#do you think the jury for the second trial after they convicted found the evidence from the first trial and would have changed their minds

[karmaphone]

also I fully believe if the Menendez trial(s) happened today it would have swung in the brothers' favor for two distinct reasons: 1) metoo means people are way more willing to believe survivors of sexual assault, including boys and men and 2) there would have been so much more public backlash as a result of disallowing making any part of their abuse part of their defense in the second trial they would have had to reverse it, if it was even attempted at all

[anthonybialy]

The Courage of Hunter Biden’s Convictions

The case is cracked.  Rock cocaine aficionado Hunter Biden put Delaware on the map by engaging in the family business.  The real victim is the commander-in-chief’s aggrieved child who never got his sweetheart deal because kvetchers pointed out that evading discipline resembled impropriety.  Does this mean the laptop’s real?

Democrats are thrilled they can pretend to care about law and order.  Using an the president’s shameful offspring as evidence of their unflinching willingness to prosecute wrongdoers neglects how he’s the only one.  You need three for a trend.  But that’s a start.  The sacrifice of a trial is for the party’s benefit, which the example surely appreciates.

The jury inadvertently voted to facilitate moral equivalency.  Emboldened unhinged Biden defenders can smugly gesture to their enemy after noting someone on their side has to face a judge following being found naughty.  The difference between Donald Trump and Hunter is that the latter actually committed a crime.  I’m reliably informed that his father’s foe paying off his side piece porn star from the wrong pile is the worst transgression possible.

Aside from facts, the situations are identical.  Patient observers must keep explaining the distinction to Democrats just like we must once again review that gun crimes occur uncannily frequently in places that restrict ownership of same devices.

As for a violator of the party’s preferred restrictions on shooties, Hunter’s offensive gun offense upset authorities just like how his side wants.  Ignoring the rules in order to acquire a sentient crime-causing weapon of hate stands in direct defiance of their belief that laws stop criminals, which is his real infraction.

The simultaneous condemnation of Democratic policy shows why they don’t trust anyone with firearms.  Subjecting him to his beloved party’s own stringent restrictions is only fair.  I’d love for the Second Amendment to be absolute as intended, but I respect the wishes of the Party of Biden in the name of bipartisanship.

The party of projection thinks you’re a guilty schmuck.  Democrats presume everyone else also disregards troublesome statutes like they’re basic economics.  Yet some dissidents insist upon obeying laws while creating value.  Such blatant mockery of exploiting power for personal gain is very embarrassing for the incumbent.

How was he supposed to make money: work?  Hunter sets a dangerous precedent for fellow faction members who think the only way to get rich is by grifting.  Uselessness isn’t bad enough on its own: the Bidens figure productive humans are the same, too.  Thinking anyone else doing okay must’ve exploited their way to wealth is why Democrats are singularly devoted to taxing the stuffing out of success.

The Bidens are not a typical crime family: they can’t run a company.  Every real account and fictional depiction of relatives in rackets features managerial competence.  The government faced trouble prosecuting mafia families who cannily employed thriving pizzerias as fronts.  Mafiosi should feel ashamed of embodying two stereotypes.  Irish Joe strives to break them.

Impugn genetics or upbringing.  Either way, Joe fails.  A descendant may not necessarily embody parentage.  Guardians can strive to raise children right and still see them go astray.  But nobody can see how the patriarch conducts himself on days he remembers who he is and think he taught his contemptuous adult brat the right lessons.  Go ahead and judge: the judge did.

It’s easy to spot unfortunate trends over generations.  A particularly lousy president’s scoundrel kid bypasses statues for which he doesn’t care in the same way Dad buys votes by making taxpayers fund sociology degrees.

The felon is hooked on helping.  If that’s a violation, then convict away.  The shady nefariousness that envelops the First Son certainly doesn’t conceal the family scheme, which is terrific news for those who feared all those right-wing Twitter account holders were perceptive.  They’re the same conspiracists who risibly claim the economy’s bad just because nobody can afford anything.

The Bidens embody selflessness if you count the one who got caught.  As punishment for not founding the company, Hunter acted as the front man so the chief wouldn’t have to get his hands dirty.  Like the rest of this presidency, there’s no greater priority than spreading attribution.

The verdict is satisfying even though it isn’t.  Hunter’s passionate dedication to dodging taxes is an even bigger display of liberal hypocrisy.  Prosecutors hope you’re satisfied enough about the verdict on the least appalling thing the defendant did to overlook how they thought soliciting bribes wasn’t even worse.  No one is above the law, claim liberals referring to the president’s son facing justice for the least of his misdeeds.

It’s not a crime to turn people against Ukraine by treating a war against an invading brute as an opportunity to fill a political slush fund, but it is a feat in its own appalling way.  The bagman by birth certainly wouldn’t send a vig from untoward shady global contributions to the boss who happens to share an identical last name, so escort such cynical thoughts from your mind.

Sure, the president is corrupt.  But at least everything’s awful.  It’s not like we get a scumbag scammer executive who manages to force prosperity in existence.  The trains are certainly not running on time.

This term is an Intervention episode.  The president struggles to read his letter.  It’s tough to feel compassion for a criminal crackhead who justifies his passion for consumption on wanting to have endless heedless fun while lawbreaking.  Hunter thanks those blaming his appalling disdain for the law and decency on addiction.  A true embodiment of privilege can use all the excuses enablers can muster.  You know you’ve really misbehaved if you’re prosecuted for a token sin during the Biden era. 

[rhysismydaddy]

Prisoner's Game Pt. 3 (Rowaelin)

~Aelin~

There was something decidedly pleasant about sneaking out of prison.

It was the thrill, she supposed.

She'd always been a bit of an adrenaline junky, and there was nothing that matched up to the excitement of breaking out of a maximum security prison with no one being the wiser.

Aelin ran through the tunnel, her steps sure and soundless, a smile blooming on her face. What she was doing shouldn't give her such joy, but along with being a thrill seeker, she'd always been just a little bit vindictive.

Or maybe a lot.

The map of the tunnels was still crystal clear after all this time, and she had it memorized down to the number of steps it took to get to the right turn.

It was a three hour run. Two underground, then one through the city out into the suburbs.

While the first two hours were definitely not fun, it was the last hour that was tricky.

Avoiding cameras, not drawing any unwanted attention, dressing so no one could see her face without looking too much like the criminal she was.

It was also more exhausting.

It was an hour of sprinting across rooftops, sprinting through town, then sprinting some more.

It was a little funny to her that the journey to where she needed to go was more difficult than actually breaking into the building.

She had a set of scrubs stored in a nearby lockbox, along with a wig and a few prosthetics to make her look more like Ansel, one of the nurses working the night shift.

The security guard, Shelly, was prone to reading romance novels during her shift and never questioned why she occasionally thought she saw two of the same person wandering around.

It was no different tonight.

Once she had everything in place, Aelin strode confidently through the halls, grabbing charts and nodding like she knew what the hell she was looking at.

No one stopped her, no one questioned her.

When she got to the room and chart she wanted, she slipped inside soundlessly and crept up to the bed.

Despite the ever-present urge to hurry things along, she stuck to her plan and kept the dose the same.

The person on the bed never woke up, never noticed her slip an extra drug into the IV bag hanging on the wall.

Silent, efficient, traceless.

Just like she'd been taught.

Leaving was even easier than entering.

She waited until real-Ansel had been out of the guard's sight for a while, then walked out the back door of the facility like she hadn't just committed a felony.

One of the few crimes she actually deserved to be in prison for, ironically.

Then she ran back, hiding in the traffic camera's blind spots and ditching the wig along the way.

It was a little stupid and drawn out to do it this way, not to mention unbelievably cruel, but Aelin had always had a flair for the dramatic.

Plus, like she said: exciting.

~Rowan~

Doubt is a strange emotion.

It starts small, so small you hardly even realize it's there.

And then, over time, it grows and grows like a fungus, eventually becoming something that you think about all the time. Something that kills you.

Rowan didn't believe in doubt.

His problem had never been with not believing in himself, it'd always been with the opposite affliction: over-conviction.

He believed things so fully, so deeply, it was hard to see it any other way.

It was what made him such a good lawyer. As the top public prosecutor in the city, he had a reputation for being impossible to win against.

He convinced himself of the defendant's guilt so completely, the jury had almost no option but to believe him.

He hadn't always been that way, he didn't think. Argumentative and stubborn, sure. His mother could attest to that. But never so unflinchingly self-assured. So alright with deceiving himself if need be.

If he had to guess, he'd say it'd started two months after the day of Aelin's trial.

He hadn't been lying to her four days ago; every word had been the truth. He'd worked his ass off all those years ago, trying to find something that would help him either clear her name or at least fucking sleep at night.

He'd given himself a timeline, deciding that if he couldn't find a single lead in two months, there probably wasn't one. Two months, and then he'd let it go.

He didn't regret stopping his hunt--he'd seen what an obsession could do to someone.

And when that day had come, he'd thought he was ready. He'd exhausted himself working both her case and the ones he was assigned, burning the candle at both ends and sleeping in the office more nights than his own bed.

There'd been nothing to be found. The evidence, the testimonies, the medical examiner's reports... they'd all pointed to Aelin.

So eventually he'd forced himself to stop looking.

But the sight of her swinging between the two court police officers, fighting for just one more second with him with a desperation he'd never seen from her... he hadn't known how he could just forget something like that.

The image followed him, haunted him. Every time he closed his eyes, he saw hers. Lined with tears and disbelief and so much hurt he felt like invisible hands were wrapped around his neck.

So he'd hardened himself against it.

He'd repeated the pieces of evidence against her, told himself she was guilty until the words were easy to say, forced himself to visualize the crime scenes of her victims whenever he thought of her.

Piece by piece, he'd swapped out the months of positive memories they had with stone cold facts.

And it had worked.

After a month, he could sleep again. After a year, he hardly thought of her and when he did, it was with disgust.

Yet now, over eight years later, he found himself with just the slightest amount of doubt again.

It was the same nagging, incessant feeling he hadn't been able to shake eight years ago. Back for round two, apparently.

At first, he'd played it off as nerves from their conversation. She'd worked him up so much he'd admitted how much he'd once loved her and said things he shouldn't have.

His body was reacting to the sadness in her eyes, the surprise that had bloomed when he'd told her he'd fought for her. It was emotion, nothing based in logic, that made him want to start looking again.

At least that's what he told himself.

But four days later, he found himself on the couch--he really did need to give up and just buy a new bed--staring at the ceiling, trying to sleep and not being able to.

Because... well because what if she was telling the truth?

Why else would she have told him that story?

What had he missed during all those late nights spent hunched over her folder?

The questions grew and grew, until that once-little shard of doubt started to slowly drive him mad.

The uncertainty, no matter how small it had begun, had grown to be almost irritatingly large and unavoidable.

He couldn't stop thinking about what she'd said. The breadcrumbs that apparently only he could find.

What did that mean?

And why couldn't he just let it go?

"Fuck!" he yelled, throwing his blanket off and storming to the closet.

Like a love-struck idiot, he'd kept a box full of the stuff she'd left at his apartment during their relationship. The stuff that wasn't evidence, at least.

If it was something only he could find like she'd said, it was probably something only he had access to.

He dropped the box on his kitchen table and opened the lid.

Then cursed when the first thing he saw was a pair of red lace underwear. That was the last thing he needed to be thinking about and remembering.

Especially when he'd barely been able to resist the temptation to kiss her in that interrogation room.

Something about the way she'd looked at him after he'd told her he'd fought for her all those years ago had rattled the grip he had on his control hard.

She'd seemed so... sad. So hopeless. It had brought out the urge to comfort her in whatever way he could.

Hearing about her childhood and how she'd been raised by Arobynn Hamel hadn't made it any better. Truthfully, it'd broken something inside of him.

She'd always been so positive around him--a ray of light he'd felt was put on this earth just for him.

And all the while, she'd been forced to live with and work for one of the most notorious crime syndicate members of all time.

He'd always known she hadn't had a good childhood, but there was a difference between foster care hell and an actual house of horrors. Rowan couldn't even imagine the things she'd seen. Been forced to see, to do.

She made it out, he reminded himself, taking a deep breath.

But had she?

If what she'd told him was true, she'd killed those people because she'd been forced to.

It hadn't been her choice.

But there was something else about her, something he couldn't stop thinking about.

The secret she'd eluded to, the one that apparently only he had the key to solving.

A secret she'd promised would explain everything.

He tossed the underwear on the table, vowing to ignore them.

Then threw them in the trash a minute later when that became impossible.

You're such an asshole, he told himself, shaking his head. It's been eight years.

Even if that part of their relationship was most definitely memorable.

"Jesus," he laughed, running a hand over his face. Why was he even thinking about that?

Maybe it was the look in her eyes four days ago, or maybe it was simply that Aelin had been an important part of his life. He'd never forget the connection they'd had. Maybe it would always be a part of him.

But that was ridiculous, because he'd been connected to plenty of women since. Plenty of gorgeous brunettes and redheads.

For some reason, he hadn't been able to date a blonde, but that didn't mean anything.

He was over her.

Obviously.

Forcing his thoughts away from Aelin, he grabbed the next thing in the box.

Her address book. Maybe she'd left a note in there?

He flipped it open, scrolling through blank page after blank page. Her cousin's address and phone number were there--both of which he confirmed with police records--but other than that, it was blank.

The next thing he found made the ache in his chest expand to a soul-sucking hole.

It was a travel brochure for Aruba.

The edges were frayed from how much she'd flipped through it, and notes in her handwriting were scribbled throughout the pages.

He remembered this, all right.

He'd woken up one morning, a morning that seemed like a lifetime ago, to find her laying on top of him, leafing through the travel pamphlet with a huge grin on her face.

"We're going to Aruba," she'd whispered in lieu of a greeting, leaning down to press her lips to his.

"Why?" he'd asked back between kisses.

"Because it's the perfect place to hide from your real life," had been her laughed response.

She'd planned a trip for them at Christmas. Their very first trip together.

Every time they saw each other, she'd shown him a new page or told him about a new activity she wanted to do.

In general, she was a happy, excited person, but he'd never seen her so thrilled over anything like she was that trip.

He'd hidden it better, trying to play it cool, but he'd been excited, too.

He'd pictured her on the beach, running in the sand and smiling and laughing and drinking from a coconut. He'd imagined sneaking to the beach one night and making love to her in the ocean.

He'd imagined getting down on one knee and asking her to be his travel partner for life.

She'd been arrested two weeks before they were supposed to leave.

He tossed the little magazine back into the box, shaking his head to clear it of the memories and long-lost dreams.

The only thing left in the worn box was books.

Aelin had volunteered at a publishing house, trying to get hired as a fiction editor, and she'd always had a book in her ridiculously heavy pocket book.

She'd given him a few of her favorites, claiming that if he ever wanted to know the "real her," he had to read them.

A statement that made a lot more sense now than it used to.

He grabbed the one on top and leafed through it, going through the pages and scanning.

When that didn't yield anything, he flipped to the back of the book and looked at the inscription she'd written him.

March 1

Rowan,

I know you're not a fan of fiction, let alone romantic, feminist fiction, but I hope you'll read this and fall in love with Elizabeth's character like I did.

Aelin

He turned the book over and looked at the front again, then flipped through it again, then went through the whole process again.

Why did he feel like something about this didn't add up? And why was this, of all things, what she'd left as a breadcrumb?

He didn't figure it out until he reread the inscription for the fifth time and realized the date she'd written.

March 1st.

It was wrong; she'd given him this book on his birthday in February. He remembered because he'd laughed about her giving a grown man a romance novel for his birthday.

Why had she put March 1st? And why did that date stand out in his mind?

Stomach dropping, he finally figured out why that date was so important. It was the date of the first murder.

Maddison Kliff, a state senator who controversially wanted to fund renewable energy in the upcoming year, had been murdered the morning of March 1st eight years ago.

Breadcrumb.

He grabbed the next book from the stack, Wuthering Heights, and flipped to the end.

Almost the exact same inscription, except the date was April 13th, and the inspiring character was Linton Heathcliff.

April 13th was the day another victim died.

Rowan's heart started pounding, so hard he thought he was going to either pass out or go into cardiac arrest.

What was the connection between these dates, characters, and victims? Rowan could feel it in his gut that this was what she'd been talking about. It had to be.

He flipped through the books again, looking for something else, but there was nothing there. Nothing was underlined or highlighted, and the books were all in brand-new condition, no pages were bookmarked.

"What are you trying to tell me, Aelin?" he whispered, rubbing at his temples.

He made a list of all the dates and characters, stared at it until he thought he'd go blind, and tried to think like her.

Except her mind was a complex puzzle he'd never quite solved, so that didn't give him anything besides a headache.

He looked in the box again, hoping to magically find another note or something that explained everything in simple, idiot-proof terms.

But all that was there was that damn Aruba magazine.

It's the perfect place to hide from your real life.

The words came rushing back to him, so suddenly and violently it was like his subconscious had been shouting it for a while.

Was that it?

Maybe the connection wasn't only between the dates and characters, but it also had something to do with Aruba.

Maybe that was where this secret, whatever it was, was hiding.

Knowing he was probably grasping at straws, Rowan grabbed his phone and called the one person who'd help him.

"What the hell do you want?"

"I need a favor, Gavriel."

He heard a heavy sigh. "Like a we've been friends for twenty years favor or like an I'm the Chief of Police favor?"

"The latter," Rowan answered.

"Dammit, Rowan, you're going to get me fired one day." That was what he said every time. There was a long pause, then, "What do you need?"

"Flight manifests from Rifthold to Aruba from ten different days eight years ago."

Gavriel caught on quickly. "This wouldn't happen to have anything to do with a former flame of yours, would it? One currently serving time for ten murders from eight years ago?"

"Of course not," he lied, knowing he was busted.

Another sigh. "You need to let this go, kid."

Rowan ran a hand over his face, knowing that wasn't possible. Not when, for the first time since he'd been assigned this God forbidden case, he had a lead.

"Can you help me or not?"

"I will, as long as you promise to drop it once whatever you're chasing ends up to be yet another dead end."

Knowing he didn't have another choice, Rowan agreed.

Gavriel told him he'd send them over, then said softly, "I know you loved her, Rowan, but it's time to move on."

It's not that easy, he thought, thinking once again of Aelin sitting in that tiny cell, skin pale and hair too long.

"Thanks for your help," he said instead, hanging up before the lecture could continue.

A few minutes later, he was printing out the passenger lists from all the Rifthold to Aruba flights on each of the ten dates.

Starting with August 1st, he went through, passenger by passenger, and looked for an Elizabeth.

There'd been three direct flights to Aruba that day, so by the time he found it, his eyes were so tired he almost missed it entirely.

But there was a name that stuck out, one that was straight out of his copy of Pride and Prejudice.

Seat 14C had been occupied by Elizabeth Darcy, and she'd flown directly from Rifthold to Aruba on August 1st.

Rowan's jaw damn near hit the floor.

His hands shook as he highlighted the name, writing the victim's name next to it to keep it straight in his head.

His mind whirled with possible explanations, but he didn't let himself think about anything except the next date.

With a sinking feeling in his gut, he went through the passenger list for April 13th.

And sure enough, Linton Heathcliff was on one of the flights. In the same damn seat.

"Holy fuck," he whispered, grabbing the next sheet of paper.

He went date by date, flight by flight, and by the time he'd located every character, he was sure of what he'd found. What she'd left for him.

It wasn't a breadcrumb, it was the whole goddamn loaf.

Rowan barely made it to the kitchen sink before his stomach emptied as an explanation of what had really happened eight years ago started to form in his mind.

He didn't have all the pieces, but the ones he did have made him literally sick to think about.

Her insistence on being innocent, her begging him to look again, telling him only he could find the clues... it all made sense.

The doubt he'd been struggling with for eight long years suddenly disappeared, replaced by a certainty so swift and thorough and all encompassing, it almost took his breath away.

She hadn't been lying.

She hadn't killed those ten people.

She couldn't have, because...

"They're still alive."

