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Kim Osterman, who lost her son to a fentanyl overdose in February 2021, sits for a portrait on Monday, July 25, 2022, in the Denver Metro Area, Colo. (Timothy Hurst/The Denver Gazette)
Kim Osterman, who lost her son, Max Osterman, to a fentanyl overdose in February 2021, is reflected in a photo of Max while standing for a portrait on Monday, July 25, 2022, in the Denver Metro Area, Colo. (Timothy Hurst/The Denver Gazette)
Sergio Guerra-Carrillo listens as Kim Osterman explains why she thinks he should be put in jail and not let out on probation. He was given three years probation with the stipulation that he must continue drug treatment.
Kim Osterman, who lost her son to a fentanyl overdose in February of 2021, holds a heart containing Max’s ashes while standing for a portrait on Monday, July 25, 2022, in the Denver Metro Area, Colo. (Timothy Hurst/The Denver Gazette)
Kim Osterman, who lost her son to a fentanyl overdose in February of 2021, stands for a portrait on Monday, July 25, 2022, in the Denver Metro Area, Colo. (Timothy Hurst/The Denver Gazette)
From left to right: Max Osterman's parents, David and Kim Osterman, and family friend Amanda Mercurio watch court proceedings as Sergio Guerra-Carrillo is sentenced to 3 years of probation
Kim Osterman speaks to Judge Rayna Gokli during Sergio Guerra-Carrillo's sentencing. From right to left is her attorney Craig Silverman and her ex-husband David Osterman, Max Osterman's father.
Kim Osterman, who lost her son to a fentanyl overdose in February of 2021, stands for a portrait on Monday, July 25, 2022, in the Denver Metro Area, Colo. (Timothy Hurst/The Denver Gazette)
From left to right: Max Osterman's parents, David and Kim Osterman, and family friend Amanda Mercurio watch court proceedings as Sergio Guerra-Carrillo is sentenced to 3 years of probation
When Kim Osterman’s oldest son was in third grade, he was dreaming of college dorm parties.
“The boy never wanted to miss a good time. It was always just go, go, go,” she said.
But one month before his 19th birthday, Max Osterman died of a fentanyl-involved overdose, having never set foot as a student on a university campus.
“Do I blame Max for his choices? Yes I do,” Osterman said.
But she also blames Max’s alleged drug dealer for selling the blue pills which poisoned him and now, after waiting 16 months for the police to investigate, she blames prosecutors who told her they didn’t have a case because Max voluntarily ordered blue M30 pills and took them.
Kim Osterman, who lost her son, Max Osterman, to a fentanyl overdose in February 2021, is reflected in a photo of Max while standing for a portrait on Monday, July 25, 2022, in the Denver Metro Area, Colo. (Timothy Hurst/The Denver Gazette)
Osterman does not believe Max knew he was ingesting deadly fentanyl. "He was a victim and he's being blamed for it," she said.
“The drugs weren’t a secret,” the Broomfield mom said during an interview at a Denver Wendy’s. “I’m not saying my son was an angel. This is not a one pill can kill story. But the justice system really let us down.”
For the last month since the Broomfield police investigation into Max’s death was shut down, the United Airlines flight attendant has taken on the role of detective. She has scoured the Brighton County Courthouse for documents, learned the Colorado Bureau of Investigation system, attended hearings and met with 17th Judicial District attorneys to convince them to reopen the case into Max’s death. She cringes when she reads the autopsy report but forces herself to digest the horrible descriptions.
Sergio Guerra-Carrillo listens as Kim Osterman explains why she thinks he should be put in jail and not let out on probation. He was given three years probation with the stipulation that he must continue drug treatment.
She even discovered a home surveillance video from Max's girlfriend's house which she said proves he was getting his drugs by delivery from a slick white Corvette driven by his alleged dealer. She believes it can prove distribution occurred.
She hired criminal defense attorney Craig Silverman, who believes the case should be taken to a grand jury. They want the 25-year-old alleged old drug dealer, Sergio Guerra-Carrillo, and the person who saw Max last, his girlfriend Shelby Kelley, to testify under oath.
“She’s the key witness,” Silverman said.
Thursday, Osterman organized an army of friends, and handed them poster board and magic markers to make signs. Most of them had various photos of Max: as Broomfield High School homecoming royalty, as a wrestler, laughing with his brother, holding the family dog. “Forever 18” said one sign. Osterman's message? “I lost my first-born son.”
At the 17th Judicial District Courthouse, the group stood single file to greet the thin, bespectacled Guerra-Carrillo as he strode in for his sentencing on a separate drug possession case.
“I don’t even know you,” Guerra-Carrillo said over his shoulder as he adjusted his glasses and circled through the revolving glass doors. Inside, he nervously drank from a water bottle and kept his eye on the group. He joined his waiting mom, pondered the court docket list, and found his name assigned to Courtroom 406.
“I don't recognize him,” he told a reporter who showed him a photo of a smiling Max Osterman.
Later, in Courtroom 406, Osterman made sure Guerra-Carrillo knew and heard her. The judge honored Silverman's request for Osterman to speak, even though the sentencing was for a separate possession charge and had nothing to do with Max’s closed case.
