How Judge Nichols Talked 2 Defendants Off Ledge of Risking Life in Prison at Trial and Accepting Plea Deals Instead

Twice in the last two months Circuit Judge Dawn Nichols presided over trials at the Flagler County courthouse that unsurprisingly ended with juries finding the defendants guilty. The evidence against them was substantial. They had both turned down plea deals that would have allowed them to regain their freedom after a few decades in prison. Instead, they ended with mandatory life in prison without parole. One is 27. The other is 42.

This afternoon Nichols had before her Stephanie Raimundo, 48, who was facing up to 150 years in prison from a stack of charges, including manslaughter in the death of a man to whom she’d sold fentanyl, and Jebea Johnson, 22, who was facing mandatory life in prison for charges for 14 charges, including armed burglary. Nichols had set aside the afternoon to have all the time sufficient to speak with the defendants.




They were hesitant about plea deals, leaning instead toward trial. It’s their right, of course, but the evidence against them was stacked, and Nichols did not want to see them spend the rest of their life in prison. “I don’t think any judge enjoys sentencing a 22 year old to life in prison,” she told Johnson. Her predecessor, the now retired Judge Terence Perkins, said the first time he sentenced someone to life, he went back to his chamber and threw up.

What followed was a remarkable 75 minutes through which, alternating between Raimundo and Johnson, Nichols steered both toward negotiated pleas that in Johnson’s case included bargaining with Assistant State Attorney Jason Lewis, through Johnson’s two attorneys (Courtney Davison and Steven Robinson). Both defendants had been as if on a ledge, unable to go with the state’s offer. Nichols progressively talked them down, eventually winning their signatures on a stack of plea forms. She drew on her recent experience in the two trials to impress on the two defendants the immense risks they were running.

“Roll the dice, pay the price,” Nichols told both defendants separately. “And so the last two who have rolled the dice and paid the price, it’s life.” Raimundo had been offered 16 years by the state, a lenient sentence that would be even more lenient when credit for time already served (a full year) and credit for good behavior, or gain time (two and a half years), were subtracted from the sentence. Her prison time would be reduced to 12.5 years.




Yet Raimundo stared at the judge. She wasn’t sure. She wanted time to think. Lewis wasn’t going for it. She’d had plenty of time. She’d known what the offer was. She was still weighing the possibility of going to trial.

The judge was careful, balancing Raimundo’s rights with the judge’s own experience and awareness that this would not end well at trial for Raimundo. With some cases, you can hear the verdict before jury selection begins. And this case–both cases, against Raimundo and Johnson–would be tried by Lewis, who doesn’t lose. “I don’t know if there’s a disconnect, if people think they’re just going to take their chance at trial and perhaps win the lottery and get a not guilty,” Nichols told Raimundo. “But you’ve got three cases where you would have to roll. And this resolves all three. And you saw what happened with Mr. Pirraglia. He was dead set that he didn’t do anything wrong, and it was going to be not guilty. And he’s now serving a life sentence. So can you. And I’ve dealt with you a couple of times. I’ve dealt you with you in court on your case, but I’ve also seen you testify in other cases. And you seem pretty smart. You’re not stupid. You seem pretty pragmatic, which means down to earth and common sense.”

Raimundo had testified as a state’s witness in mid-November at one of the trials that ended with a life sentence. The victim, Brian O’Shea, had been her friend. She’d done drugs with him. She was sleeping in the same house when Brian Pirraglia, the man convicted and sentenced to life at that trial, had injected O’Shea with a fatal dose of fentanyl. Pirraglia had knocked on her door frantically asking for narcan, the neutralizing agent, to administer to O’Shea. Raimundo had none.

Raimundo knew when she was testifying that she would face potentially the same charge as Pirraglia: fentanyl she had sold Calvin Stull on his 22nd birthday led to his overdose death under a pavilion at Belle Terre Park in February 2022. Because of her testimony in the Pirraglia case, the State Attorney’s Office pursued a manslaughter charge with a maximum penalty of 15 years (in addition to her other charges), instead of a first-degree murder charge, as Pirraglia had been charged.

