April asked her younger sister, Denise, to come along and slipped an extra kitchen knife into her jacket pocket.

Paula Cooper was arrested in May 1985. Photo: Guardian

The place the girls were talking about, the bright white house with columns in front, was the home of Ruth Pelke, 77, a retired teacher who had lived alone for many years after her husband passed away.

Karen rang the doorbell. After a while, Ruth Pelke opened the door. The girls pretended to ask her about her Bible class and were warmly invited in. They followed the old woman into the dining room, where there was a large table and an organ. Ruth Pelke took a pen and paper from her desk drawer, preparing to give a lecture. At this moment, Paula approached from behind, knocked her down, and stabbed her 30 times. Leaving the blade in the hostess’s stomach, the girls went around rummaging through her belongings, took the car keys and $10, and then left.

Bob Pelke, Ruth’s son, after making numerous unanswered calls, unlocked the door with a spare key and discovered what had happened. Minutes later, detectives began arriving, and the once peaceful, tree-lined white house was now cordoned off with plastic sheeting.

Within a few days, all four suspects were arrested. All were female, aged 14-16.

Lake County prosecutor Jack Crawford visited Bob to discuss how the family would “pursue justice.” Indiana was then one of 37 states that retained the death penalty and allowed executions for those under 18. The minimum age for receiving the death penalty in Indiana was 10. The prosecutor said the girls faced the death penalty.

Jack Crawford was known as a tough prosecutor; in his 10-year career, he requested the death penalty 22 times and won 17 times, one of the highest death penalty conviction rates for a district attorney in Indiana state history.

He convened a press conference, confirming that the defendants were all teenagers and requesting that all four be tried in adult court. But his most important announcement was that the state would pursue the death penalty for as many defendants as possible. “This will send a message that for certain crimes, even a young person must pay the highest price,” he declared.

Karen, April, and Denise each subsequently received lengthy prison sentences for their roles in the break-in.

When it was Paula’s turn, at the July 1986 sentencing hearing, the district court was unusually crowded. Reporters crammed the benches in courtroom number 3 for one reason: the high probability that a teenage girl would be sentenced to death. Paula’s parents didn’t come. They had left the state shortly after their daughter’s arrest. Around 10 a.m., Paula was led into the courtroom by a female police officer. All eyes were on her.

Bob Pelke, speaking on behalf of the family, offered a clear plea, a plea for revenge: “Do what needs to be done, destroy the criminals so that good people can enjoy the life God has given them. A light sentence for Paula would be immoral, unbiblical, ineffective, a betrayal of justice, and a disregard for my mother’s right to life.”

Paula’s sister appeared before the witness stand, recounting the horrific experiences of their childhood, when they were abused by their parents. But the public paid little attention.

Finally, Paula argued that she had never had a peaceful day in her life. All the prosecutors, authorities, courts, and media were invisible when children like her pleaded for help, yet they were all present on the day of the trial. “Would you feel more at peace if you executed a child like me?” Paula said. The courtroom descended into chaos.

The judge avoided making eye contact with Paula when pronouncing the sentence. “The court is deeply concerned about the defendant’s background and sympathizes with the defendant’s experience of parental abuse, which partly explains the deviations in the defendant’s personality. However, this is not an excuse. The defendant has committed a crime and must face the consequences,” the verdict stated, sentencing the defendant to death.

A cacophony erupted as dozens of reporters rushed out of the room to document their story. As police led Paula out, she remained silent. People streamed into the hallway, where prosecutor Jack Crawford and the victim’s family stood together. A voice shouted at them: “Are you satisfied now?” It was Paula’s sister, sobbing uncontrollably.

Bob Pelke briefly told reporters, “Justice has been served.” Paula was then confined to a 2.5 x 3 meter, windowless death row cell, isolated 23 hours a day, constantly fearing she would be led to the electric chair at any moment.

Meanwhile, outside, there was someone suffering just as much as Paula: Bill Pelke, 26, the victim’s grandson. To him, his grandmother was more than a mother, the only person in the world who didn’t judge him and always embraced him with a smile and kindness.

Bill had once wanted Paula dead, but after witnessing her trial, he was no longer so sure of that wish.

Bill Pelke at a campaign to abolish the death penalty in the US. Photo: Medium.

Looking at the photo his grandmother carried with her every day, Bill knew she wouldn’t want that poor girl tied to an electric chair in her name. “I thought to myself, Paula doesn’t know what she’s doing. Anyone who takes a 30-inch butcher’s knife and stabs someone 33 times doesn’t know what they’re doing. What happened that day was a senseless, deranged act. I knew that forgiveness was the right thing to do and perhaps I should learn to forgive her,” Bill later recounted.

Bill wasn’t usually a letter writer, but on the morning of November 2, 1986, he decided to write to the woman who had killed his grandmother, saying he forgave her and intended to help her.

Eight days later, he received a reply from Paula. It was the first of over 300 letters they had exchanged over the decades. “You don’t need to write, visit, or testify for leniency for me. Your forgiveness is already a pardon. I’m really not a bad person, but life has been too harsh on me,” she wrote.

Despite strong opposition from his parents, Bill continued his search for clemency for his “enemies.” He publicly launched a campaign to abolish the death penalty for children, went to the Vatican, requested an audience with the Pope, and received support from Pope John Paul II.

Ultimately, approximately 2 million signatures were collected for a pardon petition. Paula’s case attracted significant international attention. The state of Indiana became “famous” for its law allowing a 10-year-old child to receive the death penalty.

In 1989, the Indiana High Court spared Paula’s life, citing a Supreme Court decision prohibiting the execution of those under 16. Paula was sentenced to 60 years. It was a glimmer of hope.

In prison, Paula passed the time by studying, earning her high school diploma and attending college while incarcerated. “Prison taught me more than my parents,” she said. Bill and Paula’s unusual friendship continued through letters, and they officially met for the first time in 1994. They hugged for a long time, letting their tears speak for themselves. Bill visited Paula a total of 14 times during her time in prison.

“Bill’s holiness was the first good thing God gave me in my life,” Paula later said.

Paula Cooper on her college graduation day, after years of studying in prison. Photo: Indy Star

In 2001, Paula, radiant and wearing a graduation cap and gown, received her humanities degree from Martin University in a ceremony held in prison, attended by her sister.

Finally, after several sentence reductions, Paula was released in June 2013, beginning a volunteer job in the church’s soup kitchen, but still struggling with “freedom.” At 43, Paula had spent more time in prison than outside, and the uncertainty sometimes made her want to return to prison for a sense of security. Moreover, the crime still weighed heavily on her.

On May 28, 2015, Paula Cooper sneaked out of her home before dawn, leaving behind four handwritten letters bidding farewell to her loved ones. Her body was found under a tree near her home, her right hand still clutching a gun, with a single bullet lodged in her temple.

Bill Pelke held a memorial service for his extraordinary friend. He continued the movement to abolish the death penalty throughout the United States and the world until the very last day of his life, November 17, 2020.