compiled by Patrick H. Moore

On February 6, 1943, the famed film actor Errol Flynn, after a month-long trial, was acquitted of the rapes and statutory rapes of Peggy Satterlee and Betty Hansen. The jury deliberated for 13 hours before returning with their unanimous not guilty verdict. According to Trove, Flynn, who had been uncharacteristically subdued throughout the lengthy ordeal, shouted gleefully upon hearing the good news:

Gosh! I feel like whooping!

We’re not sure if “whooping” is a euphemism for sexual intercourse but it certainly sounds like one.  What is known is that while the trial was going on, Mr. Flynn was pursuing and romancing 18-year old Nora Eddington, a teenage redhead who was the lobby cigarette girl at the courthouse. Flynn, who was never shy about expressing himself, explained:

I carefully checked her age. She was eighteen, safe ground. Her name, it turned out, was Nora Eddington.  What I didn’t know was that her father was Captain Jack Eddington of the Los Angeles County Sheriff’s Office.

Flynn later married Nora Eddington, but like his other marriages, it was doomed to fail.

The  jury forewoman, a Mrs. Anderson, explained that during the 13 hours the jury was out, there were seven votes of 10 to 2 in favor of an acquittal. Finally, however, the two “hold- outs” capitulated. While all this was going on, Flynn literally could not  sit still and “lit one cigarette after another while rising from his chair and sitting down again.”

Naturally, the courtroom went wild when the verdict was finally read.  In addition to shouting about the joys of “whooping,” Flynn“jumped from his chair and rushed across the court-room to the jury and shook hands enthusiastically with the forewoman and others. Spectators cheered and crowded around Flynn and thumped his back.”

The Judge stated that he believed that the evidence was evenly divided but that  he felt the verdict was correct.

Flynn, who has been accused of many things including having Nazi leanings, commented in an interview:

It’s wonderful news. I did not become an American citizen for nothing. The fair play I received at this trial proves that. My confidence in American justice kept me hoping for such a verdict.

Peggy Satterlee said: “I knew those women would acquit him. They just sat and looked adoringly at him as if he was their son or something. The trial was an awful strain and the verdict horrible. I wish they had taken Betty Hansen and left me out. I was working and minding my own business.”

Given Errol Flynn’s “skin of his teeth” escape, not unlike his many magnificent escapes in his swashbuckling films, one can’t help but wonder who his adversaries were. Who were Peggy Satterlee and Betty Hansen?

Sir! A Magazine for Males, October, 1954, brings us this on Flynn and the two young ladies:

It seems that Flynn got entangled with two lovely young things at two different times in the space of a year. One was a Miss Betty Hansen, aged 17; the other a Peggy Satterlee of even more tender years.

The girls were irked with Flynn and their parents were irked with him. The State of California, having been duly applied to, decided to try him for both charges at one and the same time.  The public, to say the least, never had it better.

Flynn claimed that the whole thing was ridiculous; although he knew the girls, he had no knowledge that they were under 18. Flynn had a point. Both young women appeared to be of the age of legal consent:

Miss Satterlee danced at N.T.O’s Florentine Gardens, clad mostly in a plunge neckline, and Miss Hansen had come to the coast with movie ambitions.  When dressed for the kill, they could, both of them, have been an attractive pair of youngish grandmothers, what with their warpaint and mascara.

Satterlee and Hansen, however, hardly looked like “youngish grandmothers” in the courtroom. No doubt their attorneys had advised them on the need for innocent presentation:

Miss Satterlee appeared without even powder, clad in a little girl’s billowy dress and flat wedgies, and she had her hair artfully rigged in two long braids down her back caught with fetching bows.

She could have been ten. And Miss Hansen, also eschewing cosmetics, wore flat heeled shoes and a plain drab smock.

Miss Hansen was the first to take the stand. She claimed to have gone to dinner at the home of Flynn’s friend, McEvoy, where she had been given an “evil green drink” which had made her very sick. Always the gentleman, Flynn had taken her upstairs to take a “nap.” He had also helped her undress. On cross-examination, Flynn’s lawyer, the famed Jerry Geisler, inquired of Miss Hansen:

“But when you found you were not going to sleep, didn’t you try and push him away?”

Miss Hansen admitted she had not pushed him, kicked him or scratched him.

Miss Satterlee’s testimony was similar in nature except, in this case, Flynn’s unwanted advances had taken place on his yacht, the Sirocco. She stated that she had not screamed for help even though there were people nearby. She stated quaintly that she had not thought it worthwhile because: “the refrigerator was running.” With logic like that, it’s not surprising that Flynn was acquitted on both charges. Newsweek (yes they had Newsweek way back then) stated:

It happened in the best Hollywood tradition. The defendant leaped joyfully to his feet.  Spectators cheered. Flashbulbs popped…”

Flynn  was innocent. Not one seemed to be particularly put out over the not guilty verdict, not even Betsy Hansen’s mother who issued a statement from her home in Lincoln, Nebraska:

Oh well, nobody got hurt. I have no hard feeling toward Mr. Flynn. Betty is the cutest little thing you ever saw…a clean little Christian girl!

MORE ON THE TRIAL

Jurors are prone to speaking out following verdicts and the Flynn jurors were no exception. Motion Picture in conjunction  with Hollywood Magazine brings us the following:

What really convinced the jury that he was innocent?

With MOTION PICTURE-HOLLYWOOD’S policy of bringing you the inside story behind all front-page Hollywood news, we went to the individual jurors and asked them. Nine women and three men—all mature, intelligent and conscientious—sat in on the fate of Flynn, but because they are respectable citizens with families and want to avoid the spotlight, we have respected their desire for privacy by not quoting any member by name.

One of the jurors told me significantly, “It was not so much Flynn’s testimony that helped him as it was the testimony of both the girls who brought charges against him.”

“Their testimony proved to us that they were not always telling the truth. For instance, Betty Hansen first said that she undressed herself, and then said that Flynn had undressed her. During the preliminary hearing she said that the alleged act took place on a large bed in a large room, but on the stand she said it was a small bed in an alcove.”

The appearance of the girls did their cases no good either, according to the jurors. “There were no tears, no grief in recalling the alleged acts. We felt that a girl whose virtue had been molested would be unable to control her emotions on recalling the incident, but Betty Hansen and Peggy Satterlee were belligerent and displayed no regret.

“Besides, Mrs. Satterlee knew that her daughter was living in the apartment of a married man and was accepting money and gifts from him.”

“I felt sure,” a pleasant-faced, motherly juror told me, “that Betty Hansen first brought charges against Flynn out of hurt feelings and a sudden desire for revenge, and that when her case was weak, Peggy Satterlee was brought in.”

“Betty, on the other hand, was furious at Errol Flynn because he had paid no attention to her at Fred McEvoy’s party which she had crashed. She had come uninvited to that party with the express purpose of playing up to Mr. Flynn to obtain his help in getting into pictures…”

The jury was alert, not only in weighing every word uttered in court, but in making their sage analysis of the evidence displayed. The snapshots of Peggy Satterlee in a bathing suit taken on Sunday a few hours after she said she was attacked, told them plenty. “She looked happy and carefree, not at all like a girl who had suffered a harrowing physical experience as she had claimed.”

Not a thing missed their keen scrutiny. When Peggy told how she and Cathcart-Jones had played tag one night in a mortuary and how she had placed her face next to that of a dead man, they were revolted and arrived at the conclusion that a girl who could do that must be too calloused to be as deeply hurt as she said she was.

The Judge himself admonished the jurors that a birth certificate need not be viewed as conclusive evidence.

“We never felt that the girls were as young as they claimed,” several jurors explained. “Betty told us that she had been graduated from high school and then had gone to Teachers’ Training for two years before she came to Hollywood. Even a very bright girl—which Betty obviously was not—couldn’t have accomplished so much under the age of 17. Peggy looked and acted worldly; and on many occasions had sworn that she was older. For instance, she and her mother insisted that she was 18 when she applied for a driver’s license, and she said she was 21 when she applied for a job at a night club. Apparently she thought nothing of adjusting her age to suit the circumstances.”

One of the jurors stated that Errol Flynn’s reputation as a glamorous Hollywood star had no influence in her decision to vote for acquittal:

“Believe me,” one of the women told me, “I have seen him on the screen only once. I looked upon him as a man seeking justice, not as a dashing film star with a handsome profile…”

How can one argue with such eloquence?

THE week after Errol Flynn’s trial was over, the boys and girls who attended it and wrote it up gave him a party where the whole cast was re-enacted, amidst much merriment. The party was in payment for one Errol threw for them on the ninth floor of the Hall of Justice, while the jury was out cogitating as to his guilt or innocence. Errol had his butler bring down two cases of liquor and lots of sandwiches, and a merry time was had by all except the judge and jury. Errol also wanted time on the radio to thank the Great American Public for giving him such a fair trial. Networks wouldn’t go for it.

FLYNN’S AFTERMATH

Naturally, we can’t help wondering what happened to Fynn after the trial. It is noted that the well-known expression: “In Like Flynn” stems from his acquittal. The website For Shame! brings us the following:

Errol’s career didn’t really suffer from the trial, but rather from negative public opinion when he didn’t enlist during WWII (sidenote: not his fault, he wanted to, didn’t pass the physical, remarkable considering sword choreography prowess which you’d think the Army could use somehow). By the early 50s he’d really embraced a late-Kerouacian diet of cake and whiskey, resulting in alcoholism and weight gain.

But Errol, the scalawag, the rapscallion, had to go out with an inappropriately younger bang: at the age of 50, he met and fell in love with a FIFTEEN YEAR OLD whom he planned TO MARRY and with whom he planned to move to Jamaica. Very, very unfortunately, Errol died of a heart attack in 1959 before he could really love or marry his little island childbride. Sad.

Although the moralists among us may despise Errol Flynn for his caddish, inappropriate and downright sexist behavior (not to mention his alleged Nazi leanings), he never seemed to express any regrets for his many flaws. But what can you expect from a man who stated in his typically flippant manner:

“I like my scotch old and my woman young.”

commentary by Patrick H. Moore

I’m sure that those of us who periodically enter 7-Elevens, Quik-Stops and mini-markets of any kind have had the experience of waiting in line while hardworking souls slow things down to buy their lottery tickets. Because I’m neurotic and am always in a rush, I gnash my teeth (just slightly) and try to wait patiently. I personally have not made it my practice to buy lottery tickets because I’m too cheap, but am currently reassessing this position based on what just happened to Timothy Dale Poole, a 43-year-old, 6 foot, 450 pound, convicted Florida sex offender.

Ed Mazza reports for the Huffington Post that Mr. Poole, who was arrested in 1999 and accused of sexual battery on a 9-year-old, “has won $3 million in the Florida lottery.”

When you hit it big in the Florida lottery you have the option of receiving your money in a single lump sum or in payments. The Orlando Sentinel reports that “Poole (who) won the $3 million in the state lottery’s Super Millions scratch-off game, (is) electing to receive the money in the form of a one-time lump-sum payment of $2,219,807.90.”

I believe that when you elect to receive the money all in one fell swoop, you get hit with some hellacious taxes, but even so I would think that Mr. Poole will walk away with somewhat over a Cool Million.

The history of Mr. Poole’s alleged sex offense is as follows:

At the time of his arrest in 1999, Poole was “accused of sexual battery on a 9-year-old.” Poole has always adamantly denied the charges (which is perhaps not unusual in folks of this ilk), but it appears that the evidence against him may not have been rock-solid; in any event, his lawyer was able to bargain the charge down “to attempted sexual battery”. He received a 13-month sentence but got himself in a bit of a jam when he missed his mandatory sex offender counseling sessions, which resulted in him being sent back to prison for 3 years.

Ed Mazza writes:

On the Florida website for registered sex offenders, Poole’s status is listed as “Released — Subject to Registration” which the state describes as:

“No longer under any form of confinement, supervision or any other court imposed sanction. Still required to register in accordance with Florida law.”

Poole is likely to be listed as a sex predator in Florida state records for the rest of his life and perhaps even after he no longer graces this earth with his presence.

Although Poole’s alleged sex offense may have been an isolated instance, based on the information available, it is evident that he is far from an angel. According to the Orlando Sentinel, “he’s been arrested 12 times on charges that include grand theft and forging a check.” He also reportedly served 90 days in 1996.

Thus, on balance, at least in his youth, he appears to have been a habitual petty criminal, with the exception of the far more serious sexual assault.