“I think I’m just in shock,” Raimundo told Nichols, still hesitating about accepting the 16 years.




“That’s something I can grasp, because that’s what I’m trying to figure out,” the judge told her. “That’s probably the best answer I’ve heard. But I want to talk through it with you, because it can’t be terribly shocking now.” Raimundo agreed: she’d been doing drugs her whole life. She was in the Smart program at the Flagler County jail, trying to make her sobriety stick through the detox program. That was part of the state’s offer: her sentencing would be deferred long enough so she could remain at the county jail to the end of the program before going to state prison.

Nichols pushed again, gently: “I don’t think you’re a horrible person. I think you’ve done horrible things based upon your lifestyle,” she told Raimundo, as her attorney, Spencer O’Neal, stood by her. “But I hate to see you freeze because you’re shocked and give up an opportunity to resolve your cases.” The state could withdraw the offer at any point. In one more concession, Lewis agreed to have gain time, or time off for good behavior, starting today, instead of from the time she’d start her sentence in state prison. IT would deduct a few more days from her sentence.

It took a little more coaxing, but in the end, Raimundo signed. Calvin Stull’s family members were in the courtroom. At one point Raimundo turned to face them and apologize, which she was not allowed to do. The judge thanked her for the apology but had her face forward and told her she could write a letter if she wished. “She wasn’t meaning to be disrespectful,” Nichols told the family members. “She was in her own way letting you know that, and I know that for y’all, no matter how sorry she is, it’s not enough, but at least she’s not in here with an attitude, because I have sometimes in cases like this, people don’t take any responsibility. It doesn’t bring your loved one back. But, she is remorseful.”

Unlike Raimundo, Johnson did not shed tears and did not apologize. (He had no one to apologize to in the courtroom.) He’s only 22, but it’s been a violent life so far. He’d served 28 months in prison for pulling a gun on his own mother and assaulting an inmate at the county jail. He was on probation last July when he attacked a store clerk he knew at a gas station because the store clerk wouldn’t approve $30 worth of gas without Johnson paying it.




Lewis read his long list of charges to Nichols and the mandatory life penalties that went along with a couple of them, because he is a prison releasee reoffender. The state was ready to prosecute him on all charges, and increase the severity of his potential penalty by categorizing him as a habitual offender. It was a nakedly strong-arming tactic in court, but so is the nature of most plea negotiations. The state was offering 30 years in prison, which he would have to serve day for day: no gain time, because he’s a reoffender. Johnson was hesitant.

“It’s not like if you take this you’re telling on anybody. You’re not testifying against anybody. There’s no lack of honor in trying to resolve a case so that you can avoid spending the rest of your life in prison,” Nichols told him. “My goal here today is that I wanted you to have some ability to have some control over your destiny. Because if you put it in front of strangers, and they come back guilty on any of those, you’re looking at life in prison.”

Lewis reminded the judge that the burglary was on video. It shows Johnson going behind the counter and beating up the victim with a gun. Lewis offered to show it. “It’s not like this is a complicated case,” Lewis said. If the jury determined it’s burglary, which he expected it would, that would be it for Johnson.

“Talk to your lawyers,” Nichols told Johnson.

He did. But she cautioned him not to come back with an unreasonable counter-offer. The state was offering 28 years. Johnson and his lawyers counter-offered with 25. Lewis accepted. Johnson will have 189 days’ credit for time served at the county jail, but no time off for good behavior.

“I know that this is a lot of time, I think based upon the circumstances, it was the best decision you could make,” the judge told Johnson.

And just like that, two cases that had been heading for trial, with grim outcomes likely foretold, were entirely resolved, leaving both Johnson and Raimundo with a life after prison, assuming they survive it.