His in-laws, also estranged, are convinced that he killed Ramona. Though his children maintained their father's innocence at trial, they don't visit anymore. He subsists in the stale air of his former office on Rocky River Drive, where worn clothes and dirty dishes clutter the rooms. His savings, once fattened in the promise of a leisurely retirement, have been drained to keep him fed and clothed. Today, Krotine has surrendered the house in Parma, which was sold to help cover his legal bills. Following in his father's footsteps, youngest son Jason had joined the Marines. Jennifer was studying accounting at the University of Cincinnati. He and Ramona raised their three children in a comfortably modest four-bedroom colonial in Parma, and all of them were heading down the right path.
When he went out to eat, restaurant owners would stop at his table and chat. A consummate schmoozer, he boasts that he once claimed more auto policies than any agency in Ohio. He was making $325,000 a year, managing a State Farm Insurance office he had cultivated from zilch. Prior to Ramona's death, Krotine had enjoyed an earned success. The ruling gave him his life back, though it scarcely resembles what he once had. If he was stalwart in his defense, now he is mostly just numb.
ED RUST FORMER STATE FARM CEO 2017 TRIAL
He stood trial three times for the grisly 2003 murder of his wife, Ramona, enduring two hung juries before a third found him not guilty in May. They look tired and unfocused, half-hidden in wrinkles. The past two years have been arduous, and it shows in Krotine's sunken eyes.
His easy smile reveals rows of misshapen yellow teeth. It's cut neatly, a holdover from his time in the army, when he transported Agent Orange in Danang. He's 57, and his hair has mostly given way to gray, but has yet to recede. His wide hips concealed beneath a casual, bright button-down, Krotine meanders toward a line of boats parked on rollers near the security stand.