"According to public record, two weeks before the massacre, about the time Ben Ng turned twenty, he sat talking with a tong leader. Someone at the table listened as the leader offered to get Ng a special gift -- a bullet-proof vest -- as a rite of passage from adolescence. Ng shook his head. He didn't need protection. 'I shoot people,' Ng replied. 'People don't shoot me.'
-- Don Duncan, Seattle Times reporter

"[He's] a nice kid."
-- Defense attorney David Wohl describing his client, Benjamin Ng

Wearing gray coveralls while handcuffed and looking sheepishly tired, Willie Mak and Benjamin Ng appeared before King County Superior Court Judge Gerard Shellan on Friday, February 25, 1983. The young men pled not guilty to all thirteen counts of aggravated first-degree murder and one count of first-degree assault in the shooting of Wai Chin. As Deputy Prosecuting Attorney William Downing read the charges and the names of the victims, Benjamin Ng looked slightly down. Both men remained quiet and appeared emotionless throughout the proceeding, which lasted less than twenty minutes. Prosecutor Downing requested that the men be held in the King County Jail without bail; attorneys for Mak and Ng didn't object to the request, but reserved their right for a bail hearing later.

Willie Mak and Benjamin Ng were soon being investigated for three separate unsolved murders. On October 12, 1981, burglars took a safe containing an estimated $9,000 from Chin's Palace restaurant in Blaine, Washington -- the restaurant where Willie Mak and Benjamin Ng were working as cooks. Ten days later, a seventy-one year old man named Franklin E. Leach was shot and killed while taking his morning four-mile walk along the shores of Lake Washington. Police received information that the safe was being disposed of in the Lake when Leach happened by. Leach was shot and killed to prevent him from disclosing what he had seen. Within days of the restaurant burglary, Ng and Mak had returned to Seattle. Police tried to question the two young men, but they remained elusive. "[W]hen we went to talk to them," Police Chief Hinchey said, "they were gone. We never could find them; they just disappeared."

Mak and Ng were also suspects in two other unsolved murders. On July 16, 1982, Chan Lai Kuen Lau, 45, and her mother, Lau King Chung, 71, were killed at their home in the Beacon Hill section of Seattle. Both Lau and her mother were wealthy restaurant owners. They were hog-tied and shot execution-style. The police investigated a possible link between the Beacon Hill killings and Ng and Mak, primarily because the manner in which the mother and daughter were killed resembled that of the victims at the Wah Mee. Also, Ron Chinn, the manager of the burglarized Blaine restaurant, was the son of Chan Lai Kuen Lau, and the grandson of Lau King Chung. In court papers filed in July 1983, witness Bon Chin, who had been approached by Mak to participate in the Wah Mee killings, commented on the Beacon Hill killings: "[Benjamin] said, '[Let me] kill them with a big gun.' Willie said, 'No. It makes too big a noise; use the small one,' and he handed over his small gun."

When Wai Chin identified Willie Mak and Benjamin Ng as the killers at the Wah Mee Club, the authorities were already familiar with the young men. Police had been investigating Mak and Ng in connection with the Beacon Hill killings and, so, the young men were apprehended just hours after the Wah Mee killings.

Benjamin Ng's attorney, thirty-seven year-old John Henry Browne, had already achieved local notoriety. His roster of famous clients included Ted Bundy (convicted of killing two Florida State University sorority sisters and a twelve year-old girl, Bundy was the primary suspect at the time in seven killings in the Pacific Northwest during the 1970s), Cynthia Marler (charged in a murder-for-hire case), Tony Dictado (charged with directing the shooting of two officials of an Alaska cannery worker's union), Duke Fergerson (a Seattle Seahawk charged with rape), Claudia Thacker (a Kitsap County woman who was acquitted of second-degree murder in 1981, four years and two trials after she fatally shot her husband in the back; she claimed she was defending herself and her child), and Jerry Huntley (a Lynnwood police officer charged with assault for beating an Everett police officer; Huntley claimed self-defense and was acquitted in 1982). Browne would later go on to defend Tomeko Marcus (a nineteen-year-old sentenced in 1988 to twenty-three years in prison for killing his stepmother, Paula Marcus, who was a community leader and former investigator for the state Human Rights Commission), Greg Nagel (charged in 1993 with first-degree murder for fatally shooting a topless dancer in front of several witnesses), Tyrone Rodgers (former Husky and Seahawk football player charged but acquitted of assault in 1994 in connection with scuffle with a repo man), Kenneth Westmark (convicted of killing his two young sons in 1994 by strapping them into their car seats and starting the family car while the garage door remained closed; Westmark tried to kill himself in the same tragedy and suffered brain damage), and Darrell Cloud (a former Juanita High School student convicted of first-degree murder in 1995 for killing a Seattle middle school teacher who had sexually abused him for years).

