their cousin, Carla Queely, and her son, Chaquone, 7, didn't survive the bullets.

In a year stained by the callous shootings of young people, names like Zykarious Cadillon, Sherdavia Jenkins and Otissha Burnett have been immortalized by the media, politicians and community leaders.

Yet, these were singular victims. Easy to rally around in marches and protests. Young victims caught in the crossfire of other people's guns.

STUNNED SILENCE

But the Birthday Party Shooting, as many call it, elicited no vigils or public outcry.

Were the facts of the case too jumbled at first? The public too jaded?

Or perhaps the crime was just too ruthless to grasp:

Five gunmen staged a home-invasion robbery, searching for a safe that did not exist. For the family, the surreal images flash back in spurts: Ann hearing a knock on the door, not seeing anyone in the video surveillance monitor; the gunmen bursting in, armed with flex cuffs stuffed in a belt under their shirts; Chaquone suffering from a cold that day.

'My chil' is sick, my chil' is sick,'' Carla sobbed in her thick island accent as the men kept them hostage. ``I just want to have a party. I just want to have a party.''

''If you cry, I'll kill you. I have no problem killing you,'' Ann remembers one of the gunman snarling.

Queely, Chaquone and Ann had been hostage for some 10 minutes when Shentara, Tony and Shanterria entered the home at 20517 NE Ninth Pl., in North Miami-Dade.

Ann, who police say was held at the door by gunman Jose Estache, pushed him away, yelling for them to run. Estache then shot Ann, Shentara and her two children in the head with a .22 caliber pistol.

Police say Sean N. Condell shot Carla and Chaquone; they did not survive. Condell told police he killed them so they couldn't identify him.

''We try to block it out as much as we can,'' Shentara said.

The youngest victim was Tony, a steadily improving Pee Wee football linebacker with an appetite for Vienna sausages and oatmeal.

His family says he is a remarkably spiritual boy. He spits on his hand and blesses his auntie's forehead as if he possessed holy water. He watches sermons on TV and says he wants to be a preacher one day.

Early on, chances seemed slim he would survive. Doctors sedated him for 13 days. Hooked up to life-saving equipment, his swollen body looked more machine than human.

Shentara, his mother, was wracked with guilt. She and her sister had been out of their hospital beds the next day.

Both women struggle with the ''What ifs.'' What if they had done something different that day? What if Ann had looked out the window before opening the door? What if Shentara hadn't played dead once she was wounded?

Why did they survive?

''It was a lot of praying and crying to God. I prayed. I asked God to give him back to me,'' Shentara said of her son.

Then, signs appeared, seemingly every seventh day. He drew breaths on his own. He wiggled his toes. He squeezed his aunt's finger.

Every sign of progress was measured. Emotions ebbed and flowed. His body still shivered; he still drooled.

Hope escalated. Tony opened his eyes. Hope swelled. His mother showed him Sunday newspaper ads. ''Which one is the boy? Which one is the girl?'' she asked.

He pointed correctly. She asked him to point out his favorite sport. Tony lifted his finger to a football someone had brought to the room.

''That's when I knew I had him,'' Shentara recalled.

The family's spirits were buoyed by flowers, balloons and the oversize card signed by Tony's football teammates.

Miami-Dade homicide detectives visited every day. Lead detective Juan Capote brought Tony a red Power Ranger doll.

For the detectives, solving the shooting was urgent -- even if it didn't elicit a huge public outcry. Three teams of detectives were assigned to the case. Many of the detectives have children. Capote himself is the father of a 4-year-old boy.

PAINFUL RECOVERY

As they tracked the five men believed responsible, the victims continued to recover. Doctors removed a portion of the left side of Shanterria's skull. She spent two weeks in bed. She feels self-conscious when she wears her helmet in public. Shanterria understands she was shot -- she cries during therapy, is afraid to go to the bathroom by herself and often wets her bed.

Her aunt, Ann, is still jumpy when she is alone. She was shot through the left side of the cheek; doctors performed surgery after she developed lockjaw.

She was also wounded in both arms: She has no feeling in parts of her left hand; her right arm is broken.

Nothing will bring Carla and Chaquone back. But life trudges on.

The family hopes prosecutors seek the death penalty for the shooters. Perhaps legislation can be passed to toughen crimes against children.

Ann hopes to write a book about her life and the shooting, to inspire teenage girls. She'll call it Which Way Out.

Before the shooting, Shentara wanted to open a group home for disabled people. Now she plans to open one for troubled teenage girls.

On Monday this week, the family received a welcome gift. Tony was discharged earlier than expected. He was home for Thanksgiving.

''It's wonderful. His birthday is next Wednesday,'' Shentara said.