Given his criminal history, the Florida Lottery, not wishing to be associated with this kind of fellow, has reportedly removed Poole’s name and photo from the lottery’s website, where, of course, winners are normally publicized in order to advertise the good luck that is eagerly awaiting those of us who have the good sense to purchase lottery tickets.

“We chose to not draw additional attention to this particular winner,” Shelly Gerteisen, communications manager for the Florida Lottery, told the paper.

Somewhat remarkably (though only to me), Poole resides in the Florida town of Mt. Dora, which is about 30 miles northwest of Orlando. My beloved paternal grandfather retired in Mt. Dora where he was a member of the “Honey Do” club, so-called because these good-natured, retired gentlemen had devoted wives who were allegedly constantly telling them “Honey Do This” and “Honey Do That”. My grandfather was handy and I’m sure he had no problem completing these endless and no doubt necessary tasks.

Although Poole “has been trying to avoid the media spotlight”, a friend named Floyd Snyder, who was with Poole when he won, “spoke to the local CBS affiliate.”

“He was flabbergasted. He couldn’t believe it,” Mr. Snyder told the station. Poole’s friend also said that Pools intends to put some of his windfall to good practical use by helping his mother expand her taxi business.

“He’s a very positive person. Very kind. Giving. I think that’s why he won,” Snyder said. “It’s Christmastime, and the dude deserves a break.”

* * * * *

What to think? What to think? First, there appears to be no evidence that Poole has committed any further sexual assaults.

Second, his long litany of petty crimes probably mostly occurred when he was in his 20s. Thus, he may (I repeat “may”) no longer be a threat to society.

Third, I may need to reconsider my reluctance to buy lottery tickets. Who knows? Maybe even I could get “luck out” and hit the jackpot.

commentary by Patrick H. Moore

Not all serial killers are weird like Charles Manson or Jeffrey Dahmer. Or at least they’re not totally weird. They may even have redeeming features. A surprising number of the multiple slayers who are washed up on the rocks of justice and are serving lifetime prison terms, or are languishing on Death Row, once had families and children, allegedly presided at backyard barbecues and may have even gone to PTA meetings. Others were young men just coming of age who made mistakes they couldn’t undo.

Or so Sarah LeTrent of CNN would like you to believe. Witness this conversation between Melissa Moore, age 33, and her father, Keith Hunter Jesperson, in a post entitled “A killer in the family.” Jesperson was a long distance truck driver who strangled eight women while on the road and sent letters to the local police stations bragging about his conquests. He had the habit of signing his mea culpas with a Happy Face and was dubbed, the Happy Face Killer:

“Missy, you need to change your last name,” the shackled man in the orange prison jumpsuit said into the receiver, staring blankly at his 15-year-old daughter’s tear-stained face.

“That’s when I knew that these things were true,” recalls Melissa Moore, now 33.

Until that day, the man behind the glass partition, Keith Hunter Jesperson, was simply her father; the one who used to tuck her into bed at night “like a burrito.”

Keith “Happy Face” Jesperson went to trial and lost. He is now serving life in prison with no possibility of parole. If we dig a little deeper, we discover that LeTrent’s article is not telling us the whole story. Jesperson, who was Canadian born, had always been weird, the typical “loner” child with a propensity to torture. Wikipedia has this to say about him:

He had a violent and troubled childhood under a domineering, alcoholic father. Treated like an outcast by his own family and teased by other children for his large size at a young age, Jesperson was a lonely child who showed a propensity for torturing and killing animals. Despite consistently getting into trouble in his youth, including twice attempting to kill children who had crossed him, Jesperson graduated from high school, secured a job as a truck driver, got married, and had three children. In 1990, after 15 years of marriage, Jesperson was divorced and saw his dream to become a Royal Canadian Mounted Policeman dashed following an injury. It was that year, after returning to truck driving, that Jesperson began to kill. Jesperson is known to have killed eight women over the course of five years. Strangulation was his preferred method, the same method he often used to kill animals as a child.

So despite his horrific childhood, the Happy Face Killer kept it together for a long while, many years as a family man, before he snapped and went on his killing spree. Melissa Moore no doubt realizes that there are worse things than being tucked into bed “like a burrito”. Might her day have come — if her father hadn’t been stopped?

Whatever the circumstances, very little hits a family harder than discovering that one of their members is a serial killer or a mass murderer. Children don’t even want their parents to sing in public. Imagine how they feel when they find out Dad is a murderer.

After much soul-searching, Melissa Moore made the reluctant decision to sever ties with her father. She changed her name when she got married and set out to build a new life.

In her article, Sarah Letrent states:

Moore is a part of an exclusive group, those who share blood relations with someone perceived by the public as a monster: a mass murderer. With that unenviable tie can come isolation, guilt, grief, fear, disbelief, even post-traumatic stress disorder, in addition to a very public stigma.

In the aftermath of a massacre, questions and criticism are frequently directed at the parents, spouses and children of the accused. The public sometimes sympathizes, often criticizes and even goes so far as to blame family members for the actions of their kin.

This issue of guilt by association can be extremely hard for the family members of serial killers to deal with. A part of you is horrified beyond words by what Dad or Junior (or in rare cases Mom or Sister) has done, but a part of you will still want to defend your shamed loved one.

Sarah LeTrent cites Michael Price, a professor of evolutionary moral psychology at Brunel University in London, who states that people are hardwired to defend their kin, like Melissa Moore did before she realized her father’s guilt.

“There will be strong psychological and emotional incentives to defend and remain loyal to the family member, and to delude and self-deceive themselves about the reality of their relative’s guilt,” Price said.

At the same time, Price said individuals may be prone to protect their own reputations and disassociate themselves from the killer to avoid being ostracized.

“They may experience anger at the relative for putting them in such a conflicted position,” Price said.

In short, the family members of convicted serial killers will be pushed and pulled in diametrically opposed directions. They may wake in the morning feeling the deepest filial connection to their fiendish family member and by noon they’ll be wishing that they had never even met.

One of the hardest things innocent family members face is the public expectation that they will step up to the plate and make a statement about what has happened. I know what you’re thinking, that you’d rather chew on barbed-wire, but the expectation is nevertheless front and center in the mind of the eager, avaricious public.

Recently Adam Lanza’s father, Peter, met with Robbie and Alissa Parker, the parents of 6-year-old victim Emilie, to discuss his son’s actions.

“One of the main reasons that I wanted to speak to him was I wanted to just speak to him as a father, one father to another father,” Robbie Parker told CNN’s Piers Morgan. “And I understand that, despite the circumstances, that he lost his son and that he needed to grieve that as well, just as much as I needed to grieve my daughter. And so I wanted to express those condolences to him, and I felt that we were able to do that for each other.”

You can’t help but feel considerable respect for Robbie Parker. I can’t help wondering how he feels about this revelation:

In documents released Thursday, it was revealed that 20-year-old Sandy Hook shooter Adam Lanza’s mother (whom he shot in the forehead before turning his guns on 26 more victims, as well as himself, at the elementary school) gave him money earmarked to purchase weapons and allowed him to keep a gun safe in his bedroom.

Susan Klebold, the mother of Dylan Klebold, one of the Columbine shooters, finally opened up in a 2009 issue of Oprah Magazine with a personal essay titled “I Will Never Know Why.”

She wrote: “Through all of this, I felt extreme humiliation. For months I refused to use my last name in public. I avoided eye contact when I walked. Dylan was a product of my life’s work, but his final actions implied that he had never been taught the fundamentals of right and wrong. There was no way to atone for my son’s behavior.”

For pure carnage, Virginia Tech gunman Seung-Hui Cho, who killed 32 people before shooting himself, in April of 2007 is at or near the top of the list. Of course Cho took the easy way out. His family was left to “meet the press.” On behalf of the family, Sun-Kyung Cho, the sister of the shooter, said:

“We have always been a close, peaceful and loving family. My brother was quiet and reserved, yet struggled to fit in. We never could have envisioned that he was capable of so much violence. He has made the world weep. We are living a nightmare.”

The Chos haven’t spoken to the media since.

The bottom line is that having a serial killer or a mass murderer in your family will, more likely than not, turn your life into a special kind of mental hell. It will always be with you — and though strong souls may perhaps keep it at bay — the memory will never be silenced entirely. Among other things, unless you can somehow manage to live an entirely private existence, you will inevitably find yourself “in the cross hairs” of public expectation, obliged to rub elbows with the hungry masses and talk about what happened which somehow, paradoxically, makes all the listeners feel a little more alive.

compiled by Patrick H. Moore

Based on the photographic evidence, 18-year-old Isabella Guzman of Aurora, Colorado is quite an attractive young lady. Her Facebook page contains selfies which seem to combine poise and a natural loveliness that are striking. Nonetheless, Isabella now stands charged with 1st-degree murder for slashing her mother, 47-year-old Yun-Mi Hoy’s, throat and stabbing her a total of 79 times in the upstairs bathroom of their suburban home on the evening of August 28, 2013.

It’s not yet clear what specifically caused Isabella to go berserk as if she were a psychopathic monster. Yet she did.

There had been signs since Isabella’s early childhood — when she was sent for a period of time to live with her biological father after her parents separated — that all was not right between her and her mother, but no one expected matters to deteriorate to this point of no return. After Isabella’s arrest in a parking garage the following day 16 hours after the slaying, homicide detectives were unable to offer any clues as to a motive for the brutal act. Isabella’s stepfather, Ryan Hoy, however, informed them that raising the teenager had been a challenge.

In fact, Ryan Hoy told the detectives that on the day of the murder, Isabella’s mother had called the police because of the ongoing strife between Isabella and her mother. Hoy stated his step-daughter had become “more threatening and disrespectful” toward Yun-Mi Hoy in recent days. In fact, according to the arrest affidavit, Isabella Guzman had allegedly threatened Yun-Mi Hoy in an email telling her, “You will pay.” The police had reportedly told Isabella that her mother could kick her out of their home if she did not shape up.

In an attempt to ameliorate the situation, Isabella’s father, Robert Guzman, had spoken to her about her “teen rebelliousness” about three hours before the 911 call.

“I went to talk to her because her mother was worried and wanted me to talk to Isabella,” Guzman told 7News. “So, I went to talk to Isabella and we sat down in the backyard looking at the trees and the animals and I started to talk to her about the respect that people should have for their parents. And I was trying to let her know that she should be obedient to her parents, not rebellious, that she should try to listen more and everything was going fine.”

“In the conversation, I thought that I made progress,” he added. “But obviously it didn’t do nothing, because hours later, this thing happened.”

*     *     *     *     *

The police report states that Aurora police dispatch received a 911 call just past 10 p.m. on August 28 from Ryan Hoy. Hoy told dispatch that Yun-Mi Hoy had come home from work about 9:30 p.m. Wednesday and had taken a shower. Soon after, he heard a “thumping” and his wife calling his name. Hoy moved quickly to investigate but he couldn’t get in the bathroom, because — according to the affidavit — Guzman was holding the door closed from the inside. A separate report states that Hoy could not get in the bathroom because the door was locked.

In any event, Hoy could see blood seeping out from under the door. Hoy raced downstairs to call the police, and when he returned he said he saw Isabella — dressed in a pink sports bra and turquoise shorts — standing in the bathroom doorway holding a knife. His wife on the floor, covered in blood. There was a baseball bat beneath her.

“He never heard Guzman say anything, and she didn’t speak to him as she exited the bathroom,” the affidavit says. “Guzman was just staring straight ahead when she walked past him.”

After Isabella fled, Ryan attempted to revive his wife, but to no avail. Her throat had been slashed and by the coroner’s count, she suffered 31 stab wounds to the face and an additional 48 to her neck.

*     *     *     *     *

Although Isabella may still have been in the area when the police arrived, she managed to elude capture. At 11:30 a.m. the next day, officers were called to a parking garage at 2851 South Parker Road based on a report that a body had been spotted inside a car. That proved to be a false alarm, but the police did detect items that they linked to the previous evening’s violence.

More cops arrived and began to canvass the area. Eventually, someone spotted Guzman trying to walk out of the garage. She was then taken into custody, and on Friday, she was formally charged with first-degree murder, appearing before Arapahoe County Judge Stephen F. Collins, who ordered her to remain in custody without bond on suspicion of first-degree murder. During the proceedings, Isabella sat there silently in an orange jumpsuit, a bandage on her right wrist.