Browne was flamboyant, impeccably dressed, arrogant, and articulate. He was a tall, thin man -- 6-foot-6, 200 pounds -- with brown hair and a thick mustache. He had a barbed-wire tattoo on his right forearm, drove a motorcycle on the weekends, and meditated regularly. He had graduated from Northwestern University in Illinois, holding both law and master's degrees. Browne was born in Tennessee, the youngest of two children. His father once worked as a nuclear engineer for the Atomic Energy Commission before retiring in Palo Alto, California, after serving as a vice president at Bechtel Corporation. After high school, Browne enrolled at the University of Denver, where he studied philosophy, played guitar in a rock group, and protested the Vietnam War in the late-1960s. An epiphanic moment for Browne occurred in the late-1960s when he was arrested for writing a bad check. The charge was dropped after police discovered that the check bounced because Browne had moved his account to a different bank by the time the check was cashed. His fiancée, the daughter of a wealthy East Coast family, bailed him out, but not until he had spent seventeen hours with men whom had been in jail for a week and still didn't have a lawyer. He decided right then he would be a criminal defense attorney. Browne broke off the engagement, quit the band (which was on the verge of a record contract) and enrolled in American University Law School in Washington, D.C. In 1972 Browne was hired as an assistant attorney general for Washington under then-Attorney General Slade Gorton. Posing as an inmate, Browne spent a couple of days in the maximum-security wing at the prison in Shelton, Washington, and rewrote rules on punishment within the institutions. He joined the King County Public Defender's Office in 1975 and soon became chief trial attorney. In the late-1970s Browne opened a private practice in downtown Seattle.

Browne was one of Seattle's best defense attorneys and, because his clients were often the subjects of high-profile trials, he was rumored to have taken cases on contingency.

Browne had his critics. He received hate mail and his office remained locked, for security, during business hours. A stranger once approached Browne and called him "the most hated man in the state." A state Supreme Court justice once commented that Browne "needed to be spanked." Browne once wore a white three-piece suit to court. After the judge ruled on a motion, he turned to Browne and said, "Now, I would like two fudge sundaes and a cream soda, please."

Rebecca Roe, a Seattle attorney who faced Browne in court, commented, "He [personalized] everything. He regularly [made] vicious personal attacks on other attorneys. He [is] the single most unpleasant attorney to deal with in King County."

Many thought Browne took high-profile cases simply to get publicity. "In the beginning of my practice," Browne admitted to a reporter before the Wah Mee trials, "publicity was very helpful. But I don't need the publicity now. I'd rather do something else than try some of these cases. But I'm a defense attorney and I take our system very seriously. People take their freedom for granted. They don't teach civics anymore. They don't realize how delicate the system is. It is a simple equation: The more power you give to government, the less power you give to individuals."

"He never seems to doubt the righteousness of his case," remarked Dan Satterberg, chief of staff for the King County Prosecutor's Office. "His hard-nosed style seems based on his unshakable belief, real or conjured, that his clients are always innocent or deserving of a break. Other attorneys will allow themselves to have a casual aside with a prosecutor that he thinks his case is weak or his client is lying. But you won't get any of that from John."

Browne was a colorful character in the courtroom. He once represented a man charged with custodial interference for taking his son and moving out of the area, although his ex-wife had been awarded custody during their divorce. Browne made the woman's behavior the defense. When he began his closing argument, Browne didn't even rise from his chair. "Ladies and gentlemen," he told the jury, "would you leave your dog with that woman for the weekend?" The jury acquitted.

In another case he defended a doctor named Jim Stansfield, charged with killing his wife and a neighbor. The trial was memorable for several reasons: a Hamlet-reciting medical examiner, and a key prosecution witness with such a long criminal record that Browne rolled his rap sheet from one end of the courtroom to the other. Charges were dismissed on the last day of trial.

Browne would spend much of the 1980s drinking and taking drugs. He lived in a waterfront home, drove fancy cars, and made headlines. He married and divorced three times. Later, in a 1998 interview with the Times, Browne reflected on his wild and crazy days. He was in counseling in 1986 when he was asked, "What do you want?"

"It was a great question," Browne said in the interview. "I didn't know." Shortly thereafter, he went to Death Valley to attend an intensive 10-day self-awareness seminar conducted by Dr. Richard Moss. He stayed in sweat lodges, taking long speaking and eating fasts and spending hours on his hands and knees scrubbing floors. He began to read the poetry of Mevlana Jalaluddin Rumi, one of the Sufi spiritual masters of the Thirteenth Century.

Browne was against the death penalty -- not uncommon for a criminal defense attorney. He was also a fine attorney. He reveled in his role as a defense attorney, despite the fact that such attorneys are held in such low regard. While defending Bundy in the early-1980s, a Seattle detective allegedly tried to get Browne to leak information about his client. "He was trying to get me to help him with nailing Ted!" Browne told a reporter. "When we do that, the system doesn't work! Then our Constitution is for everyone but Ted Bundy or whoever the next unpopular person may be. [The courthouse is] a 'Temple of Justice' not a 'Temple of Political Correctness.'" No other profession suited Browne more than the courtroom. "I like people. I like juries," Browne added. "I like to be in court."