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

dun dun duuuuun

part 4 out next Friday (sorry for the slow updates I'm in summer school)

@audreycressworth @whimsicallyreading @onceupona-chaos @lil-unoriginal-weirdo-273sole @surielandiareendgame @captain-swan-is-endgame @poisonous00 @vasudharaghavan @sailorsassley @endlessdaydream @swankii-art-teacher @beanco8 @stokingthemidnightflame @mis-lil-red @ladyfireheart-and-buzzard @sheharahu @cookiemonsterwholovesbooks @jorjy-jo @court-of-dreams-and-ashes @perseusannabeth @cursebreaker29 @a-bit-of-a-cactus @elriel4life @girl-who-reads-the-books @aelinfeyreeleven945tbln @live-the-fangirl-life @ireallyshouldsleeprn @highqueenofelfhame @loudphantomdragon @gracie-rosee @rowaelinismyotp @nahthanks @ghostlyrose2 @lovemollywho @inardour @tillyrubes10 @claralady @tswaney17 @rowanisahunk @superspiritfestival @thegoddessofyou @awesomelena555 @booksofthemoon @greerlunna @jlinez @studyliketate @over300books @justgiu12 @maastrash @aesthetics-11 @bamchickawowow @b00kworm @sleeping-and-books @musicmaam @hizqueen4life @maybekindasortaace

[bagadew]

The Great Ace Attorney Playthrough: The Adventure of the Runaway Room (Part 1b)

Last time: We (and by we I mean Ryunosuke and Susato) arrived in England, and were almost immediately sent to play lawyer by Daemon Gant’s ancestor, who is definitely going to either die or kill someone later. Despite our client being only the richest of able bodied white men, we quickly found ourselves on the ropes thanks to the worlds least impartial jury. Fortunately we now get to put the buggers on the spot and demand they give us their reasons for convicting my client (and boy had they better be good).

Ryunosuke, the more we learn about that man the more of a cad he becomes. I say we should be very thankful we aren’t doing that.

Let me get this straight, instead of smashing their half baked ideas to smithereens and laughing as I go, I have to use the worlds weakest bricks to build my argument.

Susato, one of them knows one of the witnesses.

Oh, so that’s what we’re doing.

Ok, Ryunosuke, lets get shit stirring!

Well firstly, either the drunk juror’s wrong or Beppo’s overcharging people, so jot that down.

Ooh, we’re pacing!

(Also, I’d like to thank Juror No.4 for backing me up, ma’am you are the only member of this group bothering to make even the slightest bit of effort. For this I thank you.)

Of course! Thank you for putting two and two together like that for me!

(Wait a second, I’ve just realized that we’ve got the KBS slung on our hip! That’s amazing!)

And this lady’s and gentleman, is why we don’t let people who know those involved stand on the Jury.

GET HIS ASS JUROR NO.4!

(You are my favourite juror, you can tell the others if you’d like.)

Excellent work Ryunosuke!

Have you not even been listening?

(Susato is explaining the last ten minutes to him because she has more patience than I ever will.)

>:D

And Juror No.2’s crossed over to our side as well!

>:D

And she’s doing it for much better reasons than Juror No.5!

Juror No.2 you’re winning me back!

Just two more jurors to convince now, so let’s go on to the discrepancy about how the victim was stabbed, and maybe point out that the body was left in the seat it was stabbed it.

Old Lady vs Jack the Ripper, here we go!

(Ten guineas on the granny!)

Haha! His knife got stuck in the table!

(I put it again that this man should have that knife taken away from him.)

Yes judge, and if we’d been allowed to go through the whole trial before the jurors jumped the gun, you’d have known that already.

Yay! We’ve won Granny Thickle back!

WHAT DO YOU THINK THE JURY IS SUPPOSED TO DO YOU NINCOMPOOP?!?

And he’s being really racist now.

Fortunately he’s also rubbing the rest of the jury up the wrong way!

Well I consider this to have been a success Ryunosuke.

Well given that the body was found on the seat and there was no blood on the floor... I’m going to say no.

He wants evidence.

Ok then.

As a wise man with a cool sword once said: I will shove it down your throat and make you choke on it.

(Yeah, we should really have seen Kazuma’s moral dubiousness coming...)

Anyways, let’s show him the crime scene photo then.

WRONG???

Of course! The autopsy report shows he was only stabbed once!!!

Meaning that there was only one incident where the witness was stabbed!

VICTORY VICTORY VICTORY!!!

YEAH!!!

Yes, kill each other!

My Lord, Juror No.3 has started licking his knife and threatening the witnesses now...

I’m a little bummed we didn’t get to convince Juror No.4 seeing as she’s the one putting in the hours up there, but never mind. We’re back on track baby!

HE CRUSHED IT!

Oh my god Ryunosuke, we’ve got a prosecution shut up button!

HE THREW OF HIS DRACULA CLOAK!

Oh please, we all know perjury doesn’t exist in this here!

Oho, so apparently Beppo’s been overcharging his customers. Given the conditions he’s been working in I can’t exactly blame him though.

Unfortunately that does kind of rule out the possibility of an extra passenger though, so I’m not sure it helped us much.

Damn right I do!

‘Absolutely’ Ryunosuke and I share one mind.

Now let’s see if we can clear up that whole ‘I saw the victim stabbed on the floor’ bs.

You know, I’m rapidly warming to Mr Furst. Unlike the other witnesses and the god damn jury, he’s not telling lies, or overinflated by his own self importance. He’s actually taking it seriously and doing his best to be as clear and close to factual as he can.

I mean he could well be the killer for all I know, but right now I’m just enjoying him as a nice gentle guy who’s trying his best. It’s refreshing.

Barok’s trying to point out that we still have one witness who saw the stabbing, to which I say: Yeah, a witness with a reason to lie!

Still, Beppo’s the one I should probably be focusing on here, as he’s saying he saw the victim stabbed in places he couldn’t have been.

Well that was easy.

Mr Fairplay on the other hand is going absolutely ham on his cane.

What’s the matter Mr Fairplay?

Got something to say?

Again Mr Fairplay, being a banker in an Ace Attorney Game is not the commending statement you think it is.

Anyways new statement time!

And what’s this I see? Both his hands were covered in blood? That looks like a new contradiction to me!

You know he’s weirdly insistent about this, and I can’t work out why?

Like, regardless of whether or not he committed the murder, he’s clearly hoping that Mr McGilded’s going to be taken out of the picture as a result.

But if he wants that to happen then this is such a weird thing to lie about. It doesn’t add in any way to Mr McGilded’s ‘guilt’, in fact thanks to his gloves it kind of does the opposite.

But if he’s not lying then he has to be mistaken and I don’t understand what that would mean either.

Wow, Juror No.6 is ready to throw down!

(Juror No.3’s going off as well, but I don’t think that’s anything to write home about.)

NOT IN THE WAY HE REPEATEDLY SAID IT WAS!

I’m no longer so sure. After all, if he was it would be far more in his interest to keep quiet about it or say he was mistaken as soon as we bought the gloves out.

What I’m beginning to wonder though, is if there was a mysterious fifth passenger after all, and their hands were the ones Mr Fairplay saw covered in blood.

Come to think of it, he did say that he didn’t see the victim or killers faces, so that’s a good chance, and one that actually gives some hint as to what our suspect looks like: i.e. small.

Debt time.

IT’S A HUGE DEBT!!!

Good to get proper conformation on that theory then.

ORDAAR!

(If you don’t know about the House of Commons cry of Order you should look it up on YouTube. It’s basically the one good thing to have come out of that place.)

So he did lie about seeing the moment the victim was stabbed then. I guess that leave more room for the idea that the fifth passenger did it.

Actually, come to think of it did Mr McGilded ever tell us where he went to sit in the carriage? Could he have been on the open side, the one Mr Fairplay and Mr Furst couldn’t see from where they were?

Huh, he’s still doubling down.

Again I really don’t think he’s lying here, but I do think he’s mistaken about who’s hands he could see.

Also given how much this statement relies on him being a witness I should probably rule him out of my enquires.

I’m rapidly going back over my notes to see if I ever accused him, but let’s be honest here I did. The False Accusations counter is up to a nice healthy 5/5.

Of course Mr Furst, you’re an angle and we’re all thrilled you’re here.

Ok, well now any doubts I had that Mr Fairplay was telling the truth have been put to rest, thank you Mr Furst. You, me and Susato should form our own breakaway courtroom, Juror No.4 can come if she likes.

Anyway time for more testimony.

Certainly looks that way doesn’t it My Lord?

Now Barok want’s to examine the Omnibus again.

You know what, sure Barok, knock yourself out.

Barok, keep up. It literally a huge contradiction sitting right there.

YES IT MATTERS!!!

Well thanks to Mr Furst, the one good witness, we know that the real killer wasn’t wearing any gloves. Again Mr Furst I thank you.

Wait a second, there was a space under the seat opposite the victim wasn’t there. I know it was full of stuff but was there any room for someone to fit themselves?

Barok’s telling me that there was no trace of blood on Mr McGilded’s actual hands. I’m glad you’ve finally caught up Barok but stop talking now so I can examine the omnibus again.

Yes! A space!

And whoever it was who could fit inside there definitely fits the category of small!

And right on cue it’s time to bring their blind spot to light.

Now, I need to work out if they want to know about the space under the seats or if they just want the seats themselves, because from where Mr Furst and Mr Fairplay were sitting they couldn’t see either.

Fuck it, I’ll just put my cursor half way between the two and hopefully it’ll except whichever one it wants.

Haha, yes... exactly what I was going to say...

MY EVIDENCE IS THE FUCKING BLOODIED GLOVES!!!

Anyways, given that the killer was by all accounts sitting next to the victim with no gloves and bloodied hands, the only person who could have been in the concealed seat was Mr McGilded. Again, did anyone actually bother to check which seat he sat in?

Well done Judge. Still as sharp as ever I see.

Wow, that one hit the light!

Barok, that’s alcohol. If you start a fire in here I’m not going to put you out.

Oh he’s being racist again.

Racist stuff Ryunosuke.

Ok, well let me brake this down into words that a stuck up prick like you would understand. The witnesses never saw the attackers face, but they did see his hands and all agree that they were covered in blood. My clients hands were not covered in blood, and therefor he doesn’t fit the one thing we know about the killer. However we know he was on the omnibus, and the only place he could have been is in the seat that can’t be seen.

... you guys, I think this man might be the OG “protégé” prosecutor. Hugh O’Connor and Sebastian Debeste were simply trending in this mans footsteps.

I’m not really sure how much clearer you want me to be My Lord!

(Also ORDAAAAR!)

Van Zieks is still crawling blindly towards the light, and I suggest we just move on without him.

I know (or at least I hope) he’s just deliberately putting up barriers as the prosecution, but the way he’s doing it really looks like he’s packing his intelligence onto a bus and sending it out to destinations unknown.

(Credit to Ryunosuke for spelling it out for him though.)

Thank you Mr Furst, I knew you’d have my back.

THEN LET’S BRING HIM INTO COURT!!!

(ORDAAARR!!!)

Yeah on what grounds?

I mean this is literally the solution to all our problems.

Yeah, well he probably lied (though I can’t work out why).

Excellent point Ryunosuke!

Now Van Zieks is pointing out that if Mr McGilded lied in his statement there would have been a deliberate reason for doing so. To be honest, as the prosecution, this seems like all the more reason to bring him in.

Anyway we’re demanding his testimony.

WHY THE HELL ARE WE ASKING THEM?!?

Well luckily for us the jury seems to finally be getting its arse in gear and has agreed (fairly unanimously) to let the god damn defendant make a statement in his own murder trial.

Nothing to say here. This just feels like a meme.

HAHA!!! THERE WAS SOMEONE!!!

EAT MY SHIT BAROK!!!

Wait an urchin?

Ace Attorney, I’ve already had a ‘don’t feel good’ case regarding who I’m accusing, don’t make me do that again.

STOP MAKING ME ACCUSE POOR AND FRIGHTENED CHILDREN!

Yeah, they probably would have done, and unlike you I don’t think she’d have been able to pull the ‘I donated a park to this city you know’ trick to win hearts and minds.

I wonder if she was there as a passenger or as a stowaway? Because I’d say that gap under the seat could fit a child pretty easily.

Now Barok’s saying we have no reason to believe Mr McGilded. And he’s right except for, you know, all the evidence...

Wait what.

A smoke bomb just went off!

I really don’t like the face Mr McGilded pulled just then, and he definitely gave a signal for it to be dropped.

...Ah fuck, he’s guilty isn’t he.

And he’s using some kid to cover it up.

Well shit...

[jemej3m]

trial (objection p.2)

i love htgawm connor is such a problem child

*

“So your father was already incapacitated when you murdered him,” Andrew deduced, leaning back in his chair. He spun the land-line’s coiled cord around his finger, looking over the ceiling sconces of his office. The place was definitely built at least half a century ago, and the remnants of its previous occupations were everywhere, from the covered-up fireman pole holes to the sound-proofed insulation.

“When I killed him out of self-defence, yes,” Neil returned. His portion of the conversation would always be under surveillance. 

“Way to make my job harder, Wesninski.” 

“What good would I be, otherwise?” he retorted. “Also, please don’t call me that. I’m figuring out a new last name. How does Neil Smith sound?” 

“Dreadfully boring,” Andrew said. “Don’t say that word. I don’t like it.” 

“Which one, exactly?” 

Andrew grit his teeth. “Please.” It still sent shudders down his spine. “There’s no time for pleasantries.” 

“Fine,” the man said. “Is that all you wanted to waste my time on? The position my father was found in, when I - when he died?” 

“Considering that there are extremely graphic photos of his predicament for the jury to gawk at, yes. How is it self-defence if there’s no threat?” 

“He wasn’t cuffed there: I was. The DNA evidence was tampered with to remove traces of the skin tissue that the cuffs had scraped away. Have you even looked at those photos? His wrists are clearly free. I thought you were talking about the eyes.” 

“What about them?” Andrew hedged. 

“They’re gouged out,” Neil muttered. “I hate that our eyes are - were - the same.” 

“You did that whilst the two of you were fighting,” Andrew suggested. “Unless its clear you did it with a knife?” 

“All I had was his cleaver,” Neil said. “I used the handle. That’d look like fingers, right?”

“Right,” Andrew agreed, just as Wymack appeared at his doorway. 

“Could you keep the gruesome mutilation discussions off the worklines?” the old man demanded. “Matt just threw up into Dan’s paper-shredder.” 

“I’ll have to call you back,” Andrew said, vastly unimpressed. 

“I was going to say,” Neil said, sounding vaguely amused. “You have quite a stomach. Till next time, Andrew.”

“Bye, Neil.” 

Wymack had his arms crossed when Andrew threw the phone back onto the receiver, his glower shrouded and unknowable. 

Andrew gave it right back to him, refusing to stand as he mirrored Wymack’s stance. “What?” 

“First you viciously reject the case,” he said. “Then you drive to see him. Now you’re calling him every day?” 

“He’s in prison,” Andrew said. “I can’t just invite him over to interview him and gather evidence.”

“There is no valid reason for you to buddy up to Wesninski like this,” Wymack objected. “You barely speak to your clients unless they’re escapin’ juvie.” 

“You’re asking no questions, so I’ll give no answers,” Andrew responded cheerfully. “Have a nice day, boss.”

Wymack pointed at him. “No murder talk on the worklines. Three strikes and you’re out, Andrew.”

Andrew swivelled back around in his chair, knowing true and well Wymack had warned him about upwards of 72 different infringements of people’s delicate psyche. He had a job to do: if someone got in his way, he wasn’t going to be nice about it. 

Not for the first time, he wondered if Neil had a contraband mobile phone. It’d make his life a hell of a lot easier. For about twenty minutes he scrolled aimlessly through emails from desperate idiots convicted of white-collar crime, simultaneously considering how he might get a mobile phone to Neil next time he visited. He could go on the weekend, after Nicky’s godforsaken family night. 

Oh, shit, Andrew thought, when he noticed he’d lost an hour of his day making plans to see Neil again. 

Maybe Wymack was on to something. 

*

“You do seem awfully invested,” Betsy suggested, leaning on the porch railing as Andrew smoked through a second cigarette. She’d come along to Nicky’s Friday night fiasco at his request, seeing as Aaron had Katelyn and Nicky had Erik. It seemed a little ridiculous to being his old therapist, who was much more of a mother than a therapist, but Andrew’d wanted to talk to her anyway and their schedules clashed too much to meet up for lunch. 

“His case is simple,” Andrew objected, glaring at an owl that’d settled on the gangly tree in Nicky’s front yard. “He’s got physical evidence of his father’s cruelty, even though it’s been a decade. I’ve uncovered the DNA evidence tampering. Neil clearly acted out of self-defence. It’s open and shut, but no one’s going to want Wesninski’s child out on the streets.” 

“Jury?” Betsy inquired. 

“Jury,” Andrew confirmed sullenly. He fucking hated jury catering. When a case was on thin ice, it was up to selecting the perfectly biased (or prejudiced) people that’d think with their heart, not their head. Andrew was an excellent judge of character, but emotional evaluations were taxing and laborious. 

“You’ll do great,” Betsy promised, smiling her all-knowing smile. “You always do.” 

Andrew hummed gently, taking one final drag of his cigarette. Before he could chuck the butt into Nicky’s shrubbery, Betsy pinched it between her fingers and dropped it onto an ashtray atop a rickety windowsill. 

“It’s an interesting story,” Betsy continued. “There’s every reason to be intrigued by it.” 

Andrew just grunted. 

“Though,” she remarked. “I figured that case between the young girls was even more perplexing and intricate, but you seem rather enamoured.” 

“Shut up,” he mumbled. 

“I’m sure I don’t have to remind you about professionalism,” she said airily. 

“No,” he agreed. “You don’t.”

But - damn it all to hell - Neil was interesting. He was only a year younger than Andrew was, intelligent without seeming overbearing or arrogant, confident but reserved, a man of constraint taught by hardship but also a man of growth and reflection. Andrew was rambling and he knew it. Neil Wesninski was attractive, intriguing and completely out of Andrew’s reach. Even if he were just your average guy walking down the street, he wouldn’t look at Andrew twice. 

Andrew was fine with that. He didn’t need someone chasing after him, just like he didn’t need emotional intimacy or empathy or gentleness. It was like those nerve-endings had been scoured till they were numb and useless. The pathways were still there, but they echoed a nothingness that he’d never really figured out. 

Whatever. Whatever. Neil was just a challenging and well-paying case. That’s all he’d ever be. 

He was getting existential and over-contemplative. Betsy knew this and smiled, letting him take her by the elbow inside for a cup of cocoa. It was late when the other four finished their game of Monopoly and Nicky finally permitted everyone to leave. Betsy let Andrew walk her to her car again, warmth crinkling her eyes. 

“If you’re seeing your Neil tomorrow,” she said, with a wink. “Tell me all the juicy details.” 

“You’re a leech,” Andrew declared, pushing her car-door shut. She waved out the scrolled-down window as she careened off, leaving Andrew to his quiet but volatile thoughts. 

Your Neil, she’d said.

Now wasn’t that a confronting idea. 

*

“Suppose you are a danger to society,” Andrew drawled. They were sat opposite one another at another metal table, handcuffs dangling off one of Neil’s wrists, his blunt key being fiddled with in the other hand. “Suppose you are just as marvellously unhinged as dear old Dad. What then?” 

“Why bother entertaining the possibilities?” Neil cocked an eyebrow. “We both know I’m fine.” 

“You are the furthest thing from ‘fine’,” Andrew retorted. 

“You’re no paragon of mental health yourself,” Neil laughed, and Andrew wondered how the fuck he’d got himself here. 

Two months ago he’d met Neil for the first time. In two weeks his trial would begin, in his lovely hometown of Baltimore, Maryland. It’d be less of a drive for Andrew, so he didn’t mind. 

In two months, Andrew had found himself hanging onto every conversation. At first he clung on with apprehension. A wariness born out of unfamiliarity: he’d never been in the realm of wanting to associate with someone. Wanting someone’s company, their thoughts and opinions, their attention. It was ridiculous. Neil was a convicted murderer in a max-security prison. 

Then again, Andrew was the one who knew that Neil was undeserving of that title best. At most it was manslaughter. In reality it was a blessing. Ridding the world of the Butcher, a renowned and horrifically twisted serial killer, was a service to the public rather than a hindrance. 

And so Andrew had found himself in a strange position, between professionalism and exceptionalism. He almost couldn’t help it. He wanted to know what happened behind those ocean blues. 

“Someone’s been bored again,” Andrew accused, lighting a cigarette. That was illegal but he didn’t give a fuck. Neil gazed at where it rested between his lips, conflicted. 

He shrugged, caught out. “You’re an interesting person. Would it scare you to know we’re similar in more ways than one?” 

Andrew let a small smirk twitch around his smoke. “You should be more scared than I should be.” 

“Maybe I’ll go to law school when I’m out,” Neil leered, grinning. “Beat you at your own game.” 

