Lawyer cites stress in Lawrence shooting

Daniel B. Cotnoir helped take down the charred bodies of four American civilians hanging from a bridge in Fallujah, Iraq, so they could receive a proper funeral. Later, he handed an Iraqi man two bags holding the remains of his wife and 4-year-old daughter who were killed in a car accident with an American fuel truck. Throughout his seven-month tour of service in Iraq, the Marine reservist wiped off the blood of dead American soldiers to prepare them for their final journey home.

Through all the horrors, he remained professional and seemingly strong, a rock to soldiers assigned to the Marines' mortuary affairs unit, said a staff sergeant who served with him.

But something unraveled when he came home, according to his lawyer.

The Lawrence mortician and father of two girls may have been suffering from stress from his war experiences early Saturday when he allegedly fired his shotgun into a raucous crowd outside his apartment window and injured two people, said his lawyer, Robert F. Kelley. Cotnoir, 33, pleaded not guilty through his lawyer to two counts of attempted murder yesterday in Lawrence District Court. A judge ordered Cotnoir to be evaluated at Bridgewater State Hospital.

Police said Cotnoir, who had been arguing with his wife, fired one round into the crowd. The shotgun blast hit the ground, and pellets ricocheted, injuring Lissette Cumba, 15, and Kelvin Castillo, 20, of Lowell, according to published reports.

Cotnoir had sought counseling to cope with his war-time experiences, his lawyer said. Yesterday, those who know him seemed puzzled by the shooting and searched their own memories for signs he was suffering.

Charlie Breen, a longtime family friend and a funeral director in Lawrence, said Cotnoir talked about his time in Iraq after returning in September, but did not dwell on it. The only image that seemed to haunt him was that of an ultrasound image of an unborn baby he found on one dead soldier, Breen said.

'' 'He'll never get to see the kid grow up,' " Breen recalled Cotnoir saying. ''That's what he really talked about."

The only noticeable change in Cotnoir seemed to be his desire to spend more time with his children, Breen said.

''I thought he was OK with everything," he said.

Cotnoir, who worked at his family's funeral home in Lawrence, was deployed to Iraq in February 2004. He was assigned to the mortuary-affairs unit because of his experience and trained 40 Marines on recovering bodies and preparing the dead before they were shipped home for their funerals.

During his tour of duty in Iraq, Cotnoir's unit helped recover 182 corpses. He went to 24 battle sites on recovery expeditions that took from 20 minutes to 10 hours to clear.

The work took an emotional toll on many soldiers, said Staff Sergeant Mark Sohm, 32, who served with Cotnoir.

''I would say that 30 to 40 percent of the Marines couldn't sleep at night," he said. ''Some people just internalized it. . . . Some people would lose their temper quick. Some people would joke when they normally wouldn't joke."

Several soldiers even left the unit, Sohm said. But Cotnoir stuck through his tour of duty, and soldiers were grateful, he said.

He knew exactly what to say to younger Marines on difficult recovery missions. Sohm said he taught the soldiers how to handle the dead respectfully.

''He was essential to the mission," he said. ''Without him, we would have had a much, much more difficult time."

Cotnoir returned to the United States last year to a hero's welcome. The Marine Corps Times named him ''Marine of the Year." Local newspapers wrote about his service in Iraq. Breen gave him a plaque thanking Cotnoir for his service.

But Cotnoir acknowledged in an interview last year that he was haunted by the war. In traffic, he would eye drivers around him suspiciously, looking for signs of an impending explosion.

''I just get a little jittery, a little nervous," he told the Globe in November. ''I try to take deep breaths and let it go and remember this is Lawrence. Car bombs don't go off here."

Before he left for Iraq, Cotnoir was a friendly family man, who loved to golf and volunteered for Toys for Tots. He had a dry sense of humor and bragged often about his golf swing. He was also compassionate, Breen said.

When Breen's son was stillborn about two years ago, Cotnoir was one of the only funeral director who came to pay his respects. ''That's what struck me," Breen said. ''How caring he is to his friends."

A court-appointed doctor who examined Cotnoir after the shooting said he may have been ''out of touch with reality" when he fired into the crowd, according to court documents.

Cotnoir had complained about rowdy behavior at the nightclub, Punto Final, in the past. On Saturday morning, he said he called police to report the noise outside before firing into the crowd, according to a police report. He looked outside and saw people staring up at him, laughing, the report said. Then, a bottle flew through his bedroom window.

When police asked Cotnoir why he fired, he responded, according to the report: ''I have a wife and two kids in there. If people are firing rounds into your house, where do you go?" He then started to cry, the police report said.

Kelley, his lawyer, said Cotnoir did not intend to hurt anyone. Witnesses who were outside the nightclub described looking up at his window and seeing Cotnoir holding a shotgun, but many thought it was fake.

''It was only his intention to fire what he called to be a warning shot," Kelley said. ''He's very emotionally upset, very contrite, very remorseful for the distress this has caused."

''I just thought he wanted to scare us to get away from the area," said Stephanie Tejeda, a cousin of Cumba who was also outside the club. ''Who shoots at an open crowd? I just think he should get help."

Cumba's uncle, James Rodriquez, questioned why no one had prevented the shooting. ''She's been crying all night," he said of his niece. ''If this man is sick, why was he holding weapons in his house?"

Kelley said his client is expected to be evaluated for post-traumatic stress disorder.

Five Marines went to Cotnoir's arraignment to show support, but declined to speak to reporters. Sohm, who lives in Maryland and returned from Iraq last year, said by phone: ''A lot of what happens, you don't realize how much it affects you until you're back home again. You're just not the same person."

Tom Long and Frank Phillips of the Globe staff contributed to this report.