The prosecution consisted of William Downing and Robert Lasnik. Both attorneys held law degrees from the University of Washington and went to work for the prosecutor's office as interns on the same day.

Lasnik was a thirty-two year old from Staten Island, New York. He held degrees in psychology, journalism, and counseling psychology, as well as law. In the summer of 1977 he went to work as an intern at the prosecutor's office and worked his way up to an assistant to Prosecuting Attorney Norm Maleng. Lasnik spent a lot of time in policy work, lobbying in the Legislature, particularly on child sexual abuse bills and a sentencing reform act. The trial of Benjamin Ng was his first murder case.

Downing was a thirty-four year old who graduated in 1978 with a law degree from the University of Washington He was skilled in criminal trials, having gained a conviction against Scott Carl Smith on three murder charges in the 1980 Barn Door Tavern shootings. Later, he successfully convicted John Alan Robinson -- a man who killed his estranged wife's divorce lawyer, Thomas Neville, in an office lobby downtown.

Downing was an effective prosecutor, with boyish features, wavy dark hair, and a mustache. He was overwhelmingly respected in the legal community by judges, fellow prosecutors, and opposing defense attorneys. "There's no doubt about it," commented defense attorney Mark Mestel, who would later face Downing and Lasnik during Tony Ng's trial. "Downing is good."

Downing was respected because, in less than six years, he had handled fourteen of Seattle's most notorious murder cases. In addition to the trials for the Barn Door Tavern murders and convicted killer Thomas Neville, Downing prosecuted the killers involved in the fatal shooting of two brothers in a Factoria parking lot. After the Wah Mee trials, Downing went on to prosecute one man responsible for the strangulation and mutilation deaths of Colleen Gill and her daughter, Kathryn, in their Windermere home. He would also prosecute David Rice, charged with murdering Charles A. Goldmark, his wife, and their two children in their Madrona home.

Judge Frank D. Howard, who would preside over the Wah Mee trials, commented, "Downing's an extremely competent trial lawyer. You're happy to have a prosecutor like Downing in your court. It makes the judge's job easier."

Downing's style in the courtroom was both unique and admired. "What makes him effective as a prosecutor is his reasonableness," commented Carole Grayson, editor of the Washington State Bar News and a defense attorney who faced Downing during a trial of two men convicted of murdering a woman in a West Seattle motel. "It makes it nice to do a trial with him, but it hurts the defense."

Downing's congeniality extended not only to colleagues but even, at times, to defendants. He was known to talk baseball and motorcycles with accused killers during courtroom breaks. During the Robinson trial, many attorneys were emotional about the case because a fellow lawyer had been gunned down in an office lobby. At Robinson's arraignment, Downing walked up to the accused killer and shook his hand. "It sort of startled Robinson," recalled defense attorney George Finkle.

"I have always tried to be friends with the defendant," Downing observed. "It helps when you get them on the stand. When you turn on them on the stand, it has interesting effects in front of the jury. If I am doing my job right, they will show their true colors to the jury. Most of the time, they are not even aware that their true colors should be hidden."

But Downing didn't befriend defendants only so he could "turn on them" when they took the stand. "Bill understands that it is not a black-and-white world out there," said Gordon Jones, a former prosecutor with Downing. "He understands that just because he is trying to put somebody away for the rest of their life, that that person is not evil personified."

Downing's unique style came from his unique work background. He hadn't always had his sights on law school. During the 1960s and 1970s, Downing worked as a tugboat deckhand, dump truck driver, and commercial fisherman. He grew up in Kinderhook, New York, south of Albany. His father died when Downing was six; his mother died ten years later. Downing entered college in the 1960s in hopes of avoiding the draft during the Vietnam War. He was one of the first sixty men admitted to the previously all-female Vassar College. But Downing was restless, and wanted to the see the world. He had always had a wanderlust ambition. His brother, Rick, recalled that once during a Little League baseball game, the coach pulled young William off second base because he had turned around to stare at a passing freight train.

After Vassar, Downing declared himself a "Conscientious Objector" to the war and avoided the draft. He spent nearly a year fulfilling community-service duty in a New York State mental hospital as an orderly. He grew shoulder-length hair and, in his off-time, raced dirt bikes with his brother. When his community-service duty was finished, Downing hit the road, living in his van. "My religion [had] as much to do with Kerouac and John Steinbeck and Woody Guthrie as any of the accepted religions," Downing commented. Between 1972 and 1975, Downing worked as a tugboat deckhand in New Orleans and a commercial fisherman in Bellingham, Washington. In 1975 Downing was looking for "something real." After working hard-labor jobs, he wanted to work with his mind instead of his back. He chose law school and, initially, considered becoming a public defender. But he later decided to become a prosecutor. "An idealistic prosecutor," he commented, "could accomplish more than an idealistic public defender."