“You can try,” Andrew said. “You’ll lose.” 

Neil hummed. His shackles jingled as he reached over the table for Andrew’s cigarette, his fingertips brushing over Andrew’s lips as he snatched it away. For a moment he watched the cherry’s glow, before letting it rest at the corner of his mouth. 

Unimpressed, and also oddly flushed, Andrew glared. 

“That sounds like a challenge,” Neil said, returning to the conversation like he hadn’t just stolen the cigarette out of Andrew’s mouth. Like Andrew hadn’t just let him. “If you get me out of this hell hole, I’ll prove you wrong.” 

“And if you don’t?”

Neil grinned. “Then you lose anyway. Don’t worry: I won’t cry.” 

“Good,” Andrew muttered, leaning back in his chair with his arms folded over his chest. 

Neil filled the rest of their valuable time with inane chatter about the more twisted happenings within a male max prison: Andrew had heard of similar stories and worse, but seeing as Neil instigated most of the fights, he still found it rather entertaining to be told. 

Before he knew it, their time was up. He stood, plucking the butt out from between Neil’s lips. 

“Till next time,” Neil said, a forlorn look at the cigarette between Andrew’s fingers. 

“I’ll text you about trial prep,” Andrew said, pointing at him. “Read it.” 

Neil sighed. “Not like it’ll help me in any way. But fine. I’ll waste my limited credit and battery on the shitty flipper for court etiquet.”

“You’d better, you ungrateful shit. I got you that phone.” 

Neil just winked and blew him a kiss. At Andrew’s scowl, he laughed. 

The laugh haunted - no, teased - Andrew all the way out of the stupid prison complex, across the car park, even as he blasted music on the way home.  

*

Andrew took one look at the woman who squirmed in her chair, leaning anxiously away from the middle-aged man next to her. It was instinctive and ingrained in her behaviours. An abusive father, then. Or, perhaps an abusive husband, if the twisting of her wedding ring was anything to go by. 

“Accept,” Andrew declared. 

“Do you have any qualms about gang violence?” the prosecution asked a balding man, lounging in his chair. 

“It’s a toxic function of our society,” he answered. 

The lawyer looked to the judge and smiled. “Accept, your honour.”

Fucking hell, Andrew thought. He glanced back over to the table, where Neil was cuffed to the iron loop. He didn’t smile, but simply tipped up his chin. An acknowledgement. Confidence in, well. Andrew. 

Something in Andrew’s stomach settled. He turned back to the man that the prosecution had accepted. “So you have heard of the Wesninski case?”

“It was ten years ago,” he objected. 

“What did you think of it?” 

“It was well resolved,” he said. 

“So you still garner some form of opinion against Wesninski?” Andrew eyed the Christian Society badge pinned to the strap of his messenger bag. “Surely your god would have some qualms with your inability to forgive,” 

“Mr Minyard,” the judge insisted. “That’s enough.”

It didn’t matter. The man was already spitting mad, going bright-red in the face. He pointed at Neil and hissed “He’s a monster, just like his father. God should’ve had him killed!” 

“Denied,” Andrew drawled. The man shuffled out of the jury box, frothing mad. 

By the end of the selection process, Andrew was sure that at least half of those sitting in the box would think emotionally rather than pragmatically. He settled back at his desk, ignoring the prosecution lawyer’s filthy glares, and tapped his fingers on Neil’s file. 

“I didn’t miss this,” Neil muttered, picking at the skin of his cuticles. 

From Andrew’s pocket he drew out Neil’s favourite key, of which he’d swiped after they’d searched Neil from head to toe. The man looked at him with undeserved awe, taking the blunt key and spinning it between his fingers. 

“Thank you,” he said. 

“Shut up,” Andrew retorted. 

The court was called to stand: Neil’s hearing had begun. 

*

FUCKs sake i was gonna try do this in three parts but the trial will be a whole part and the post trial too..... dammit lol

next we find out: what does the prosecution have up their sleeve? how will neil’s testimony go? what chaos will andrew cause in the courtroom? whose key does neil continually trace?? will neil be inevitably driven to distraction by andrew’s dope-ass suit?

[openheart12]

Trial of Fire

Summary: After Tony’s trial, him and Michelle are given a couple hours to be alone. 

Word Count: 4,611

Today was the day that would determine their future, she hadn’t been able to sleep at all though of course she had barely gotten any sleep since his arrest. She didn’t even flinch when her alarm went off at six, she reluctantly got out of bed and headed to the bathroom to take a shower and get ready for the long day ahead. The trial started at nine o’clock sharp. 

After getting out of the shower, she took care of her hair so it wouldn’t be as crazy as it usually is, letting a few strands fall to frame her face. For her makeup, she went for an all natural look and waterproof mascara. She chose a black pencil skirt and a scarlet red blouse, red represented courage and if she ever needed courage, it was definitely today. 

She was ready by a quarter till eight and went downstairs to find something to eat, not that she was hungry but because she hadn’t been able to eat either since his arrest. Not that she was even able to cook something without the risk of burning it. She was a shell of the woman she used to be and it had been less than a month since he’s been gone. 

She visited him every weekend on Saturday’s at eight o’clock. She never missed one visit, it was the only time she was able to see him and it was through a glass, but it was something. Tony also took notice of the bags under her eyes and although she had always been petite, he could tell she was losing weight. 

She finally decided on half a banana and a piece of toast before going to let their dog, Major, out to use the bathroom. The German Shepherd was a Christmas gift to Michelle for their one year wedding anniversary. At the time, Tony was working more than normal and he wanted Michelle to have someone with her while he was gone and so he went to the animal shelter, finding a puppy that he knew would be perfect for her. 

After eating and giving the dog food and water, she was on her way out the door. She pulled into the parking lot ten minutes before the trial and taking deep breaths, she willed herself to go inside. Tony needed her and she could do this for him especially after he risked everything to save her, something she blamed herself for, but she couldn’t dwell on that right now. 

She was surprised to find Jack, Kim, Chase, Adam, and even Chloe waiting inside. Jack was the first to approach her, giving her a gentle hug. 

“You ready?”

No. “Yeah,” she gave him a small smile as they all walked through the doors to take a seat on the wooden benches. The judge walked in a few minutes after them followed by the prosecution and then Tony and his lawyer. He was dressed in clothes she had never seen before, but he was still her Tony. 

The bailiff started to speak, “please rise. The Court of the Second Judicial Circuit, Criminal Division, is now in session, the honorable Judge Taylor presiding.”

They met eyes and time slowed down just for a second, it was just the two of them before the judge banged his gavel. The bailiff swore in the jury before the start of the trial. 

“Members of the jury, your duty today will be to determine whether the defendant is guilty or not guilty based only on facts and evidence provided in this case. The prosecution has the burden of proving the guilt of the defendant beyond a reasonable doubt. This burden remains on the prosecution through the trial. The prosecution must prove that a crime was committed and that the defendant is the person who committed the crime. However, if you are not satisfied of the defendant’s guilt to that extent, then reasonable doubt exists and the defendant must be found not guilty.” Judge Taylor explained. “Mr. Anderson, what is today’s case?” He asked the bailiff. 

“Your Honor, today’s case is The State of California versus Anthony Almeida,”he replied. 

“How does the defendant plead?”

“Not guilty, your honor.” 

“Is the prosecution ready?”

“Yes, your Honor,” the prosecutor stood up before taking his seat once more. 

“Is the defense ready?”

“Yes, your Honor,” Tony’s lawyer replied. 

After opening statements were made, it was time to call witnesses for each side. 

“The prosecution would like to call Brad Hammond to the stand.”  

Michelle turned around to see Brad strolling through the doors, a smirk plastered across his face. 

The bailiff swore him in before the examination started. “Please raise your right hand. Do you swear to tell the truth, the whole truth, and nothing but the truth?”

Brad replied with, “I do.” 

“You have evidence that the defendant, Anthony Almeida, committed treason against the United States of America to save his wife, correct?”

“Yes. We found out after Jane Saunders had been taken out of CTU and later found to be with Agent Almeida. We also had Stephen Saunders surrounded until Tony called the field teams to tell them to move positions to give Saunders a chance to escape. We took him into custody after Jack Bauer headed up teams to capture Saunders.” 

“And he put millions of lives at risk in order to save one by doing so.”

“Correct, Division had always been weary of inter office relationships, but when Tony and Michelle came to us saying they had been in a relationship and said they would be able to keep their personal and professional lives separate, we believed them, I believed them and that was my mistake.” 

“That’s all I have for this witness.”

Tony’s lawyer was next. “Are you married Mr. Hammond?” 

“Objection!” The prosecution called out. 

“It goes to show my clients thoughts.”

“Overruled, but tread carefully Mr. Wilson.” 

“Yes, I’m married.” Hammond replied. 

“And you love your wife?”

“Of course I love my wife.”

“Would it be safe to say that you would do anything you could to keep her safe?”

“I- yeah, I suppose.” 

“That’s exactly what Mr. Almeida did that day. He did what any person would do for the person they loved. He acted as any husband would act in a situation like that and he shouldn’t be blamed or be put in jail for being human.”

“But he put millions of people at risk by doing that!” 

“No one died. No one was hurt in the process and that’s what matters. Not what could’ve happened.” 

“But-” he tried to say something, anything else to help the prosecution. 

“No further questions.” 

“The defense calls Jack Bauer to the stand.” Jack squeezed Michelle’s shoulder before going up to take a seat. 

The bailiff swore him in before the examination started. “Please raise your right hand. Do you swear to tell the truth, the whole truth, and nothing but the truth?”

“I do,” Jack said. 

“You and Mr. Almeida have worked together for some time, would you consider him a friend?”

“Yeah, we both went through a lot and he was there after my wife died. Our jobs are extremely stressful and dangerous and it’s nice to have friends who can understand that.” 

“I’m sorry about your wife, but speaking of her, didn’t you too have to put your wife above other people?”

“Yes.”

“And you think what Mr. Almeida did is justified?” 

“I do. No one got hurt by his actions, he was trying to protect his wife and I would’ve done the same thing if I was in his shoes. 

“Thank you, no further questions.”

The prosecutor stood up, taking a minute to think of his next questions. “You agree with everything Agent Almeida did? What if innocent lives had been lost?” 

“I can’t answer that seeing as it didn’t happen.” 

“What if it had?”

“It’s a hypothetical question to which I have no answer for,” Jack said, holding his ground. 

“No further questions.” 

Each party called more witnesses: analysts, techs, anyone they could think of to improve their case. The judge called a recess around lunch time and Michelle reluctantly followed the others out to go eat somewhere even though she wasn’t hungry. She locked eyes with Tony until the guards pulled him away. 

“It’s going pretty good, right?” Kim asked and everyone agreed, but Michelle couldn’t shake this gut feeling she had. It felt like even as good as they think things were going, it wouldn’t be good enough. 

She had ordered a salad and she was pushing it around with her fork while the others were eating and Jack noticed. When they finished eating and started to head back to the courthouse, Jack pulled her aside for a minute. 

“Are you okay?” He asked after hesitating. 

“I just… I have a bad feeling about today. If he goes to prison… it’ll be all my fault and I don’t know if I could live knowing I put my husband in there. Out of everyone, Tony doesn’t deserve this. He’s spent his life putting away terrorists and protecting his country and this is how they repay him? It’s not fair.” 

“I know, trust me I know, but Tony needs you to be strong for him right now and that means we can’t be thinking about what will happen if he’s convicted, we have to hope it doesn’t come to that.” 

“I know, I feel so helpless though, Jack. I want to help him but how?”

“You can testify on his behalf, tell them what an amazing husband he is and how much he loves his job. Are you ready to beat this thing?” 

That sinking feeling came back, but she pushed it away and plastered a smile on, “yeah, I’m ready.” 

Back in the courtroom, it was her turn to take the stand. When the prosecution called her name, she stood up on wobbly knees and tried to get her nerves under control to no avail. 

The bailiff swore her in before the examination started. “Please raise your right hand. Do you swear to tell the truth, the whole truth, and nothing but the truth?”

“I do,” the two words tasting bitter on her tongue at the moment. Two words that once meant a promise to each other were now being used against them. 

“Miss Dessler-“

“It’s Mrs. Almeida, I keep Dessler at work to avoid confusion between me and Tony.”

“Mrs. Almeida,” he started again, “how long have you and Mr. Almeida been married?”

“Three years, but we’ve been together just a little over four years.”

“And during that time have you and Mr. Almeida ever been put into a situation where one of you is in danger?” 

“Yeah.”

“But both of you were always fine, minor injuries if anything so why was the day in question any different? You’re sitting here in front of the court today with no physical injuries shown. I’m trying to understand why your husband had to put millions of lives at stake, people in this very room could’ve died because of his actions, but you were his priority. He ignored the oath he took to protect this country and its people to save you. Do you see the problem?” He asked as if she was a child. 

“Tony did what he thought was right at the time, he did what anyone would do for the person they love. It was an unprecedented situation. Take his job, make sure he never works for the government again, but don’t take his life away. He’s done so much for this country, he was a marine, he fights to protect this country every day from terrorists and the one time he does something wrong, he’s threatened with prison. I’ll say it again, no one was hurt by his actions, not one person was even put in danger.” 

“You say this was an unprecedented situation, but aren't unprecedented situations a part of your jobs? Can you pinpoint when the next terrorist attack is going to be? Are you going to immediately know how to deal with the next attack? Let’s take the Cordilla virus as an example, that was unprecedented and you led the team inside that hotel. You set up command and took charge, you reassured the guests, you got them suicide pills to end their suffering, you shot a man who was trying to leave the premises. All of that was unprecedented and yet, you were able to deal with it.”

“I wasn’t threatened with the idea of my husband having his eye cut out. I can’t speak to what Tony was feeling or what was going through his head, but I know how scared he must’ve been, how scared anyone would’ve been in that situation.” 

“You can be scared without putting lives at risk, agent. People doubted your ability to work with your husband and keep your professional and personal lives separate and maybe if you had listened to them, you or Tony wouldn’t be here right now. So who’s fault is it really?” He mumbled the last sentence for only her to hear. 

“Objection, badgering the witness.” The defense called out. 

“Withdrawn. No further questions.” He said before the judge could say anything. “Your witness.”

“Mrs. Almeida, it’s obvious you love your husband smd that he loves you. How do you feel about his actions?”

No one had asked her that and she was thrown off guard for a split second. “He saved my life,” she met his eyes as she spoke. “I’m eternally grateful for him and if I ever had any doubts about how much he loved me, I would look back at what he did.” 

“No further questions.” He gave her a small smile to put her at ease, but her eyes were still locked on Tony’s. 

“The next person we call to the stand is Anthony Almeida. 

The bailiff swore him in before the examination started. “Please raise your right hand. Do you swear to tell the truth, the whole truth, and nothing but the truth?”

“I do.” He responded firmly. 

“It’s been made clear how much you love your wife, it’s admirable really. You hear how people say they will do anything for the person they love, but a lot of the time they can’t prove it but you’re one of the few who did. Would you do it again?”

“Yes,” he replied without hesitation. “She’s my whole world and as long as she’s safe, I don’t care what happens to me. I’m glad no one got hurt by what I did but it doesn’t change the fact I’d do it all over again if I had to.” 

A few more questions later after the defense was satisfied with his answers, it was the prosecution's turn. 

“You love your wife, correct?”

“Yes.”

“At any point while she was inside the Chandler Plaza Hotel did you ever tell her you loved her?”

“No, it was implied through every conversation we had. Michelle knows I love her, if I say it or not but at work we keep it professional.” 

“Professional? You call kidnapping Jane Saunders in order to trade her for your wife professional behavior? You didn’t tell your wife you loved her after claiming that you do and on top of all that, you said you would do it all again.” 

“Stop right there. You can question my loyalty, you can put me in prison for the rest of my life, you can do whatever the hell you want, but don’t ever question my love for my wife. She has been through hell and back and she’s saved me in more ways than one. She is the only thing I look forward to after a twenty four hour shift when we’re both on the verge of collapsing from exhaustion but she’ll smile at me and everything is okay again. There isn’t anything I wouldn’t do for her. I would do anything to keep her safe even if it meant putting myself in danger. She is my life and you can take me away from her, but it won’t change a damn thing.”

“No further questions, the prosecution rests, your Honor.” 

“The defense also rests, your Honor.”

“Members of the jury, you have heard all of the testimony concerning this case. It is now up to you to determine the facts. You and you alone, are the judges of the fact. Once you decide what facts the evidence proves, you must then apply the law as I give it to you to the facts as you find them,” the judge said, his attention directed to the jurors. 

Tony went back to his seat, anger evident in his body language. After closing statements, it was time for the jury to deliberate. His fate was now in the hands of complete strangers. 

A long two hours later, they came back with a verdict. 

“Have you reached a verdict?” The judge asked. 

“We have, your Honor,” the jury foreperson responded. 

“What say you?” 

“We the jury, in the case of The State of California versus Anthony Almeida find the defendant guilty of the charge of treason against the United States of America.”

She swore she felt her heart stop once the words left her mouth. Tears welled up in her eyes which she refused to let fall in front of everyone. 

“Thank you, jury, for your service today. Court is adjourned.” 

“No, no you can’t do this,” she shouted before realizing what she was doing. Jack gently grabbed her and guided her out into the hall where she let her tears fall freely.  

“They can’t… they can’t do this Jack, not after everything he’s done. I can't… I can’t breathe,” her chest was rising up and down rapidly, her breathing heavy. The signs of a beginning panic attack. 

“Breath with me, Michelle,” he took deep breaths and she followed his lead until her breathing went back to normal. 

“I need to see him,” she started to head back through the doors before he stopped her. 

“They’re not going to let you see him right now, they have to book him and in a couple hours they’ll let you but until then, we have to wait,” he explained calmly. 

“This is bullshit and you know it. They’re not even going to let us be alone and twenty years, Jack, twenty fucking years. That’s how long they’re taking him away for. It’s not right, it’s not fair.” 

“I know Michelle, but Tony needs you right now and you need him. You can still visit and trust me, I know it’s not the same but it’s something and that’s what you have to remember.” 

“What do we do now?”

“We wait, I’ll try talking to some guards I know to see if the two of you can have some privacy, but I’m not promising anything.”

“Okay, thank you Jack.”

He shot her a smile, “it’s the least I can do, until then, just try to relax.”

Jack drove them to Federal Correctional Institute where his sentence was to be held out. The building looming in the distance reminded her of everything they were going to lose in a few short minutes. 

“I’m gonna go talk to my friend inside and I’ll come get you when I’m done.” 

She nodded her head while looking blankly ahead. This didn’t feel real, she wanted to wake up from whatever nightmare she was currently in. She didn’t know how much time had passed when she saw Jack heading back towards the SUV. 

“You have three hours, it’s all I could get and I convinced them to give you privacy and I’ll be right outside the door if you need anything.” 

“Does he know?”

“No, I think he’d like to hear it from you more.”

“Thank you Jack.” 

He smiled in response. They headed inside the building and passed through security. Jack led her down a hall lined with cells on either side until arriving in front of a holding cell that provided privacy. 

“He’s in there?” She asked nervously. 

“Yeah.” 

Jack opened the door to reveal Tony in an orange jumpsuit. “Jack, how’s Miche- Michelle?” Shock was etched in his voice at seeing her in front of him. 

“Hi,” she smiled, the first real smile he’s seen. 

“Hey.” They stood there staring at each other until the initial shock wore off and in the next second, he was wrapping his arms around her. Tears flowed down over her cheeks, the feeling of his arms around her was comforting, something she would never take for granted again. 

“What are you doing here, sweetheart?” 

“I needed to see you. I can’t believe this is all happening and it’s all my fault and I’m sorry, Tony, I’m so sorry.” 

“Oh, Michelle, I don’t blame you. Like I told you earlier, you’re alive and I can live with that. Promise me that you won’t blame yourself?” 

“I promise,” her voice slightly wavered. 

“How did you manage to get back here?”

“Jack, he talked to some friends he had inside and he got us three hours alone and I know it’s not a lot but-”

He cut her off. “It’s perfect.” 

He led her over to one of the chairs in the room and sat down, pulling her onto his lap. 

“I missed you,” he said, burying his face in the crook of her neck, breathing her scent in as to memorize it. 

“I’m so, so sorry, Tony,” she cried softly. “This is all my fault, you wouldn’t be here if it weren’t for me or if I had waited for the hazmat suits and all those people… those agents… Gael… are dead because of me. I shouldn’t have listened to Jack when he told me to go back. We were so close.” 