*     *     *     *     *

Isabella Guzman looks neither poised nor particularly attractive in her mug shot. Rather, she looks like someone who may just be starting to catch on to the enormity of what she has done — now that it is too late.

Update:

Isabella Guzman, 18, has pleaded not guilty by reason of insanity to first-degree murder charges for stabbing her mother 79 times. The troubled teen entered the plea during a hearing in early December, according to Arapahoe County court records. She was later sent to the Colorado Mental Health Institute in Pueblo for a psychiatric evaluation.

It appears from court records that officials expect Guzman’s psychiatric evaluation to be lengthy. A judge scheduled the next hearing in the case for Feb, 28, but said Guzman does not have to appear, she does have to appear for another hearing March 21.

According to an arrest affidavit filed against Guzman, she had been feuding with her mother in the days leading up to the attack.

Hoy’s husband and Guzman’s stepfather told police that two days before the attack, Guzman threatened her mom and spit in her face.

2nd Update:

Michael Roberts writes that a judge has accepted  Guzman’s not guilty by reason of insanity plea and she has been remanded to a state hospital in Pueblo, Colorado where she will receive treatment. Naturally, it is far to early to know whether she will everbe released back into the community.

by BJW Nashe

In Joe McGinniss’ Fatal Vision, we have a grisly triple murder at the Fort Bragg home of Ivy League doctor and Green Beret Captain Jeffrey McDonald. The doctor’s pregnant wife and two young daughters are stabbed and bludgeoned to death. The doctor suffers relatively minor, non-life threatening wounds. The crime scene investigation is botched. Charges are filed against the doctor, then dropped. Nearly a decade later, the doctor is put on trial. He enlists well-known journalist Joe McGinniss to tell his story. The doctor is eventually convicted of murder, for killing his own family. The journalist’s book, three years in the making, becomes a true crime classic. The doctor feels betrayed by the writer, so he sues him. The controversy surrounding the case shadows the journalist. He can’t get away from it. He is attacked by other journalists, criticized, called names. Thirty-four years later, the controversy still swirls, as attorneys push for a new trial in light of DNA evidence. It is a rich, multi-faceted tragedy, with tragicomic elements. The questions keep piling up and new books keep coming out. No one is quite certain whether Dr. McDonald is actually the murderer.

The triple murder on February 17, 1970 of Collette, Kristen, and Kimberley MacDonald was a perplexing tragedy that received plenty of national attention, though it was perhaps overshadowed by other high profile crimes committed during the same time period by the Manson Family, for instance, and the Zodiac Killer. And the MacDonald family murders were strangely linked to some of those other shocking deaths. A copy of Esquire Magazine with a cover story on Charles Manson was found at the MacDonald crime scene. (In 1970, Manson was somehow connected to everything — an essential part of the zeitgeist.) In the McDonald family master bedroom, above the bed, the word “pig” had been scrawled in blood. In numerous statements, Dr. Jeffrey MacDonald claimed that he and his family had been attacked by deranged hippies saying things like, “Acid is Groovy” and “Kill the Pigs.”

The only problem was that there was no evidence whatsoever of any intruders. Not a hint of hippies — or anyone else other than the doctor and his family. Indeed, the crime scene appeared staged — showing few if any signs of a realistic, spontaneous struggle. The fact that Dr. MacDonald was left alive, while his family was so brutally murdered, seemed strange. Yet Dr. MacDonald, an all-American success story educated at Princeton and now serving as a Green Beret, with no history of mental illness or criminal activity, was about as far from the stereotypical psycho killer as one could get.

Could McDonald really be responsible for the carnage inside his house? When case-hardened MPOs (military police officers) arrived at his Fort Bragg home, even they were shocked. MacDonald’s pregnant wife, Colette, was stabbed 16 times with a knife and 21 times with an ice pick. Daughter Kimberly, age five, was bludgeoned and stabbed in the neck. Kristen, age two, was stabbed 48 times; one of her fingers had been nearly severed as she tried to fend off the blows.

At a closed military hearing, although Dr. MacDonald was the only likely suspect, initial charges against him were dropped due to lack of evidence, even though his version of events made little sense, and there was nothing to indicate an attack by intruders. Flamboyant defense attorney Bernie Segal was able to shred the testimony of investigators who had made a mess of the crime scene investigation. Even circumstantial evidence against Dr. MacDonald was cast into doubt. In the aftermath of the tragedy and the dropped charges, Dr. MacDonald — an extreme “Type A” personality — enjoyed a certain amount of publicity, or perhaps notoriety is a better term. He talked to news reporters at length; he appeared on the Dick Cavett show. He did not appear overly traumatized.

Dr. MacDonald’s father-in-law, who had initially supported the doctor, soon changed his mind following his own investigative work, and pushed civilian authorities to pursue the case. A grand jury subsequently indicted MacDonald in 1975. He was found guilty of murder four years later, and is serving three life sentences. If his appeal fails, he does not become eligible for parole until 2071.

All of this makes for a compelling murder case. When crafted into the shape of a true crime classic by journalist Joe McGinniss, the case of Dr. Jeffrey MacDonald takes on a near-mythic quality. The story of how Fatal Visioncame to be written, and the controversy that still haunts the book to this day, is just as fascinating as the crime story itself.

Joe McGinniss was educated at College of the Holy Cross in Worcester, Massachusetts, where he graduated in 1965. After working as a journalist in Massachusetts and Pennsylvania, he achieved massive success with his 1968 book about Richard Nixon, The Selling of the President, which is still considered a classic of campaign reporting. By 1979, he had written several other books, and was working as a writer-in-residence at the L.A. Herald Examiner. He was then approached by Dr. MacDonald, who was interested in having a talented, yet sympathetic reporter tell his story as he moved ahead with his upcoming trial defense.

For the trial, McGinniss embedded himself in the defense team. He lived in the same house as Dr. MacDonald for several months. Initially impressed by the doctor’s intelligence and charisma, and willing to give him the benefit of the doubt, McGinniss gradually achieved a frightening new understanding of the defendant, and the tragic events of the night of February 17, 1979. McGinniss slowly became convinced that MacDonald’s outward appearance of all-American perfection, though compelling at first, in fact belied a psychopathic personality. He came to view MacDonald as a Gatsby-like character. Pull back the curtain on MacDonald, strip away the outer veneer of prestige, wealth, and success, and something truly awful was revealed. The over-achiever was over-compensating for some inexplicable inner darkness. Thus, we learn of the controlling behavior, the violent temper, the hatred of any criticism, the intolerance of imperfection, the amphetamine abuse, the womanizing.

Fatal Vision is a tour de force of true crime reporting, frequently compared with two other classics of the genre –Truman Capote’s In Cold Blood and Norman Mailer’s The Executioner’s Song. McGinniss’ s 900-plus page monster wipes the floor with most crime fiction lining the bookstore shelves, and blows just about every other true crime book out of the water. His close proximity to the defendant, his obsessive grappling with all details of the investigation and trial, and the steady revelation of the doctor’s psychotic, narcissistic personality disorder all makes for a powerful reading experience. McGinniss has described how this case consumed him — his sleepless nights and fits of anxiety, all brought on by the creepiness of the slowly unraveling mystery. This heady cocktail of diverse elements infuses Fatal Vision with a sense of drama and foreboding that is rare in non-fiction.

In writing this masterpiece, Joe McGinnis came to realize that the man he was living with, who had hired him to tell his story, was a murderer. No gang of crazed hippies had killed MacDonald’s wife and two daughters. It was the Green Beret doctor himself, in a speed-fueled psychotic rage. We can only imagine what the man’s patients — who he had been treating throughout the 1970s — must have thought about all of this.

But is this what really happened? Did McGinniss get the story right? Fatal Vision was a bestseller in 1983. A television miniseries followed one year later. Meanwhile, Jeffrey MacDonald was stewing in prison, plotting his appeals. And we get the sense that McGinniss was finally ready to move on, let go of his obsession with the grisly tale. The grisly tale, however, was not ready to let go of him.

MacDonald, although he had signed a release allowing McGinniss to basically write whatever he wanted, felt betrayed by the author and filed a civil suit against McGinniss in 1984, alleging that McGinniss pretended to believe MacDonald innocent after coming to the conclusion that MacDonald was guilty, in order to ensure the doctor’s continued cooperation. After the six-week civil trial resulted in a hung jury, the insurance company for McGinniss’s publisher chose to settle out of court with MacDonald for $325,000.

Then the inevitable backlash ensued. Jerry Allen Potter and Fred Bost published a book called Fatal Justice: Reinvestigating the MacDonald Murders,  which was a clear counterattack to Fatal Vision. Claiming that MacDonald was without a doubt innocent, Potter and Bost criticized McGinniss’s book for being wildly inaccurate. In particular, they tried to lay waste to McGinnis’s theory that the doctor’s murderous frenzy was brought on by abusing diet pills. At the civil trial, McGinnis had been forced to admit under oath that he had no hard evidence to support his diet pill theory, and that it may not have happened at all. Potter and Bost also pointed out that Judge Ross, who presided over the civil trial, had likened McGinniss’s conduct toward MacDonald to that of “a thief in the night.” Even worse, the judge had then corrected himself, saying, “I guess a thief in the night wouldn’t see you. He is more of a con man than he is a thief.”

Perhaps, but this might be said of all great writers. And in reading Fatal Vision, we have little doubt that we are in the company of an outstanding investigative journalist. Surely, some of our finest novelists and reporters have been called far worse things than con artists or thieves. Just read some of the criticism of Hemingway, for example. Papa could probably have lived with accusations like “con artist” and “thief” without breaking a sweat. In fact, he might have even viewed  such claims as damned fine praise.

In her own book, The Journalist and the Murderer (1990),  Janet Malcolm used the “Fatal Vision Case” to explorethe problematic relationship between journalists and their subjects. Delving into the murky world of journalistic ethics, rather than attempting some sort of nuanced position on the issue, Malcolm simply damns all journalists to hell for their immoral tactics. She is highly critical of McGinniss; yet she seems to be saying there is plenty of blame to go around. In other words, he is by no means alone in his transgressions:

“Every journalist,” she writes, “knows that what he does is morally indefensible. He is a kind of confidence man, preying on people’s vanity, ignorance, or loneliness, gaining their trust and then betraying them without remorse.”

McGinniss has responded to this by defending his methods. Of course, he argues, no journalist is going to show his entire hand when dealing with subjects. Both parties are engaged in a certain amount of cat-and-mouse. To accuse a writer of outright deception or betrayal is crude, however. A more complex game is being played by both journalist and subject in a case as morally complicated as the MacDonald murder trial. And the truth of the matter, according to McGinniss, is that Dr. MacDonald was the one most deeply committed to manipulation and persuasion, not vice versa. His sense of betrayal only reflects his disappointment over the fact that his attempt to sway the reporter ultimately failed. So who was really trying to con who here?

Malcolm’s critique of McGinniss is too one-sided. And besides, even if what she is saying has a kernel of truth — that journalists are “immoral” — we are still left with the question of “so what?” McGinniss got extremely close to the story he was covering. His book delivered the goods. Brilliantly. So what if he “betrayed” someone? Loyalty and trustworthiness were not exactly part of his job description in writing Fatal Vision.

It goes on and on. MacDonald’s attempts to appeal his conviction received renewed attention with the 2012 release of a book provocatively titled, A Wilderness of Error: The Trials of Jeffrey MacDonald. Written by Academy Award-winning documentary filmmaker Errol Morris, this account of the MacDonald family murders portrays the Green Beret doctor as a man who has been wrongfully convicted on the basis of incomplete and corrupted evidence, as well as prosecutorial misconduct.

In December 2012, McGinniss himself felt the need to weigh in on the whole issue one more time with Final Vision: The Last Word on Jeffrey MacDonald.

Except that this won’t be the last word on Jeffrey MacDonald. We will no doubt keep hearing more about this unique American nightmare in the coming months, as the wheels of justice keep grinding.

Last year in September, MacDonald’s attempts to appeal his conviction resulted in a federal hearing in Wilmington, North Carolina. McGinniss was called to testify for the prosecution. He thus came face to face with his infamous subject for the first time in years. McGinniss found the doctor, after years in prison, to be a shadow of the man he once was. Even a Green Beret is no match for the penitentiary. At the hearing, MacDonald’s lawyers asserted that newly-discovered DNA evidence — three hairs that match neither MacDonald nor any of the victims — and the secondhand confession of a key witness who claimed to be at the family’s home the night of the murders, justify reopening the case. As yet, no decision has been made as to whether there will be a new trial.