Benjamin Ng's defense attorney, John Henry Browne, commented, "I think that Bill is much more of a human being than a lawyer, and that's a compliment. That makes him a good trial lawyer."

As teams for the defense and prosecution prepared their cases, all eyes were on Wai Chin. He was the tragedy's lone survivor and key witness, and his health was flagging. Prosecutors feared Chin would die of complications stemming from his injuries. Prosecutor Lasnik submitted separate affidavits provided by Dr. Larry Duckert and Dr. Robert Badger, physicians at Harborview Medical Center, who confirmed that Chin's health was precipitous. Lasnik requested that Chin's testimony be videotaped in case Chin died. He also feared that Chin might be assassinated, as he was the key witness and a suspect still remained at large. Judge Frank D. Howard delayed signing an order allowing the videotaping of Chin's testimony until more information was submitted.

Chin remained hospitalized at Harborview Medical Center for nearly one month. His condition vacillated between serious and critical, so his health concerned prosecutors. They believed successful prosecution of the killers hinged on Chin's potential testimony. On March 2, 1983, Chin's blood pressure dropped, his condition deteriorated, and he required vigorous resuscitation. Several doctors suspected Chin might have been poisoned but they later deemed their patient's lapse routine. One of Chin's doctors, Larry Badger, reported that Chin was "at risk to develop future complications such as infection, pulmonary embolus or pneumonia, any of which have life-threatening potential." A good chunk of a bullet was still lodged in Chin's neck in two places.

From his hospital bed and under heavy police protection, Chin provided details that helped the prosecutor's office compile an affidavit that explained in detail the killings at the Club. Chin was unable to speak and, instead, communicated by nodding and providing hand-written notes.

On March 12, 1983, Dr. Duckert reported that Chin was "doing very well" and believed that he would be released next week. Chin may have survived the mass slaying by wriggling under one of the gaming tables before being shot. Authorities close to the case reported that the gunmen fired at an oblique angle due to Chin's position beneath the table. As a result, his wounds were non-fatal. Dr. Duckert confirmed that the bullets that wounded Chin did enter at an oblique angle on the left side of his neck. But Dr. Duckert also confessed he was not a ballistics expert and could not determine how Chin's manner of crouching affected the angle of the injury.

Chin was released from Harborview Medical Center on March 18, 1983. Shortly after his release, and then in May, Chin provided videotaped and tape-recorded statements to prosecutors and police. He was also placed in a secure residence somewhere in the Seattle area. "We don't want anyone to find him," Major Dale Douglass reported. "We don't want to take any chances." In fact, security was so tight that Chin didn't even know the phone number where he was residing. Guards didn't allow him to return to Chinatown, a place he had lived for more than forty years.

The Seattle Police Department stopped at nothing to protect Chin. To do so, the Department spent $338,000 in salaries, overtime, and benefits, $12,000 for security devices at the apartment, and nearly $8,000 for apartment and vehicle rentals. Chin lived with his companion, Rose, and they spent their daily life watching television, cooking, doing the laundry, and playing cards with a sergeant and twelve detectives. The security team grew fond of Chin, affectionately referring to him as "Mr. C," and taking him and Rose on trips to Camano Island State Park, Mount Rainier, Point Defiance Zoo, Northwest Trek, Deception Pass, Leavenworth, Ste. Michelle Winery, and Longacres race track. Despite their frequent trips to various points of interest, bodyguards kept a watchful eye on the couple. There were never fewer than six guards with the starwitness and his companion. At one point, officers suspected that neighbors living in the same apartment building knew the importance of the surreptitious couple; one tenant asked an officer to give a vase filled with fresh flowers to Rose. After the trials, Rose would reminisce fondly on the attention she and Chin received from the bodyguards. "I [felt] like Mrs. Reagan," she told a reporter. "I [liked] this bodyguard business."

On April 22, 1983, while sitting in his jail cell, Mak wrote a letter addressed to the "Public." He believed that he was going to receive the death penalty for what had happened at the Wah Mee, and he wanted to come clean and share his story. In his letter, he described how he was ordered by the leaders of the Hop Sing tong to enter the Wah Mee Club and rough up a leader of the Bing Kung Association. He left the Club before any shooting began and, later, "didn't have any idea why the peoples [sic] was killed." Mak also wrote, "[I] am willing to wake up the public with my life" so that they could learn that Seattle police are paid off by the tongs to protect gambling and prostitution, and that various restaurant owners are involved in drug dealing and diamond smuggling from overseas. "The tongs been fighting each other [sic] over years," Mak wrote. "The tongs are involved with lots of illegal activity." Mak gave the letter to Janell Whitaker, the sister of Mak's former girlfriend, with explicit instructions not to share the letter with anyone until after he died. Along with his "Dear Public" letter, Mak wrote a separate, private letter to Whitaker, indicating that he didn't deserve "the penalty." He ended the letter by writing, "I hope I could see you again. If I don't, you take care of yourself and Justin. I love you both. Thank you for being my friend. I be [sic] praying for you. Love always, Willie."

