This is the victim-impact statement of Katie Flynn’s father, Neil Flynn, which was read yesterday at the sentencing of Martin Heidgen.

There are several issues I must address before turning to the bulk of my remarks, which will be directed to the court.

First, I want to deal with the reprehensible behavior of the defendant’s attorneys:

While you may have convinced yourselves and those who debase themselves by caring for you that you are engaged in an ethical, even laudatory, effort to defend the rights of this filthy child killer against the charge of murder, your dishonest, unethical behavior throughout these proceedings belies that contention.

[Stephen] LaMagna, you serpent, from the very outset, it was clear that the truth would have no influence on your presentation, thus undermining whatever tenuous claim you might otherwise have made to acting honorably in a distasteful cause. When, at the suppression hearing, you produced that unethical quack to bolster your otherwise unsupported allegation of police and prosecutorial impropriety, it was clear that you would stoop to any level to shield this filthy child killer from justice.

Without any facts to support your contentions, you recklessly slandered the police and the prosecutors, inventing wild claims of evidence tampering, conspiracy and perjury. Your willingness to slander hardworking, honest people to protect the interests of a filthy child killer without regard to honesty or ethical constraints remained consistent throughout the trial, and continues to date.

You wasted no time in lying to the jurors during their selection process, when you claimed that your client was the victim of an overly zealous, newly elected district attorney bent on fulfilling a campaign promise. You told this lie despite knowing that your client was charged with murder by Ms. [Kathleen] Rice’s predecessor.

You lied repeatedly to the jury, to the court and to the public regarding the provenance of the blood sample. Incredibly, you repeated these lies even after that filthy child killer drank another criminal’s bodily fluids in an attempt to escape justice. Even after it was clear to everyone that he knew the blood was his and that its contents were damning, you were perfectly willing to take advantage of the jury’s ignorance and lie to their faces. Your glib willingness to lie over and over again on behalf of a filthy child killer was, unbelievably enough, not the most disgusting aspect of your performance.

It wasn’t even your habit of patting him on the back and rubbing his shoulders in a feigned effort to revive his spirits despite his absolute lack of remorse or emotional response to the horrors he had reeked. No, the absolute low point was, when questioning the medical examiner about my daughter’s death, you actually stood 20 feet from my wife and I and blamed us for killing our daughter by failing to put a seat belt on her, when you knew that we had belted her in and that your client used that seat belt to cut her head off. I knew by then that you were an unethical liar, but I did not know what an absolute low life you really were until you blamed me for killing my own daughter to shield that filthy child killer from the consequences of his actions.

You can continue to lie to those who are despicable enough to be close to you and pretend that you were simply taking on an unpleasant but necessary task in defending this filthy child killer. But everyone who saw you lie day in and day out and everyone who saw you blame us for our daughter’s death knows that there is no pus-filled sinkhole that you wouldn’t swim in in order to garner the publicity, and thereby the money, that a successful defense would bring you. Say what you want, but you and I both know that at the end of the day, you’re nothing but a whore.

As for you, you greasy little boot licker, everything I just said about him holds true for you, as well. In addition, you should feel obligated to advise every potential client that you were sick the day they taught cross-examination at law school. “You’re not an accident-reconstruction expert, are you Mr. Tangney?” (You moron.)

As for you, you filthy child killer. You are utterly beneath me, my wife and my daughter’s memory, so I won’t waste much time on you. I just want you to know two things.

First, understand this: You and me, we’re not through. Not by a damned sight, and you better make the most of your time in prison, because that’s as good as it’s going to get for you.

Second, nobody gives a damn if you’re sorry. Most of all because it doesn’t matter. Neither my family nor I would even care if you were truly repentant. What you did can never be overcome. But the fact is, you aren’t the least bit sorry. Everyone who’s paid any attention can tell you that you couldn’t care less that you cut my little girl’s head off and forced my wife to hold her lifeless daughter in her arms for hours. So whatever empty claims of apology you plan to make will fall on deaf ears. But if you do bother to beg for mercy, be advised: Do not mention my daughter or my family. I will not allow you to use us in your disgusting charade.

