Shotgun design could be key in murder defense

When she died Oct. 24, 2009, 26-year-old Leonila Stickney was thought to have been another victim of a hunting accident.

Stickney, authorities said at the time, was a passenger in a vehicle with her fiancé, who was road hunting pheasant in Gregory County. Her fiancé had just shot a pheasant and as he climbed back into their vehicle, his shotgun discharged, mortally wounding Stickney.

The episode prompted warnings from hunting safety advocates who distributed red magnets that read, “STOP Unload Before Entering.”

But Monday, in a Burke, S.D. courtroom, authorities plan to begin laying out their case that Stickney’s death was no accident at all – that her fiancé, an 18-year police officer whose law enforcement career included a stint as Harrisburg police chief, killed Stickney.

Russell Bertram, 64, is accused of first-degree murder in the death of the young woman. Authorities plan to lay out a case in which they portray Bertram as a controlling abuser who murdered Stickney after he found out she was pregnant with another man’s child. Key to their argument is that Bertram was the beneficiary to two life insurance policies worth $900,000.

But Bertram’s defense, according to court documents, could hinge on putting something else on trial: The shotgun he used that day during his hunt.

The Remington Model 870 pump shotgun is one of millions that have been produced for more than 60 years. The firearm uses a trigger mechanism, known as the common fire control, that is in use in several Remington shotguns and rifles. Critics say the mechanism is flawed: That even when the weapon is on safe, it can fire in certain situations.

Jack Belk, an Idaho-based gunsmith and longtime critic of the Remington common fire control design, said the flaw has led to countless examples of firearms discharging, cases in which people were wounded and killed by the faulty design.

“It’s been an ongoing problem,” he said.

David Lauck, an Arizona-based arms designer and gunsmith, examined Bertram’s shotgun for the defense. When he took the weapon apart, he found pieces of debris in the common fire control, a situation known to cause weapons to fire unexpectedly if bumped.

“Jar off (unexpected firing),” Lauck wrote in his report, “can occur with the safety in the on or off position, and without pulling the trigger.”

Following Lauck’s report, another expert witness appeared on the scene: Kentucky-based Derek Watkins, a former Remington engineer who now frequently testifies on behalf of the company in lawsuits.

It’s unclear whether Watkins was brought in by the state, by Remington or both. Remington did not return messages last week, and the attorney general’s office declined to comment on the case.

The Gregory County Auditor’s office confirmed that the county is paying the expenses for the trial, but the office did not know if that included Watkins and referred the question to Gregory County State’s Attorney Amy Bartling. Bartling did not respond to an email.

A phone number listed to Watkins went unanswered last week.

“The presence of Derek Watkins says Remington thinks they have a lot to lose by another criminal case going against them,” Belk said.

Regardless of its outcome, the circumstances regarding the case are unorthodox.

Stickney, originally from the Philippines, was married to a man more than 40 years older when she started a relationship with Bertram. Bertram was more than 30 years older, and had already been divorced three times to women who claimed in court filings that he was abusive and controlling.

Investigators determined that Stickney had developed relationships with other men. She was described as a vivacious woman who loved American life.

Following her death, Bertram went to the Philippines to meet Stickney’s family. He ended up marrying Stickney’s sister, Melissa del Valle.

During a 2014 interview with Guy DiBenedetto, an agent with the Division of Criminal Investigation who was investigating Stickney’s death, Bertram acknowledged the situation was “strange.”

“You were engaged,” DiBenedetto said, “she dies and you wind up marrying the sister, I mean for you and me in police work forever, that doesn’t seem too strange to us because we’ve seen stranger things than that. But you know to the general public they’d be like, hum, that’s kind of crazy.”

“Yes,” Bertram responded, “it is and I know, I mean it does look kind of goofy but yet, s*** happens. You know what I mean?”

Del Valle also filed for divorce. In an interview with DiBenedetto, she acknowledged that she agreed to marry Bertram because he sent $200-$500 a month back to her impoverished family, and that it gave her young daughter an opportunity to grow up and be educated in the United States.

On the day that Stickney died, Bertram told former Gregory County Sheriff Charlie Wolf that he had shot a pheasant and was returning to his vehicle, where he planned to put his shotgun barrel facing the floorboard inside the vehicle – an exercise carried out by thousands of South Dakota hunters during the hunting season.

But in this case, Bertram said, as he entered the vehicle, he felt a tug on the firearm and Stickney say, “Kiss me.” The gun suddenly discharged. Bertram said he applied pressure to the wound with a coat, called 911 and then rushed Stickney to a hospital, where she died.

The story stood, until authorities learned about the insurance policies Bertram had helped Stickney take out months before her death. In January, 2011, Wolf returned for another interview, this time accompanied by DiBenedetto. Wolf started off the interview by saying he’d never been completely satisfied with Bertram’s story of what had happened on that day in Gregory County. The insurance policies only added to his suspicions.

Bertram was again asked to recount what had happened. At one point, DiBenedetto asked Bertram whether he remembered putting the shotgun on safe.

“I thought I did,” he replied. “I thought I did. I really did. I thought, I don’t know. I can’t, can’t tell you. I thought I did.”

Whether it was on safe or not, Bertram’s fate could hinge on persuading jurors that the Remington Model 870 can fire whether it’s on safe or not, even if the trigger isn’t pulled.

Belk, who isn’t involved in the Bertram case, testified in a Wisconsin case that led to the acquittal this year of a man who was accused of shooting at another man on his property. Belk testified that Remington’s common fire control might have been responsible for discharging the firearm.

The mechanism, developed by engineers after World War II, contains a design flaw, Belk said. The safety can stop a person from inadvertently pulling a trigger, but it the design flaw doesn’t stop the firearms’ hammer from striking the firing pin if its jostled or dropped. To further complicate the problem, the post-World War II common fire controls were made with stamped metal and not machined metal parts.

“The gun can fire any time it’s loaded,” he said.

Belk has been criticized by some in the firearms industry for being a mercenary for plaintiffs’ lawyers suing Remington. While he acknowledged testifying in several cases and advising more than 100 lawyers, he said much of his work has been for free.

“They can say they have a safety, but they can’t answer the basic question of what prevents this gun from firing when it’s loaded?” Belk said.

Bertram’s case could last three weeks.