One point six inches.
It may be the reason U.S. Judge Timothy Corrigan is alive.
Why his wife Nancy isn’t a widow.
And why Aaron Richardson isn’t on death row.
That’s the distance Richardson missed by when he fired into the judge’s home in the early hours of June 23, 2013.
The Corrigans were watching TV after spending the evening at a wedding. Richardson was hiding in the bushes, then he fired the shot.
A slight change here or there could have meant a much, much different outcome. Richardson stepping forward another foot, knowing more about the gun or even having a little weapons experience.
He didn’t, though.
And the assassination attempt came up short. One point six inches short.
Three years later, the Corrigans stood in a federal courtroom, only this time they could see Richardson. The 27-year-old was dressed in a red jumpsuit with “inmate” in white block letters on the back.
Behind them was a capacity crowd, dozens of mostly family and friends who had been by their side during the entire ordeal.
The Corrigans were there to speak, sharing insight into what Richardson’s decisions meant to them.
Because of that near miss, said Nancy Corrigan, her husband was here today. “But, no one in our family will ever be the same,” she said.
It took a while before they felt safe in their home again.
Every time her husband was out of town that first year, one of their adult sons would spend the night.
It’s not that way anymore, but she compulsively checks the alarm system. And when there’s a loud noise, both she and her husband flinch and look around to see if a bullet had been shot.
Corrigan said his biggest regret was the impact the ordeal has had on his wife.
As for his assailant, the judge was indifferent. He doesn’t have hatred or malice toward Richardson.
And he doesn’t think Richardson has those feelings toward him, either. Corrigan said his death would have been a means to an end — to help Richardson in his legal problems, of which there have been many.
Like the abundance of lies Richardson has told law enforcement officials over the years or more recently to mislead them on the case.
Or forging Corrigan’s name on fake documents to clear himself of legal and financial woes after the judge denied probation — with the assassination attempt the next move.
Yet, Corrigan said it was more than just about Richardson trying to kill him. It was symbolic.
“When Mr. Richardson took dead aim at my head and pulled the trigger, he directly attacked the rule of law that is so vital to our nation’s identity and continuity,” Corrigan told the court.
Richardson prior to receiving a 343-year sentence told the court he was sorry for what happened to the Corrigans, but said it wasn’t him. He questioned where everybody would be “when the truth comes out.”
As the prosecuting attorneys afterward explained, finding the truth about Richardson took much time and effort. But the evidence led to him in many ways.
There was the electrical tape found on the high-powered rifle and in the Corrigans’ yard. Shoe impressions matching Richardson’s also were left behind in the bushes.
In his phone was an internet search rife with inquiries about the Corrgians. Even their phone numbers were stored in his cellphone under the name “Mission Freedom.”
He was cunning, said prosecutors, in the way he tried to plan it all. But he came up short.
One point six inches short.
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