“You can’t think like that, Michelle. I meant what I said in court, I would choose you over and over because I love you and I am incredibly grateful that no one was hurt by my actions. You made all the right decisions today and I know you don’t think so, but you helped so many people today and the people who died today, Gael, they will be remembered as heros. You saved even more lives today by listening to Jack. I can live here knowing that you’re safe and alive. I almost lost you twice today and you’re still here which is more than I could ask for. And Michelle-”

“Don’t, please,” she begged, cutting him off because she knew him well enough to know what he was going to say next. 

“I just want you to be happy, even if you find that it’s not with me in five, ten years. You deserve nothing but the best and I won’t be able to offer you that and I just want you to have that option, if you ever need it and I want you to know that you don’t have to feel bad if that moment ever comes.” he finished. 

“Tony, please, I can’t… I can’t talk about that right now. We don’t have long and I don’t want to spend that time talking about-”

“I know, sweetheart. I have so much to say and I just- I thought I had forever to say it, but now,” he glanced at the clock, “I have two and a half hours.” 

They spent the next couple hours talking about anything and everything that came to mind: their wedding day, visits with each of their families, all the different things they loved about each other, the day they met, their first date, the night he proposed, the might he brought Major home, holidays they spent together, the day they moved into their house, memories that they only knew and treasured. 

But time was quickly running out. 

The guard had come to notify them that they only had thirty minutes left. 

They spent a few minutes sitting in silence, soaking in each other's warmth and closeness.

“I don’t know how to do this without you, I can’t go home knowing that you’re here and-”

“You’re going to go home and do the best you can, alright? I know it won’t be easy, but you have to try to eat and get some sleep. It’ll be hard for awhile, for both of us, but we’ll get through it. We survived a bomb, a nuclear bomb, World War Three, a virus, and we’re still here. A twenty year sentence doesn’t seem too bad after that,” he said jokingly and when it seemed impossible, she started to laugh. 

“We have survived far worse.”

Two guards walked in after that and all hints of smiling and laughter were now gone. 

Time was up.

Tears started to form in her hazel eyes and his chest tightened. “We’re gonna get through this.”

“I know,” she replied. “This is hard.” she choked out, her voice breaking. 

“I know, baby. I know.” He helped her stand up before getting up himself and wrapped his arms around her, placing kisses on the top of her head. “I love you so much.” 

“I love you so much, Tony.”

He pulled back, cupping her face in his hands and kissed her passionately, pouring out his emotions. After the kiss ended, he reluctantly let her go and a guard came up behind him.

He walked him out and with one last glance at her, he disappeared from her view. 

“I’m sorry,” the other guard offered apologetically and she knew it wasn’t just because their time was up. She just nodded at him in response, talking right now was too hard. He led her out to the parking lot where she met Jack in his SUV. 

He didn’t say anything, not like he had to, he could only imagine what she was feeling right now. They spent the twenty minute drive to their house in complete silence and when he pulled into their driveway, she thanked him quietly before getting out.

“Hey,” he called after her softly. “Let me know if you need anything.”

“Thanks, Jack,” she offered a small smile before heading inside and the first thing she noticed was the quietness. Her and Tony would always walk through the door smiling and laughing, even after a tough day. Even if one of them got home first, it was never quiet. Family and friends would come over on their days off or on the weekends. The house was always filled with love and happiness, but now… but now it was completely silent. 

The silence was going to be the hardest part of coming home. She walked up the stairs leading to their bedroom to find Major asleep in the middle of the bed.

She undressed and put on one of his shirts and a pair of his sweatpants that engulfed her small frame. The lingering smell of his cologne relaxed her a little bit and she climbed into the bed that was way too big for one person. Major woke up and moved his head to lick her face. He was a baby when it came to Michelle and every night, he was snuggled up behind her and tonight was no different. 

She didn’t know what the future held, but for now, she would try to get some sleep like she promised and would go back to the prison to visit him as soon as possible. The time they had together earlier was enough for now and she drifted off into the first real sleep she’s had in a month. 

There was still hope and until there wasn’t any left, she wasn’t going to give up on him. 

[96thdayofrage]

A panel of three intermediate Texas appellate court justices heard arguments Tuesday afternoon in the case of a former Dallas police officer convicted of murdering a Black man after she entered his apartment under the apparent belief that it was her own abode. A jury convicted Amber Guyger on October 2, 2019, in the September 6, 2018 shooting death of Botham Jean. Now she’s asking the appellate court to throw out her murder conviction completely or, in the alternative, to replace it with a lesser charge which carries a softer penalty.

Guyger, who was off duty but was still wearing her uniform and carrying her service weapon, drove to the wrong floor of her apartment complex, walked down the wrong hallway, ignored an unfamiliar floor mat, failed to notice incorrect numbers on nearby apartment doors, opened a door that wasn’t properly locked, and failed to notice other differences before encountering a startled Jean inside. Guyger claimed she shot Jean when he came toward her instead of showing his hands as she commanded. She said she didn’t know she was in Jean’s apartment until after she pulled the trigger. Guyger is serving a 10-year sentence.

Guyger’s appeals attorney, Michael Mowla, told Justices Robert D. Burns, III, Lana Myers, and Robbie Partida-Kipness of the state’s Fifth District Court of Appeals that the Botham Jean shooting ended with “a horrific result, no doubt.”

Guyger was convicted as charged under two Texas murder statutes: Section 19.02(b)(1) and section 1902(b)(2). They read as follows:

(b) A person commits an offense if he:

(1) intentionally or knowingly causes the death of an individual; [or]

(2) intends to cause serious bodily injury and commits an act clearly dangerous to human life that causes the death of an individual.

Mowla launched a two-pronged attack on the conviction. First, he argued that the facts weren’t legally sufficient to give rise to a guilty conviction given Guyger’s assertion that she mistook Jean’s apartment for her own. Second, he said a lesser-included charge, criminally negligent homicide, was a better choice than murder. He asked the appeals justices to either vacate the conviction completely or to wipe away the murder charge and replace it with the negligent homicide charge.

What went unsaid during the appeals argument is that criminally negligent homicide carries a significantly lesser sentence. The charge Guyger preferred is a so-called “state jail felony” punishable by between 180 days and two years in prison.

Most of the oral arguments centered around the first assertion and Texas Penal Code § 8.02, which was not read to the jury at Guyger’s trial.

MISTAKE OF FACT.

(a) It is a defense to prosecution that the actor through mistake formed a reasonable belief about a matter of fact if his mistaken belief negated the kind of culpability required for commission of the offense.

(b) Although an actor’s mistake of fact may constitute a defense to the offense charged, he may nevertheless be convicted of any lesser included offense of which he would be guilty if the fact were as he believed.

“She would be guilty of murder,” Mowla admitted, but for “a mistake of fact.”

His brief to the court worded the argument this way:

The evidence was legally insufficient to prove beyond reasonable doubt that Guyger committed Murder because (1) through mistake, Guyger formed a reasonable belief about a matter of fact—that she entered her apartment and there was an intruder inside—and (2) her mistaken belief negated the culpability for Murder because although she intentionally and knowingly caused Jean’s death, she had the right to act in deadly force in self-defense since her belief that deadly force was immediately necessary was reasonable under the circumstances.

“The evidence shows she thought she was walking into her own apartment,” he told the justices in oral arguments heard remotely over videoconference software. “However, you have to consider all the circumstances surrounding what happened.”

The justices appeared unconvinced.

“Mr. Mowla, you’re overlooking the fact that Ms. Guyger testified she intentionally shot Mr. Jean,” Chief Justice Burns commented.

“I agree she did intentionally shoot Mr. Jean, because that was her intent . . . those are the facts of the case,” Mowla responded. “If she walked into her apartment, and there was an intruder in her apartment . . . she would have been entitled to use deadly force in self defense . . . my client, according to the facts, had a reasonable apprehension of danger when she walked into what she thought was her apartment.”

Mowla then recounted testimony which suggested others at complex, including an attorney, had also walked into the wrong apartment in the confusing complex where halls, walls, and doors looked substantially similar. Witnesses testified to hearing the loud voices of people who seemed “surprised” to see one another before the gunshots rang out.

“These facts have never happened before in Texas,” Mowla said.

Justice Myers suggested to Mowla that the defense was improperly mixing mistake of fact justification with self-defense claims.

Justice Partida-Kipness pressed Mowla on his assertions about Guyger’s intent. Mowla said Guyger did intend to kill Botham Jean, but that her defense was that she formed no guilty mens rea — or evil intent — because she thought she was in her own apartment.

“I don’t think you can reasonably state that, when you consider all the facts of the case, when you consider what happened, okay, that she had an evil intent when she walked into what she thought was her own apartment,” Mowla said.

He suggested that criminally negligent homicide under Texas Penal Code § 6.03(d) was more appropriate – for failure to perceive a risk.

“She shot Mr. Jean, causing his death — that’s undisputed,” Mowla said. “She didn’t pay close enough attention to her surroundings.”

Mowla said Guyger “missed basically four clues” that would have indicated she was in the wrong place.

Judge Tammy Kemp famously hugged Guyger and presented her with a Bible at sentencing.

Attorney Doug Gladden argued the case for the state. He rubbished the defense notion that mistake of fact applied to this case at all.

“This is a murder case, not a criminal trespass case,” Gladden said. “When Amber Guyger shot Botham Jean, she didn’t take someone else’s property. She took the life of a human being.”

“She pointed a gun at him; she intended to kill him,” he continued. “That’s murder. It’s not negligent; it’s not mistake of fact; it’s not justified. Amber Guyger murdered Botham Jean. This court should say so and affirm the trial court’s judgment.”

Gladden noted that the standard of review — the lens through which the appellate justices must view the case at this point in its legal trajectory — is not whether a jury could have agreed with Guyger, but rather whether a rational jury could issue a verdict against her. Here, he said, the jury was rational and convicted Guyger properly.

“Appellant says this case is about mistake of fact, but it’s not,” he said. “Mistake of fact is different. It says, ‘I didn’t commit the offense because, due to a mistaken belief, I did not have the culpable mental state.'”

In a murder case, the culpable mental state is intent: murder is the intentional or knowing killing of someone or the intentional causing of serious bodily injury which leads to death. Other crimes have other requisite mental states, such as recklessness and criminal negligence. And that’s a flaw in Guyger’s attorney’s logic, because here, she shot to kill. Gladden elucidated this point at length and in a manner which seemed to please the justices:

For murder, the mental state relates to the result of the conduct, that is, you have to intend to cause death or serious bodily injury. Appellant is saying her mistaken belief related to her reasonable belief that deadly force was necessary, but reasonable belief is not a culpable mental state. It’s a term that’s used in the penal code as a part of defensive issues and affirmative defenses. Specifically, in this case, self-defense requires you to have a reasonable belief that deadly force was immediately necessary. That’s not culpable mental state; it’s simply a defensive issue. There was no evidence in this case of any mistaken belief on appellant’s part that would negate her intent to kill Botham Jean. She never testified that she believed Botham was an animal, like a bear or a dog. She didn’t testify that she believed her gun was unloaded or that she had a taser instead of a gun. She didn’t believe the apartment was empty, or that Botham was wearing body armor, or that she was shooting blanks, or that she was aiming away from Botham. All she said was that she believed she was in her own apartment, and that doesn’t negate her intent to kill. So, this court has to decide whether mistake of fact was raised by the evidence in this case. This court has the responsibility to apply the correct law and to do so correctly.

Embedded within that argument is the notion that Guyger can’t legally mix mistake of fact and self-defense and come out with a win on the facts of her case. Gladden continued:

Mistake of fact wasn’t raised by the evidence. Since it wasn’t raised by the evidence, this court cannot write an opinion that both sets out a hypothetically correct mistake of fact instruction and correctly apply the law in this case. This court would be left doing what the trial court did, which is applying the wrong law and doing so badly — and saying that if the appellant reasonably believed that she was in her own apartment, then the jury would have had to acquit her. Even if the jury found that she committed murder and that it wasn’t justified, and that’s not the law. So that leaves self-defense as the only defensive issue raised by the evidence, and the standard of review matters for that because the question is whether any jury could’ve rejected the appellant’s self-defense claim. The only evidence of self-defense in this case came from appellant’s testimony. She said that she believed Botham was in her apartment, that she commanded him to show his hands, and he didn’t — and that he quickly moved toward her while saying, ‘hey, hey!’ But the jury can disbelieve any or all of a witness’s testimony, and if the jury didn’t believe appellant’s testimony, then there’s no other evidence of self defense . . . all the other evidence in the case contradicted appellant’s testimony. No one heard her give commands to show hands. Botham didn’t have pockets where he could have hidden his hands. The trajectory of the gunshot wound means that he wasn’t quickly moving toward her, and no reasonable person would have mistaken Botham’s apartment — with the red door mat, the backlit room number, the flashing red light on the lock, and the marijuana smell — as her own.

“So then there are the elements of the offense,” Gladden said with reference to the language of the murder statute. “Appellant intentionally caused the death of an individual. Appellant admitted that she was the shooter and the bullet in Botham’s body came from her gun. She intentionally did it. She admitted that she intended to kill Botham. She shot center mass; she shot him with a firearm — which is a deadly weapon — she shot at a downward angle, and she didn’t render first aid. She caused his death.”

“The evidence in this case is sufficient to prove the elements of murder and to reject appellant’s self-defense claim. Mistake of fact was not raised by the elements of this case. I would ask that this court court affirm the judgment of conviction,” he said.

The justices were silent through the entire state’s argument. In a break from standard procedure, where the justices ask questions as warranted, Gladden asked if the justices had questions.

After a few questions about Texas case law, Gladden said told the justices they “can’t shoehorn mistake of fact into a justification (self defense) claim.”

Justice Partida-Kipness concluded by complimenting Gladden’s “excellent written brief,” which she said was typed in a font which was “very pleasing on the eye” during her “late nights” spent reviewing work material.

Mowla, who reserved time for a rebuttal, declined to actually make one.

The chief justice and Justice Myers thanked both sides for “excellent briefs” and an “excellent presentation,” then said a written opinion would be forthcoming at a later date.

[darkestunderpass]

The Amityville Murders: Before the Horror House

Located at 112 Ocean Avenue, Amityville, NY. It was the home of Ronald DeFeo Sr.;the car salesman, his wife, two daughters and two sons who were found shot to death in 1974. Ronald DeFeo Jr., 23, was theonly surviving member of the family

On November 13, 1974 in the early hours of the morning 23-year-old Ronald “Butch” DeFeo Jr. brutally murdered his enitre family including his parents and four siblings using a .35 caliber Marlin rifle while they were asleep (DeFeo told detectives: "Once I started, I just couldn't stop. It went so fast.”)

Ronald Jr. was the eldest child and confessed to murdering his entire family in cold blood

Dead were Louise and Ronald DeFeo Sr. (Parents), 18-year-old Dawn, 13-year-old Allison, 12-year-old Marc, and 9-year-old John Matthew. The parents were killed with two shots and all of the children were killed with one. Louise and Allison were thought to be still alive when they were murdered due to physical evidence.

Some people argue that an evil spirit already lived in the home and prompted Ronald Jr. to murder his whole family

Ronald Jr.’s childhood was momentarily content but his father was known to be an abusive man and his mother seemed to fade into the background of the picture under Ronald Sr.’s overbearing personality, Ronald Jr. became increasingly troubled into his young adulthood

He used drugs and alcohol to cope with his issues, he often lashed out very violently, often yelling and getting physical as well as threatening his father with a gun. His parents tried to resolve the issue by getting Ronald Jr. gifts weekly to try to appease him in some way or another

At 18 Ronald Jr. was heir to the family-owned car dealership but rarely showed up

On the day of the murders Ronald Jr. left the dealership early out of boredom at noon, leaving to meet his friends at Henry Bar complaining that no one would listen to him and calling the house phone multiple times and having no one answer he eventually left the bar and there are no reported sightings of him till morning

At around 6:30 a.m Ronald supposedly reentered the bar shouting “You got to help me! I think my mother and father are shot!” the bar patrons followed him back to 112 Ocean Avenue and found the site of a grisly murder

All 6 bodies were found lying on their stomachs still in their beds appearing to be shot with a high powered rifle at around 3:15 a.m

The strange thing is that there was absolutely no sign of a struggle, no report of gunshots by neighbours, only the sound of the family dog barking into the night.

Ronald Jr.’s alibi was that he was at work and then the bar, but it began to crumble when police noted that the family was dead before 6 a.m. then changed his story and repeatedly did so throughout the investigation, at one point even claiming that infamous mobster hitman Louis Falini killed his family while he was forced to watch, but to Ronald’s dismay Falini had a concrete out-of-state alibi and soon Ronald confessed to what is assumed to be the truth, that he killed his family by himself.

Ronald stood trial with his attorney William Webber on October 14, 1975 they mounted an insanity plea, they stated that the defendant (Ronald) heard voices that told him to kill his family but the prosecution said that the though drug-abusing Ronald was indeed very troubled, he knew what he was doing while he commited the murders. The jury decided to convict Ronald of six counts of second-degree-murder and sentenced him to, fittingly, six consectative life sentences.

Later Ronald claims to several other situations he alleges that his sister Dawn killed the father and then the distraught mother kills all of the siblings and then Ronald kills his mother in presumably defence He stated that he took the blame because he was afraid to say anything negative about his mother to her father, Michael Brigante Sr., and his father's uncle, out of fear that they would kill him., and in another telling Dawn shoots all the other family members in this scenario Ronald kills only Dawn.

There’s theories of a second shooter in the home

Ronald’s motives were unclear but while in custody asked when he’d be able to collect his father’s insurance policies which was then put as a possible motive of the murder other than the voices in his head telling him to do it

According to Osuna, DeFeo Jr. claimed that he had committed the murders with his sister Dawn and two friends, Augie Degenero and Bobby Kelske, "out of desperation" because his parents had plotted to kill him. Allegedly, Ronald claimed that after a fight with his father, he and his sister plotted to murder their parents and that Dawn murdered the children in order to eliminate them as witnesses. He said that he was enraged on discovering his sister's actions, knocked her unconscious on to her bed and shot her in the head. Police found traces of unburned gunpowder on Dawn's nightgown, which DeFeo proponents allege proves she discharged a firearm. However, at trial, the ballistics expert, Alfred Della Penna, testified that unburned gunpowder is discharged through the muzzle of a weapon, indicating that she was in proximity to the muzzle of the weapon when it was discharged and not that she fired the weapon.

Strange Events: The bodies were all found without evidence of a struggle and without a trace of sedative drugs, the large amount of killings in such a short period of time, no gunshots heard by neighbours, only the dog seemed to be alerted by the murders, no muffling device found on the gun or in the home to deafen the gunshots, and Ronald supposedly heard voices telling him to kill his whole family.

There are theories that Ronald was possessed by evil spirits which would place demonic presences in the home before the Amityville Horror House events occurred.

Theory 1: Ronald did kill the whole family by himself, he used a homemade muffler and snuck into each of his family members bedrooms killing each and everyone of them without mercy. He ran to the local bar because he didn’t want to be pinned as a suspect. The murders were not premeditated he just snapped.

Theory 2: Ronald was working with several other shooters who he took the fall for or they were his sister and her friends like Ronald had claimed. The other shooters left the house then Ronald ran to the bar to brush off suspicions also to act as the victim. In this version the murders were premeditated.

Theory 3: (Least likely) Ronald was possessed by a demonic presence which wanted the family dead for reasons, which would explain the strange events with demonic powers and all. After the deed was done Ronald came to and freaked out because he couldn't remember what happened, he woke up with blood all over his clothes and he’s scared and confused so he runs to the bar, but then later recollects that he did it and confesses to it.

Thank you for reading! I put alot of reasearch into this.

[artistjojo1228]

Rock and Roll Storytime #6: The Rolling Stones Against the Establishment (i.e. Drug Trials)

Let’s face it, I think most of us are prone to that moment or two where we can’t help but think about how lucky we are to be alive right now. Most rock stars in particular probably aren’t nearly as worried about the potential of being arrested for drug possession (nowadays, I’m hearing about more rockers being arrested for far more serious crimes). Yes, even with the somewhat-accepted notion that rock stars are prone to doing drugs (”sex, drugs, and rock and roll,” after all), it still happens, but in the 1960′s, there was an even greater chance of that, especially since rock and roll was still fairly new, and some moral guardians were in an uproar about it.  Because *of course*, anything new and exciting must be “corrupting” the youths, right?