The “Fatal Vision case” continues to wrap its tentacles around McGinniss. It appears to be the story with which he will be forever linked. For this writer, it has been a lucrative blessing as well as a troubling curse. Much like Capote and the Kansas murders depicted in In Cold Blood, McGinniss has enjoyed considerable fame and success as a result of his true crime epic. Yet he struggles to get past the Jeffrey MacDonald saga, to fully close the door on the psychotic doctor. Some of McGinniss’s subsequent books have been reasonably well-received. Others have bombed. None have enjoyed the stupendous success of Fatal Vision. At least McGinniss has continued investigating and writing, unlike Capote, whose life degenerated into a celebrity blur of booze, pills, parties, and talk shows.

McGinniss’s latest book is The Rogue: Searching for the Real Sarah Palin (2011). Just as he bravely embedded himself in the psychotic doctor’s defense team three decades ago, in order to get as close as possible to the story, for The Rogue McGinniss moved to Wasilla, Alaska, in order to live next door to the Palin’s. Surely, McGinniss’s courage as a reporter is beyond any doubt. Being called a con man is the least of his worries.

In the end, McGinniss remains unconvinced by any attempts to tarnish his own book and exonerate Jeffrey MacDonald: “He’s a psychopath,” says McGinniss. “He doesn’t have the kind of emotions that you and I would have. He doesn’t have the capacity to feel badly about it. These weren’t his wife and children. These were people that got in his way.”

commentary by Patrick H. Moore

We all know about the tried-and-true forms of murder. This includes shootings, beating people to death, stabbings and/or throat-slashings, and now and again 4) death by poison (which is popular with doctors). In the past few months, however, I’ve taken note of three peculiar modes of killing that although probably atypical, seem to be growing in popularity. Specifically, I’m referring to 1) beheadings; 2) people being doused with lighter fluid and lit on fire (the recent horrific death of poor Jessica Chambers of Courtland, Mississippi comes to mind); and 3)  very young children being locked in washers or driers and spun until they expire.

The scary thing about Number 4 is that the victim child will not only be killed from heat and from being banged around in the case of a drier, or drowning and being spun to death in the case of a washing machine, but the poor child will also almost undoubtedly experience the most terrifying sense of claustrophobia once it is locked inside its death capsule.

This may be what happened to a 4-year-old Garland, Texas boy named Koda Blocker on Tuesday.

Lydia Warren writes for MailOnline:

A father has been charged with capital murder in the death of his son who died after being inside their washing machine.

Authorities will not comment on whether Joseph Blocker, 28, put his son, Koda Blocker, inside the washing machine or if the boy had climbed inside himself, but they did say it is a front loading machine that must be closed and switched on from the outside before starting a cycle.

So this is a bit peculiar… Joseph Blocker, who based on the available pictures, is rather a stern-looking dude, is charged with capital murder yet the investigators appear to be reluctant to come right out and say that he closed the door of the front-loading machine and ran a wash cycle. The clear implication, though, is that whether or not the victim child climbed in on his own, Mr. Blocker closed the door and turned on the machine.

Koda’s 22-month old sister, who was the third and last person at the house at the time of this tragic event, is probably too young to have been the perpetrator.

At around 3:30 pm on Tuesday, Mr. Blocker called 911 to report that Koda was unconscious at his house. When the authorities arrived, the child was already dead.

The detectives have stated that according to a medical examiner, the boy’s injuries are consistent with him being inside a washing machine. So in theory this could mean that the child was submerged in the water during the wash cycle or bounced around violently during the spin cycle, or both.

Here is what Garland Policer Officer Joe Harn had to say:

“What we feel is at some point the child was inside the washing machine in the home.

“According to investigators it is a front-loading type. For the child to be in the machine, the door had to be shut and it had to be started from the outside. It does not start by automatically shutting the door.”

According to Officer Harn, the Medical Examiner’s Office of Dallas County is working with the detectives to determine the exact cause of death.

Although a fourth party, a woman, also lived with Mr. Blocker and his children at the house in question, she was not there when Koda died. Mr. Blocker appears to have been taken into custody shortly after the authorities arrived and found Koda dead.

A neighbor named Yesenia Varela told CBS that she witnessed Blocker being taken into custody on Tuesday and managed to insinuate that the alleged killer was without emotion as they led him away.

“He had no expression on his face. I don’t know what to tell you. He had no expression.”

As other crime critics for whom I have considerable respect have pointed out, the fact someone is not wracked with great obvious emotion after the death of a child does not mean that the lack of affect definitively proves that the suspect is the killer. Another way of putting this is that not everyone beats their breast after a tragedy.

If you think about it, though, the only conceivable way Blocker could have inadvertently killed Koda (killed him by mistake) would have been if 1) there were already dirty clothes in the washer; 2) Koda climbed in and more or less buried himself among the clothes (and you must admit this is the sort of thing kids like to do); 3) Blocker came over and absent-mindedly ran the load (not an impossibility); and 4) discovered the poor child dead after the spin cycle was completed.

Now I admit this scenario is somewhat unlikely but it probably could happen. If I’m Blocker’s defense attorney, unless the suspect had already made contradictory statements when he was taken into custody, I might be tempted to resort to this defense. The trick would be to get both Blocker and his female roommate (and Koda’s mother if possible) to testify that little Koda, like lots of kids, had the habit of burying himself under clothes, blankets, pillows, etc.

The defense would be even stronger if one or more witnesses would testify that they had seen Koda climb into the washer on one or more occasions and burrow under the clothes.

Would a jury buy this theory? Probably not. Without some kind of viable defense, though, unless he pleads out in return for LWOP or some similar sentence, Blocker could well find himself facing the DP.

Based on appearances only, Mr. Blocker does look like he might be able to “hold his mud” in a prison environment.

His cause is probably not helped by the fact another neighbor, Luz Juarez, said his hands appeared to be streaked with blood.

Blocker is being held at the Garland Detention Center and his bond has been set at $500,000. He has a prior for marijuana possession and was convicted on a DWI charge in 2013.

Koda’s mother was in another state at the time of her son’s passing and is now caring for his 22-month-old sister.

*     *     *     *     *

The tragic accident scenario that I have suggested, although perhaps fanciful, is in keeping with the position being taken by his friends who are asking people not to be too quick to judge.

Demond Fernandez of WFAA writes in a article published after the initial reports:

“There’s no way he could have done this,” said Michael Dorfman, who described himself as a close friend of Blockers and one of the victim’s former babysitters. “It had to have been an accident somehow.”

Dorfman says he and Blocker’s family believe whatever happened inside the house was a tragic accident. He says they are confident more facts will be uncovered soon.

“I can’t even imagine what he’s going through,” Dorfman said regarding Blocker. “Not only losing a child, but being locked up for it too, with no answer as to hey, this is what happened, and still being behind bars.That’s got to be brutal.”

It is also noted that Blocker has been released from the Garland Detention Center as police investigate further which might not be the case if this were an open-and-shut murder case.

commentary by Patrick H. Moore

Although it is  wrong to marginalize or stigmatize sub-groups within our society, the fact remains that if you are a parent and if you are truthful with yourself, although you probably do not actively discriminate against members of these sub-groups, you might secretly hope that your son or daughter not join any of them (this list is far from complete):

A terrorist; a methhead; a violent gang member; a murderer;  a thief; a homophobe; a ne’er-do-well; a prostitute; a cop; an arsonist; a metalhead/headbanger; a right-wing racist; a psychopath; a bath salt addict; a user of Krokodil; a teenage porn star; a serial killer or mass murderer…

OOOORRRRR:

A Goth Rocker.

Our society is full of these types in varying numbers. There is  little doubt that some people can slide into and out of one or more of these identities with relative ease. On the other hand, there are cases where one may be trying on one of these identities – and through a combination of bad luck and/or bad judgment – the adventurer crosses over the line and finds himself or herself in a jam from which, unfortunately, there is no going back.

With their need “to belong”, teenagers, with their need to “be cool”, are particularly susceptible to “getting lost” in one of these identities and not finding their way out until it is too late. This is precisely what happened to 16-year-old Arizona Goth rocker Jessica Burlew.

Sasha Goldstein of the New York Daily post writes:

Jessica Burlew, 16, has been charged as an adult with second-degree murder in 43-year-old boyfriend Jason Ash’s death.

A 16-year-old Arizona girl says she strangled her 43-year-old boyfriend with an electrical cord during rough, consensual sex — and that he died when it got too intense.

Jessica Burlew pleaded not guilty to second-degree murder Wednesday in a bizarre case of murder, self-mutilation and heavy metal.

The Arizona Republic reports that the 43-year-old boyfriend Jason Ash was found dead on Jan. 19 in the Glendale home of Burlew’s mother, Tracey Woodside.

Displaying a pleasing forthrightness, Jessica explained to the cops that she used an extension cord to strangle Jason as a prelude to sex. Apparently, adepts at this gentle art have agreed-upon signals to resort to in the event things go sideways or otherwise get a little haywire, but instead of giving Jessica the signal, the so-called “safe” word, on a timely basis, Jason hesitated too long and passed out instead. In this case, truly, “he who hesitates is lost.”

Once Jessica realized that Jason had ceased breathing, in desperation, she resorted to “cutting” him with a razor blade hoping the shock would revive him. It did not because Jason was already too far gone. According to the court charging documents, once Jessica realized that Jason was not going to wake up, she reports that she continued “cutting” him to “alleviate her stress from the situation”.

Like all good 16-year-old Goths rockers must do when they realize they’ve ventured into deep and unnavigable waters, Jessica eventually called her mother to say her older lover, who went by the tag “gothadelic” on social media, was dead.

At Jessica’s court appearance Wednesday, her mother Tracey wept as she told a KPNX-TV reporter that the girl was innocent and that the death was an accident.

Nonetheless, in the spirit of thorough and unbiased reporting, it’s probably only right to provide a bit more information about Jessica and Jason and their arguably unsavory ways. Keep in mind that Jessica is only 16, and had this horrific accident not transpired, she might well have grown out of this phase much as many of us have grown out of various phases as we stagger through this treacherous thing called life.

Here are certain salient facts about Jessica:

• She went by  the handle ‘soultaker11′ on a website called Vampire Freaks and called herself Xenia Nex on other websites.

• Jessica sang dark songs with creepy lyrics and posted them to YouTube. The songs had names like “Golden Age of Death” and “Poor Little Victims”. She posted videos of her singing the dark lyrics on YouTube. “She starts to decay from the demon that’s raised,” Jessica warbles in an off-key voice. “It takes away the demon that lays. And now she decays.” (Ah yes, there are few things better than the devil and decay.)

• In her various Facebook postings and YouTube clips, Jessica appeared with dark, heavily applied eye makeup, her hair various shades including teal and blue, resplendent with piercings through her eyebrows, nose and lip; in short Jessica presented as a rather stylish albeit grim, confused, and death-obsessed teen.

It can be reasonably hypothesized that Jessica apparently shared her Goth lifestyle with poor deceased Ash, who quoted disturbing lyrics on his Facebook page.

“I like to dissect girls … did you know i’m utterly insane?” Ash wrote just five days before his demise.

That same day, he posted, “Your throat, I take grasp, can you feel the pain?”

*     *     *     *     *

Although Jessica can perhaps be forgiven to some degree based on her youth, immaturity and conspicuous teenage angst, you have to shake your head in dismay and perhaps horror over a “grown-up” like Ash babbling about “dissecting girls” and being “utterly insane” while carrying on sexually with a confused and self-destructive 16-year-old.

The irony is that Ash is dead and Jessica is very much alive to face the music.

Her next court appearance will be in March.

Update:

Andres Jaurequi of the Huffington Post reported in July that the court ordered that Jessica, who apparently has a history of mental imbalance, be evaluated to determine whether or not she is sane enough to stand trial:

The court appointed Dr. Jacqueline Worsley and Dr. Joanne Babich to evaluate Burlew, who pleaded not guilty to the crime in February. The doctors will offer their expert opinions about Burlew’s metal state and her ability to understand the court proceedings related to her case and actively participate in her own defense.

If Burlew, who remains in custody, is found competent to stand trial, her case will go forward.

Should she be found incompetent and restorable, she will be sent to the Correctional Health Services Restoration to Competency (RTC) program and re-evaluated at a later date. Depending on that outcome, Burlew’s case could move forward, or she could be considered “not restorable” and possibly eligible for civil commitment.