“I am now Max's voice,” Osterman told the judge. Her aim was to get Guerra-Carrillo, whom she has learned “has an extensive drug history,” off the streets.
Kim Osterman speaks to Judge Rayna Gokli during Sergio Guerra-Carrillo's sentencing. From right to left is her attorney Craig Silverman and her ex-husband David Osterman, Max Osterman's father.
From just a few weeks of research, she made her case for putting the defendant behind bars. In her statement, Osterman spoke of the July 2020 case of a 17-year-old girl who overdosed but survived. The teen's Snapchats referenced a person named Sergio G, who sold her a pill for $20. It was the same name she found on Max's phone.
“Those cases were never followed through and this individual was released early from his probation. He should be in jail today. If he was in jail today maybe I wouldn’t be standing here and Max Osterman would still be alive.”
According to the 137-page Broomfield police report, Max kept most of his drug transactions secret, but Snapchat messages indicate several deals with a person called “Sergio G,” whose Snapchat account showed a bearded emoji avatar with dollar signs for eyes.
Those chats show and interviews with Max's girlfriend Kelley indicate it was Sergio G whom Max met in a King Soopers parking lot Jan. 31, 2021.
The next night, Max and Kelley hung out and then he went to the bedroom, where he ingested cocaine and fentanyl. Kelley said she last looked at the clock at 12:08 a.m. Feb. 2. Seven-and-a-half hours later, Kelley woke up to rub her boyfriend’s back and found him unresponsive, bleeding from the nose with a “pink-ish orange-ish colored foam coming out of his mouth.” She screamed and, according to police records, at 7:48 a.m. called 911.
First responders from the Broomfield Police Department found a “suspected cocaine and fentanyl mix” in the bedroom closet and a plate nearby which had traces of blue powder in it.
The autopsy report indicated fentanyl and cocaine were found in Osterman’s body.
Nine months later, on Dec. 1, 2021, after an exhaustive investigation, Broomfield police handed 17th Judicial District Attorney Brian Mason a probable cause arrest affidavit for Guero-Carrillo's arrest. In it, Detective Andrew Martinez asked for a charge of criminally negligent homicide plus two other counts: one of unlawful distribution and the other of possession of a Schedule II substance, associated with Osterman’s death.
Kim Osterman, who lost her son to a fentanyl overdose in February of 2021, holds a heart containing Max’s ashes while standing for a portrait on Monday, July 25, 2022, in the Denver Metro Area, Colo. (Timothy Hurst/The Denver Gazette)
Later that month, after a discussion with the DA’s office, Martinez went back to the drawing board for more evidence, re-interviewing witnesses and subpoenaing Snapchat messages.
Around that time, police discovered a terrible mistake had happened. Footage from at least 17 body-worn cameras associated with Max’s case had been permanently deleted due to a labeling mistake. The body-cam videos were mislabeled “Admin” which, per policy, came with a 180-day retention period before they were automatically wiped. The mistake was described in the Dec. 22, 2021 report as being “unintentional.”
In response to a request for an explanation about the missing footage, Broomfield Police spokesperson Rachel Haslett told The Gazette in an email that “Video is handled pursuant to the Broomfield Police Department’s body-worn camera policy.”
Martinez was undaunted and plowed through the case for another five months.
On May 20, he wrote up a second arrest affidavit for Guera-Carrillo and the district attorney’s office asked him to schedule a homicide filing.
On June 2, DA Brian Mason stunned the Osterman family with discouraging news. The marathon case Martinez had toiled to develop would not be filed. “This was due to various legal issues that could not be overcome to prove multiple elements of each crime presented,” the district attorney’s office explained.
The door was shut on Max’s case.
In a statement to The Gazette, Mason’s office wrote that “the fentanyl source continues to plague our communities,” saying the 17th considers each case to assess whether jail time or rehabilitation is the better option. “We will not be able to simply arrest and prosecute our way out of this problem,” Mason’s office said.
In the separate drug possession charges from the January 2022 arrest, Guerra-Carrillo pleaded guilty and was sentenced to three years probation with mandatory treatment and monthly drug testing.
In court, Judge Rayna Gokli told the Ostermans that Max’s case did not figure into her decision, but assured them she didn’t dismiss their pain. Then Gokli turned to address Guerra-Carrillo: “I hope that you recognize the impact your drug distribution has had on this community.”
Kim Osterman, who lost her son to a fentanyl overdose in February 2021, sits for a portrait on Monday, July 25, 2022, in the Denver Metro Area, Colo. (Timothy Hurst/The Denver Gazette)
Guerra-Carrillo walked out of the courthouse that day. His lawyer said he went through rehabilitation, has been 100 days clean and even has a job. But Osterman doesn't believe anyone anymore.
This week, she has yet another meeting with Mason’s office in hopes it will reopen Max’s case. Between the lost videos, witness statements and the defendant’s prior drug history, she does not want his alleged dealing of fentanyl to claim another life. She considers this her watch now.
“I lost my whole life as I knew it. Everything,” she said. “They think we’re idiots. They’re banking on the fact that we’ll go away. But I don't care how much it costs. I am not giving up.”
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