Enter Sgt. Norman Pilcher (or, as John Lennon called him “Semolina Pilchard”), one of the ass-hats I partially blame for Brian Jones’ downfall (even if Brian, himself, set the ball rolling). He was a detective in his 30′s and was just about dead-set on sending a bunch of rockers to prison for something as *awful* as drug abuse (throughout, I’m just going to start using asterisks to denote my sarcasm). Even though, of course, these guys were often doing drugs in the privacy of their own homes and not harming anyone. Among the list of those he arrested were John Lennon, George Harrison, Mick Jagger, Brian Jones, and Keith Richards. He almost nabbed Eric Clapton, but Eric bolted out the back door once he realized Sgt. Pilcher was at his doorstep. 

This article is, primarily, about the Rolling Stones, and how the ensuing drug trials may have led to one being found motionless at the bottom of a pool just two years later. 

So, in 1967, it was practically a sport to see if someone in the Establishment could get a rock star busted for using drugs. In January, the tabloid, News of the World (defunct since 2011, thanks to a phone-hacking scandal), published a three-part story entitled "Pop Stars and Drugs: Facts That Will Shock You". In it, there were many allegations against pop stars supposedly using drugs and hosting drug parties at their residences, including Donovan, Pete Townshend and Ginger Baker. Part Two was all about the Rolling Stones. At one point in the article, it was alleged that Mick Jagger had taken several Benzedrine tablets, displayed a bit of hashish, and invited his companions over to his flat for a smoke (one of whom happened to be an undercover reporter). Turns out, that was just Brian Jones being a little careless about who he was talking to about drug use. Mick tried to sue the paper over that one. 

Quick aside, how the hell do they mess up Brian Jones and Mick Jagger?! Like, Brian’s blond and baby-faced and Mick has brunette hair and big-ass lips!

Either way, this attracted the attentions of Semolina Pilchard, News of the World was more than a little eager to discredit Mick and avoid a huge lawsuit, and on February 12, 1967, eighteen police officers raided Keith Richards’ home, Redlands. Mick was charged with drug possession after four amphetamines were found in his possession (he and Marianne had bought them in Italy, where they were perfectly legal). Robert Fraser, an art dealer who was friends with the Stones, was charged with having heroin in his possession. And Keith was charged with allowing his premises to be used for the smoking of cannabis. 

Stupid 1965 Dangerous Drugs Act...

Their manager, Andrew Loog Oldham, was supposed to help them figure out what to do, but instead, the slimy bastard fled to the United States of America and his role fell to Allen Klein. Lawyers told Mick, Keith, and Brian that it’d probably be best if they got out of the country for a while, so, Mick, Keith, Brian, and Brian’s girlfriend, Anita Pallenberg, all made their way down to Morocco. It was there that Brian and Anita’s relationship came to a messy end when she left him for Keith, and Brian was left stranded in Morocco for two days, which is all a story I’d *love* to tell in more detail some other time. 

On May 10, 1967, Mick, Keith, and Robert were formally charged with various drug possession charges. At the exact same time, Brian’s flat on Courtfield Road (since demolished) was raided by police. Reportedly, Brian had cleaned up his flat in preparation for police arrival, but the police still managed to find a purple Moroccan-style wallet with cannabis in it. Brian and Prince Stanislaus “Stash”  Klossowski (the latter of whom was later acquitted) were formally charged with cannabis possession on June 2, 1967 and elected to undergo trial by jury,

Mick, Robert, and Keith decided to undergo jury trials. Of course it went pear-shaped, I mean, this is the Establishment we’re talking about. If you don’t believe me, just take into account that the judge, Leslie Kenneth Allen Block, was unforgiving, and he practically reveled in the thought of sending a member or two of the Rolling Stones to prison. He even told the jury to dispel any reasonable doubt the defense had injected into the case, which, to me, seems pretty damn unethical, whether we’re talking about US courts or UK courts. Robert plead guilty, but Mick and Keith plead not guilty. On June 27 1967, Mick was found guilty of Benzedrine possession. He and Robert spent the night at Lewes Prison. 

Two days later, Keith was found guilty of allowing his home to be used for cannabis smoking. It was then that he, Mick, and Robert (the latter two had been held in confinement until Keith’s trial was over) were sentenced. Mick got three months in prison, Robert got six months, and Keith got a year. In addition, all three were fined. In case it wasn’t obvious enough, the sentences were extraordinarily harsh (and you can probably see why this whole affair pisses me off). Mick and Robert were to serve their sentences in Lewes, while Keith was sent to the notorious Wormwood Scrubs. 

Now, for some of you, it may be obvious that Mick and Keith didn’t serve their full sentences, but what may surprise you is that national newspapers, once all too happy to pounce on the opportunity to make fun of the Rolling Stones, now sprang to Mick and Keith’s defense. In particular, conservative William Rees-Mogg wrote an editorial, Who Breaks a Butterfly Upon a Wheel?, in which he criticized Mick’s sentence in particular. Soon after, Mick and Keith were released, awaiting appeal, and on July 31, 1967, Keith’s conviction was overturned entirely, citing circumstantial evidence, whilst Mick’s sentence was downgraded to a year’s probation.

So, that’s one part of the story that ends well, but what about Brian? Well, first and foremost, he didn’t take the whole affair as seriously as he could have, and was even the one Stone to plead guilty, against the advice of his lawyer and friends alike, and as a result from the proceedings as a whole (thanks a *bunch* Allen Klein), Brian became more isolated from the Rolling Stones than ever before. And keep in mind, just five years before, he was the one who put the ad in the papers and brought the guys together in the first place. On October 30, 1967, he went on trial, was found guilty, and was fined and sentenced to nine months for allowing his premises to be used for smoking cannabis and a further three months for cannabis possession to be served concurrently (though for some reason, some sources only list nine months). 

Also, as a fan of Brian, I must leave photos/video from around this time because, he just looks so... broken after being sentenced to a year in prison.

Compare that with pictures of him earlier the same year: 

Need I say more?

The next day, Brian was released on bail, awaiting appeal. Helping his case was when Judge Block was caught lamenting the fact that the Stones had won appeal/were waiting appeal. Though he claimed his remarks had been sarcastic, it must have seemed to the public (if only the anti-establishment kids) that there truly were ulterior motives for the trials. On December 12, 1967, Brian went back to court for appeal. His defense argued that he had become suicidal and wouldn’t fare well in prison. The judge tossed out Brian’s prison sentence in lieu of three years’ probation, but upheld the fine and ordered that Brian get professional help. 

The next day, he was found unconscious in his apartment after apparent drug and alcohol overuse and was driven to the hospital. He subsequently went to the Priory Clinic. 

Sadly, this would not be the last time Brian wound up in court on drug charges. On May 21, 1968, Brian was arrested for the second time after his home was raided and police, led by Sgt. Robin Constable, found a ball of wool that contained cannabis resin. According to some accounts, Brian had been trying to get clean, and when police found the ball of wool, he became distraught. Given that the media had already been alerted, there is almost no doubt in my mind that the evidence had been planted. This time though, Brian fought back, if only by pleading not guilty. The trial took place on September 26, 1968. Although Brian’s case was built on circumstantial evidence at best, he was still found guilty, by a court system that seemed out for his blood (especially since he seemed the most vulnerable of the Stones). However, the judge, Reginald Seaton, was much more fair than Block, and he said, “I am going to treat you as I would any other young man before this court. I am going to fine you, and I will fine you relative to your means:  £50 with 100 guinea costs... but you really must watch your step and stay clear of this stuff. For goodness’ sake do not get into trouble again.”

In my very loose style of paraphrasing: “Look, it’s obvious that you’re innocent, but the jury really wants to see you found guilty, so I’m just going to fine you, but for the love of God, don’t end up in court again. It won’t end well.”

Even so, the trials had very clearly taken their effect on Brian: 

The rest, as they say, is history. In June 1969, Brian was fired because his convictions left him unable to get a work visa in the US, and less than a month later, Brian drowned under mysterious circumstances. 

I did say earlier that I essentially believed that Brian’s drug trials led to his early demise in a way. Well, I guess it’s high time I explained that. See, I’ve read the toxicology report, which stated that Brian had 1720 micro-gms of an “amphetamine-like substance” in his system, which the coroner speculated was Mandrax, which had been prescribed to Brian in the months leading up to his death. Mandrax was the brand name for methaqualone, aka quaaludes, and once upon a time, before people realized that they were addictive, they were prescribed for anxiety and insomnia. According to some stories, Brian had been trying to get clean around the time of his death, but it is my honest belief that Brian relapsed the night he drowned, and may have had too many sleeping pills, the effects of which would not have been helped by the fact he’d been drinking that night (approx. 3.5 pints of beer). 

All of which I should probably explain in more detail another day. 

As for Sgt. Pilcher? He was eventually found guilty of perjury (unrelated to possibly planting dope on rock stars) and sentenced to four years in prison. 

Thank God for that. 

Sources: https://groovyhistory.com/sgt-pilcher-stories-narc-arrested-mick-jagger-john-lennon-keith-richards-george-harrison Brian Jones: The Making of the Rolling Stones by Paul Trynka Stone Alone: The Story of a Rock’n’Roll Band by Bill Wyman http://timeisonourside.com/chron1967.html https://www.rollingstone.com/music/music-news/inside-allen-kleins-role-in-1967-jagger-richards-drug-bust-43267/ http://www.timeisonourside.com/chron1968.html https://www.nme.com/photos/the-great-rolling-stones-drug-bust-1402298 https://dangerousminds.net/comments/simon_wells_the_great_rolling_stones_drugs_bust https://www.theguardian.com/theguardian/2010/may/11/archive-rolling-stones-on-drug-charges-1967

[crimethinc]

Between the Sun and the Sea: Icarus at 12th and L–A Voice from the J20 Black Bloc and Kettle on the Practice of Anarchy

Several blocks before the L & 12th Street intersection, I was already feeling that the march had run its course. At each cross street, we met a line of police, sirens blaring. A few brave souls still managed to fell some final windows on the periphery. Yet while the Bank of America windows had crashed in triumphant cacophony, these windows struck the pavement with an urgency that reflected our increasingly dire situation. We had no destination, no end goal. It felt as though we were running solely to evade police. I knew that it was time to break from the group, yet I still held a kind of separation anxiety.

Leaving has always been hard for me. Dispersing consistently feels liken a haphazardly unthought-out ending tacked onto an otherwise compelling novel. A novel that begins with, “Collectively, anything is possible—you can do whatever you’d like” and ends with, “Everyone goes their own way and pretends to be normal.” Leaving the bloc means leaving the safety of a powerful mass of people, often to wander the streets immediately adjacent to crime scenes, alone, with police looking to single out suspects. There was a rumor circulating that, given their history with lawsuits, the DC police would be unlikely to mass arrest. This false prediction spelled doom for us unlucky rioters, as the police did just that. It was with these thoughts circling my head, alongside memories of past dispersals gone awry, that I decided to stay with the march.

I was with a few friends. We stayed together. We kept track of each other. As the march shrunk in size, we paired off and prepared to jettison ourselves from the bloc. We turned to face an alleyway on L Street between 13th and 12th. I knew very well that this could be my chance to safely exit the march. My friends bolted down the alleyway, not knowing what lay the next street over. For a moment, I thought to follow suit, but decided that too many of us in one place might attract police attention. A few minutes later, I was trapped between a wall and a riot shield. Facing the corridor that had offered safe passage just moments earlier to anyone brave enough to step down its halls, I contemplated the hesitation that had led me to this fate. If there’s anything I can say from my experience being pinned against that wall, it is that a split second of intuition in the street is worth more than weeks of prior planning.

The kettle was where I made my biggest mistake. It was there, and the moments just before, that I put almost no effort into escaping. The police had us sardined together so tightly that I gravely underestimated our collective potential within the kettle. I thought that I was about to be arrested with at most seventy people, less than a third of our actual numbers. I was primarily among strangers. In my heart, I felt that I would participate in a second attempt to charge the police line. It was my fear of being cast as a leader, in a film produced by live-streamers and on-duty officers, that kept me from voicing my intent. Yet if there was any time to risk collective trust and courage, it was there, where we were most vulnerable.

There was larger reason I was compliant in my own captivity. I felt myself above persecution. There are two reasons why one would go willingly to their arrest. The first, they think that they haven’t committed any crime. The second, that they committed a crime so flawlessly that they could not possibly be convicted of it. Both of these presumptions involve a false sense of security; neither save you from prosecution. Though I did not delude myself with the pretense that I had performed a perfect execution of black bloc tactics, I considered myself “high-hanging fruit.” I was counting on the prosecution to be lazy, to lack the funding or time to convict me. When I was in the kettle, I was convinced that I wouldn’t actually be arrested. At worst, I would be charged with a misdemeanor, slapped on the wrist, and eventually end up with a check from a class action lawsuit. Instead, I had to navigate the next year and a half with looming felonies.

I had not come to DC innocently. I knew the risk, the potential repercussions. I chose to look them in the face. The pepper spray and stun grenades were terrifying, but not unexpected. In some ways, they heightened my senses and fortified my convictions. My heart races when I look back on the march—but not from trauma, nor from anxiety. It drums in vigorous reverie, recounts the last time it beat with purpose.

Over the following year, I was forced to tame my heart. In court, I stilled my breathing, attempted to hide my guilt. I kept a caged life. The legal procedure left me fraught with anxiety. I clung to the safety and certainty of routine. I denied every passion, every risk, in hopes that I would be able to convince a jury that I was simply not the adventurous type. My heart sat and sulked. I came to learn that, as a friend so elegantly put it, “The process is the punishment.”

Felonies change things. I catch glimpses of understanding in the eyes of my friends who have faced prosecution to this degree. One of the beauties of black bloc is that I might be anyone under this mask; a restaurant server, a designer, a nurse. Once donned, the mask allowed me to act in ways a nurse can only dream.

To be unmasked is to be held in purgatory between selves. I was no longer the person I was in the streets, yet I could not return to being who I had been just days earlier. At its core, the bloc hinges on the moment when we shed our black clothes and return to normalcy. While there have been times where I’ve de-bloc’ed with a profoundly different understanding of the world, I was still banking on returning to work with only one less sick day. As time passed after J20 and my charges remained, I realized there was a possibility that I might never return to being the person I had been before my arrest.

During the interim awaiting trial, I chose a course of action that seems common among anarchist pending-felons. I applied to college.

For me, college was an attempt to regain some agency in two different ways. In one way, I was trying to influence my potential sentencing. If I could convince a judge that I was an upstanding citizen, then he or she might be a little more lenient in punishing me. Going to college was also an attempt to salvage my future, a future I felt was starting to escape my grasp.

At the time I was arrested, I did not consider myself to have a clear vision of the future. Yet in the wake of my arrest, all successful futures seemed out of reach. Success felt like a mirage, shimmering, hazy, always on the horizon. My case continued and evidence mounted against me. I scrambled to claim any sort of successful future I could before a conviction made one unobtainable. I raced towards the horizon without drawing any closer to it, meeting the same scene in every direction. My charges sent me spiraling and forced me to examine my feelings of helplessness.

When I did so, I realized that all along, I had held within me a concrete image of success after all. It was not the unimaginable utopia I had believed myself to be pursuing. On the contrary, it was all too familiar; I had simply kept it intentionally obscured from myself. When I honestly consulted myself about what constituted my image of a successful future, what I found was indistinguishable from the world I already knew—only in the future I had been imagining, I had a little more money, a better presence on social media. I had been so disgusted by this vision that I had I banished it to the horizon of my mind.

The anarchist canon has changed dramatically over the past decade. Today, we are not as steeped in subculture. Our politics rely a lot less on consumer choices. We’ve come a long way from the cornerstone pieces of the early 2000s. Early CrimethInc. texts took the Situationist exhortation “Never Work—Ever” literally, proposing a sort of exodus that often looked more like voluntary exile; today, as work becomes more and more a part of our social as well as professional lives, the proposal seems unthinkably absurd. We have largely escaped the cultural pitfalls of the punk scene, expanded our access to funding for our projects, even created our own platforms so that anarchist ideas can proliferate. Along with these conscious efforts to grow and develop nuance with age, for me, something has shifted silently in the background.

I gave up my resistance to work—even took up office at some of the same companies I believed were bringing about an apocalyptic nightmare. I closed my eyes, clicked my heels, and repeated “There is no ethical consumption under capitalism.” I justified my increasingly indiscriminate use of money, sought to tally up my influence on the world. I became obsessed with power, quantifiable power. I searched for any sign that the anarchist movement was gaining traction, that one day way we could finally make “The Switch.” My measurements for success had paralleled social norms; now they began to overlap with them. Soon Anarchy was just something I believed in. Aside from sharing meals and resources among friends, it was not something I practiced.

To some, the black bloc is a tactic, a means to an end. For me, having lived through a myriad of outcomes, black bloc is a practice. Black blocs are a practice in timing: when to return teargas to the police, when to leave an intersection, when to smash windows, when to disperse. As in all practice, some days are better than others. To be in bloc is to experience what can be possible when the laws that typically govern us are momentarily superseded and how to act when our adversaries try to reassert them. When we participate in black blocs, we are attempting to learn the balance between exercising an otherwise impossible freedom, at the cost of our safety, and maintaining a modicum of safety so that we can continue to act freely.

Every night as I mulled over my legal predicament, I would ask myself the same questions. “Are black blocs a pertinent part of the way we do Anarchy today? Are they just hollow tradition from a bygone era? Are they worth risking the world you inhabit daily for a fleeting experience, however ecstatic?” I think of my friends who are a little older than I, who have better jobs, who were noticeably absent from the march on January 20. For many people, their little ration of worldly success is not worth the risk.

When I look back to the texts that inspired me as I was coming of age in radical politics, I trace a common thread binding them. Travel logs, accounts of underground healthcare, epics of animal liberation—at their core, all of them conveyed the same story. They told that There is a Secret World Concealed Within This One; a world that I had long since forgotten. The once-common anarchist saying “Another world is possible” is no longer spoken between friends. It is not overlaid on images of riots, nor commonly held as an anarchist truth. I mourn it’s absence. There are those who would say there is no life outside of capitalism, that we are bound to this world by birth. Only recently has the premise emerged that being born into a position invalidates your ability to transcend it.

The truth is that we alone are the visionaries of our success. We define our values, sculpt our objects of beauty. If we build from the blueprints of power and safety laid out in this world, then we will make more of the same. But I believe that we are capable of breaching the precedents of modern life. We can imagine less abhorrent futures, create lives worth living—but to do so, we must abandon the worldly successes we seek for validation. If we want to continue to experience the transcendental, unbridled ecstasy of black blocs, the practice of anarchy and experimentation, then we must create and maintain worlds in which the consequences of a felony rioting conviction are not so dire—worlds worth leaving this one to get to. Another world is not only possible, it is waiting for us. We must believe in our ability to reach it so we can find the strength to depart. We have to let go of our attachments and truly believe that we are capable of taking flight.

In the kettle at 12th and L Street, I felt like a young Icarus, hurtling towards the sun, only to plummet into the sea. All exercises in freedom have these risks. To those who dare to soar, may we also learn to swim, and never fear the consequences of singed wings.

Despite its abrupt end and unfortunate outcome, the march on January 20, 2017 was one of the most inspiring, vitalizing moments of my life. Despite its obvious challenges, I am thankful that facing charges has given me time to reflect. Let me take a moment here to explicitly state, with a clear mind and certain heart, that—having eluded conviction—I would 100% do it again no questions asked. I hope someday to share an experience of elation similar to that of J20 with the readers of this piece. If and when that day comes, may we both avoid arrest and get off scot-free.

With love,

a CrimethInc. ex-defendant

[atomicbritt]

A Big list of True Crime Podcasts

I was working on making an new True Crime masterlist but the podcast section was getting way too long. So enjoy listening to these great podcasts on real life crime! (feel free to add on)

74 Seconds: The story of a July 2016 traffic stop that ended with the world watching a man die, live on their phones. This is the story of that man, Philando Castile, and the officer who is about to go on trial for his death, Jeronimo Yanez. Through comprehensive reporting, MPR News examines this intersection of race, policing, justice and safety in America. A lot can happen in 74 seconds.

Accused: When Elizabeth Andes was found murdered in her Ohio apartment in 1978, police and prosecutors decided within hours it was an open-and-shut case. Two juries disagreed. The Cincinnati Enquirer investigates: Was the right guy charged, or did a killer walk free?