Your honor, Mr. Haden, Ms. McCormick, ladies and gentlemen:

In addition to this statement, I have submitted a letter to Judge Honorof because I do not intend to reveal the true depths of my family’s suffering in open court. I have made this decision not because I am embarrassed or ashamed, but simply because I do not wish to give the defendant the satisfaction of hearing the full extent of the pain he has caused us. I believe he would revel in hearing of our true suffering because he is an immoral sociopath. I believe this because, as the videotape clearly shows, he intentionally rammed our limousine and because he clearly believes himself to be the aggrieved party in these proceedings.

His disregard for the lives of innocent strangers was manifest in his behavior on that night, and his disregard for the rules of decent society have been manifest every day since then.

From the outset, it was clear that this was not a DWI involving homicide. It was multiple murder committed by a depraved killer who happened to be drunk at the time. When you look at the evidence, this conclusion is inescapable.

From his concern only for his truck to his, by his own admission, hideously contrived calculated statement to Investigators Harris and Baez, to his self-absorbed correspondence to his friends, to his constant complaints to his jailers and fellow criminals, to his attempt to defeat the DNA test by drinking another criminal’s juices, to his absolute lack of an emotional response to the most compelling testimony regarding his crimes.

All of this clearly points to an evil, narcissistic personality, not simply someone who had too much to drink and made some bad decisions. Whether you accept this premise is immaterial, since intent is not an issue, and in the event, the results of his actions were so devastating to so many people, he must receive the maximum punishment available. Anything less would be an affront to the memories of Katie and Stanley and to our families, as well as a rebuke to society in general, which has finally awoken to the horrors of drunken driving.

Unfortunately, the court is constrained by the vagaries of our law and the extremely lax sentencing statutes in place in New York. The defendant benefits from the fact that he killed two people and physically crippled three others by virtue of a single act. Had he done these things separately, concurrent sentences would be available, exposing him to much more time behind bars. Instead, his multiple crimes are counted as a single act, with a single sentence, while his multiple victims suffer multiple agonies. This paradox is even worse when viewed in light of the fact that New York allows for a sentence of as little as 15 years for murder, in this case multiple murder. This is offensive and wrong.

The lenient nature of New York’s sentencing laws stems from an overindulgence of criminals, exemplified by the emphasis placed on the idea of rehabilitation. Unfortunately, we know after many decades of leniency that rehabilitation does not work. One must only review the recidivism rates in general or examine the number of murder victims whose killers were on parole to reach this inescapable conclusion. However, even if one subscribes to the hope of rehabilitation, it should not trump the other two underpinnings of the penal system: deterrence and, most importantly, retribution.

The widespread media attention aid to this case [provides] a significant opportunity to deter potential drunk drivers through the imposition of the harshest available sentence. For too long, drunk driving was treated as a minor infraction, carrying the risk of just a fine and possibly a license suspension. This is, in large part, why it is still rampant. By imposing the maximum available sentence, this court can convey the message that society will no longer treat drunk driving with a wink and a nod and a slap on the wrist. The case for a strong message on the issue of deterrence is clear. However, more important for my purposes is the issue of retribution.

For too long, retribution has been disparaged as revenge by those who coddle criminals. It is seldom mentioned when, in fact, it is the most basic and most important of the three philosophical tenets of the penal system. Deterrence is a wonderful side effect, but it does not address the crimes at issue, which is what the prison sentence is actually supposed to do. Neither does rehabilitation address the actual crimes for which the criminal is being punished. Worse, it elevated the interest of the criminal over those of his victims and society in general and, of course, it rarely works.

Deterrence and rehabilitation should be considered desirable byproducts of a prison sentence, but its true purpose should be retribution for what the criminal has done to his victims. In that regard, I will now attempt, futilely I assure you, to convey some small sense of the horror and devastation the defendant has wreaked on me and my family.

When my wife advised me that it was time to start a family, I was very skeptical. I was not particularly fond of children, had very little experience with them and was enjoying my life just the way it was. I now know how foolish this outlook was, as I have learned that fatherhood is the greatest endeavor a man can undertake. My children are the central focus of my existence. They justify my life. Without them, I would be nothing. Katie taught me all of this.