Benjamin Ng's trial, originally scheduled to begin on August 1, 1983, was postponed for one week because defense attorneys requested that Benjamin Ng and Willie Mak be tried separately. Prosecutor Downing stated, "Each of the two defendants now wants to point the finger of blame at the other." Ng claimed that Mak was the leader of the group, and ordered the killings. Mak claimed that Ng lost control and opened fire on the Club.

The defendants' trials were ultimately held separately.

Benjamin Ng's trial was held first. The prosecutors would seek the death penalty. Defense attorney Browne unsuccessfully tried to get two juries seated for the trial -- one to determine the verdict and one to determine the punishment if Ng were convicted. Three months prior to jury selection, Browne enlisted the help of a twenty-nine-year-old assistant attorney named David Wohl. Wohl had been leasing space from Browne. When court-appointed help was offered to Browne, Wohl joined the high-profile attorney. Wohl's expertise was in appellate work, and many of his peers thought him too "green" for such a media-heavy trial. Wohl was known to have had frequent difficulty articulating his arguments. Wohl earned his law degree from Emory University in Atlanta. He had been an attorney for the Washington Appellate Defender Association before beginning his practice as a criminal defense lawyer.

Browne supported his partner, commenting, "He's an excellent complement to the legal team."

Jury selection began on August 8, 1983, and the Seattle P-I described the event as a "Death Penalty Quiz." Benjamin Ng was brought into the courtroom, wearing a clean white shirt, plaid sweater vest, and brown corduroy pants. His hair was neatly groomed and he remained quiet and unemotional during the questioning. Ng's girlfriend, Kennis Izumi, was also present for jury selection, along with his sister, Bessie Ng. Defense attorney Browne explained, "I am looking for somebody who is intelligent, sensitive, who has both a brain and feelings. Somebody who will listen."

Jurors were given a hint of the gory details and photographs that would comprise a large part of the trial. "You are going to see photographs that are just horrible, that are a nightmare," Defense attorney Browne said. "I can't overstate how gruesome they are going to be."

Judge Howard had announced earlier that jurors morally opposed to the death penalty and those who favored it would be excluded without exception. Prosecutor Lasnik asked the potential jurors if they could "look the defendant in the eye" and tell him he had been sentenced to death.

A jury was finally selected. It consisted of, among others, three Boeing employees, a babysitter, a former bakery manager, an employee of the state Department of Social and Health Services, an IRS agent, a small-business owner, a housewife, and an employee of Rainier Brewing Company. The jury consisted of nine men and three women.

In his opening remarks, Prosecutor Downing stated that Ng, Mak, and Tony Ng all participated in a premeditated robbery and committed the murders to cover up the robbery. He also stated the victims were hog-tied and, after thirty-two shots were fired, the three defendants left the Club to divide the proceeds from an evening they thought had gone according to plan. Downing said the three defendants did not realize that Chin, still alive, would slip free of his bonds and struggle through the doors of the Wah Mee Club, where he would be met by an individual who was waiting to enter the Club. Downing stated that Chin told the individual, "Robbery. Killing inside. Call police and ambulance."

One week into Ng's trial, a hearing took place to determine whether guns and money belonging to Ng should be admitted into evidence. Lieutenant Holter, who was the first to enter Ng's room and arrest the young man, testified that he found three live rounds of ammunition and a gold money clip in the pocket of a black, nylon jacket that Ng wanted to wear downtown. Detective Billy Baughman testified that he read Ng his Miranda Rights, twice, before they arrived at the police department. Detective Baughman also testified that Ng stated he didn't shoot anyone and that his money was a sum he earned working as a dealer at the Hop Sing's club. Moreover, Detective Baughman testified that Ng, when asked why anyone would want to accuse him of the murders if he wasn't responsible, stated he "was well-known and had a lot of enemies in Chinatown."

Several police officers testified they saw guns and money in Ng's bedroom, and left a uniformed officer outside the bedroom while a search warrant was sought.

Kennis Izumi and her parents, George and Connie, also took the stand during the day's hearings. The three described how police entered the home and arrested Ng. Kennis Izumi, a stunningly beautiful Asian woman with long dark hair, told the court, "Mom woke me up, she came in and woke me up and said police were there to arrest Benjamin. I started to get out of bed. By the time I was getting out, they were already coming in. He didn't get out of bed. They were explaining to him that he murdered thirteen people." Izumi also testified that she made two false statements to police in an effort to be "overprotective."

On August 17, 1983, Defense attorney Browne told the jury that there was no evidence that Benjamin Ng was guilty of aggravated premeditated murder. "Let me tell you right now," Browne told the jury, "Benjamin was there. That's not going to be disputed in this case. There is no question that Benjamin tied up the people. But Benjamin did not shoot that night. There is not a speck of blood on any article of his clothing [and t]here were thirteen people shot at close range."

