UNANSWERED QUESTIONS: GREG MCGILL'S FAMILY TRIES TO COPE WITH HIS DEATH AND A BITTER LEGACY

For more than two years, Greg McGill's life only had two possible outcomes: Death from a self-inflicted gunshot wound to his head or prosecution for killing his former girlfriend.

McGill's family could only do one thing: Wait for Greg's judgment day, either in court or before God.

"We have lived in sheer hell," said his mother, Sue McGill of Jackson, Mo.

Even though 36-year-old Greg died at a Cape Girardeau nursing home in October, neither the McGill family nor relatives of victim Kendra Bannister feels their ordeal is over.

"It's frustrating," said Carla Diercks, one of Kendra's three sisters. "We have no closure. Perhaps if he had been charged with murder it would have done that."

And Don McGill, Greg's father, doesn't know what to do with his time now that he doesn't need to take care of his son.

"It's almost harder now," his father said.

Tragic relationship

The tragic journey for the two families started June 15, 1998, when Greg shot himself in the head after killing his former girlfriend, 26-year-old Kendra.

Greg and Kendra were co-workers at Spartech Corp. in Cape Girardeau. Greg was a quality assurance manager, and Kendra worked in customer service.

Both Greg and Kendra were proud, independent people, members of the Bannister and McGill families said, and neither was an angel.

Greg had been married for 13 years when he started dating Kendra. Two years later, after Greg divorced his wife in 1997, Kendra ended their relationship and began dating another man.

Even though Diercks said her family knew little about Greg, they could see that the breakup wasn't going well.

"She wasn't her normal self," said Diercks, who lives in Sparta, Ill., along with other family members. "She wanted to get away. She cried often."

The day before she died, Kendra had called police twice. She had seen the shadow of someone whom she believed was Greg in her window shortly before 2 a.m. and had received multiple phone calls waking her up. The next morning two tires on her car were slashed. Again she told police she suspected Greg.

When Kendra came home to her apartment for lunch on June 15, 1998, Greg came to see her. Police found no sign that he forced his way inside.

Diercks doubts that Greg went to Kendra's apartment with the intention of shooting her, since a note in his pocket only talked about his own death.

"She thought she could calm him down that day," Diercks said. "But something set him off. He lost control and killed her."

Coping with suicide

Greg's father learned that his son was inside Kendra's apartment from a person at Spartech who called him at work.

When he arrived at 3017 Mimosa St., Don called on a cell phone to the apartment and got an answering machine. He pleaded with his son, that if he heard him, to pick up the phone.

"It seemed like a dream thing," Don said.

The blur of an hour ended with police entering the apartment through the back door, using a key from the apartment complex manager. Police found Kendra and Greg in a utility bedroom. Kendra was already dead, while Greg was face down in a pile of clothes struggling to breathe. Greg was taken to an ambulance that transported him to St. Francis Medical Center.

"Greg had tubes in him, and they wheeled him out the back door," Don said.

Until Greg died more than two years later, Don never again saw his son without tubes running into his body.

Family members were constantly around Greg during the three weeks that he spent at St. Francis, as were police. The police were never rude or demeaning, Don said, but others seemed anxious for his son to die.

A pastor from Sikeston, Mo., contacted the McGills about Greg donating his kidney when he died, as did a friend of one of Greg's co-workers.

"We were talking to and answering questions from people that we didn't even know," said Donna McGill, one of Greg's sisters. "We just didn't know any better then."

Within 24 hours of the shooting, doctors told the McGills that the gunshot to Greg's mouth had severed part of his brain stem and they should consider organ donations, Don said.

But the McGills didn't give up. His mother and sisters took turns talking to him as he lay in intensive care. Eventually, he began to move a toe.

Greg remained comatose after doctors advised that he be transferred to St. John's Hospital in St. Louis, which specializes in treating brain injuries. After the transfer, Greg spoke his first words since the shooting.

"I was in the room with him and said I just wish that you could say something,'" Don said. "Then I heard him say I'm trying.' It floored me."

Movements in and out of the unit where Greg was hospitalized were strictly controlled to provide him security. The McGills gave a codeword, "boo-boo," to get in. It was Greg's nickname among family members, Don said.

Life and death decision

Insurance eventually declined to pay for the treatment Greg was receiving at St. John's, so the McGill's moved their son to a state hospital in Mt. Vernon, Mo.

The trip was 320 miles from door to door, Don said, but he and his wife drove to see Greg every weekend and some weekdays.

"We maxed out our credit cards, but we were there," he said.

Back to Cape Girardeau

To cut costs and traveling distance, the McGills moved Greg to Heartland Care & Rehab Center in Cape Girardeau in November 1998.

Four months after returning, all the progress that Greg had made in his physical development was lost when he contracted pneumonia, Don said.

By June 1999, doctors said that Greg's breathing problems required them to have a large tube attached to his trachea. He would lose his ability to eat solid food, and it would damage his vocal chords, but the tracheal tube would keep him alive.

Greg told his family he'd rather die, Don said.