When I met her for the first time in the delivery room, it was as if someone flicked a light switch. My doubts and fears disappeared and I instantly fell in love with her. As she grew, my wife and I came to realize that being parents was the most satisfying thing to which we could ever aspire. Katherine taught us what it truly meant to be a family, to be in love, with her and with each other. She opened my eyes to what my life should really be about. She helped elevate my love for my wife to a level I didn’t know existed. Sharing Katie brought us together and strengthened our marriage in a manner I cannot describe.

From the beginning, we knew Kate was a special child. Our older relatives advised us from the outset not to get used to that type of behavior from our children because “you only get one like that.” Now, as a father of four, I realize how true this was. Unlike other children, Kate woke up smiling, not crying each morning. She would wait patiently in her crib until her mother or I would peek around the doorjamb, and when she saw us, her face would light up like the sun. At the age of 6 months she earned the first of many nicknames: Smilin’ Kate.

Kate’s incredible effect on us quickly convinced Jen and I to have more children. As our family grew from three to six in just five years, life kept getting better and Kate shined as both a daughter and a sister.

Kate was the quintessential big sister. She doted on her younger siblings and always included them in her playtime, even when she had friends over. She was Grace’s best friend and a loving guardian to Eamon and Colm. She loved to help her mother in the kitchen, and my father-in-law once remarked that she was more mechanically inclined than Jen and I put together.

I often say that while my wife and I are the foundation of our family, Kate is the cornerstone. The first and most important building block placed, without which there would be no more. Her absence has crippled our family as severely as you could imagine. Every aspect of my life is defined by grief and anxiety over Katherine’s death. The first sensory input I received upon regaining consciousness in the limousine that night was the sound of my wife screaming, “Neil, Katie’s dead! Katie’s dead!” Of course, I didn’t want to believe it. I told Jen, “No, she can’t be. She’s just hurt real bad. She’ll be OK. I’ll get help.” Of course, I didn’t know that my wife was holding my daughter’s severed head in her hands when she yelled to me.

Jen knew Kate would never be OK and, despite my words, so did I. I simply didn’t want to accept it. Throughout that night, I begged the rescue workers and medical personnel to let me die. Today, the only thing that keeps me from suicide is the responsibility of raising my other children. If Kate were an only child, I would have taken my own life a long time ago.

While my physical injuries are the least of my worries, they are objectively significant and I will take a moment to describe them so that you will understand the context in which I suffer Katherine’s loss.

The defendant broke my back in two places. He ruptured two of my spinal discs. He broke my nose and three of my ribs. He collapsed one of my lungs, damaged my heart, liver and bladder. I spent a month in three different hospitals. I was separated from my wife for a week immediately after our daughter was killed. I had to be released from the hospital on a day pass to attend her wake and funeral in a wheelchair. I gave her eulogy in a back brace, propped up on crutches.

I have undergone two surgical procedures and will probably require fusion surgery because the spinal fractures are not properly healed. I attend physical therapy three times a week for intense two-hour sessions. I am deprived of my family’s company during this time, but it is necessary because without therapy, I am physically incapable of working. I am in constant pain, which is exacerbated by every physical movement, including breathing and blinking. Coughing and sneezing are agonizing. I slept in a recliner for five months after the crash because I couldn’t lie flat in a bed.

I can no longer run, bend or twist. My right leg gives out several times a month and I fall down. I cannot play with my children. Sometimes, they forget and jump on me. This makes me cry out in pain, and on many occasions, I have come close to striking them. This is unspeakably ugly to me. My wife has to shovel the snow from our sidewalk. I have to ask friends to put up our Christmas tree or move a piece of furniture. I cannot change a flat tire, climb a ladder or carry grocery bags. I take 17 pills a day, including anti-depressants, blood-pressure medication, muscle relaxers and painkillers.

The physical limitations briefly described here are, as I said, the least of my worries. They pale in comparison to the emotional and mental torment I suffer every day because of what the defendant did to us.