All Kill no Filla: Join comedians Rachel Fairburn and Kiri Pritchard - McLean as they explore a shared passion, serial killers. Each episode the pair will talk all things murder and macabre and have a right laugh doing it.

Already Gone Podcast: Stories of the missing, the murdered, the mysterious and the lost.

And that’s Why we drink: And That's Why We Drink is a paranormal and true crime podcast hosted by Christine Schiefer, Em Schulz, and boxed wine. Join us every Sunday for some chilling ghost stories and downright terrifying true crime stories.

Atlanta Monster: From the producers of Up and Vanished and HowStuffWorks, Atlanta Monster aims to tell the true story of one of Atlanta’s darkest secrets, almost 40 years later.

Australian True Crime: Think nothing ever happens in your town? Australia's suburbs are home to some of the most mysterious and disturbing true crime cases in the world. Meshel Laurie is a true crime obsessive. Emily Webb is a true crime author. And together with expert interviews with writers, victims, investigators and perpetrators, they probe the underbelly of our towns and suburbs, and uncover the darkness at the heart of Australian life.

Black Hands-A family Mass Murder: This is the story of a mass-murder that divided a nation - a story that began in a rickety old home on a cold June morning in 1994, where five members of a seemingly ordinary New Zealand family were gunned down. There were two suspects. One lay dead from a single bullet to the head. The other was the only survivor: David Bain. Since then the country has asked: who killed the Bain family? David or his father Robin? In this podcast, Martin van Beynen explores the case from start to finish, picking through evidence, the mysteries and motives, and interviewing never-before-spoken-to witnesses. He seeks to finally answer the question: Who was the killer?

Caliphate: In the war on terror, who is it that we’re really fighting? “Caliphate” follows Rukmini Callimachi, who covers terrorism for The New York Times, on her quest to understand ISIS. 

Canadian True Crime: An independent podcast telling stories of cruel people who committed heinous acts in Canada, with a focus on honouring and respecting victims and survivors.

Casefile: Fact is scarier than fiction.

The Cleaning of John Doe: True crime scene cleaning stories from your host, Vanessa Phearson. She takes you on a journey of her experiences cleaning up the aftermath of some of the grisliest, most heartbreaking and most intense cleanups a crime scene cleaner can face.

The Clearing: When April Balascio was 40 years old, something she’d feared for decades was finally proven true. Her father, Edward Wayne Edwards, really was a murderer. The Clearing is about what came after April called a detective in 2009 to tell him about her suspicions — a call that led to her father’s arrest and eventual conviction on multiple murders — and tracks the emotional journey as she and host Josh Dean dig back into her childhood, unravel the truth of her father’s life, and overturn a viral online narrative that had turned Edward Wayne Edwards into a kind of serial killer caricature.

Cold:  Susan Powell vanished on Dec. 7, 2009. Her body has never been found. From the beginning, West Valley City, Utah police suspected Susan's husband, Josh Powell, had murdered her. They never arrested him. COLD dives deep into the case files, uncovering never-before-heard details. You'll learn why Susan stayed with an abusive husband, why Josh did what he did and how the justice system failed Susan and her two boys.

The Color Line Murders: Historical true crime podcast telling the stories of lynching victims in the American South

Court Junkies: Imagine being wrongfully convicted for a crime you didn’t commit, or imagine your child’s killer is still on the loose even though there’s enough evidence for an arrest. I want to help shine light on the injustices of our judicial system. I delve into court documents, attend trials, and interview those close to the case to help me tell their stories.

Criminology: a true crime podcast that takes a deep dive into some of the most famous cases in the annals of crime. Hosts Mike Ferguson and Mike Morford will give you every details of these infamous crimes. Each season is a new case told over 8-10 episodes.

Crime Culture: Hayley Langan and Kaitlin Mahar talk about true crime, pop culture, and how the two relate. You'll laugh, you'll cry, you'll wonder how the hell you got here. Episodes air every Tuesday!

Crime in color: Your weekly look at people of color in true crime hosted by Keyerra. I'm not only telling stories but also bringing light to cases. This podcast isn't only about murderers/serial killers, but it's also about victims, survivors who were able to make it through a terrible life changing event or the wrongfully convicted who had their lives ruined. All of these are important and I want to tell their stories.

Crime Junkie: A weekly podcast dedicated to giving you a true crime fix. Every Monday, Ashley Flowers will tell you about whatever crime she’s been obsessing over that week in a way that sounds like you're sitting around talking crime with your best friends. The storytelling is straightforward and free of rabbit holes so the cases stay suspenseful and are easy to follow. If you can never get enough true crime... Congratulations, you’re a Crime Junkie! You’ve found your people.

Crime in Sports: Two comedians take an unmerciful and hilarious look at athletes who have lost big games...with the law! Crime in Sports does the research, and finds the funny in the world of sports true crime. New episode every week!

Crimetown: Welcome to Crimetown, a series produced by Marc Smerling and Zac Stuart-Pontier in partnership with Gimlet Media. Each season, we investigate the culture of crime in a different city

Culpable: Culpable explores unsettled cases where the people who seem deserving of blame have somehow eluded justice.

Cults: Mystery. Manipulation. Murder. Cults are associated with all of these. But what really goes on inside a cult? More specifically, what goes on inside the minds of people who join cults and leaders who start them? Every Tuesday, Greg and Vanessa (co-hosts of the podcast Serial Killers) explore the history and psychology behind the most notorious cults. Cults is part of the Parcast Network and is a Cutler Media production.

Carruth: The "miracle" began Nov. 16, 1999, when Cherica Adams was shot four times in Charlotte, N.C. A hitman tried to murder Adams, the girlfriend of NFL star Rae Carruth, and their unborn son, Chancellor Lee. But the hitman failed. Now, a year-long investigation exposes stunning new details of the crime that shocked the sports world—and the impacts still being felt years later. Hosted by Charlotte Observer reporter Scott Fowler, who has covered this saga for 19 years.

Dark Poutine: True crime, legends, folklore, dark history and other creepy topics from the perspective of real live Canadians.

Dirty John: Dirty John is an investigative journalism podcast hosted by journalist Christopher Goffard and created by Wondery and Los Angeles Times.

Disgraceland: A true crime podcast about musicians getting away with murder and behaving very badly. Thirty minute episodes that trace the most insane criminal stories surrounding our most interesting and infamous pop stars.

Dr. Death: We’re at our most vulnerable when we go to our doctors. We trust the person at the other end of that scalpel. We trust the hospital. We trust the system.Christopher Duntsch was a neurosurgeon who radiated confidence. He claimed he was the best in Dallas. If you had back pain, and had tried everything else, Dr. Duntsch could give you the spine surgery that would take your pain away.But soon his patients started to experience complications, and the system failed to protect them. Which begs the question: who - or what - is that system meant to protect?

The Fall Line: The Fall Line Podcast is a true-crime audio serial focused on marginalized communities in Georgia, and covers one story per season. Sometimes we investigate, sometimes we reveal--but we're always telling stories of people who have been passed over by mainstream media

Female Criminals: The true crime podcast where women aren’t just the victims. Every week, we examine the psychology, motivations, and atrocities of female felons.

Fruitloops - Serial Killers of Color: a weekly podcast where two true crime enthusiasts bring you stories about people of color who rarely get media coverage - bringing diversity to the true crime conversation.

Generation Why: Two friends, Aaron & Justin, discuss theories and share their opinions on unsolved murders

Gone: Have you ever spent hours looking for something you simply lost? How about a hundred years? How about looking for a missing airplane?  Or a vanished civilization? Every other Monday, Gone searches for everything lost. From D. B. Cooper to the Holy Grail, the Etruscan language to early Russian cosmonauts; if it disappeared, we’re looking. After all, just because something is gone, doesn’t mean it can’t be found.

Court Junkies: Imagine being wrongfully convicted for a crime you didn’t commit, or imagine your child’s killer is still on the loose even though there’s enough evidence for an arrest. I want to help shine light on the injustices of our judicial system. I delve into court documents, attend trials, and interview those close to the case to help me tell their stories.

Criminal: Stories of people who’ve done wrong, been wronged, or gotten caught somewhere in the middle.

DETROIT: “Murder City” Podcast: Seven the General & friends share funny Prison stories as well as Real Life issues surrounding incarceration & its effects on the black communities

Hell and High Horror Podcast: Hosts Austyn and Repy are two average young women who are casually obsessed with true crime and horror. Every week a topic is chosen and each host presents a story of murder, mystery, or the paranormal along with some comic relief and banter.

Hollywood & Crime: Docu-drama about the Black Dahlia murder in 1947 - and a dozen other murders happening at the same time in suspiciously similar circumstances …

Hostage: Some terrorists use weapons. Some use information. The scariest use hostages. Every Thursday, Hostage tells electrifying crime stories culminating in intense, life-or-death negotiations. Within the stories, we examine tactics used by the FBI’s crisis negotiation unit, world governments, and even hostage’s parents, highlighting the techniques that saved lives, and the moments where everything went tragically wrong.

In the dark: Reporter Madeleine Baran examines the case of Curtis Flowers, who has been tried six times for the same crime. For 21 years, Flowers has maintained his innocence. He's won appeal after appeal, but every time, the prosecutor just tries the case again. In the Dark is an investigative podcast from APM Reports. Season One focused on the abduction of Jacob Wetterling.

It's About Damn Crime: Tired of hearing the same old true crime stories? Then you've come to the right place! Welcome to It's About Damn Crime. A true crime podcast where co-hosts Brittney and Justine discuss true crime cases featuring people of color. So please give it a listen. Promise some of these cases will be brand new to you!

Killer Queens:Two sisters get together to discuss a different case straight from the headlines or news feed. If you like to hear 90's lingo, obscure quotes, and the occasional (perhaps frequent) curse word in your true crime stories, then this is the show for you. TTYL.

Kingpins: Undeniable power. Unbelievable stories. Unlikely origins. Kingpins follows the rise and fall of rulers of the underworld. Every Friday, we examine the leaders of organized crime rings, and how money and power corrupted and changed their communities. What makes a kingpin or queenpin, and how can we stop them?

Last Podcast on the left: covers all the horrors our world has to offer both imagined and real, from demons and slashers to cults and serial killers

Let's Not Meet: These are stories of real encounters with creeps, murderers and psychos. Told in the form of a campfire narrative, Let's Not Meet sets out to prove that real monsters are not that of fiction novels or horror films. The real monsters are the humans that walk among us every day of our lives.

Let’s Read: The Lets Read Podcast centers around narrating True Scary Experiences from real people, just like yourself. Ranging from creepy stalkers to paranormal encounters with the other side. My goal is to lull you into beautiful nightmares.

Lore: the frightening history behind common folklore

Man In The Window: The Golden State Killer : In Man in the Window, Paige St. John, a Pulitzer Prize winning investigative reporter has uncovered never before revealed details about the man who would eventually become one of California's most deadly serial killers. From Wondery and the LA Times comes a new series that traces his path of devastation through his victims' eyes.

Married to Murder: a true crime, comedy podcast and we cover cases where couples kill together or each other.

Martinis and Murder: Hosts Daryn Carp and John Thrasher chat about creepy crimes and mysterious murders...while mixing up martinis! Each fun new episode will focus on a new crime, the crazy details and of course the theories about how it all went down.

Misconduct: is a true crime podcast hosted by Colleen and Eileen (who also happen to be related). Each week we will be discussing the facts, the theories, and our opinions of resolved and unresolved crimes, wrongful convictions, and miscarriages of justice.

Missing: hosted by bestselling crime writer Tim Weaver. Over the course of an entire season, the show investigates the world of missing people – who disappears, why they disappear, the pressures of life on the run, and who tracks them down – and charts the progression of a missing persons search.

Missing and Murdered: Where is Cleo? Taken by child welfare workers in the 1970’s and adopted in the U.S., the young Cree girl’s family believes she was raped and murdered while hitchhiking back home to Saskatchewan. CBC news investigative reporter Connie Walker joins the search to find out what really happened to Cleo.

Missing Maura Murray: a true crime podcast about the mysterious disappearance of Maura Murray. Maura was a 21 year old college student in February of 2004 when she inexplicably drove three hours from her dorm in Amherst, Massachusetts to the White Mountains of New Hampshire and vanished.

Moms and Murder: a true crime podcast featuring two friends gabbing about their favorite guilty pleasure, true crime.

Morbid: It’s a lighthearted nightmare in here, weirdos! Morbid is a true crime, creepy history and all things spooky podcast hosted by an autopsy technician and a hairstylist.

Murder Down Under: Two dorks, one continent, and a whole lot of slaughter

The Murder In My Family: Murder is a crime of many victims. It affects not only the murdered, but also those who loved them. The Murder in My Family tells the effects of murder from the perspective of the family members of the victims... 

Murder Was The Case: Criminologist Lee Mellor discusses the darkest, most perverse, bestial crimes known to man. You can’t handle it. Tap out now.

Murderous Minors: A true crime podcast bringing tales of killer kids. Factual stories of murderous children throughout the years- a parent’s worst nightmare. 

My Father the Murderer: Just how much of the story of ‘how you came to be’ makes up who you are? It's not a question most people think about, but for journalist, Nina Young, it's a question she can't avoid because she might not be here today if a woman hadn’t lost her life late one night in the bush in 1977. In this six-part podcast, she's going to finally let the skeletons out of her family closet and find out the truth. A truth that will take her back to the scene of the crime and face to face with some uncomfortable truths.

My Favorite Murder: Karen Kilgariff and Georgia Hardstark, two lifelong fans of true crime stories. Each episode the girls tell each other their favorite tales of murder, and hear hometown crime stories from friends and fans.

Mystery Murdery Thingy: Do you like Mystery? Murder? Thingies??? Mario and Chloe are making a podcast for people like you!

The mysterious Mr. Epstein:  We now know that Jeffrey Epstein was a sexual predator. He was also accused of fraud, embezzlement, coercion and more. But for most of his life, he was a mystery to the public, and to many of the people who knew him. In this six part series, we peel back the layers of Epstein’s life to detail his financial and sexual crimes, and his network of enablers, with original reporting and interviews.

Nothing Rhymes With Murder: Join Kate and Georgie on a global journey of MURDER. Every week a new country and true crime gem as well as fun hotspots to visit. Remember kids, life is a journey, don’t let murder stop you! ✈️??

Once Upon A Crime: THE podcast for the true crime addict. True crime stories are told chapter by chapter - kidnappings, murders, mysterious disappearances, serial killers, celebrity crime and more.

Overkill: After 19-year-old Aya Velasquez died mysteriously in Harding Park, no one seemed to care. At least not until a preteen medium accidentally summoned Aya herself to solve the mystery. With no memory of her death and no shortage of questions, Aya must make friends with her fellow ghosts and discover the truth behind the Midwest’s most haunted park. Based on EVP audio recorded by M.A.A.G. (Mothers Against Aliens and Ghosts), Overkill is a comedy podcast, a murder mystery, and a love story all wrapped in one vaguely supernatural package.

Pretty Scary: True crime, conspiracy theories, ghosts, aliens, and things of that sort. Hosted by comics Adam Tod Brown, Caitlin Cutt, and Kari Martin.

The Pros & Cons: Hosted by veteran true crime television producers, Bethany Jones and Adriana Padilla (formerly of the Queens of Crime Podcast), The Pros & Cons is the ultimate insider look into the world of true crime with insight from the pros and cons that actually lived the cases.

Real Crime Profile: Join Jim Clemente (former FBI profiler), Laura Richards (criminal behavioral analyst, former New Scotland Yard) and Lisa Zambetti (Casting director for CBS' Criminal Minds) as they profile behavior from real criminal cases.

The RFK Tapes: When Robert F. Kennedy was assassinated in 1968, a lone gunman was captured at the scene, revolver in hand. It seemed like an open and shut case. So why did the police keep evidence hidden away for decades? Over ten episodes, hosts Zac Stuart-Pontier (Crimetown) and Bill Klaber (author, Shadow Play) comb through previously secret police tapes and track down the people who were there to investigate troubling questions about one of the most significant crimes in American history.

S'laughter: True Crime Podcast: A UK true crime podcast with a comedy twist. 30 somethings Lucy and Emma tell each other true crime stories, whilst injecting a little dark humour along the way. Nominated in the true crime category in the British Podcast Awards 2018. Lucy and Emma pride themselves on being well researched and telling you everything there is to know about the crime in question. So listen, enjoy, and remember, listening to S'laughter doesn't make you a psycho, killing people does.

S-Town - a podcast from Serial and This American Life, hosted by Brian Reed, about a man named John who despises his Alabama town and decides to do something about it. He asks Brian to investigate the son of a wealthy family who's allegedly been bragging that he got away with murder. But when someone else ends up dead, the search for the truth leads to a nasty feud, a hunt for hidden treasure, and an unearthing of the mysteries of one man's life.

Serial: The podcast everyone’s already heard of. Serial tells one story—a true story—over the course of a season.

Serial Killers: Every Monday, Serial Killers takes a psychological and entertaining approach to provide a rare glimpse into the mind, methods and madness of the most notorious serial killers with the hopes of better understanding their psychological profile. With the help of real recordings and voice actors, we delve deep into their lives and stories.

Slow Burn: On Slow Burn, Leon Neyfakh excavates the strange subplots and forgotten characters of recent political history—and finds surprising parallels to the present. Season 1 captured what it was like to live through Watergate; Season 2 does the same with the saga of Bill Clinton’s impeachment.

Snap Judgment: If you like highly-produced storytelling, then this show is for you. Snap Judgment covers a variety of topics every week that explores the human condition. They’re currently covering stories about true crime, such as Marina Nemat’s remarkable story of being imprisoned in Tehran as a teenager and the unlikely ally she found inside.

Small Town Murder: Two comedians look at a small town, what makes it tick, and a murder that took place there. In depth research, horrible tragedy, and the hosts' comedic spin on the whole thing. New episodes every Thursday!!

Someone Knows Something: A series produced by CBC that examines unsolved cases of missing or murdered individuals.

Something Scary: Do you wanna hear something scary? Join Sapphire and Markeia every week as they bring you the creepiest ghost stories, urban legends, and folktales.

Southern Fried True Crime: Erica Kelley is a native Tennessean exploring historical and contemporary true crime in the South. Southern charm is attempted but southern sass is bountiful. Join her as she shows you just how southern fried the justice system can be in the Deep South.

The Strange and Unusual Podcast: The unknown, it lies at the root of all fear, and has inspired legends, folklore, superstition, mythology, and even murder throughout history. Still today we feel the shadowy presence of our ancestors' struggles to explain the mysterious in our lives, as we continue to keep fighting to keep our monsters in the dark. Welcome to The Strange and Unusual Podcast, a podcast with a focus on dark history.

Stranglers: True crime podcast retracing the Boston murders of 13 women during the 1960’s.  

Sword and Scale: Podcast covers the ugly underbelly of true crime. Be prepared to never sleep again…

Taboo, Schadenfreude and Murder: Welcome to Taboo, Schadenfreude, and Murder. A podcast by two sisters that will cover all manner of taboo subjects: some illegal, some immoral, some societal. We bring a surface level discussion to the world’s taboos.

The Teacher’s Pet: Lyn and Chris Dawson appear to have the perfect marriage. He's a star footballer and popular high school teacher. She's a devoted wife and mother. They share a beautiful home above Sydney's northern beaches. But when Lyn goes missing, dark secrets are buried. This is no fairytale, but a sordid story of strangely close twin brothers, teenage student lovers, and probable murder. The Australian's Hedley Thomas digs deep into a cold case which has been unsolved for 36 years, uncovering startling new evidence.

They Walk Among Us: They Walk Among Us is an award-winning weekly UK true crime podcast covering a broad range of cases from the sinister to the surreal.

Thin Air Podcast: Two English majors investigate cold cases by examining evidence and interviewing people involved with the original investigation.

The Thing about Pam: Two days after Christmas, 2011, Russ Faria came home from game night to find his wife, Betsy, dead. He was soon charged and convicted of her murder. But Russ Faria insisted he did not kill his wife. Betsy’s brutal murder set off a chain of events that would leave one man dead, another man implicated, and expose a diabolical scheme.

Thinking Sideways: Investigating things we simply don’t have the answer to. Sometimes you have to think a little sideways to come up with a plausible solution to the mystery.

The Trail Went Cold: a true crime podcast where writer Robin Warder examines unsolved mysteries and offers his own theories as to what really happened.

True Crime Addict –  Investigative journalist, James Renner, tackles the cold case of Maura Murray while coming to grips on his own downward spiral.