I was unable to find any further definitive information about Ms. Burlew’s case other than the fact that certain conservative groups are insisting this could not have happened was it not for the alleged contemporary breakdown in morals.

by John Nardizzi

Elizabeth Smart.  Her name is synonymous with one of the great fears that have come to mark our age: the abduction and abuse of a child by a deranged stranger. Smart’s case involved a crazed messianic figure who seems drawn from central casting. Yet Smart’s story offers deeper lessons than just being a movie – it’s a perfect example of a stranger perpetrating sex crimes on a child.  Elizabeth Smart’s journey on a long road to reclaim her own life after a terrible nine month ordeal is detailed in her new autobiography, “My Story.”

Smart was one of a million ordinary American girls, a pretty blond 14-year-old who lived with her family in Salt Lake City. She played harp at numerous recitals, was a fine runner and a diligent student. She had read a book to her sister in their shared bedroom on the night of June 5, 2002 –  the night Brian David Mitchell, a self-styled homeless preacher in the downtown area was making his way toward her home in the dead of night. Mitchell was obsessed with Elizabeth, having seen her when Elizabeth’ family offered the grubby, robed figure some money to complete a few odd jobs around the family home. Mitchell had resolved to kidnap her to add her to his planned harem of wives.

In the dead of night, Mitchell worked his way back to the darkened yard of the Smart home where he had once labored.  He cut a screen and slipped inside the home, then held a knife against Smart’s throat.  “Move and I will kill you!” he warned.  Her younger sister lay terrified under the sheets, trying to witness and yet not be taken herself.  Mitchell’s plan was as bold as it was simple: he forced the young girl to climb for hours through the steep canyons behind the home. They reached a camp site deep in the brush, where, bizarrely, a woman appeared in a robe — Mitchell’s wife, Wanda Barzee. In the darkness, Barzee presided over a bizarre marriage ceremony, washing Elizabeth and clothing her in a robe for her “wedding” to Mitchell. Mitchell then raped her to “consummate” his sick notion of marriage.  Smart described the rape as leaving her “absolutely broken, absolutely shattered.” Her nine month ordeal was only beginning…

The nine months of captivity was marked by endless rapes and repeated sexual abuse at the hands of Mitchell, who was often assisted by his wife, Wanda Barzee, as they tried to break her down by denying her food and water for days at a time.  Smart was often tethered to a tree as they wandered from California to Utah, clothing her in robes, wigs, and veiling her face. They plied her with drugs and alcohol and kept her in filth to quell her spirit and make her captivity seem part of a natural order, so that she would not attempt to break away.  \All the while, Mitchell indoctrinated Smart in bizarre religious beliefs and told her he was a prophet.

Smart was nearly rescued several times but each time, the brazen warped machinations of Mitchell allowed him to continue his captivity of the terrorized girl:

Against that backdrop, the book chronicles a series of near-rescues, notably by a homicide detective who questioned Mitchell at a library in downtown Salt Lake City. From under a table, Barzee clamped “iron” fingers into Smart’s thigh. Smart, disguised in a dirty robe and face veil, remained silent as she remembered the couple’s repeated threats to kill her family if she tried to save herself.

Why didn’t I cry out for help?” Smart reflects. The answer “comes down to fear. Fear for my life. Fear for my family.” Mitchell’s constant threats weighed on her. Part of her paralysis came from believing she had lost “everything worth having.”

The psychological attacks were sinister and well-planned. But Smart persevered. She knew that she had a better chance of being rescued if she was back where someone in Utah might see her. So she baited the megalomaniac Mitchell into taking her back to where they had started from. She told Mitchell that God desired their return to Salt Lake City and suggested that Mitchell could kidnap another wife from a Mormon camp for girls in the area. Mitchell decided to return to Salt Lake City.  Smart’s ordeal came to an end when her sister was able to describe the kidnapper:

” After several months, it suddenly occurred to [Smart's sister] Mary Katherine that the kidnapper resembled a man who had once worked on their home as a handyman and who had called himself Immanuel. Police discovered that Immanuel was a man named Brian David Mitchell, and in February 2003 a passerby recognized Mitchell walking with Smart—who was veiled and wearing a wig and sunglasses. Authorities arrested Mitchell and his wife and returned Smart to her family that evening.

Smart’s story reveals disturbing truths about how our culture views victims of rape.  As Smart writes, the insidious part of Mitchell’s psychological attacks and use of rape as a weapon was that it caused her to doubt her own worth.

Smart said she was immediately haunted by the news accounts of other kidnapped children who had been killed. “I remember thinking, ‘They are the lucky ones. They’re dead, and they don’t have to live with this. They are in a better place, and no one can hurt them again.’ 

“I remember lying on the ground of that tent, feeling so worthless, so disgusting, so filthy,” she recalled. “Who could ever love me again? Would my parents look for me? Or would they just move on with their lives?”

Too many times, our culture brands victim of sexual abuse with the easy stamp of “survivor” or “victim” (think of the film Mystic River  where a neighbor describes the victim of a child molestation as “damaged goods”– a victim who later is revealed as the most ethical character in a neighborhood of festering evil).  Smart came to rely on an old-fashioned faith in God and her knowledge that the love for her borne by her father, her mother, and her family, could never be overcome by anything Mitchell did to her.

“I always knew (God) loved me, and that whether I survived or didn’t, he would be there and that my family would always love me no matter what happened,” she said on CNN during an interview in 2006.

The demented prophet Mitchell thought he owned the body of Elizabeth Smart but she kept a part of her soul hidden and strong, and never revealed it to him. Smart knew she was more than just a body on the dirty floor of a tent. Her secret? Something deep within. Something the false prophet Mitchell would never recognize.

John Nardizzi is an investigator, lawyer, and writer. His writings have appeared in numerous professional and literary journals, including San Diego Writers Monthly, Oxygen, Liberty Hill Poetry Review, Lawyers Weekly USA, and PI Magazine. His fictional detective, Ray Infantino, first appeared in print in the spring 2007 edition of Austin Layman’s Crimestalker Casebook. In May 2003, John founded Nardizzi & Associates, Inc., an investigations firm that has garnered a national reputation for excellence in investigating business fraud and trial work. His investigations on behalf of people wrongfully convicted of crimes led to several million dollar settlements for clients like Dennis Maher, Scott Hornoff and Kenneth Waters, whose story was featured in the 2010 film Conviction. He lives in the Boston area and supports AS Roma and Barcelona.

Please click here to read All Things Crime Bog’s review of John’s crime novel, Telegraph Hill.

Please click below to view John Nardizzi’s previous post on serial killer and real-life Mafia hit man Richard Kuklinski:

Cracks in the “Iceman”: Richard Kuklinski, Serial Killer and Real-Life Mafia Hit Man

Lately, we’ve been flooded with stories about law enforcement personnel killing civilians for no good reason, more or less on the spur of the moment. The deaths of Eric Garner and 12-year-old Tamir Rice are prime examples of this phenomenon.

There is a different type of bad cop, however, who appears to take real pleasure in meting out death and even – in some cases – torture for fun and profit. One of these fiends, former Chicago police officer, Steve Mandell, who was a suspect in at least five murder investigations dating back to his days on the Chicago force, has just received his comeuppance in the form of a life sentence with five additional years tacked on for good measure.

Scott Kaufman of Raw Story writes:

A former Chicago cop has been sentenced to life in prison, plus five years, for his role in an elaborate torture and murder scheme, FOX 32 News reports.

Steve Mandell was convicted in February for his role in the torture and murder plot. He and his accomplice, Gary Engel — who committed suicide in prison in 2012 — planned to abduct a wealthy businessman, Steve Campbell, and take him to a torture chamber they had built.

It is noted that Mandell, who had worked with Engel for Chicago PD in the 1970s, was actually convicted and sentenced to death previously for a murder he allegedly committed in 1990, but was released in 2004 after serving 14 years when his conviction was overturned on appeal.

Mandell temporarily triumphant

This time around, a second chance for Mandell seems rather remote based on the fact the current inculpatory evidence was obtained via wiretap which means the Feds had been watching him for a while. Although it does happen once in a blue moon (and of course it happened to Mandell in his previous case), it is rare for Federal convictions to be overturned.

In an earlier story that appeared on Raw Story, David Ferguson described the disturbing exchange between Mandell and Engel while they plotted Mr. Campbell’s abduction and torture, unaware, of course, that they were being recorded.

Mandell and Engel

As one might expect of a wannabe torturer, Mandell told Engel that the idea of torturing someone sexually aroused him. (The Federal prosecutors, borrowing language from the world of high tech, allege that the two men “had built a dedicated killing chamber” in the 5300 block of Chicago’s West Devon Avenue. The twosome had discussed how they would tie up their victim when Engel couldn’t resist describing “his plan to slash open the man’s penis.”

“You going to put a little blade there?” Mandell asked Engel.

Engel agreed that he would and compared a sliced penis to a sliced banana asking, “You know what a banana split looks like?”

Video surveillance

This pleased Mandell considerably and he “oohed and aahed” which inspired Engel to describe other means by while they would “defile the rich man’s body before finally killing him.”

Always the voice of caution, Mandell reminded Engel that they needed “to be mindful of the victim’s heart, lest he die too quickly.”

The torture was to be a means to an end designed to convince the wealthy victim to sign over real estate to them, after which they would bring the torture to a close and kill the poor man.

(Mandell and Engel were apparently posing as cops when they were arrested in 2013.)

At the sentencing hearing, U.S. District Judge Amy St. Eve referred to the video, stating:

“(T)he thrill you showed in putting another person in pain and in torturing was chilling. The glee on your face was very apparent.”

The judge also said:

“The public needs protecting from you. Your actions in this case, Mr. Mandell, were evil, and showed a complete disregard for human life.”

Kim Janssen writes for the Chicago Sun-Times that Mandell, who among other things is an incorrigible ham, ranted for half an hour after receiving the life sentence but that “his desperation was palpable”. Mandell’s zingers included that alleged fact that the case against him was “phantasmagorically ridiculous,” and that “even Helen Keller could see” that he had been framed.

“The judge twiddled her thumbs and openly looked at the clock as Mandell” raved.

* * * * *

Good cop, bad cop. Good cop, bad cop. It is becoming increasingly clear that here in America large numbers of thoroughly corrupt individuals go into law enforcement. Most of the bad ones, however, are not psychopaths like Steve Mandell but rather are simply everyday garden variety thugs. Sadly, there is no relief in sight.

by Jared Keever

Those who live in Florida know that many people move to the state to escape. Lured in by the warm climate, the miles of beaches, and the relatively low cost of living, many find the state an opportunity to start anew. Sometimes the people who move to state just want to disappear from a harsh uncomfortable past.

Daytona Beach is no exception to that rule. As a popular tourist destination, the city seems to attract a certain type of outsider — one not necessarily on the run, but close — a chance for a fresh start. The city was a favorite stomping ground of convicted killer, Aileen Wuornos — a prostitute who plied her trade along the interstate highways of Central Florida. She left Michigan, like so many others, to escape the cold and enjoy the sunshine. People move to Florida to dry out, hide from ex-lovers or escape 9-to-5 jobs and live out their time on the beach.

But over the course of three years in this century’s first decade, four women disappeared completely from the lives of their loved ones. Their bodies were found but their killer, who came to be known as the Daytona Beach Killer, was never caught.

Whether the four deaths were an isolated spasm of violence or just items from a more prolific killer’s grisly portfolio remains to be seen.

News reports at the time — back in 2005 through 2008 — portrayed the killings as events that rocked a beachside paradise. But anyone who has spent any time in Daytona knows that the city is far from a paradise, and in many ways is a prime hunting ground for a killer.

For that reason the story of the four victims is as much about the killer as it is about the city itself.

As a college student in Indiana, Daytona Beach was a top spring break destination for my friends. I never went, but I recall friends returning home from a week of debauchery — some sporting their first tattoo — telling stories of hotel bathtubs filled with ice and beer and recounting tales of casual sex.

That’s the kind of place it is. It’s seedy. But it’s rough edges are softened just enough by decent looking brick sidewalks and semi-impressive facades on beachfront hotels.

From the air — the postcard shot — the town looks like any other tourist mecca with blue water, sandy beaches and tall hotels. But on the ground one gets the sense there is more going on in Daytona than in other tourist traps. There’s an uneasiness in the air, a tension.

Just a block off the beach, the storefront restaurants and surf shops turn to tattoo parlors, arcades, and worthless t-shirt shops.

