Whitt's plea...

As a columnist, sometimes inspiration is immediate.

For the most part, it's fairly simple. You see an injustice — whether real, imaginary or humorous in some dark, twisted sense — and you know you have to write about it. And, the majority of the time, the sooner you put pen to paper — seriously, how many people write without a keyboard these days — the more vivid the story is portrayed.

In rare instances, however, things simply don't go as planned. Either the words won't flow like they normally do or the product — real or perceived — isn't what you feel like it should be.

In those times, a wise writer learns to take a step back, breath and let the cool waters of time smooth the edges of the angst like a stone in a river. Wow, that was pretty visual.

Such is the case with the guilty plea and sentencing of Edgar Dale Whitt, the 54-year-old Big Spring man who pleaded guilty to a single count of prohibited sexual conduct after law enforcement discovered he had fathered a child with his daughter.

Normally, in a case where a man had victimized his daughter in such a horrific way, her identity would be left out of the ensuing news stories. However, because the daughter — 26-year-old Tamara Ruth Whitt — was also arrested and faced charges as a result of the investigation, the line between victim and accomplice became quickly blurred.

And, of course, there's Tamara Whitt's three children, including a 7-year-old boy who reported to police Tamara and Edgar Whitt had restrained him — such a kind euphemism — using a straight jacket. The children, who also include a 5-year-old and a 2-year-old, remain in the custody of the Texas Department of Family and Protective Services at the time of Edgar Whitt's plea, however, it's anyone's guess how long their respite will last.

While local and state news played out the obvious dark implications of Whitt's plea — I suppose the promise of incest wasn't quite enough to get Nancy Grace's attention this time — there's another story, one that hasn't been told. One that will likely never be told.

That story surrounds the video-taped confession of Edgar Whitt, where he laid out for investigators what he had done, not just to his daughter, but to the three children living in the house. While I have yet to see this tape, I have been given first-hand accounts by those who have and it's enough to turn your stomach.

While Whitt would eventually cop to the single charge of prohibited sexual conduct — that's a fancy way of saying incest — it's important to note he was charged with two counts of abandoning/endangering a child – criminal negligence when he was arrested. However, days later he was charged with continuous sexual abuse of a child.

According to law enforcement officials, Whitt openly confessed to sexually abusing at least one of the children living in the home, not once, but multiple instances over a course of time. Citing an open investigation, the age of the child and the overall length of the abuse were not released, however, a confession was given.

That confession was strong enough to convince a Howard County grand jury to indict Whitt on four counts of indecency with a child and two counts of prohibited sexual conduct, all second-degree felonies. A second-degree felony is punishable by a sentence of two to 20 years in prison and the obligatory $10,000 fine.

Here's some food for thought. Indecency with a child is what the courts call a 3G — or aggravated — offense, which means two things. First, if the sentence is handed down by a judge, he or she can not give the defendant probation. Second, the defendant has to serve half his or her sentence before they are even eligible for parole.

Now, we fast-forward several months to Edgar Whitt's plea agreement.

Whitt pleaded guilty to a single count of prohibited sexual conduct, a second-degree felony, accepting a sentence of 10 years. In return, the district attorney's office agreed to drop the other charges — four counts of indecency with a child and a second count of prohibited sexual conduct — and dismiss the pending charges of endangering a child against his daughter, Tamara Whitt.

Because the charge he pleaded to is not a 3G offense, Edgar Whitt is only required to serve one-quarter of his sentence, which, once you figure in the six months he spent in the county detention center awaiting trial, looks like approximately two years. That means, in all practicality, Whitt will be eligible for parole in two years.

Bear in mind, that doesn't mean it will be granted, and as a citizen of Texas, I personally hope they never let him out. Edgar Whitt is, without a doubt, a predator and a monster. However, fiscal strains on the state budget, prison overcrowding and the burdens his medical care will surely place on the department of corrections would seem to point in a different direction.

Having sat down and spoke at length with Assistant District Attorney Robin Orr regarding the plea agreement, I can tell you this: neither he nor anyone else in his office arrived at it without a great deal of thought and heart. And, as Orr will quickly point out, a bird in the hand is still worth two in the bush.

And he's right. I've seen juries do some absolutely crazy things. Had Whitt gone to trial, there is a very real chance he could have walked out of the courtroom a free man, no conviction, no requirement to register as a sex offender. It was, without a doubt, a judgment call.

However, more than a week since the plea has passed and I can't help but think the agreement was wrong.

I think about Whitt, sitting in his jail cell — and I know it probably makes me a bad person, but I hope he's anything but comfortable — marking off two years worth of days on his calendar until he can put on his best smile and tell the parole board how he's given his life to the Lord and changed his heart.

I think about those three children — at last check, two were together in a foster home and the third was being cared for by a state facility — trying their best to live without looking over their shoulder, wondering if their abusive life is going to swallow them whole again.

No matter how hard I try, I can't seem to get those thoughts out of my head. Would things have turned out better — and by better, I mean 25-to-life, never-breathing-free-air-again better — if the case had gone to a jury? I don't know. No one knows. However, I can't stop wishing someone had tried.

Maybe that's just me being naïve. I'm a single father raising a daughter who will soon be 13 years old, so, if you don't mind, cut me a bit of slack.