True Crime All The Time: This is a true crime podcast that spares none of the details and delves into what makes these killers tick. Join us for a good mix of lesser known cases as well as our take on what we call the "Big Timers". We don't take ourselves too seriously but we take true crime very seriously.

True Crime Brewery: Jill and Dick are a married couple who love to drink beer and discuss true crime. Join them at the quiet end of the bar. Dick will bring along an excellent beer from the region where the crime occurred. He will give us a little beer lesson and review before Jill starts off their true crime discussion. The discussions are well-researched and in depth. Dick is a physician and often shares his medical expertise at Jill's urging.

True Crime Fan Club: A podcast for the ultimate true crime enthusiast. A glimpse into the life and crimes of some of the most demented minds. You will not want to miss an episode.

True Crime Garage: Each week Nic & The Captain get in the garage and talk true crime and drink beer.

True Crime Historian: remembers the famous and forgotten scandals, scoundrels, and scourges of the past through newspaper accounts in the golden age of yellow journalism.

True Crime Japan Podcast: A podcast devoted to true crime and mysteries from Japan.

True crime Obsessed: Recapping True Crime Documentaries with Humor, Sass, and a well timed Garbage Bell

True Crime Sweden: True Crimes from Sweden, told in English!

True Murder: Penned as the podcast about “the most shocking killers in true crime history and the authors that have written about them,” journalist Dan Zupansky interviews those who are the most obsessed with criminal cases: true crime writers. Less produced but still engaging, True Murder covers some of the most brutal moments of criminal history, like the gruesome story of Theresa Cross, the mother who slowly killed two of her children, with the youngest daughter barely making it out alive.

Twisted Philly: There’s more mischief, mayhem and nefarious goings on in the city of Brotherly Love and Sisterly Affection than Billy Penn could have ever imagined.

UK True Crime Podcast: We examine lesser known UK cases in depth, talk to true crime authors, review products/shows and interview other experts in the field of UK True Crime to offer you the very best insight and analysis.

Unravel: Unravel True Crime is a podcast where, each season, some of Australia's best journalists investigate unsolved crimes.

Undisclosed: The Undisclosed podcast investigates wrongful convictions, and the U.S. criminal justice system, by taking a closer look at the perpetration of a crime, its investigation, the trial, and ultimate verdict... and finding new evidence that never made it to court.

Up and Vanished: Up and Vanished is an investigative journalism podcast hosted by Payne Lindsey. The series takes an in-depth look into the cases of people who have gone missing. The show is produced by Tenderfoot TV.

Unsolved Murders: True Crime Stories: Highly immersive true crime podcast that sometimes feels more like a old time-y audio drama.

The Vanished: Covering missing persons, one episode at a time.

Why Women Kill:  When a woman commits murder, she’s often given a label: “The Woman Who Snapped,” “Black Widow” or “Angel of Death.” Do these labels help us explain why women murder, or do they mask the truth? Join the true crime writer Tori Telfer as she uncovers what drives women to kill, presented by CBS All Access.

Wine and Crime: Wine & Crime is a new true crime / comedy podcast. Join three childhood friends as they chug wine, chat true crime, and unleash their worst Minnesota accents!

The Wonderland Murders: the tale of a violent home invasion robbery and the revenge rampage that followed. It involves a drug-fueled gang of criminals, a crazed crime kingpin– and the world’s most famous porn star on a downward and deadly spiral.

You Must Remember This: All about “the secret and/or forgotten history of Hollywood’s first century”; not a true crime podcast, but due to the nature of Hollywood’s first century, there is quite a lot of crime in it, like the Black Dahlia case, or a whole season about Charles Manson!

Zealot: A podcast about cults.

[ezairick]

Unpopular opinions about NCIS

When NCIS first began, I loved the show. It had interesting characters and cases, and there was more focus on the interaction of the characters than with the other relatively new show, CSI. This didn’t mean I was blind to problems with the show, but they were relatively minor compared to the show just a few seasons later. The small problems became big problems and though the show can still be entertaining, though I must admit that I haven’t watched any of the newer episodes after Tony left, so can’t speak to anything after that.

The cases themselves changed. For the first two seasons, while they certainly dealt with terrorism, the cases of the first two season were mainly crimes committed by ordinary people because of grief, love, envy, money, stupidity and so on. However, ever since Ziva joined the team, it felt like every case was about terrorism. I know that is not entirely true, but it seemed like every episode started with a bomb going off, and then instead of an interesting episode of guessing who could have done the murder, and why, now you instead wondered which terrorist group was going to get mentioned this time, and for what ideology. And honestly, it got boring real fast.

Which brings me to the characters of the show.

Gibbs is probably the most iconic character on the show, but let’s be honest, if NCIS was real he would have been fired years ago. Comparing Gibbs of season 1 and 2 to the rest of the show, it is easy to see that Gibbs was changed, and not just because of the amnesia. He was always a bastard but in the first two seasons, he had more principles, he didn’t break the law, he certainly bent it but he didn’t break it, and he didn’t commit crimes or let others get away with it. The whole plot surrounding his Shannon and Kelly, and murdering the guy who killed them, was not thought up, before the change in the management, which happened between season 2 and 3.

There are many issues with Gibbs, some of which were there from the start. There is his behaviour towards his team. No one should be allowed to head slap a colleague, besides being abusive it shows disrespect. And I feel this is part of the reason that Kate, McGee, and Ziva did not take DiNozzo seriously. Another reason for this is that Gibbs set DiNozzo up for fail. Because he created a flat structure, McGee and Ziva saw themselves equal to DiNozzo in terms of rank, even though he was the Senior Field Agent. And as the SFA he was supposed to be in charge when Gibbs wasn’t there but because Gibbs didn’t respect the position, and treated all three as if they were of equal rank, DiNozzo was often undermined by the others, and therefore incapable of doing part of his job.

Though Gibbs took pride in being a bastard, he should never have been allowed to run his team, like that, nor should he have been allowed to keep them at work for so many hours as he did. After all agents who haven’t slept nor eaten are far more likely to commit serious mistakes. Another difference between the first two seasons and later is that in the first two seasons we often see Gibbs, helping with the collection of evidence, sketching, and taking photos, but now he just mainly stand around asking, Ducky for a time of death, and drink coffee.

Further, just why is it Gibbs is treated like a god at NCIS? The directors of NCIS, except for Tom Morrow, who kept Gibbs at his proper place as the team leader of MCRT, though if truly proper place he should just have fired him, Jenny and Vance seem to treat Gibbs as if he can do nothing wrong, even when he is causing more problems. Gibbs completely run over them and acts like he is the director of NCIS and everything must go his way, and what is worse the directors let him. He is constantly given access to things he should not, and make decisions way above his pay grade. He is treated more like a co-director than anything else. And this is the same guy, who killed the man who killed his family, way to start your law enforcement career, who helped Mike Franks smuggle in immigrants, again not necessarily bad but he works for a law enforcement agency, allowed Mike Franks to not only get away with assaulting his agent, DiNozzo, but also allowed him to get away with murder, seriously the only way you can tell Gibbs is supposed to be the good guy, is that he has a badge.

Gibbs also constantly live by the rule – Do as I say not as I do – and as seen requiem it nearly let to the death of himself and a civilian, but he didn’t seem to have learned anything from that.

The team might have the highest closing rates, because of Gibbs, but it will naturally also have the lowest conviction rates of any teams at NCIS. I know we don’t get to see the aftermath of a case after Gibbs have gotten his confession, but if we did it would be of a flustered prosecutor, trying to convince the jury that the guy at trial is a bad guy, because Gibbs said he is. And that would be what the prosecutor had to work with, when trying to get a conviction. Gibbs often don’t have the time to get a warrant, even seems to think he is above such things, but that means that everything they find in the houses or other privately owned places they enter without warrants Is inadmissible in court and so is everything else found based on those finds. And the same applies with McGee’s and Abby’s hacking. Further the confession can be tossed because of Gibbs threatening behaviour in the interrogation room.

Gibbs is mostly known for being a bastard and seems to take pride in it, but how can he be such a role model, and why don’t the show realise that there is something wrong with having a team leader, who treats his team with disrespect, especially DiNozzo, who has serious issues with control, as in throwing tantrums when not the person in control of things, a person who is willing to actively sabotage other people’s cases just so he can close his case, and a person who seems incapable of handling any form of competition, and always have to be the best, in his own definition of the word.

For Tony DiNozzo I would like to give a huge shout out to Michael Weatherly, who managed to make Tony a comprehensive and cohesive character despite his character either being a complete moron only there as the comic relief, or an extremely competent investigator, lightyears ahead of the others, depending on who wrote the script for that week, so props to that. Tony is my favourite character on the show, but that doesn’t mean I don’t understand when people see him as annoying. He can be. He is constantly going through people’s things, and he wants to know everything he can about them and what they are doing. He also plays various pranks on his team mates, however he is not abusing nor bullying the others. Those descriptions fit Abby, Ziva, and McGee better.

Starting in season 3 DiNozzo has been dumbed down to, I suspect, make the other characters look that much more impressive. Despite this DiNozzo is still the best at investigating, also when you look at their educations. Phys. Ed. Isn’t just about sports, they are also required to know anatomy and psychology, add to that his many years in law enforcement as a detective. On the other hand, Ziva and McGee, who both had a few seasons where they seemed to think that they are so much better than DiNozzo, and were more suited to be the SFA, are actually less prepared to be investigators. McGee is a better fit for the Cyber Crime Unit as that is all his education qualifies him for, and though Ziva was trained by the Mossad, they are not an investigation agency, they do espionage. That is like saying because I ride horses, and horses are often on grass fields, I must be exceptional at golf, because it also takes place on grass. Besides as a liaison officer assigned to NCIS she would never have been made SFA, nor should she ever have been allowed on the team. I sort of like Ziva, but every time I start really liking her, the writers pulled a new stunt, that just worked against her. And unlike McGee and Abby we didn’t have those seasons and episodes to help us like her more.

I talked before about how Abby, McGee, and Ziva were bullies without explaining how. Now as before I stated that DiNozzo could be annoying and I can certainly see that and understand how that can be frustrating having to work with him, but DiNozzo has never questioned the qualifications of his fellow colleagues, which those three have done repeatedly, or said that the only reason they had the position they had was because of how long they had been there and not because they were qualified and competent, nor has he ever considered them incompetent and incapable of doing their jobs, Abby and her training stickers amongst general statements made by the others. He has never second guessed them in front of witnesses or argued with them about his work in front of other colleagues or witnesses. He has never pulled a gun on them and threatened to shoot them, and he has never ever left them without backup and then treated that significant breach in trust as a joke. If I had to choose I would rather work with someone who could be annoying than work with people who routinely questioned my ability to do my job and my position on the team.

I actually like Bishop, it took a while to settle her character, but she is not as antagonistic as Ziva and Kate, which makes for a nice change, and she seems to respect the chain of command. The show has settled down some between Tony, McGee, Ellie, as there aren’t as much in fighting and backstabbing as there was before with Ziva, and to some respect Kate, on the team. It’s nice that the team can be seen more like friends instead of colleagues who hate each other. 

Ziva and McGee broke the fundamental rule of law enforcement, you don’t leave your partner without backup, which they did in the episode Dead Air, and for the rest of the episode it was treated like the greatest joke ever, after all, leaving your partner unable to call for help should he need it, when looking for a terrorist who has already killed three people and are saying that more are to come, is just do damn funny. I will say I have read some fanfiction dealing with this episode, and though for the most part I like them, one thing that puzzles me about it, is that the authors of these stories often put the majority of the blame on Ziva and then redeem McGee. I think the reason for that is that as I stated before that we have episodes of naïve baby McGee who listened to Tony to fall back on, while Ziva started out as the sister of Ari, who killed Kate, and a short time later, was the new colleague who thought it a good idea to invite every person of the extended team except Tony, and then the woman who refused to give vital information to Tony, and instead decided that she would only tell Gibbs about Rivkin, and then as the grieving woman who pulled a gun on Tony, to the woman who paid Tony back for saving her from Somalia by leaving him without backup. Unless you’re a Ziva or Tiva fan it is easy to see why she gets the punishment while McGee who is just as guilty is given redemption.

Which brings me to the bane of NCIS: Tiva. I get it, both Tony and Ziva are played by attractive people, and the writers certainly ended up pushing it down our throats. Or at least for us who don’t like Tiva. Normally I get that people have different tastes and therefore ship different pairings, and I am fine with that. I am not the shipping police, but let’s be honest when it comes to Tiva, it’s just plain wrong. If Ziva was played by someone not attractive or it was Tony who had pulled all that shit on Ziva instead of the other way around, people would have been busy shouting about the obvious abusive relationship, but it is not so and instead the relationship seem to be a fan favourite.

I have never understood that and especially after Dead Air. How can you possible justify a loving and respectful relationship between them when Ziva was very much willing to let Tony die, when she left him without backup. How can there be a relationship between them, a good healthy and respectful relationship, when it is obvious from just watching a few episodes that Ziva does not in any way respect Tony nor respect his position on the team? If you are unable to respect your partner at work, then how can you possibly respect them at home? And why would they even be together? Why would Ziva be with Tony when she doesn’t respect Tony at work, and routinely disrespect him and questions his competence and orders? And why would Tony like someone who doesn’t respect him, has pulled a gun on him, have actually shot him, although by mistake, and someone who left him without backup and then laughed about it?

There are many more things that are bugging me about NCIS, but this is the end of this rant. Sorry for the ramblings.

[butitdidntmake]

Paedophile driven to court in hospital gown to be jailed

Shocked this story didn’t make. Roy Whiting’s crimes led to massive changes in newspapers, the law and society. This man could well have been involved in making him into the child killer who ruined many lives. Disappointed for Green’s brave victims and the diligent police who worked so hard to return him to prison this didn’t get a good show.

A convicted paedophile was driven to court in his hospital gown when doctors passed him fit to go back to prison for another 12 years following a second conviction for abusing young boys.

In a dramatic end to his trial, former sports coach Michael Green - described as child killer Roy Whiting’s mentor and idol - was hospitalised with a suspected stroke.

Police who investigated Green, drove him to court as soon as he was discharged from hospital by doctors in Brighton.

Green, 75, abused boys as young as nine, the court heard, while coaching ice hockey and when he worked as a cricket coach at an exclusive private school.

He befriended Whiting who went on to rape and murder eight-year-old Sarah Payne when they were both involved in motorcycle speedway racing in Sussex.

Green was found collapsed in his flat by police after he failed to appear in court to hear closing speeches at the end of his two week trial.

The judge ruled the trial should carry on without him.

After spending nearly five days under the care of doctors in Brighton, Green was discharged and driven straight to court knowing he would be jailed for a second time.

Still wearing his hospital gown, Green was led into the court building by the same police officers who investigated his crimes.

After a meeting with his barrister, Green shambled the last few metres down the corridor still wearing his hospital wristband to the public entrance using a walking frame, complaining of the pain he was feeling.

Prison officers in blue surgical gloves sat either side of the convicted paedophile who listened with his head bowed as Recorder Elliott QC told him she had considered the possibility he will die in prison.

One of his victims watched from the public gallery overlooking the court as Green was jailed for a second time for abusing boys in his care.

Green, 75, conducted a serious, repeated and widespread campaign of abuse, the judge told him.Green was already convicted of abusing two boys in Hampshire in the early 1980s and jailed for nine-and-a-half years in 2001.

He was freed on licence when more allegations against him were brought to police.

As the new allegations did not involve abuse after his previous conviction, he was not taken back into custody.

The 75-year-old was terrified of being attacked as he walked in and out of Lewes Crown Court each day of his trial fearing his victims or their families could try to take their revenge.

Child killer Roy Whiting idolised Green and worshiped him as a God, it was claimed.

Whiting was jailed for life in 2001 for the rape and murder of eight-year-old Sarah Payne.

His crime shocked the nation and let to the passing of Sarah’s Law which allows parent to know if a convicted sex offender could have contact with their children.

The two men met while Green was a coach with the Crawley Tigers speedway team.Green made Whiting captain of the team as they grew closer.

He was described as the future child murderer’s mentor.

Green went on to be a sports coach at Windlesham House boarding school in West Sussex where he abused boys in the cricket team.

Recorder Sarah Elliott QC said Green was guilty of abusing seven boys aged between ten and 15-years-old.In each case, he was their sports coach.

"The seriousness, harm caused and culpability of the offender are the main considerations I must apply.

“The delay in bringing these matters to trial is in part down to the shame and confusion the victims felt at what they had suffered through you.

"You used your popularity and position as their sports coach in a gross abuse of trust.

"You befriended your victims and their families for your sexual purposes.

"In relation to the offences at the school, they were borders with you looking after them in the evenings and weekends, so they were effectively trapped with you.”

Green used pornography, gifts and trips to the cinema to see racy films to groom his victims, the Recorder said.

“With some, you simply got into bed with them,” she said.

The hours Green spent as a sports coach gave him the opportunity to abuse boys for his own deviant sexual pleasure, he judge said.

“This was a serious, repeated and widespread set of offences,” the judge said.

Green shook his head as the Recorder detailed his offences and jailed him for a total of 12 years for a total of 18 offences.

Green was convicted of 17 after already admitting one offence.

Green’s successful prosecution was down to the hard work of Sussex police and in particular DC Dawn Robertson, the Recorder added.

Detective Constable Dawn Robertson, who was involved with both investigations, said; "Green's 2014 sentence received considerable publicity and as a result these seven further victims came forward to us over the ensuing months.

"We have great admiration for their readiness to help see justice done, and for giving evidence at Green's trial where he denied the allegations throughout and continues to do so even after conviction, as he did in 2014.

"It is clear that throughout that period of the eighties and nineties he was actively involving himself in different types of sports coaching, all of which had one thing in common - they gave him access to young and often vulnerable young boys who he systematically abused under the guise of helping them.

"Reports of this type will always be taken seriously and investigated wherever possible.”

The Recorder also made a Sexual Harm Prevention Order preventing Green from having unsupervised contact with any child under the age of 18.

In a heartbreaking impact statement, one of Green’s victims said his life had been blighted by the abuse he suffered.

“All my life this has haunted me and has been a dark demon I’ve had to deal with.

"The mental scars are sometimes unbearable to live with."

The court heard Green, who had also worked as an insurance agent. used his position as a trusted sports coach to attack seven more boys across Sussex between 1980 and 1994.

He was described as a sexual predator would take boys back to his home where he would then climb into bed with them.

One victim said he came forward after reading reports of another child abuse case.

“He’s the scum of the earth,” the man told police after coming forward in 2015.

"I saw something on the news and thought, he’s going to get away with it.

"I wanted to get my point across.”

He told police he had been sexually assaulted after meeting Mr Green when he was 11-years-old.

The man, now in his 40s described Michael Green as having a musky smell.

"Like a dirty person sort of smell,” the man said.

“I was scared to say anything.

"I didn’t know what to think.

"I didn’t know what would happen to me, so I let him carry on do it.

"I just blocked it out of my mind for years,” the man said.

“I was disgusted with it, but I was only young so I tried to put it to the back of my mind.”

Green even abused schoolboys in the cinema as they watch Madonna in A League of Their own and Whitney Houston in The Bodyguard.

Another man, also now in his 40s, who asked not to be named said Green was notorious as a Nonce when he coached boys in the ice hockey team.

"Everybody knew what he was up to.

"When I heard he had got the job at the school, I felt sorry for those boys.

"He would stand around naked in the showers with boys aged ten and 11.

"People would just tell him to get away from the boys.

"He was just known as a nonce.

"He was a horrible bastard.

"If I saw him now, I'd knock him out.

"We just knew him as Mick the Nonce.”

The jury were told of Green's previous conviction at the start of the trial but not about his connection to Whiting.

Prosecutor Richard Cherrill said new charges were brought when other men started to come forward after reading press coverage of the case, and from the high profile coverage surrounding other historic sex abuse cases.

He said: “We say his previous conviction is relevant.

“That is because it shows his propensity and desire to abuse young boys in his care."

Mr Cherrill told Lewes Crown Court how Green performed sex acts on boys as young as nine.

He would tell boys that they were special and he loved them and would beg for cuddles for his own sick desires.

One reported the boys felt “mystified and repulsed” when Mr Green told them to sit on his knee while he licked and nibbled their ears.

In a dramatic end to the trial, Green suffered a suspected stroke at home over the final weekend break.

Police were sent to his home after he failed to appear at court on Monday morning.

