A life invasion

One bullet nearly killed John Murphy -- twice.

The first time he nearly bled to death as it pierced his left arm, passed through his chest and flew out to become lodged in his right wrist.

The second time was three days after he left the hospital. He had trouble breathing because his left lung was filling with blood. The dirty bullet created an infection and he needed another emergency surgery.

Long after that bullet was removed, Murphy is still facing jagged scars on his body and on his life.

Murphy was shot Aug. 5, 2002, as he fled a pair of armed gunmen who invaded his home.

"After I went through the door, everything slowed down and I looked down and I saw smoke coming from my wrist," he said. "I didn't know yet that the bullet had gone through me."

The man who shot him with a Kel-Tec P-11 9 mm semiautomatic pistol, Cornelius Johnson, later pleaded guilty to the crime in 2003. His accomplice, Ivory Alexander, did too.

But because the suspects were still on the loose for six months, Murphy feared for his life and the stress became overwhelming. For several days he didn't return to his Spanish Street home. Instead, Murphy slept at a friend's house. But when he finally did return, he felt uneasy.

"I never slept upstairs again," he said. "I thought that if I did, I might not hear if someone broke in downstairs. So I laid down on the couch every night and watched TV until I fell asleep."

Murphy let his fear keep him from publishing an announcement in the Southeast Missourian about his daughter's college scholarship. He didn't want the suspects to know about her.

Eventually, he sought counseling and was diagnosed with post-traumatic stress disorder. Murphy finally moved out of the house 10 months after the shooting. But even today, that bullet still troubles him. His nightmares persist, and his body has not completely healed from the trauma.

He intends to relocate to St. Louis soon, though he will still work in Cape Girardeau a few days a week, he said.

Bad judgment

Murphy said he respects the difficulties police had in investigating his shooting. But he says they incorrectly labeled him as "uncooperative" and insinuated he was on drugs and knew his assailants.

But Murphy opened up his house and financial records without a search warrant to police and told them everything about that night -- even the embarrassing parts, he said.

Yes, he had been drinking. Yes, he let two young women he had just met into his house to use his phone. And yes, one woman offered to perform a sexual favor for money -- which Murphy says he politely declined. After making the phone call, one woman unlocked the kitchen door to let the gunmen in, he said.

He admits he probably should have known better than to trust a stranger.

"All I was guilty of that night was bad judgment and a few too many beers," he said. "And we all have that right."

But police detective Jimmy Smith said Murphy put up resistance initially when questioned about the women, which created a lot of suspicion about his story.

The hospital's tests proved he had no illegal drugs in his system, Murphy said. Otherwise he would not have been eligible for financial assistance from the Crime Victim's Compensation Fund.

The $10,000 he collected from the fund and his insurance covered the medical bills, which totaled about $149,000, but Murphy still lost money because of that bullet, he said. Persistent rumors, the court cases and time lost at work have cut his business earnings by more than 50 percent, he said.

But he didn't let that deter him from testifying at the preliminary hearing in April. The night before the hearing, he received at least 50 harassing phone calls, he said. Friends of the suspects were trying to scare him.

"They were trying to take my life away," he said, his eyes reddening. "It was an unbelievable situation. There was no way they were going to scare me away from testifying."

Murphy is trying to take something positive from his shooting.

"I don't take things for granted anymore," he said. "Every day is like a bonus after you've almost passed away."

mwells@semissourian.com

335-6611, extension 160