Move further west, across the Intracoastal Waterway, and those give way to bingo parlors, biker bars and payday loan centers.

Some call it an oasis, but I wonder if they really mean that. I’d call it an island, maybe. Daytona seems like a world unto itself.

Perhaps that has to do with the approach.

Years after college, I found myself living just an hour up the coast from Daytona. I wanted to see it — I’d heard those stories after all. It was 2008. I hopped in my car and barreled down State Road A1A. It’s a fairly desolate drive. Those who don’t live in Florida, and know it only from the postcards, are often surprised by just how open Florida is. Apart from the tourist towns that pepper the coast, much of Florida is uninhabited. An hour-long drive down the coast affords views of little more than sand dunes and never-completed housing projects. Then, seemingly out of nowhere, spring high-rise condos, and, if one is traveling by night, a glowing dome over the city — the product of miles of neon tubing in those storefront windows.

The approaches from the two interstate highways, I-95 and I-4, offer little more.

All of those approaches are also routes out of town: quick, single-direction shots out of the heart of the neon city into the wilderness that is the rest of Florida. Guarantees, really, that it is just as easy to disappear from Daytona as it is to disappear into it.

Police discovered the first body in 2005, the day after Christmas.

The mostly naked body of 45-year-old Laquetta Gunther was found stuffed between two buildings, in a narrow alley just off North Beach Street. She had been shot in back of the head.

Less than month later, police discovered the body Julie Green, 34, on January 14, 2006, lying facedown in a ditch off LPGA Boulevard. She was partially clothed. She had been shot in the head.

Then on February 24, 2006, Daytona police got a an anonymous call from a payphone telling them they would find another body on a dirt road off Williamson Boulevard. They did. It belonged to 35-year-old Iwana Patton. She too had been shot. Her body was naked.

By that time police were pretty convinced they had a serial killer on the loose in the city. NBC News ran a March article, speculating the killer may take another life as the end of the fourth month approached. That would have been bad for business. March is spring break season.

Police never found a March body, but they kept working the case.

Subsequent news reports claimed all the women had been prostitutes.

This was true to varying degrees. Only Gunther had a Florida record for prostitution. Family and friends said Green may have occasionally worked the streets. And Patton had been arrested once in New York for loitering for the purpose of prostitution.

All three women had arrest records, mostly for drug-related offenses.

It appeared they were all struggling to build a life, to shake off demons in a place with a nice climate, only to be swallowed up by Daytona’s dark side. In trying to slip the clutches of their pasts, they disappeared altogether.

Police followed leads. They found the person who made the anonymous tip and determined he wasn’t a suspect.

Then the case went cold. The killer, too, had disappeared.

For almost two years nothing happened. Then, in January 2008, Daytona Police Officer Chris Reeder parked his patrol car on a dead-end street near an abandoned church within earshot of the cars roaring along Interstate 4.

He rolled down his window preparing to do some paperwork and “smelled something bad,” he would later say.

Fifteen yards away he found the decomposed body of a young woman.

That body was later identified to be the remains of 30-year-old Stacey Charlene Gage, who had been reported missing by her grandmother three weeks earlier.

Gage was shot in the head. News reports later revealed that the same gun was used in all four murders — a Smith & Wesson .40-caliber Sigma Series VE.

It seemed the killer had reappeared.

“It’s eerily similar and has all the earmarks of the other cases,” Daytona Beach Police Chief Mike Chitwood said at the time. “I hope to God he’s not back. But I’m afraid that’s what we’re looking at.”

All but one one of the women were shot in the back of the head. Iwana Patton was shot in the face. Police figured that meant she realized what was happening and put up a fight.

“It makes the hairs on the back of your neck stand up,” Chitwood said in another interview. “When you look at the victimology, at Stacey’s past, the topography of where the bodies were found and obviously other signs and clues at crimes scene, you begin to think, ‘Wow, are we heading down this road again?’”

Gage was also reported to be a prostitute, but her grandmother, with whom she lived along with her two young children, disputed that.

The grandmother did allow that the young woman had a drug problem and had been arrested a few times for minor offenses. Police and her grandmother both said Gage seemed to be trying to work through her addiction — another Daytona resident hoping to build a new life.

Police sprang into action. They called in profilers. News reports revealed they had the killer’s DNA — matched from two crime scenes, though they wouldn’t say which ones. But the DNA samples didn’t match any records from the national databases.

Investigators found Gage’s van, abandoned at an apartment complex on South Beach Street — the opposite end of the same street where police found Laquetta Gunther two years earlier.

For a time police asked everyone arrested in the city to surrender a DNA sample. It was a controversial policy, it made headlines. But Chitwood seemed determined to catch the killer.

The chief released details from a profile. He said the killings were obviously “motivated by sexual gratification.” He said the police figured the “person we’re looking for is a clean cut person. He’s somebody who probably has a good job. He’s somebody that you’ll never suspect.”

Tom Davis, a profiler with the Florida Department of Law Enforcement told the Orlando Sun-Sentinel in February 2008, the killer was likely personable and had a good job but didn’t feel he had much control.

But serial killer expert Robert Keppel said that profile is so common it is almost a stereotype. He said all serial killers have only two things in common: they have transportation and they kill in areas where they are comfortable.

That seemed to fit with the belief, among investigators, that the killer was local. The areas where the killer left the bodies seemed to suggest that, they said.

Fear of a local killer on the loose, gripped parts of the Daytona Beach community. News reports said Ridgewood Avenue — the strip worked by most of the city’s prostitutes — was empty most nights, and not because police were cracking down on the area.

But the case went cold again. Investigators could offer no explanation as to why. They said the first two-year gap could have been because the killer was afraid they were on his trail, or he could have been killing in other parts of the city, but not following his old modus operandi. They weren’t sure. But the leads dried up.

In 2011 the case went on America’s Most Wanted. It was revealed then that police had tire tracks from one crime scene that matched the factory tires of a 2003 Ford Taurus or Mercury Sable. Some more leads trickled in as a result of the national exposure but nothing came of them.

There was speculation that the four murders were tied to other unsolved crimes throughout Central Florida. At one point the FBI revealed they were tracking at least 28 unsolved murders in the region that they attributed to the work of a serial killer (or killers) suspected to be a long-haul trucker, killing prostitutes along the interstate highways.

Not much has happened since.

I spoke to police spokesman, Jimmie Flynt, on the phone last week. He said the investigation is still very active.

A few years back the city hired a former Daytona Police detective out of retirement. His name is Clem Malek and now he works all of the city’s cold cases.

Flynt said the city still takes some DNA samples from a handful of those they arrest. Results from those samples are forwarded to Malek who checks them against the suspected killer’s samples. But that hasn’t turned up anything, Flynt said.

He also told me Malek travelled out of town — though he wouldn’t say where — about a year ago to follow up on a tip. That was a dead end.

It seems as though the city has swallowed its own secret, to be lost forever in the city’s dark underbelly.

Maybe I am too hard on Daytona Beach. I have always, admittedly, turned up my nose at the city. I never bought into the allure, finding it over commercialized with a cheap veneer pasted over a pretty ugly truth.

So I went back. I still don’t live that far away, and these murders haunt me. They have haunted me since I learned about them over a year ago.

In the interest of time I took I-95, cutting through Jacksonville and down into the long corridor of billboards that leads to the junction with I-4. There you can take a left and head to Daytona or take a right and head to Disney World.

I got off the highway before that and took U.S. 92 in, past the Daytona Speedway as the planes from the nearby airport buzzed over head. The sky was blue, like the postcards promise.

That speedway looms over the western edge of the city like a promise to something. It may bring in a good deal of money to the area but as I headed east to the beach I didn’t find many people that it seemed to be helping.

I had a map. I wanted to drive through the areas mentioned in the news stories.

As I headed towards the water I passed the payday loan centers and the tobacco shops and the liquor stores. I passed a rent-to-own place that dealt only in car wheels and tires.

I passed prostitutes.

I crossed Ridgewood Avenue.

Before I crossed the Intracoastal Waterway, I took a right on Beach Street and headed south along the water that separates the town from the beach. I wanted to see where Stacey Gage’s van was found. I passed a couple sitting in a small pickup truck, in a dirt pull-off, sharing a bottle and staring out at the marina.

The apartment complex, where the van was found, is still there, but the name has changed. I sat in my car and stared at it wondering what could have been going on there the night Stacey Gage disappeared.

I shook off the chill those thoughts bring and headed north to see where police found Laquetta Gunther. I couldn’t find it, exactly, but I saw just how close North Beach Street is to Ridgewood Avenue, where the prostitutes work. I got another chill.

As I drove through Daytona, just a few weeks away from the ninth anniversary of the first murder, I realized not much had changed in the five years since I first visited. And from reading the news stories, it seemed not much had changed since 2006 either.

It’s as if the real city is impervious to the flurry of activity swept in by spring break or the Daytona 500. Those things happen at the edges. The real city is further in, and it isn’t that pretty.

The waterfront areas are nice, sure. But as I sat at a stoplight watching a homeless man in sunglasses and overcoat pull a tattered suitcase through an upscale eating district, it was apparent the darkness Daytona tries to hide spills out into the areas trying to be something the city is not.

The juxtaposition was both sad and beautiful for the way it captured the city.

I crossed the Intracoastal Waterway and headed out to the beach just to see if it was as boring as I remembered it. I drove the strip, got bored, then headed west — out to Williamson and LPGA boulevards.

These types of roads are not unique to Florida, but one sees a good deal of them traveling the state. Big, wide, planned thoroughfares meant to stream people from the interstate highway into the city. The property along them is largely undeveloped, it would have been less developed in 2006. This was where police found Julie Green and Iwana Patton.

Gage was found just off Interstate 4 not far from these spots.

As I drove, I was reminded of my younger days. These large roads, lined with construction sites and wooded areas are the types of places high school students go to make out, or drink. They are easy to get to but fairly remote. The killer knew this too, it seemed.

I drove up and down the two boulevards, pondering the wooded lots, the gated dirt roads, and the small strip malls that, eight or nine years ago, might have been construction sites piled high with lumber and littered with earth-moving equipment. It was a bright afternoon, but, having lived in Florida, I know how dark these roads are in the middle of the night. I know how empty they are. They would have been darker, emptier, nine years ago.

As I rounded a curve, I saw a sign that reminded me of something else the killer would have known.

“I-95 North,” with a white arrow.

I was close. Surrounded by relative emptiness I was a only short drive from the bustle of Daytona and was already in the shadow of one of two interstate highways.

Just a short drive and two turns and I was back on the freeway. Getting out was as easy as it was to get in. I got on the ramp and headed north, musing that I was disappearing out of Daytona, again. I wondered who else in the city’s history had had the same thought.

About Jared Keever: Jared is a full-time writer and journalist living in southeast Georgia. He has lived in Indiana, Montana, Washington state, and Florida. His interests include history, literature and true crime. When he isn’t reading or writing he is usually on a bike or spending time with his family. 

by BJW Nashe

Let’s face it, there are no holidays in the world of crime. Most criminals are not swept away by the “most wonderful time of the year.” There are no days off — just more crime. Christmas simply means that the crimes tend to take on a strange yuletide twist.

Think Terry Zwigoff’s brilliantly deranged film Bad Santa (2003) was far-fetched? Check out the following selection of bizarre Christmas crime stories, featuring all sorts of transgressions — from armed robbery and vandalism, to drunk driving and groping. These prove that when it comes to the holiday season, the weather outside is not the only thing frightful.

The Santa Claus Bank Robber. In 2009, an armed man dressed up as Santa Claus robbed a bank in the Nashville, Tennessee area, saying that he needed to “pay his elves.” Police said that the suspect, wearing a full Santa Claus costume complete with a hat, beard and a sack over his shoulder, entered the Sun Trust Bank on Old Hickory Boulevard and strolled right up to a teller. When the teller asked Santa to remove his sunglasses, he refused, reached into his sack and pulled out a gun. He demanded money and told the tellers if they put any cash dye bombs in with his loot he’d come back and “kill everyone.” Santa then took the money and fled. According to witnesses, the suspect was clumsy and seemed jovial. A few months later, on March 19, 2010, this same fellow — identified as David Christopher Cotton — was shot dead during a gun battle with police while fleeing the scene of another bank robbery. This time he was dressed as a leprechaun.