As he was waiting to be assessed by a neurology specialist, the judge ruled the case against Green could go ahead.

The jury heard closing arguments with an empty dock.

Mr Cherrill told the jury: “The defendant is ill.

"He’s not done a runner, he cannot be here.”Green was discharged and driven from hospital an hour before his sentencing.

ends

[phroyd]

The second J20 trial had been proceeding under the shadow of a finding by DC Superior Court Chief Judge Robert Morin that the US Attorney’s office had committed a ‘Brady’ violation by withholding evidence from defendants. The trial itself was overseen by Judge Kimberley Knowles, who herself found the same ‘Brady’ violation as Morin but repeatedly refused to declare a mistrial before sending the case to the jury.

On Monday, June 4, jurors announced their first partial verdict, acquitting defendant Cathseigh Webber on all charges. Webber was not accused of involvement in any property destruction but was charged based on his “mere presence” at the protest and the fact that he was in a labor union Facebook Messenger group that discussed inauguration protests. The three other trial defendants – Seth Cadman, Anthony Felice, and Michael Basillas – were each personally accused of involvement in property destruction. However, with no witness to personally identify the defendants, the government relied on correlations of blurry video clips and screenshots to claim it had identified certain defendants as particular masked individuals who had been documented breaking windows at the protest

On Wednesday, June 6, jurors returned another partial verdict, finding Seth Cadman not guilty on all counts except the charge of “engaging in a riot,” on which they told Judge Knowles they were deadlocked. The next day, Thursday, June 7, jurors returned another partial verdict just before lunch, telling Judge Knowles they had found defendant Anthony Felice not guilty of Assault on a Police Officer (a charge only Felice faced in this trial group) and were deadlocked regarding all other charges against Felice.

Later on Thursday, around 2 PM,  jurors sent another note to Judge Knowles announcing that they were totally deadlocked regarding all charges against Michael Basillas, the only remaining defendant.

For each of the charges on which jurors were “deadlocked” and couldn’t agree on a verdict, Judge Knowles declared a mistrial. This means that prosecutors have 30 days to re-file charges on which jurors couldn’t agree and the judge declared a mistrial, but can’t re-file any charges on which defendants were fully acquitted by the jury.

After the trial had ended, we spoke with a juror who told us she preferred to discuss the case anonymously. The juror told us that “ID-ing defendants in the video evidence [prosecutors] provided…was very difficult.” The juror also expressed that she sought to avoid setting a legal precedent that would allow police to use conspiracy charges to prosecute people for simply attending a protest where others allegedly committed crimes.

“I think, for me, what I was hoping with this case was that we didn’t set a precedent of, ‘anytime there’s a protest march where a handful of people in the march decide to do something that may be criminal, that the rest of the people in the protest are charged with that activity.’

I think that was part of the conspiracy charge, that there was a common knowledge of the criminal activity among everyone who was involved, and I think that’s a very slippery slope to say that, you know, when you show up to a march, you may or may not know the other people in the march.

And to assume that, you know, that they had knowledge of something criminal, that you both had that knowledge at the same time together… I think it’s a slippery slope that, you know, I want people, especially in Washington, DC, to feel like they can go to a protest march, from beginning to end, and if somebody at that march did something criminal, and you did not, that you feel safe from prosecution from any of those crimes.” – Anonymous juror in the second J20 trial

Over 200 people were arrested at the “anti-capitalist, anti-fascist” march on January 20, 2017 after police Commander Keith Deville ordered officers to surround and arrest everyone attending the anti-capitalist march. During his cross-examination in the first J20 trial last year, Commander Deville admitted that police under his command “didn’t issue any dispersal orders” and that “when I decided to stop this group … I wasn’t differentiating between who was protesting and who was rioting.”

Multiple lawsuits are pending against the District of Columbia and its Metropolitan Police Department, as well as Deville and other police officials, alleging civil rights and human violations by DC police during Trump inauguration protests. Local DC government has also earmarked $150,000 for an independent investigation into police violence during inauguration protests.

Over 40 defendants still face charges stemming from inauguration protests, although the US Attorney is expected to drop more cases in the wake of their continued failure to secure convictions at trial.

Phroyd

[beepbeeprichiellc]

Okay, so I don't know how to say this in English cause it's not my first language. Anyway, since you love angst ( you're the Reddie angst queen ) can you write an au where Richie is convicted of murder with a life sentence(?), but he's not really guilty and Eddie heartbroken saying goodbye to him?

Angst queen! I love it, I should wear a crown made from my followers tears!! You are so sweet anon, and impeccable at English, especially if it isn’t your first language. Very impressed. :)

“Tell me about your relationship with Mr. Tozier.”

The court room was silent, the prosecution standing beforehim in his primped and pressed suit that was overpriced for his cheap grin. Hepaced the room, demanding attention form those who dared sit in on the gruesometrial. The jury ate him up, practically eating out of the palm of his handmaking the defense sweat. Eddie glanced up at his lover, catching his terrifiedgaze. He had been warned that he might be called, being one closest to the defendant,but that was before the case was iron clad, before the mountain of evidence. Itwas all going downhill, and they were unprepared for the rocky bottom.

With a deep breathe he answered. “I’ve known Richie myentire life, ever since we were ten.”

“So you’re friends?” The lawyer pressed, making a circler motionwith his hand that made Eddie want to rip it from his body.

“Yes.” He replied, “We have also been seeing each other forsix months.”

There was an accumulation of gasps from the people in theroom, hushed whispers melting into the thick air. The prosecutor raised a brow,his mouth turning into a scowl. “I did not realize that your relationship wasromantic, are you suggesting that Richie Records Tozier, notorious ladies’ manis in fact gay?”

“Bisexual.” Eddie corrected.

“And you are bisexual as well?”

Eddie shook, licking his chapped lips. “No. I’m gay but I’mnot sure why that’s relevant.”

“Well it’s relevant because six months ago a femaleprostitute was found in Mr. Toziers home, her head bashed in. How do you expectus to believe this ‘relationship’ when he was still sleeping around?” The jurymuttered under their breaths, the reminder of the dead bringing up variousreactions to the 12 members.

Again, Eddie looked up to Richie, his eyes pleading forthings that Eddie wasn’t sure he could give. “Richie hasn’t slept with anothersince we have been together. We are platonic.”

“Platonic?” The word was like venom dripping form the lawyer’slips, his annoying devious smile dancing on his face. “Oh come on Mr. Kaspbrak,surly a well-educated man like yourself knows that someone as famous as defendantwould never settle. I do not mean to offend, but look at yourself. The womanwho have come forward, admitting to their sexual relations with Mr. Tozier havebeen models, performers, drop dead beautiful while you sit here looking likelast weeks-“

“Objection, this is irrelevant your honor and quite franklyinsulting!” The defence hissed, slamming his hands on the table.

“Sustained.” The judge muttered, waving off the outburst. Lookingback to the prosecution she muttered, “Get to your point please.”

The lawyer scoffed, “My point is, if you are naive enough tobelieve that Mr. Tozier had promised you a platonic relationship, is it not possiblethat he was unfaithful? That he kept up the charade to keep you, all the whilepaying the victim for sexual favors?”

Eddie bit his lip, unwanted tears welding up in his eyes. Heswallowed his emotions, forcing them back down into their rightful cage, and throwingaway the key. “No.” He choked, feeling his own words suffocate him. “I haveknown Richie my entire life, have loved him since I was thirteen. There is nouniverse, no possible scenario where he would cheat on me.”

“Is that so?” The prosecution hissed, leaning into the standas he snarled. “You think that highly of yourself?”

“I think that highly of Richie.” Eddie nipped, bearing histeeth.

There was a chuckle for the despicable man, his face turninginto one of amusement. “You may think highly of him but that does not mean heis worth your praise.”

There was a mummer from the defending bench, Richie’s eyes coveringin confusion as the prosecution pulled a black handbook from somewhere undertheir desk. “I would like to submit new evidence, your honor.” He smiled atEddie, causing the small man’s skin to crawl. “I hold here, the victims littleblack book where she kept a very detailed list of her clients. Dates, phonenumbers, preferred sexual acts.”

The jury gasped, their gaze fixated on the book that wasencased in an evidence bag. Eddie’s heart sank, his eyes looking straight athis boyfriend, whose face turned white. It couldn’t be true, he thought, hismind pleading, he loves me. Right?

“October 16th, three nights before the murder,Richie Tozier is listed as enlisting the assistance of the victim, requestingsome pretty lavished favors. Tell me Mr. Kaspbrak, how long were you in Chicagofor your business convention.”

“Ten days.” Eddie replied though his clenched teeth.

“Ten days, so within two days, your platonic boyfriend waspaying a prostitute for her services. Not very faithful if you ask me.” The sleazybeing even dared to fake a sympathetic look, reaching out to pat Eddie’sshoulder, making him flinch in disgust. “You deserve better Mr. Kaspbrak. I’msorry you loved such a horrible man.”

“Richie is not a horrible man.” He choked, “I don’t carewhat that book says, I know the truth.”

“The truth is, Mr. Tozier is a lying, cheating bastard andif I have anything do with it, he will be put away for a long time so that hecan’t hurt anyone as pure and innocent as yourself ever again.” Looking over tothe jury, he nodded adjusting his Prada tie. “The prosecution rests.”

After being excused, Eddie walked out of the court room,making it only three steps before breaking down. It was there that Stan foundhim, telling him how sorry he was. Sorry. If there was anyone to be sorry forit was Richie, his life and freedom in the hands of people who now saw him asunfaithful as any scum on the street.

“I’m going to lose him.” Eddie whispered, leaning into hisfriends touch. “This can’t be happening, I can’t stand to lose him Stan. Notlike this.”

“It’s not over till the jury sings. Have a little faith.” Hereplied gently into his ear. “Just pray that someone is looking out for ourtrashmouth.”

The jury left to deliberate half an hour ago, allowing sometime to contemplate the verdict. Eddie watched Richie talk with his lawyer, hisface twisting in a mixture of disgust and distressed. Their hushed voice carriedto where he sat with the other losers, their own conversation lagging. Hewatched the man he loved whimper and wither into nothing, looking just asafraid as he did back in Derry. This entire thing was one long set up, that waswhat Eddie had decided. There was just no other explanation.

“Eddie.” Richie breathed from the other side of the railing,finally noticing the well-dressed doctor. Tears trailing down his perfect face.“I’m so sorry you had to do that baby, but you have to believe me. None of thatwas true, I have been faithful. I swear on my life.”

“I believe you.” Eddie confessed, standing from his seat tomove closer. “I just, I don’t understand how your name ended up in that leader.None of it makes any sense.”

“I don’t know.” He whispered, leaning in closer. “This looksso bad, I think I’m going to jail Eds. For good.”

Eddie shook his head, fighting to stay strong. “You areinnocent Rich, you didn’t kill that woman.”

“That doesn’t matter. If the jury feels like I did, and ohgod they sure look like they hate my guts, then I’m done for.” He replied, whippingat his eyes. “I’m dead in the water.”

“We will figure it out.” Eddie whimpered, fidgeting underhis finest suit. “Even if this turns bad, I will never stop fighting for you. Ilove you Richie, I swear I’ll find a way.”

Richie sobbed, his eyes holding pain for his lover. “I loveyou too Eds.”

“Please rise for the jury’s deliberation.” The judge’s voicecommanded, breaking apart the two as the focus was shifted. “On the case ofRichard Tozier vs the state of California, what do you find the defendant?”

Eddie felt his heart pound against his ribcage, painfullycreating a cadence for you man’s voice. The speaker of the jurors stood up, adjustinghis well-dressed attire and clearing his throat. It was an eternity, althoughit truly only a few seconds, the time eating away at Eddie’s sanity. Theoverweight man said, in a sharp and knowing tone. “We find the defendant guiltyon all counts.”

The world slowed, the cheers of the prosecution swallowed bythe earths lagging spin. Eddie watched as Richie crashed back down into his seat,a painful cry ripping though him as he buried his face into his palms. It tookall he had not to reach over and touch his lover, not to pull Richie into hisarms and sweep him away to a better place. He wished they could run to a worldthat was honest and kind, one where the truth was plain as day, where peoplewho didn’t deserve to suffer didn’t.

But as the bailiff pulled Richie to his feet, slapping apair of cuffs on his wrists, he realized that there was no such world. Therewas only one, and right now the love of his life was being sentenced to a crimehe did not commit. Tears fell from Eddie’s eyes, his heart ripping into piecewhile watching the accused be dragged towards a back door.

“Richie!” He cried, pressing himself onto the railing. “Richie!”

The trashmouth looked back for a split second before thedoor slammed in his face cutting the two off from each other. Eddie sat down onthe bench, his body trembling uncontrollably. Someone called his name, a friendmaybe, but feel on deaf ears as he just sat there, staring at where Richie hadjust been. In a matter of months, his world had been turned upside down, leavinghim in a heap on the courtroom floor.

Exactly six months before he was saying his goodbyes toRichie at the airport, planting playful kisses along his neck and cheek. If hehad known then that would have been the last time they were able to touch, ableto speak sweet things to one another, he would have stayed. Would have blownoff the business conference to stay at his lover’s side. But as he had boardedthe plane, an uneasy feeling had settled in his stomach making him sick. God,Eddie wished he had listened to his gut, maybe then he could have saved Richie.Maybe none of this would have happened.

But it did.

And now they were a broken set.

[orbemnews]

Opinion: One of the most important trials America has ever seen is about to start Anybody who tells you they know for sure what any jury will do has never tried a case. Juries are, after all, collections of human beings, and we humans are nothing if not mercurial. The uncertainty becomes even more pronounced in a case involving the police. Multiply it again when the case involves race. While there is no way to predict how the Chauvin jury ultimately will decide, to this point the pretrial criminal justice process has held up well. Judge Peter Cahill and the parties have done their jobs, setting the stage for the jurors to do theirs. Most importantly, Judge Cahill wisely denied multiple defense motions to move the case out of Hennepin County (where Minneapolis is located). Chauvin’s defense team first tried this tack before jury selection began, and the judge denied it. Then, when news broke during jury selection that the city of Minneapolis had reached a civil settlement with Floyd’s family for $27 million, the defense raised the issue again. The judge, again, refused to move the trial. The defense argued that publicity around the case generally (and then the settlement, specifically) would compromise Chauvin’s right to a fair jury trial in Hennepin County. Judge Cahill sensibly concluded that “I don’t think there’s any place in the state of Minnesota that has not been subjected to extreme amounts of publicity on this case.” A transfer of the case out of Hennepin County would have been disastrous both for the trial itself and for public faith in the trial’s fundamental fairness. Any such transfer would have resulted in the case being tried in a different county than where the charged crime occurred, which in itself would raise questions about fairness. And, critically, a transfer would ensure a less racially diverse jury pool. Hennepin County is Minnesota’s most populous county, and also has the highest percentage of African American residents, about 13.6%. Only one other Minnesota county has above 10% African American population, and 47 counties are below 1%. To move the trial would all but ensure a jury comprised of fewer African Americans than in Hennepin County, and a verdict from such a jury could lack legitimacy in the eyes of the general public. As it turns out, the Chauvin jury is actually substantially more racially diverse than the population of Hennepin County itself. Of the 15 jurors (including three who will serve only as alternates), nine are White, four are Black and two are mixed race, according to the jurors’ self-identifications in court. The jury’s diversity is a good thing. Imagine the opposite scenario, where the Chauvin jury was substantially less racially diverse than Hennepin County and included only one, or even zero, Black jurors. The public would justifiably question the jury selection process, and an acquittal from such a jury would be difficult to accept as legitimate. Now that the jury is seated, the prosecution will present its case first and must satisfy its burden to prove the charged crimes beyond a reasonable doubt. We’ve likely already seen Exhibit A for the prosecution: the bystander video of Chauvin pinning his body weight through his knee on Floyd’s neck, while Floyd was handcuffed, for eight minutes and 46 seconds. This video, on its own, should go far toward the prosecution’s ultimate goal: establishing that Chauvin intentionally assaulted Floyd, resulting in his death (to prove the charged second-degree murder), acted with “depraved mind, without regard for human life” (to prove the charged third-degree murder) or acted negligently (to prove second-degree manslaughter). The jury ultimately can choose to convict or acquit Chauvin on all, some or none of these charges. Expect also to hear from some of the bystander eyewitnesses, and the independent medical examiner hired by Floyd’s family who concluded that Floyd’s death was a homicide caused by “asphyxiation from sustained pressure.” (The Hennepin County medical examiner who conducted the autopsy also found that the cause of death was homicide, but he determined that Floyd died not because of asphyxiation but rather because of, essentially, a heart attack brought on by Chauvin’s actions: “cardiopulmonary arrest complicating law enforcement subdual, restraint, and neck compression”). We almost certainly will not hear from Chauvin or the other three charged former officers, all of whom can invoke their Fifth Amendment rights against self-incrimination to avoid testifying. As straightforward as the prosecution’s case might be at first glance — almost a “just hit play on the tape” kind of case, as prosecutors sometimes say — rest assured, Chauvin’s defense will put up a fight. First, expect the defense to argue that Chauvin did not cause Floyd’s death. The defense may look to exploit the aforementioned differences in the opinions of medical examiners, though both conclude that Chauvin’s actions contribute to or caused Floyd’s death in some manner. The defense also may argue that Floyd in fact died of a drug overdose. Toxicology reports show that Floyd had both methamphetamines and fentanyl in his blood at the time of his death. And Judge Cahill has ruled that the defense can offer limited evidence of a 2019 arrest during which Floyd purportedly swallowed drugs during a police encounter; the defense may argue that Floyd did the same when Chauvin encountered him in 2020. The defense also may claim that Chauvin’s actions were necessary to physically restrain Floyd and take him into custody. Some surveillance video evidence appears to show Floyd at least temporarily struggling with police officers at the scene. This is a risky tack for the defense, however, because the relevant question is not whether Floyd ever struggled with police officers, but whether Chauvin used excessive force when, after he already had Floyd rear-handcuffed and face-down on the ground, he pinned his knee to Floyd’s neck for over eight minutes. Opening arguments start Monday. Thus far, the jury trial process has worked as designed. The outcome is anything but certain, and the stakes — for the entire country — are enormous. Now, your questions Patrick (Oregon): Could federal criminal charges still be filed against the officers involved in the death of George Floyd? Yes. The Justice Department reportedly has convened a grand jury to investigate Chauvin, and could bring federal charges for deprivation of civil rights under color of law — meaning, essentially, that Chauvin, while exercising his official power, intentionally and knowingly deprived Floyd of life and liberty. In 2019, the US Supreme Court upheld the “separate sovereigns” doctrine, which established that there is no legal bar to both federal and state prosecutors charging the same person for the same conduct. So the Justice Department can charge Chauvin if it sees fit, even though Chauvin already faces charges from Minnesota state prosecutors. As a practical matter, the Justice Department likely will wait to see the state jury’s verdict in the Chauvin trial before deciding whether to bring separate federal charges. Hilda (Nevada): Could prosecutors have charged Chauvin with first-degree murder? As discussed above, Minnesota prosecutors have charged Chauvin with various second- and third-degree murder and manslaughter charges. A first-degree murder charge would have been difficult, though not impossible, for prosecutors to sustain. Under Minnesota law, first-degree murder must be both intentional and premeditated. Regarding intentionality, Minnesota prosecutors have not alleged in the current second-degree murder charge that Chauvin intentionally killed Floyd, but rather that he intentionally assaulted Floyd, resulting in Floyd’s death. Obviously, it is easier to prove intent to assault than intent to kill. Regarding the premeditation element of first-degree murder, the law does not specify any particular time requirement. There’s a common perception that premeditation requires careful planning, well in advance, like a group of mobsters might carefully plot out an orchestrated hit. While that type of plotting certainly would qualify as premeditation, the law does not require such careful or methodical premeditation. The argument for premeditation is that, at some point during the eight-plus minutes when Chauvin kneeled on Floyd’s neck — during which Floyd stated “I can’t breathe” and “Don’t kill me” — Chauvin had to have become fully aware that he was about to kill Floyd. Yet Chauvin, knowing what his actions would do, made a decision to continue kneeling on Floyd’s neck. But Minnesota prosecutors have taken a more conservative approach and have not charged a first-degree murder, which is arguably more difficult to prove than a second-degree charge. Source link Orbem News #America #important #opinion #Opinion:OneofthemostimportanttrialsAmericahaseverseenisabouttostart-CNN #opinions #Start #trials