From my first waking moment, my thoughts are dominated by sadness, grief and anxiety. At least three times a day, I am overwhelmed by grief, and break down in tears despite the fact that I am on two powerful anti-depressants. I frequently cry in front of my children, which is extremely painful to me and damaging to them.

My children suffer along with Jen and I. Grace told us that she wished we had all died that night. She has slept in our bed every night since coming home from the hospital. She cannot be alone in a room for more than a few seconds without being overcome by fear. She attends therapy, but it does not help. She has told us that her therapists “don’t know what they are doing” and that the therapy “does nothing.” Grace is 6.

I also attended therapy for over a year. It meant more time away from my family, but I hoped that it would ease my pain. It did not, and I have abandoned it. I have no hope of life without grief. I do not look forward to the future, except to the extent that it brings me closer to the release of death.

My son Eamon lives in fear of the defendant, who he refers to as “the bad man who killed Katie.” He, too, sleeps in our bed every night because his room is closest to the landing, and he is afraid that the bad man will get him first when he comes up the stairs. I tell him that I will protect him, but we both know that I didn’t protect Katie, so my words are empty. He cries over the loss of his sister every day.

My son Colm is too young to comprehend these events. His suffering consists of being deprived of the love and companionship of his big sister, watching his parents and siblings suffer and being deprived of their full support and nurturing care. I expect that in time, his and Eamon’s memories of Katie will fade to shadows. This saddens me.

When I awake, I silently wish Kate good morning. I do not believe she can hear me, but I hope so. I rise slowly because of the pain in my back. I limp to the bathroom and swallow the first of eight painkillers and six muscle relaxers I will take that day. I perform my ablutions through a veil of tears, wracked with sobs. I dress and descend the stairs, stopping on the landing to kiss the cold glass covering Kate’s picture, saying, “I love you, Katie” as I do so. I sullenly kiss my wife and three of my children goodbye.

I drive to work alone, frequently crying or screaming with rage. When I see a clear blue sky, I speak to Katie again, not believing, only hoping, that she hears me. I struggle through my workday, consumed and distracted by my grief and pain. I have no confidence in my ability to continue to provide for my family, and this makes my anxiety worse.

When I return home from work, I take my dinner alone in my room. I cannot stand to sit at the table with Kate’s empty chair. Each night, I make some excuse to my other three children as to why I cannot eat dinner with them, but they know I am lying. I do not know how my wife does it, beyond my general knowledge that she is the strongest woman I have ever known. I fear that someday, it will prove too much for her. It pains me to see this once vibrant woman crushed under the weight of her suffering. She alone knows how much I miss Kate. Although we console each other as best we can, I can do nothing to stop her pain.

We hug, but rarely kiss. Our embraces are not passionate, only conciliatory. Our conversations are brief and usually marked by tears.

By 8 o’clock, I am exhausted and bent over with pain. I take a heavy dose of painkillers and muscle relaxers so that I can get four hours of uninterrupted sleep. I no longer pray with my three other children. I have no faith in God. I tell them that we must wish Kate good night and sweet dreams and that some day we will be reunited with her. I do not believe this, but I hope it is true. My hope is desperate, because I believe it is futile.

As I drift into a fitful, drug-induced sleep I try to talk silently to Katie to tell her about her brothers and sister, but I feel awkward and foolish. This is especially painful because when Katie was here with me, things were never awkward. We could sit in silence, holding hands and watching TV or laugh and sing uproariously and unselfconsciously. Now I am reduced to stumbling, halting words in my head and find myself repeating, “I miss you” over and over again. I feel guilty for burdening her with my grief.

My sleep is punctuated by nightmares and I wake often. I rarely dream of Katie alive. I have done so only three times since her death. Although waking from these dreams is incredibly painful, I wish I had them more often. I wake after three or four house and stare aimlessly at pointless television shows. I drift back to sleep in the early morning for a few more fitful hours before starting the cycle again.

I do not know joy. I have no hope for a better future here on earth. I hope, but do not believe, I will see my daughter again. I am wracked with guilt for denying my other three children the father they deserve, but I cannot overcome my sadness.

I am desolate.