Prosecutor Downing brought several police officers to the stand to describe the carnage at the Club. The jury was shown a series of photographs of the interior of the Wah Mee. Three of the photos depicted the victims face down on the floor, blood pumping from their heads. The jurors spent ten minutes studying the photographs. The courtroom was completely silent.

The following day in court, survivor Wai Chin took the stand. He was brought into the courtroom under heavy police guard. Four plainclothes policemen stationed themselves around the courtroom and two King County jail guards stood near Ng. Chin was dressed in a tan jacket, blue pants, and a brown plaid shirt. His gray hair was streaked with white and his dark eyes were bright. His face was slightly freckled; his neck was marked with a long scar. His jaw, which still had bullet fragments lodged in it, was numb; yet, he spoke quickly, his accent slight, as he testified in court for four hours. Many of the victims' relatives filled an entire row in the courtroom, weeping silently as they listened to Chin's description of what happened at the Club. "I had exactly two-hundred dollars in my wallet," Chin told the court. He also stated that Dewey Mar, one of the victims, said, "You guys want money? Take it from John Loui." Loui managed the finances at the Wah Mee Club. Chin waited, face down on the floor, for the three robbers to leave. As he turned his head to see why the robbers had yet to leave the Club, Chin testified he saw all three men put on gloves and remove guns.

"I turn my head up," Chin testified. "I watch because I wonder why they don't leave. I saw the guns pointing. Bap-bap-bap, like a firecracker, and I saw the fire come out of the guns." Chin pointed his finger like a gun, trying to describe what had happened. "Bullets were flying all out. I get a bullet in the jaw and one in neck and blood was coming out of my mouth. I heard, 'Is that all the bullets?' Then I passed out."

Chin identified Ng, who listened quietly to the victim's testimony. "I saw Mr. Ng stand over here and say, 'Everybody hands up' and I see he has a gun." Chin used a pointer to show on a giant floor plan precisely where he lay on the Club's floor. "The third guy was down here, he also had a gun. I was lay [sic] down here. Some people lay down beside me and some lay up here. They come down and lay all over." Chin testified that Benjamin Ng and Tony Ng robbed and hog-tied the victims while Willie Mak stood on the upper level of the Club and "acted like the leader."

Defense attorney Browne asked Chin about his prior conviction for gambling. Chin said he was put on probation for three years. Browne tried to paint a seedy picture of the Wah Mee -- a picture of gamblers with guns.

"Isn't it a fact that people at the Wah Mee were armed with weapons?" Browne asked.

"I don't know about that," Chin replied.

"Do you know why they had guns?"

"I think they had permits, gun permits. I think they protect themselves." Chin glanced briefly at the jury.

Browne tried to prove Benjamin Ng did not fire his weapon. He listed the victims and asked Chin if he knew who shot which victims.

"Do you know who shot you?" Browne asked.

"No."

"Are you confused about the events?"

"No," Chin replied, looking straight at Browne.

The next day in court, many of Benjamin Ng's acquaintances testified. The defense witnesses that had been subpoenaed complained about being forced to appear in court. They argued they had no direct involvement in the case and had been swept up in a "fishing expedition."

Yen Yin Lau, a twenty-two year old cook in a Mount Vernon Chinese restaurant, stated that Mak had talked about robbing, tying, and killing victims in a Chinatown gambling club. Mak said he would shoot the victims with a .22 caliber gun because "it doesn't make that much noise." Lau, who was working with Mak and Ng in a restaurant in Whatcom County, testified that he heard the two suspects discuss a heist-and-killing as early as 1981. But Lau never took the young men seriously. "I don't think they do that kind of thing for that amount of money," Lau said. "Willie was doing most of the talking. Ng don't talk that much." Lau had known Ng since his days in junior high school. The two young men were acquaintances, known to join Mak in target practices in Lau's garage, firing at targets with .22 caliber Rugers -- the same weapon from which twenty-six of the thirty shots were fired in the Club.

Kwan Fung Mak, Willie Mak's brother, also testified. Defense attorney Browne asked Mak why he pled guilty to destroying evidence in the Wah Mee case. Mak and his nephew, Sonny Chung Kwan, had been charged with washing down a 1979 Opal that was believed to have been the vehicle Willie Mak borrowed on the night of the killings. The two young men were charged with washing the car to get rid of any fingerprints. The two young men pleaded guilty in May and were given five-day jail sentences on the condition they testify at the forthcoming trials.

"Did you plead guilty?" Defense attorney Browne asked.

"I think that case over," Mak replied. "I don't want to talk about that. I not guilty."

"Did you plead guilty?"

Mak grew agitated, finally barking out, "It too hard to explain. That case over. We didn't clean the fingerprints. We just washed the car. I had a job. I don't want to go to court too many times."

"Didn't you plead guilty?" Browne wasn't letting the matter rest.

"I didn't do it. Guilty or not, is no difference, you know. I not feel guilty. My statement say I did it, but I didn't."