Frosty the Snowman Stabbed. In a bizarre incident in Cincinnati in 2006, a couple of teenagers were arrested for stabbing a 12-foot-tall inflatable Frosty the Snowman with a screwdriver. The Hamilton County Sheriff’s office said the two youths, both 18 years old, were charged with criminal damaging. Police were aided by the fact that the assault on Frosty was caught on tape. Homeowner Matt Williquette had set up a motion-sensitive video camera in a tree in his yard because his snowman had fallen victim to two earlier attacks. Williquette used white masking tape to patch up Frosty’s previous wounds. For the third attack, Williquette made sure he had a camera all set to record the violence. “The question I have is, “Why me? And why Frosty?” Williquette asked. “I had more decorations to put out there, but with Frosty going down, I wasn’t going to chance it.” Police said they arrested one suspect at his Colerain Township home, and then the second suspect turned himself in. At one point, the sheriff’s office put out a terse statement saying: “The investigation continues to snowball.”

Christmas Parade DUI (1). No doubt the annual Christmas parade can be quite intoxicating. But no one expects parade float drivers to be roaring drunk. In 2006, at the Anderson Christmas Parade in Columbia, South Carolina, when one driver sped recklessly past another float and raced towards Main Street, police knew something was wrong. When officers caught up to 42-year-old David Allen Rodgers, he had an open container of alcohol in the truck he was using to haul a local dance studio float with several children and adults on board. Witnesses said Rodgers was driving in line in Sunday’s parade when he pulled out to pass a tractor, then ran a red light. Meanwhile, one of Rodgers’s alarmed passengers called 911 on a cell phone. Rodgers, whose own child was on the float, was charged with more than three dozen offenses, including DUI, kidnapping and assaulting an officer.

Christmas Shopping Light Saber Assault. In 2011, police in Portland, Oregon arrested a man for assaulting three shoppers with a blue light saber at a Hayden Island Toys R Us store. The 911 caller who reported the incident said the man was inside the store, swinging the “Star Wars” weapon of choice at some other customers. While the caller was on the phone, the man left the store, light saber in hand, and walked out to the parking lot. When officers arrived and tried to take him into custody, he kept swinging the light saber at them. One officer tried to use his Taser on the suspect, but the device didn’t work. “May the force be with you,” as they say. Another officer tried his Taser and made contact, but the “Jedi warrior” knocked one of the wires away with his light saber. The cops were finally able to subdue the man and pin him to the ground. The suspect, identified only as a 33-year-old Hillsboro man, was treated by medics at the scene and then taken to a nearby hospital for a mental evaluation, before being charged with several crimes by Lieutenant D. Vader. None of the victims of the light saber assault required medical attention.

Christmas Parade DUI (2). In 2011, a drunk driver in Mondovi, Wisconsin ploughed into the local Small Town Christmas parade. According to the Buffalo County Sheriff’s Department, the man fled after crashing his Dodge Neon into a float carrying several small children. Gary Jenson, 52, was stopped about a block away by a witness who detained him until deputies arrived. Police discovered that Jenson was a repeat offender. He was arrested and referred to the district attorney for charges of seventh offense DUI and hit-and-run. No one was injured in the crash, according to the sheriff’s department. Court records indicated that Jenson was convicted of his fifth DUI in 2002, and his sixth in 2007. In the last case he was sentenced to three months in jail, and three years on probation. My guess is that Mr. Jensen just might have a drinking problem.

The Case of the Cannabis Christmas Tree. In 2011, police in Aylesham, England (near Canterbury) discovered a Christmas tree fashioned out of a large marijuana plant. The cops were searching Ian Richards’s house because of the “hydroponic pot factory” in his bedroom. When they discovered the cannabis Christmas tree — decorated with red and green baubles — the raid took on an especially festive air. Nonetheless, they hauled Richards off to jail. In Canterbury Crown Court, Richards claimed that the plants were strictly for his own personal use. The Scrooge-like Court, however, decided his growing operation had the potential to produce a large quantity of cannabis, and handed him an 18 month sentence. Investigating officer PC Darren Dennett said: “By using a five-foot tall cannabis plant as a Christmas tree, Richards showed a total disregard for the law.” Bah humbug.

Purse-Snatching Grinch Apprehended. Recently a robber nearly turned into the worst kind of Grinch when he stole a 64-year old woman’s purse containing all of her Christmas spending money. The incident occurred on December 5, 2013 in Groves, Texas, when Roland and Marilyn Gautreaux pulled into a Super Stop to put some gas in their car. A man sped up in a black truck, approached the Gautreaux’s car, and reached inside to grab Marilyn’s purse. She called for her husband, who took off in hot pursuit of the thief. Roland Gautreaux wasn’t about to let the guy get away with the Christmas money. And the thief should have known better than to mess with a ragin’ Cajun. “I went and I attacked the man you know,” Roland said. “And then had some other men come help me.” The suspect eventually dropped the purse and ran away. What the couple had no way of knowing at the time was the purse-snatcher’s black truck had been stolen earlier that morning from a nearby Port Arthur business. The suspect, later identified as Armando Reyes Silva-Chavira, managed to hide out for a while in a local neighborhood, but Groves police officers soon arrested him for robbery. The stolen truck was returned to its owner, and the Gautreaux are looking forward to celebrating the holiday with their 15 grandchildren.

Bad Santa Arrested for Groping Elf. On November 25, 2013, a 62-year-old man who worked playing Santa Claus at the Hanover Mall in Massachusetts was charged with groping an 18-year-old woman who worked alongside him as his Elf. Herbert Jones, who needs no fake facial hair because he has a real-life bushy white Santa beard, was released on $1,000 bail and ordered to stay away from the mall after he pled not guilty to indecent assault and battery. Jones denied pinching the young woman’s buttocks and making suggestive comments while the two were working at a Santa Claus photo booth in the mall. Later, Jones was seen flipping off reporters as he drove off in his car. This bad Santa is most likely in for some serious workplace harassment and sensitivity training.

The Intoxicated Grinch of Toronto. In 2012, the annual Santa Claus parade in Kingston, Ontario was badly shaken by a man who marched around telling all the young children in attendance that Santa Claus is not real. According to the Toronto Star, the 24-year-old man — who was not publicly named — was arrested for disruptive behavior, and was also charged with public intoxication and a probation violation. Reports indicated that the man’s misguided foray into Dadaism included having his hair slicked back with gel into the shape of devil horns. This disturbed quite a few parade-goers. The man in question was roaming up and down Princess Street loudly proclaiming to kids that Santa was a fraud. Police hauled the drunk Grinch off to jail, where he attended a bail hearing the following day and was released on the condition that he abstain from alcohol. God only knows what he is up to, one year later.

The Dastardly Raid on Christmas Tree Lane. In Alameda, California, there is one section of town where homeowners, for the past 60 years, have decorated the neighborhood with thousands of lights and various holiday displays. In the evening hours, visitors stroll the boulevard — known as “Christmas Tree Lane” — to take in the seasonal spectacle. In December 2010, the whole community was shocked when thieves and vandals mounted a raid on Christmas Tree Lane late one Friday night. The scoundrels made off with dozens of items from four different homes. Then they returned the very next night for more pillaging. “On one hand, you have to think, ‘How can people do this?’ ” said Gayle Winterbauer, who each year puts out a display of flamingos pulling a sleigh outside her home on Thompson Avenue. “On the other hand, it also might make people appreciate Christmas Tree Lane more.” While the thieves left her flamingos and sleigh behind, they absconded with 120 feet of fence lights from outside her home. Ms. Winterbauer said, “They even stole the poles that we were using to help hang the lights.” Along with the thefts on Christmas Tree Lane, thieves also stole approximately 25 candy canes from a residence on nearby Clinton Avenue. “It’s very disappointing,” said Stephanie Lee, who lives in the vandalized house. “We put up the candy canes for 20 years, and we never had any problems. It’s sad to think they are gone now.”

commentary by Patrick H. Moore

Everyone knows that teenagers march to the beat of a different drummer. They delight in taking risks that “sensible adults” would reject without a second thought, and they do it regularly. It can be anything – smoking, experimenting with drugs, engaging in unprotected sex, shoplifting, cutting school, and, in some cases, partaking in violence to the point of no return.

Out of these six vices, I was marginally guilty of at last five during my teen years. I will leave it to you to figure out which category I eschewed (or perhaps never quite got around to because the other ones kept me pretty well occupied).

There is a clear and simple reason why teens are prone to conspicuous risk-taking. We might aptly refer to it as a biological imperative. For a teen to grow out of adolescence and into adulthood, he or she has to break away from the powerful influence of their parents. If the kid doesn’t cut the umbilical cord, he or she would be a kid forever. This would mean that within a few generations, all the adults would have died out and society would be nothing but kids and over-aged kids. It would be horrendous. It would be the end of civilization as we know it.

The biological imperative to escape the smothering confines of mother’s apron strings and father’s authority could not succeed, and thus we would ultimately face the disaster of an adult-free world, were it not for certain quirks in the teen’s brain chemistry that, in effect, egg the teen on to take the risks that so confuse and confound the older generation.

Science writer Amanda Leigh Mascarelli explains:

A major reason why teenagers often respond to those influences with irrational decisions is the presence of a brain chemical (one of the all-important neurotransmitters) known as dopamine. The brain releases dopamine when something makes us feel good, whether it’s receiving a teacher’s compliment or finding a $20 bill. Dopamine levels in general peak during adolescence. In teenagers, the strength of this “feel good” response helps explain why they often give in to impulsive desires.

More dopamine is released “between the ages of 13 and 17 than at any other time during human development.”

Thus, that horrible period when your kid enters high school and in many cases changes so dramatically that you often feel like you don’t even recognize the little monster coincides with their little pea-brains being overloaded with dopamine.

PBS.org breaks down the dramatic increase in dopamine levels that result from various pleasurable activities:

“In lab experiments done on animals, sex causes dopamine levels to jump from 100 to 200 units, and cocaine causes them to spike to 350 units. “[With] methamphetamine you get a release from the base level to about 1,250 units, something that’s about 12 times as much of a release of dopamine as you get from food and sex and other pleasurable activities.”

So if you want to scare yourself, just meditate on the state of a teen’s already over-amped brain if he or she decides to push the envelope further by smoking a little meth. Pretty damned scary…

But what the scientists probably can’t fully explain is why some teens – and we’ve seen it happen over and over again during the 22 months we’ve been running All Things Crime Blog – reach a peculiar point of no return in which (no doubt locked and loaded with excessive dopamine levels peaking in their still not wholly-formed brains) they not only plan to kill one or both of their parents but actually go ahead and do it for the flimsiest of reasons.

This appears to be what happened (in a case that has been reported by myriad news services but with singularly few details) to 17-year-old Seth Ramsey of Harrington, Delaware, who – in an advanced state of teenage delirium – made the horrible decision to shoot and kill his father, 41-year-old Todd Ramsey, with a crossbow because he was afraid that his father would be mad at him cutting school.

Mr. Ramsey’s body was discovered by police during a routine check at the home he shared with Seth after they had been alerted by concerned co-workers that the father had not reported for work.

Peter Holley of the Washington Post writes:

Police say they stopped by the teenager’s home in Harrington on Thursday to check on 41-year-old Todd Ramsey after coworkers reported him missing. Inside the house, police discovered Ramsey dead in his bedroom with a single arrow wound to his upper torso, according to an ABC affiliate.

The ABC affiliate reports that according to a police affidavit, Seth explained that his fatal decision to kill his father stemmed directly from his concern that his father would be angry because he had skipped school:

“He said that his father was in his bedroom from 2:00 p.m. to 5:00 p.m. Seth said that he knew when his father came out he would be mad so he shot him.”

As is our national predilection in capital cases involving under-aged kids, Seth has been charged as an adult with first-degree murder and possession of a deadly weapon. Despite being charged as an adult, he is being held at a juvenile detention facility without bail.

It hardly takes a neuroscientist to determine that charging Seth as an adult is the height of folly. If the kid had been more mature, which in theory would have resulted in “normal” dopamine levels, he probably would not have shot and killed his father with the crossbow over something as insignificant as him cutting school. Hell, if he were more mature he probably would not have even been cutting school in the first place. He probably would have been like his poor departed dad – a worker showing up at his place of employment regular as clockwork.

As it is, however, he’s screwed… As we’ve pointed out in the past, under-aged felons often get sentences 2 to 3 times longer than adults who commit similar crimes.

