Premium ContentMouse over Home then click on Premium Content for information.LINCOLN — It's difficult not to think "reality show" when you hear about Brian Randone's strange journey.
Open with a scene in South Omaha, where he grows up the son of a firefighter and a stay-at-home mom.
Move on to Texas, where the born-again Christian stages dramatic performances of the Gospels — a ministry, he calls it.
Then to California, where he proposes to a model and actress who once appeared in soft-core adult films.
Fade to four walls in the Los Angeles County Jail, where he waits two years to go on trial, accused of torturing and murdering his fiancee.
Pan the camera across the courtroom, where the prosecutor and the lead defense lawyer argue the case while holding white canes — both are legally blind.
Watch the jury of nine women and three men file in after deliberating what could have caused more than 300 bruises and abrasions on her body. Did she die of suffocation or a drug overdose?
Listen to Randone say "Hallelujah" as the not-guilty verdict is read.
Now, fade-in on a west Omaha restaurant, where he works on a platter of eggs, ham, fried potatoes and grits. He has broken from a recent visit with family to break his public silence.
For two years, news outlets published and broadcast the sordid tale of "the preacher and the porn star." Search his name on the Internet now and most postings reflect the accusations but not the outcome of the trial.
It took two years, but Randone said the jury delivered vindication along with a verdict.
"There's a proverb that says a lie lasts a moment but the truth will stand forever."
His smoothly shaven head reflected a little light as the 47-year-old Randone talked about growing up in a stable family of five. He attended the University of Nebraska at Omaha for a couple of years before transferring to a Bible college in Chicago, and then worked as a youth pastor in Wisconsin.
In 1989 he moved to Fort Worth, Texas, where he obtained a master's degree in divinity from Southwestern Seminary and started doing the one-man Gospels show. At that time in his life, he said, he tried to live by moral strictures that included remaining celibate and not drinking alcohol.
He stayed busy with the Gospel performances, traveling up to 260 days per year to appear at spiritual retreats, Sunday schools, inspirational speaking engagements and drug- and alcohol-rehabilitation centers. He said he also hosted a talk show on a Christian radio station in the Fort Worth area called "Single Time," in which singles would call in and give their testimonies.
His work was satisfying but not lucrative.
In an effort to make more money, he tried to make the transition into secular acting. He hired an agent, who helped him get a few jobs shooting commercials and appearing in industrial training videos, he said.
His connections eventually led him to a successful audition for "The Sexiest Bachelor in America," a Fox network male pageant that aired one evening in 2000. Randone represented Nebraska, but he did not make the final cut of 10 bachelors, so he was on camera for mere seconds.
"The 'Sexiest Bachelor' thing was just a fluke," he said.
In 2001 he moved to Southern California. He tried for a while to break into big-time acting before he was presented with an opportunity to sell telecommunications services to companies. He said he liked the work and it paid well, so he started his own related business, where he had other sales representatives reporting to him.
He loved Southern California, but over the years he drifted from a strict adherence to Christianity. He gave up celibacy and embraced partying.
In March 2009 Randone met Felicia Lee, a 31-year-old Singapore native who had given up acting to study business and real estate at a small college. Although Lee had appeared in a couple of mainstream movies, she was better known for feature roles in several adult films and appearances on the Playboy channel. She also ran her own nude website.
Randone said he persuaded her to take down the website.
But he otherwise admitted the couple weren't squeaky clean.
"We were partying and doing things that didn't honor God," he said, "but nothing violent or angry."
One of the things they did was GHB, most commonly known as a "date rape drug."
It comes in powder form, but most often it is mixed with water and sipped. The drug causes a feeling similar to alcohol intoxication and, along with Ecstasy, is commonly used in the club scene.
Randone said he used the drug a couple of times before meeting Lee, whom he described as a regular user. Most often, he said, they would take the drug on the weekends because they liked feeling drunk without the hangover. Randone said he never thought the drug could be dangerous.
Here's what he said happened starting in the early morning hours of Sept. 11, 2009:
Lee became upset when Randone spent the evening out with a buddy, and she started sipping GHB while she was alone in their apartment.
When Randone returned about 2 a.m., they took more GHB together, and Lee drank a larger-than-normal dose.
Not long after, Lee's head snapped back, and she started twitching and having tremors. Because she had previously instructed Randone never to call 911 when she was taking the drug, he gave her milk and yogurt and put ice packs behind her neck.
As they tried to sleep, Randone said, he was woken several times by Lee falling out of bed and onto the floor. At one point she crashed through the particle-board door of the bedroom closet, suffering bruises and scratches. Randone put her back to bed, figuring she would eventually settle down and sleep it off.
The next morning Randone went downstairs and made a series of work-related calls for a couple of hours. At 12:05 p.m. he went back upstairs and realized Lee wasn't breathing.
He called 911 and an operator instructed him how to give CPR as paramedics were dispatched. They arrived within minutes, and Randone went back downstairs to unlock the door.
He remained downstairs until they told him Lee was dead.
"Can't you do something? Do something!" Randone recalled saying. "Then I put my head down and started crying."
He gave a statement to police and was taken in for more questioning. At the station, he asked for a lawyer, which prompted his arrest. The district attorney charged Randone with Lee's torture and murder and held him on $2 million bail.