The following day in court was devoted entirely to recounting the way the victims died at the Club. Dr. Donald Reay, the Chief King County Medical Examiner, and Dr. Harry Bonnell, Dr. Reay's assistant, described the fatal wounds and, again, graphic photos were circulated. Prosecutor Lasnik asked how each victim died.

"A penetrating bullet to the head," the doctors replied. "The injury was not survivable." The doctors opened packages containing nylon cords, bullets, and bullet fragments. Because so many bullets were fired, the bullets that remained intact were marked with the victims' initials when they were removed from the bodies.

Browne again tried to prove that Ng did not fire his gun. He asked the doctors if they could determine which directions the bullets had been fired based on the entrance wounds. Mak was standing on the upper level of the Club when gunfire exploded, and Browne was hoping to prove that the bullets had entered the victims at a sharper angle, considering Mak had been positioned higher than Benjamin and Tony. But Dr. Bonnell was unable to confirm this. "To try and determine with a head wound the direction of the shot is very hard," he said.

Dr. Larry Duckert, Wai Chin's doctor, also took the stand, and described the extent of Chin's injuries and the operations he performed. Chin still had bullet fragments in his neck, the doctor testified, and removing them would be too risky. When asked if Chin's wounds would have been fatal if he had not been able to free himself and struggle out of the Club, Dr. Duckert said, "[Chin would have] bled to death or literally drowned in his own blood."

During the course of the trial, a juror received a startling telephone call at home. The juror's daughter answered the telephone and was asked if her mother was "going to hang the gook." The next day in court, the juror reported the telephone call to Judge Howard. The juror was questioned in closed chambers, in witness of the defense and prosecuting attorneys. After soliciting questions from both the defense and the prosecution, Judge Howard questioned the entire jury panel about the incident, asking specifically if any jurors were prejudiced by what the caller had said. Judge Howard concluded that no one was prejudiced and the trial proceeded.

On Monday, August 23, 1983, Kennis Izumi testified for the defense. Izumi walked into the courtroom wearing a violet cardigan sweater, a violet blouse tied with a bow at the neck, blue slacks, and blue pumps. She was stoic and assured in her testimony, seeming much older than her nineteen years. She reported that Ng left her home on the night of the killings, carrying more than one weapon. "He had two guns on," Izumi said, "one tucked down inside his pants and the other in a holster. When I went to kiss him goodbye, I saw them. I asked him why one wasn't enough."

Ng did not answer her question.

When asked about the large sum of money found in the bedroom she shared with Ng, Izumi commented that Ng often had a lot of cash with him because he worked as a dealer in the Hop Sing tong. Prosecutor Lasnik brought up the fact that Izumi had made false statements to the police shortly after Benjamin's arrest.

"How does it feel to lie to a police lieutenant?" Lasnik asked.

"Not very good."

"You were not bashful to lie to a police officer, were you?"

"No," Izumi replied quietly.

"How did it feel to lie to Detective Lowman?"

"Not very good." Izumi said she lied to police because she feared Ng was in trouble.

"Do you know how much trouble he's in now?" Lasnik asked.

"Yes."

"Is there anything you wouldn't do to try and get him out of that trouble?"

The young woman replied, "I don't know."

Benjamin Ng's trial went to the jury on Wednesday, August 24, 1983. Benjamin Ng entered the courtroom wearing the same clothes he wore on the first day of his trial. Judge Howard instructed the jurors that it was not necessary for Benjamin Ng to have shot anyone in the Wah Mee in order to be convicted of aggravated first-degree murder. It was the jury's responsibility to find beyond a reasonable doubt that Ng, or his accomplices, intended to cause the deaths of the thirteen people killed and that the act was premeditated in order to convict him.

The courtroom was packed. More than a dozen of the victims' relatives were present, along with most of the detectives who had investigated the mass murder. Ng's mother, sister, and girlfriend were also present.

Prosecutor Lasnik, in his closing arguments, quoted from Hamlet. "Murder, tho' it hath no tongue, will speak with most miraculous organ," the prosecutor said. "Who speaks today for the thirteen dead? Wai Chin speaks by most miraculous organ. Who will hear the voices of the thirteen dead? You, the jury."

Several of the victims' relatives applauded.

Prosecutor Downing held up the brown paper bag that police had recovered; the bag was filled with more than ten thousand dollars. "These are the green and white pieces of paper that the defendant valued more than the lives of fourteen people in the Wah Mee that night," commented Downing. "This is what the crime is all about. He wanted to get this money and he wanted to keep that money." Downing said the murders were premeditated because the three young men wore no masks -- an indication that they intended to kill the witnesses.

Defense attorney Browne, in his closing statements, once again stressed that Benjamin Ng did not fire his gun. "People keep saying it does not matter whether Benjamin pulled the trigger or not," Browne told the court. "But it does. The reason is, if Ben didn't shoot, he sure as heck didn't premeditate and premeditation is the issue. Science doesn't lie. Science tells us only two guns were fired. That ropes were used doesn't mean premeditated murder, it means premeditated robbery."