When his father explained Greg's desire not to have a tracheal tube to medical personnel at Southeast Missouri Hospital, he was told a three-doctor committee would have to perform an evaluation.

Don recalled how one of the doctors came into Greg's room and began talking about the tracheal tube with family members. Don directed the doctor to ask Greg.

"Greg would shake his head when the doctors asked and say No, I don't want it'," Don said.

Ultimately, Greg accepted the tracheal tube in order to continue his medical care. The McGills were told that if Greg died without the tube after it had been recommended, the hospital would be open to a future lawsuit from any member of the family, such as Greg's son, Ryan.

"As mad as I got at them, I could see their position," Don said.

Officials at Southeast Hospital declined to comment on decisions made about Greg's condition, citing patient confidentiality that can only be changed by a court order.

Ryan seemed to have the most difficulty dealing with his father's attempted suicide, Don said. Two months following the shooting, police went to the 16-year-old's home when the boy's mother reported he was threatening to commit suicide.

Ryan's girlfriend told police he said he wanted "to commit suicide like his father had done, he couldn't take it anymore."

During the years Greg was hospitalized, Ryan seldom visited, Don said. He was troubled by his father's physical condition.

"He would go in and say Dad, get up, get up'," Don said. "He couldn't accept him that way."

Making the best of life

Greg's condition kept him dependent on others. He had some movement in the left side of his body, but his right side was limp. Shell fragments from the bullet were still in his head, Don said. Doctors had told the McGills they could not be removed.

When he was put into a wheelchair, straps were used to keep him upright.

The McGills did their best to make Greg's life bearable. Don would go through speech exercises, having Greg repeat the letters of the alphabet and John 3:16. The Bible verse was added to the exercises during the last months of his life.

"I would tell him, Greg, you lived. You've got a chance for forgiveness'," Don said.

Greg would beg his sisters to give him some peanut butter to eat when nurses weren't around, Donna said. But they couldn't, since half of any food given orally would pass into his lungs.

From time to time, Don would take his son to a store to shop for clothes or music. He would lift Greg's hand and put a shirt sleeve under it to allow him to feel the material. As Greg looked at compact discs, drool would sometimes dribble out of his mouth due to his lack of muscular control.

"Going out wasn't easy for either of us," Don said.

Inevitably, someone would recognize Greg during a shopping trip and call the police to report that the man who shot Kendra Bannister was out of the hospital.

As long as Greg was alive, the possibility of charging him with murder existed. If he had regained enough of his mental abilities to appear in court, Cape Girardeau County prosecutor Morley Swingle said he likely would have charged Greg with first degree murder. But as long as Greg remained brain damaged, charges were pointless. He would not have known he was being prosecuted, Swingle said.

Nevertheless, police checked on Greg every month to see if he was getting better.

Even though she knew any great improvement by Greg would put him in court, his mother wanted to see her son become normal again.

"I knew it wouldn't be good for him, but I still wanted it," Sue said.

Although Greg was able to speak, his conversations were sporadic and not always intelligible, family members said. His mother recalled Greg asking why he shot himself.

At other times, Greg would remember Kendra and speak of her as if she were still alive, Don said.

The McGills still question whether Greg intentionally shot Kendra, or if she might have been killed accidentally in a struggle to get the gun away from Greg.

"We just wanted a chance to hear what happened in his own words," said his sister, Donna.

Police never found any evidence that would have led them to believe Kendra died trying to stop Greg's suicide attempt, Sgt. Mark Majoros said.

But a bag containing several curious items belonging to Greg were found outside Kendra's apartment, Majoros said. The black gym bag held a roll of duct tape, binoculars, a small knife, rope, a bottle of Greg's prescription medicine and the wooden handle of a large hammer.

"I don't think he was going to use the handle to repair something," Majoros said.

Bannisters' mourning

Back in Kendra's hometown of Sparta, Ill., the Bannister family has found little solace, before or after Greg's death, Diercks said.

"We still have guilt about not seeing this coming," she said. "But we really couldn't do anything to help her. On June 15, it was in God's hands."

The Bannister family had wanted to talk to the McGills. Four days after Kendra's death, they even drove to St. Francis to go up to see Greg and his family. They had never met before, Diercks said.

But they stopped in the parking lot.

"We stopped, because we didn't know what we were going to say," Diercks said. "We were reacting while we were still in shock."

Diercks can see the pain of Kendra's death in her parents eyes every day, she said. She understands that the McGills have their own pain.

"For them to realize that their son is a murderer, the feeling has to be intensified so much," Diercks said.

Dealing with death

During the final months of Greg's life, it was apparent that he was losing strength.

"He was sleeping more," his mother said. "We could see him slipping back into a coma."

Don would watch football games and fishing programs with Greg on Sundays. Even if Greg wasn't awake, his father would turn on the television anyway. Greg enjoyed football, Don said.

After Oct. 28, Don didn't need to turn on the television. Greg died of pneumonia.

The attention that the shooting brought to the family has changed the McGills' lives. They seldom eat out around Cape Girardeau, Sue said.

James McGill is just tired of having distant acquaintances asking him about his brother.

"Now I tell them he has gone to Mexico," James said.