- May 4, 2024
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Prosecution: A "depraved killing"
The neighbor’s dogs were always barking. Always. When Dana Mulhall returned to his home around 6 p.m. the day he died, they were, of course, barking.
He was in no mood. He’d worked early that day so he could meet some friends at a bar nearby for lunch and drinks. He strode over to the fence he shared with his neighbor, Paul Miller, and yelled at the dogs. They wouldn’t calm.
Soon, Paul Miller was outside, angry. The two men argued, each cursing, each belligerent. The dogs needed to be quiet, Mulhall said.
The whole time, Miller had stood on the other side of the fence, his right hand behind his back. As the argument escalated, he revealed his hand. In it was a pistol.
Mulhall began to turn away. The first bullet struck him from more than four feet away, at an angle, as if Mulhall were retreating from his shooter, but too late.
He was hit three times in the front, and, as he ran way, twice in the back, before he fell. Neighbors would later report hearing five shots, each about a second apart, as if intentional. Mulhall landed in his flower bed, a trail of blood showing his path of retreat.
When paramedics responded, he had no pulse. He was pronounced dead on the scene at 6:37 p.m., less than an hour after he was last seen at a convenience store in Flagler Beach, where he’d bought his daily lottery ticket.
During his autopsy the next morning, medical examiners found a piece of half-chewed meat in his mouth, suggesting he was eating when he was shot. His blood alcohol content was high — 0.188 — but his liver showed signs that he was a frequent drinker, indicating a greater tolerance to alcohol than most people. He often went to Flagler Beach bars after work to socialize. His penchant for Miller Lite beer was well known to the community. Soon, it was similarly known to investigators, who would see the beer’s logo hanging in Mulhall’s living room as they searched his house.
After he shot, Miller called 911 and said he shot his neighbor, cursing liberally at the dispatcher.
“You shot him?” the dispatcher asked.
“Yes,” Miller replied. “He begged me to. He jumped all over me. You might want to send somebody.”
Defense: An act of self-protection
The first time Paul Miller confronted Dana Mulhall, it was because Mulhall was yelling at his wife. The two men were neighbors, their closely positioned houses divided only by a white, picket fence.
Mulhall said the dogs barked consistently. He told Paul's wife, Derrol Miller, that if she didn’t take care of the dogs, he’d do it for her. Derrol Miller apologized, but Mulhall continued to yell, so Paul Miller stepped outside and asked his neighbor to leave.
“Why don’t you come over this fence?” Mulhall said. “I’ll show you what I can do.”
“Why don’t you come over here?” Paul Miller said, although he knew he couldn’t fight the younger man. “I’ll show you what I can do.”
Mulhall said he would kill the dogs and the Millers if the barking continued. Feeling threatened, Paul Miller went inside and called 911.
That was Jan. 21, 2011. After that, the Millers did their best to avoid their neighbor. They dropped their gazes to the ground if they were ever outside at the same time, and they hung thick curtains around their porch to block it from view.
After weeks of trying to stop their dogs from barking, they decided the only remedy was if one of them was always at home with the dogs, so they seldom left the house together. Things quieted after that, and they heard nothing from Mulhall.
Then, on March 14 of that year, Paul Miller was in his garage getting ready for a fishing trip when he heard yelling and cussing coming from outside.
Miller went to his porch to investigate. When he got there, he heard Mulhall’s front door slam. He knew the man was an avid hunter and worried that he was following through with his threats. Miller went into his house and retrieved a pistol, a precautionary measure. He returned to his porch and eased himself into a chair, slowly because, at 65, his health was poor.
Moments later, Miller heard Mulhall’s door slam again, so he walked out to the fence, keeping the gun in his right hand, and his right hand behind his back. Mulhall met him there, his face and neck bright red, his breathing fast. He started shaking Miller’s fence in a curse-laden tirade about Miller’s dogs.
“Calm down,” Miller said. “We can work this out.”
But Mulhall was drunk and furious, and he persisted.
“I’ll kill those dogs,” he said. “And I’ll blow your brains out.”
Miller thought Mulhall was armed. He worried for his dogs, for his wife, for himself. So when Mulhall reached behind him, as if to get a gun, Miller fired.
He thought he missed with the first shot. So, he fired again. And again. And again.
Mulhall began running toward the sidewalk, as if to circle around the fence that divided the two property lines. Miller continued to shoot until his neighbor fell. Only then did he know he’d hit his target.
He walked inside his house, put his gun down, and called 911. He told dispatchers he’d shot his neighbor. He didn’t think he’d done anything wrong. It was self-defense.
Miller hung up the phone, walked outside and stood at the end of his driveway, his hands in his pockets, waiting for the police, his dogs playing in the yard behind him.