Less than two hours later, after being given more than 200 exhibits to examine, the jury returned with their verdict. Benjamin Ng was convicted of thirteen counts of aggravated murder and one count of first-degree assault.

"All right. All right," whispered Bonita Chin, the daughter of Henning Chin, a victim killed at the Club.

When the verdict was read, Ng's sister, Bessie, tried to comfort Ng but jail guards blocked her. Outside the courtroom, she wept and was comforted by Kennis Izumi. "You son of a bitch," Izumi yelled at one reporter. Turning to other reporters, she added, "I hate you all!" Defense attorney Browne held his arm around Ng's brother, Steve, and tried to comfort the young man.

Ng was taken back to his jail cell on the tenth floor of the King County courthouse. He awaited the sentencing phase.

Before the jury deliberated over sentencing, Browne argued that Ng had been abused as a child -- an incident that may have been a factor in Ng's criminal behavior. Ng's mother, Shun Ng, described how a woman struck her son over the head with a stick after he called her a bad name. Ng was five years old at the time. "The lady hit Benjie," Ng's mother said, shuddering and crying. "He cried, then she turned around and saw him bleeding from the head." Ng was hospitalized for one day and one night. The doctors wanted Ng to stay longer, but Ng's mother had too many children. When Ng began bleeding shortly after returning home, he was rushed to the hospital.

Benjamin looked down at his lap while his mother testified. Several jurors and the court reporter cried throughout her testimony. Browne compared Ng's head injury to a "broken arm in the brain." He also presented testimonies from a psychiatrist, a neurologist, and a psychologist -- all of which were in support of Browne's argument.

Later that evening, after two hours and forty-five minutes of deliberation, the jury returned to the courtroom to announce that they were unable to agree on the death penalty. Instead, they sentenced Benjamin Ng to life in prison without the possibility of parole. Ng sat expressionless, gazing at the court clerk as she read the verdict. Seven uniformed guards surrounded the court.

Both defense attorneys and prosecutors seemed to respect the jury's decision, and neither voiced any disappointment in the outcome.

Prosecutor Lasnik commented, "It is very difficult for twelve persons to decide a person is to die. We have proved our case. This calls for them to make a personal decision."

Prosecutor Downing said, "This is tremendous punishment."

The defense was pleased with the verdict. Defense attorney Wohl sighed audibly with relief when the verdict was read. Browne told reporters that he was "pleased." Both attorneys hugged Ng before he was escorted back to jail.

The jury was escorted out of the courtroom by plainclothes police officers. "Damn it, leave us alone. We've had enough," shouted juror Donna Harvey, addressing a photographer.

"I don't think you will get [any information] from any of the jurors," said juror Norman Abrahamson. "We have decided that all you'll get is what you got in the courtroom."

Reactions from relatives and friends of the victims varied. "Death should be the sentence," said Jean Mar's sister, Jeannie Robertson. "It's been like living with a nightmare."

Marcheta Chin, the widow of Henning Chin, appeared content with the verdict. Referring to the jury's decision to imprison Ng for the rest of his life, rather than sentence him to death, she told reporters, "It's got to be one way or the other."

On the streets of Chinatown, activity was lulled. "This is not Chinatown on a Thursday night," said Frank Morris, a community service officer in the area, shortly after the jury announced the sentencing. The streets were nearly empty of people and cars.

A member of Chinatown's Emergency Services commented, "We all know the family members of the victims and have taken care of them, so it's hard now to talk."

Another man told a reporter, "Most of the people in Chinatown I talked to said that if he didn't get the death penalty it would be a bad thing for the community. There was a high interest in this case in Hong Kong. A lot of reporters from Hong Kong were over here. If this guy gets away with killing thirteen people, then all the crooks in Hong Kong will be over here. They'll flood the place. This country has the worst kind of criminal record. You can shoot the president and get away with it."

Moses Kay, who was retired from the Seattle Police Department and was a well-known figure in the Chinese community, said, "[People in Chinatown] are really mad. They wanted to see him hang by the neck until he was dead. Thirteen people is a lot of people to kill."

A man who thought Ng should have been sentenced to death said, "It's the only way to make Chinatown better. Then we can stop these [killings]."

And another man commented, "The people killed them in cold blood -- so cruel."

Benjamin Ng was tried, convicted, and sentenced to life in prison for killing thirteen people at the Wah Mee Club. He was transferred to a state prison. Attorneys for Willie Mak's upcoming trial were preparing their cases. By the time Mak's trial would begin, the Seattle Police Department had spent more than $500,000 investigating the murders at the Wah Mee Club.

And while one trial was finished, and another was about to begin, Tony Ng remained at-large.

Chapter Ten | "Willie Mak dragged Chinatown into court with him as an uncharged co-defendant."

This story originally appeared as a serialized feature in Asian Focus newspaper