Randone worked with a private attorney for nearly a year, but the lawyer died a day before the trial was to start. Two other private lawyers took up the case and represented Randone without charge because they were friends with the deceased lawyer.
During the three-week trial last fall the prosecution said Randone repeatedly kicked Lee, causing hundreds of bruises and wounds. Furthermore, the pathologist who conducted her autopsy said she died of suffocation, pointing to abrasions around her eyes, nose and the inside of her mouth as classic signs of smothering.
The prosecution also called a Los Angeles County toxicologist, who acknowledged Lee died with a high level of GHB in her system. But the toxicologist argued it was medically impossible to determine whether it was enough to cause death because fatal levels of GHB vary widely, depending upon the user.
Against his wishes, Randone said, he followed his legal team's advice and did not take the stand.
His lawyers called a former Los Angeles police officer who said she had compiled case studies of thousands of GHB users. Head snaps and convulsions are common symptoms among those who overdose, she testified. She produced a video of a GHB user exhibiting similar physical behavior.
The defense also called a New York psychiatric professor with expertise in club drugs who testified that GHB can severely depress the respiratory system. In other words, the defense said, Lee died of asphyxia caused by an overdose rather than having a pillow crushed against her face.
As for the bruises and abrasions, the defense argued they were superficial and could be explained by Lee's repeated falls and convulsions.
But the witness who may have won Randone's acquittal was a San Diego forensic pathologist named Harry Bonnell.
Bonnell testified that paramedics found a faint indication of cardiac electrical activity when they arrived, meaning Lee's heart fired electrical impulses even though it wasn't beating.
Bonnell told the jury that such "pulseless electrical activity" can be attributed to just two causes: rapid, massive blood loss or drug overdose.
Blood loss wasn't a factor in Lee's death.
In addition, Bonnell testified that pulseless electrical activity continues no longer than 30 minutes from the moment of death. Paramedics measured the electrical activity until 12:28 p.m., meaning the earliest possible time of death would have been 11:58 a.m.
The defense showed phone records indicating Randone was talking to his business assistant from 11:57 a.m. until 12:05 p.m., when he discovered Lee wasn't breathing. From that time, he was on the phone with the 911 operator until paramedics arrived.
In recent interviews with The World-Herald, the prosecutor and the defense attorney both said jurors told them Bonnell's testimony was critical to their verdict.
That angered Deputy District Attorney Philip Wojdak, who accused the defense team of hiding Bonnell's testimony until the last minute so it couldn't be disputed in front of the jury.
Lawyers are obligated to share their evidence before a trial begins — "discovery" is the legal term — but Randone's team never indicated that pulseless electrical activity would be introduced, Wojdak said.
As a result, the prosecution did not challenge Bonnell's testimony. Wojdak said he has since talked to a forensic pathologist who disagreed that only an overdose or massive blood loss is associated with electrical activity after the heart stops beating.
Mark Overland, one of Randone's attorneys, said Bonnell's name was on the pretrial witness list, which means the prosecution could have questioned the pathologist in a deposition to learn about his planned testimony.
Overland disputed the contention that the electrical activity testimony was false. In addition, he pointed to other evidence supporting the not-guilty verdict.
Overland mentioned that Randone had no criminal background.
He mentioned how the couple had purchased plane tickets for trips they were planning together.
He brought up how his client tried to resuscitate Lee.
Finally, he said, there was no motive for the killing other than the prosecution's suggestion that the couple had been arguing over Randone's late return that morning.
The prosecutor, however, had a different take. He said presenting a falsehood as medical fact essentially allowed Randone to get away with murder.
"I couldn't put it more bluntly than that," Wojdak said.
Overland offered a similarly blunt assessment of the prosecutor:
"He's an idiot."
One reason the defense team took the case was because the lawyers were convinced that authorities never should have charged Randone, Overland said.
"I argued to the jury if we had a choice between innocent and not guilty, I would ask for an innocent verdict," he said. "I've tried a lot of cases, but this one clearly went beyond not guilty."
Randone said he survived the ordeal with the help of his parents, Terry and Patty Randone, his brother and sister and dozens of friends and relatives who prayed for him.
He also relied on his faith, he said. During his two years in jail, he considered himself in a spiritual battle for his life.
"I think it's God's mercy that he let me suffer and come back to him," Randone said.
He has returned to California, where he's trying to rebuild his telecommunications business and readjust to freedom. He said he has no addiction issues to work out.
Looking back at that September night two years ago, Randone said, he made terrible mistakes. He should have called 911 sooner. He shouldn't have been taking the drug himself, which clouded his judgment.
Since his acquittal Dec. 9, he said, he has mailed a letter to Lee's family, telling them he will answer any questions they have. They have not yet responded.
Of course he feels terrible about Lee's death, he said, but "terrible" isn't the same as "guilty."
Guilt is one emotion Randone said he doesn't feel.
He worked two years to defeat guilt.
"This wasn't an O.J. thing where he had a good legal team, or like Robert Blake or anything like that," he said.
"I got off because of the evidence."
Contact the writer:
402-473-9587, joe.duggan@owh.com
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