My column today:
Rob Coulthard gave his wife the final, fatal dose of arsenic on July 3, 1988 — 20 years ago tomorrow. She was a patient at Duke University Medical Center. She died there six days later.
No one suspected he’d been poisoning her since December 1987. Rob and Sandy Coulthard seemed like an ideal High Point couple — Wake Forest graduates, members of Emerywood Baptist Church, parents of two small children, the younger less than a year old. He was a furniture company’s vice president for sales and marketing, and they lived in an attractive home in one of the city’s nicer neighborhoods.
Sandy Coulthard turned 30 on the last birthday of her life. Rob Coulthard marked his 50th birthday last month at Pender Correctional Institute, a medium-security prison in Burgaw. He could walk out as a free man before he’s 51.
Coulthard’s crime unraveled quickly after Sandy’s death. The autopsy indicated she died of arsenic poisoning. Doctors had misdiagnosed her illness as possible Guillain-Barre syndrome. Hair samples showed spikes in arsenic concentrations, mapping each dose. Police found a record of Coulthard ordering arsenic two years earlier, learned he carried $350,000 in life insurance on his wife, that he had girlfriends and gambling debts.
In cold blood, without emotion, he slowly, persistently poisoned his wife, the mother of his children, watching her suffer, to erase her from his life. She never knew.
“By all reports, Coulthard was a prodigious actor, with a gift for promoting himself and enlisting others’ trust,” Davidson College English professor Cynthia Lewis wrote in an article published recently in the University at Albany Journal of Criminal Justice and Popular Culture. She’s studied the Coulthard case and others where husbands have plotted murder in place of divorce.
Despite the cruelty of the crime, Coulthard was ruled ineligible for the death penalty by Superior Court Judge William Helms, who found insufficient evidence of aggravating factors. Instead, represented by two of the state’s top defense attorneys, Coulthard pleaded guilty to first-degree murder and received a sentence of life in prison. Under sentencing guidelines then in effect, he would become eligible for parole in 20 years.
The time has come. A parole review process begins later this month, Parole Commission Administrator Patsy Joiner said Monday. Members of Sandy Coulthard’s family have a 30-minute appointment with parole commissioners next week to express their views.
“We’re strongly opposed to him ever getting out,” her brother, Stephen W. Coles, said Monday. “The children feel the same. ... They’ve had no contact with him and want none.”
Coulthard’s prison photo shows a middle-aged man with a lean face and close-cropped gray hair, wearing wire-rimmed glasses. He works as a groundskeeper at Pender, where he’s been housed since April 2006. In 20 years, he’s incurred an unusually low number of infractions — only six, none since 2001.
Pender’s assistant superintendent for programs said Coulthard doesn’t stand out among the nearly 800 inmates.
“He hasn’t created any management issues,” Brian Wells said last week.
“We knew all along that he’d be a model prisoner,” said Coles, a lawyer who practices in Greensboro, adding that his former brother-in-law is “conniving, calculating ... he has no conscience at all.”
Coulthard has never expressed remorse, and even has claimed in letters to mutual friends that he’s innocent, Coles said.
High Point police Maj. Jim Tate was part of the three-member investigative team that linked the murder to Coulthard. He opposes parole.
“It was one of the worst, most heinous crimes I’ve seen in High Point,” Tate said last week.
“Obviously we would be opposed to his making parole. It was a very bad case,” Guilford County District Attorney Doug Henderson said Monday.
Inmates at Pender sleep in dormitories and follow a basic routine, Wells said. Three meals, eight hours of work. They can spend leisure time in the yard and receive visitors by appointment. Educational programs are offered.
Coulthard’s life may be dull, but it’s a life — more than he allowed his wife.
Now, with his release a possibility, Coles said, the two children, in their early 20s, and his parents, who raised them in Lexington, “are scared to death.”
Who can blame them? The man coldly murdered a woman who loved and trusted him. Trusting him with freedom only 20 years later is a truly frightening idea.
The Parole Commission accepts comments from the public. Letters may influence its decsion in this case. Its address is 4222 Mail Service Center, Raleigh NC 27699-4222.
Thanks for reading. You can call me at 373-7039, email me at dgclark@news-record.com or, even better, post a comment here.