So who’s being irrational here? The answer is both sides are. The teens do crazy things because their hormones are out of whack, and the adults – who should know better and can’t use excessive dopamine levels as an excuse – insist on trying them as adults even though they clearly are not.

by Judith A. Yates

Paul Dennis Reid, Jr., an inmate serving seven death sentences, drew his last breath on November 1, 2013 in Nashville, Tennessee’s Meharry Hospital. It was the end for one of the most heartless serial killers in history.

Paul Dennis Reid, Jr. was the youngest of three children, born on November 12, 1957 in Texas. His parents divorced when he was three; Paul and his sister were dumped on their paternal grandmother. Her life was one of hard work; Paul caused much of her stress. Paul was stealing from clotheslines and mailboxes as soon as he could reach. At age four, he was stealing purses. He tormented his grandmother — placing tacks in her food, spraying her with the water hose, and barricading her in her room. When he was five, he set her on fire as she slept. He beat her dog to death. When he cut her ear, a priest suggested a boy’s home. Paul was eight years old.

As an adolescent, Paul bounced from his mother’s home to his father’s home. He attended school sporadically. He attempted to sexually assault his sister and his mother. He racked up charges for assault, theft, and auto theft. Paul married but was abusive to his bride. His charges grew more serious: check fraud, burglary, and then robbery. He was caught; during trial Paul would act out by “playing crazy” as he would later explain. He was sentenced to 20 years in 1984 to the Texas Department of Corrections. Paul wrote numerous letters requesting a sentence reduction. He wrote threatening letters to his siblings. In 1987, he began to report delusions of being monitored by the Texas Department of Correction. He gave advice to inmates for successful robberies. “Cut your hair and dress nice. That way, people will trust you, and they won’t suspect you.” He also said, “Next time I’ll do it right; I won’t leave witnesses.”

In 1990, Reid was paroled, released against the advice of numerous professionals. “Very dangerous” one report read. “A potential menace to society.” The Secret Service filed a warning regarding Reid.

Justin Parks

Paul lived in Ft. Worth, and then moved to Oklahoma. He stood over six feet tall and his muscles bulged from workouts. His dream was to be a country singer; he learned to play guitar, dressed in cowboy clothes, and he cut demo tapes. His voice was twangy and out of tune, with an overextended southern accent. He had girlfriends, but he was kicked out for allegedly sexually abusing their children or for being physically abusive. He checked in with his parole officer once a year as directed. Paul departed for Nashville, Tennessee where, he told everyone, he would become “Justin Parks, the next Garth Brooks, and play at the Grand Ole Opry.”

Reid obtained employment at a Shoney’s restaurant. In between shuffling food on the grill, he played at talent shows. “He had the look,” one audience member recalled, “but when he started to sing, he was awful.”

Sarah Jackson

Steve Hampton was not yet 26 years old; Sarah Jackson was 16. Sarah was working to buy herself a car; Steve was married with three children. They were prepping to open a Captain D’s restaurant, on Old Lebanon Road in Donelson, Tennessee on February 16, 1997. Sarah was mixing a big bowl of cole slaw when Steve answered the front door to a stranger with an application in his hand. Steve helped anyone he could. When he allowed the man into the store, a gun was pulled. The stranger forced Steve to empty the safe. He made Steve and Sarah lie down in the store cooler. A loud “bang!” Two more shots followed. Steve was dead in seconds. Three more shots were fired and the light in Sarah’s eyes faded. The man stepped to the office to remove surveillance tapes when he heard a noise. He returned to the cooler to see Sarah trying to get up. He reloaded the gun calmly, aimed, and fired. Sarah’s life ended.

Shock from the crime resonated throughout the community. Fundraisers were held to pay for burial expenses and to help Steve’s children. Officers followed up on hundreds of leads and interviewed many witnesses. Whoever killed Steve and Sarah remained a mystery. All investigators knew was the perpetrator was a large white male with dark hair.

Steve Hampton

Charlie Simpson was picking up cans along Nashville’s Ellington Parkway when he came across two children’s Identikits. A call to the phone numbers on the Identikits identified the children as Steve Hampton’s daughters. Police searched along Ellington Parkway and discovered, besides many cards bearing Steve’s name, Steve’s movie rental card. A partial print was found on the movie rental card. Someone had cruised along Ellington, tossing the contents of Steve’s wallet out of the window.

Meanwhile, Paul Reid worked at Shoney’s. He netted $480.00 a month, but purchased a new $5,000 car with cash. He was friendly and fun to work with, always smiling; flirty with women but never rude or vulgar. He joked about “making money by robbing restaurants at night.” Everyone laughed; Paul was a jokester. Paul worked out three days a week. He purchased a gun from an acquaintance, not bothering to explain he was on parole.

Charlie, A 53-year-old night manager at a Nashville Shoney’s, was found stabbed to death in his office on January 20, 1997. The safe’s cash and the videotape from the surveillance system were missing. Two video cameras from other businesses would have caught Charlie’s killer on tape, but the systems were not in use. Charlie’s death was investigated but never closed.

On February 27, 1997, Manager Mitchell Roberts fired Paul from Shoney’s. Paul had thrown a plate at a female coworker in a burst of anger. Given his size and strength, it could have killed her.

Ronald Santiago

Ronald Santiago was from Puerto Rico; he came to the United States seeking better opportunities for his wife and baby girl, whom he called “my little princess.” He applied at McDonald’s fast food. Management was so impressed with him; he was promoted to Manager of the McDonald’s on Lebanon Road in Hermitage, Tennessee. It was down the road from the Captain D’s where Sarah and Steve were murdered.

Jose Gonzalez

Jose Gonzalez was 5’6″ and 120 pounds. He was from Mexico; he came to the United States to find work, albeit illegally. Jose landed a job at McDonalds. He was at the Lebanon Road store to train. Jose spoke no English, but he worked hard. On Jose’s first day of work, Ronald gave Jose advice; “If you ever have an emergency, dial 911 and tell them, ‘Spanish, no English, help, help.’”

Robert Sewell was the only boy in a family of sisters. He would tease them, but he was fiercely protective of them. He was extremely shy initially, and then he would be funny and gregarious. He was selected to train Jose on Sunday, March 23.

Andrea Brown

Andrea Brown was a lovely girl who had just purchased her first car with money she earned. She was a straight-A student in an arts magnet school, highly intelligent with a penchant for being a “drama queen” says her friends and family. She jumped at the chance to work extra hours on March 23 when called.

Robert Sewell

The store closed for the night on March 23, 1997. Ronald had volunteered to work that night, filling in for the night manager, who was sick. He unlocked the door and allowed Robert and Jose to exit. Ronald was walking out, holding the door for Andrea, when a big, dark-haired man appeared with a gun. The man forced the employees to return to the store. Inside the store, Ronald gave him the money out of the safe. Then the man directed the group to lay down in a storage closet. The man leaned down to whisper in Ronald’s ear. Ronald’s world ended with two shots to the back of his head. He was not yet 30. Andrea was sobbing; the robber leaned down to whisper in her ear. A shot rang out. She was 17 years old. The robber leaned down to whisper in Robert’s ear. Then he shot Robert, who had yet to reach his 25th birthday. The man shot Andrea and Robert each a second time. Jose turned to stare at the man, the gun near his face. Then he heard it: click-click. The gun was not firing. Jose leapt up and grabbed the huge robber by the waist. The pain shot through his body as the man stabbed him viciously, 17 times. Jose played dead until the man left, and then he crawled to the phone to dial 9-1-1 as he was taught.

Jose was the sole survivor from who the media would dub “The Fast Food Killer.” He was placed on the witness protection program after a long hospital stay. He described the killer, helping with a composite sketch. Despite thousands of leads, the killer remained at large.

Reid was now wooing an old girlfriend in Texas, inviting her to vacation in Nashville. He offered to pay half her airline ticket and all expenses.

Michelle Mace

Angie Holmes

Michelle Mace was 16 and Angie Holmes was 21 on April 23, 1997. Michelle loved to write and always said, “I’m going to be famous one day!” Angie was a new mother and wife; she held a 4.0 in college and was in ROTC. They were closing down a Baskin-Robbins store in Clarksville when they went missing. The safe was found open and $1,565.58 was gone. Their bodies were found a few miles away in Dunbar Cave Park the next day. Their throats had been cut. Michelle lay in the woods, covered in stab wounds. Angie was in the lake, her hands bound tightly with her work apron. The “Fast Food Killer” had struck again.

On April 26, Paul Reid wrote his Texas girlfriend. When she visited from May 3rd to 9th, he paid for everything in cash: hotel, city attractions, and meals.

Shoney’s manager Mitchell Roberts was surprised when he saw Paul Reid at the Robert’s front door. Mitchell went outside to talk to Paul. When Mitchell turned to return to the house, Paul pulled a knife, a gun, and a pair of handcuffs, demanding Mitchell put the handcuffs on. Mitchell got away and called police. Paul fled, but Mitchell managed to get him back to the house. Paul Reid was arrested. His fingerprint matched the partial print taken from Steve Hampton’s movie rental card. “The Fast Food Killer” was in jail.

Reid bantered and chattered with law enforcement and media, but he never confessed to any crime. He went to trial three times and was sentenced to seven death sentences, more than any Tennessee inmate. His sister fought to keep him from the death house. Reams of paper, years of work, and thousands of dollars were spent to determine his mental capacity. He is a suspect in other crimes, including the 1980 “Bowling Alley Massacre” in Houston, Texas; Max Soffar currently sits on death row for this crime. Reid is suspected of stabbing the night manager at the Nashville Shoney’s on January 20, 1997.

On November 1, 2013, Paul Reid succumbed to chronic obstructive pulmonary disease and pneumonia. He was one of the many Tennessee death row inmates who died from natural causes.

Judith A. Yates is the author of the only true crime book on Reid: “When Nashville Bled: the untold stories of serial killer Paul Dennis Reid.” It focuses on the victims, and was written with the assistance of the friends, family, and coworkers of those murdered, law enforcement, and legal professionals. See www.truecrimebook.net to purchase.

rachelstephensphotography.com

Judith A. Yates is the author of “When Nashville Bled: the true stories of serial killer Paul Dennis Reid.” She is a Silver Falchion Winner for Best True Crime and writes for several publications and online law enforcement resources. She is currently earning a PhD in Criminal Justice, has attended law enforcement schools across the US, and has over 30 years’ experience in law enforcement. Order books and learn more at truecrimebook.net.

adapted by Patrick H. Moore

Sooner or later we all face that moment of truth — the Grim Reaper comes knocking and there’s no way to talk him out of it. Some of us will handle it bravely; others may flinch and quail. I suspect that in our private moments many of us wonder whether we’ll be up to the task when that day of reckoning comes. Here, therefore, as a sort of twisted inspiration, are some truly badass final statements by some strong — and in some cases evil — condemned men. The list was compiled by Ian Cheesman of Cracked, who also gets credit for much of the humor and for calling the statements “badass”, which they truly are. The quotes are in the public domain.

Carl Panzram, Serial Killer, about to be hanged:

“Hurry up, you Hoosier bastard, I could kill ten men while you’re fooling around!”

Panzram also stated on another occasion:

“I have no desire whatever to reform myself. My only desire is to reform people who try to reform me. And I believe that the only way to reform people is to kill ‘em.”

Chief Sitting Bull’s final words when he was about to be shot by 43 members of the Bureau of Indian Affairs:

 ”I am not going. Do with me what you like. I am not going. Come on! Come on! Take action! Let’s go!”

The Chief also stated on another occasion:

“I wish it to be remembered that I was the last man of my tribe to surrender my rifle.”

George Engel, union activist and founder of the Socialistic Labor Party of North America as he awaited hanging:

“Hurrah for anarchy! This is the happiest moment of my life.”

Engel was convicted of Conspiracy in the famous Haymarket Square labor riots in Chicago in 1893 which resulted in the death of seven policemen and four civilians.

Giles Corey, colonial farmer and accused Massachusetts Bay Colony witch, while being crushed with stones, in a futile attempt to make him confess his crime:

“More weight. Add more stones.”

Corey never did confess as the life was slowly squeezed out of him. I’m convinced he was innocent. You probably are too.

James French was a convicted murderer serving life in prison in Ohio. He decided a life sentence was just too long and decided to force the issue by killing his cell mate. His plan worked and he was given the electric chair. Unphased by it all, but glad to be going, French quipped as they strapped him in:

“Hey fella! How about this for a quote for tomorrow’s paper? ‘French fries.’”

French is not known to have made any other notable statements.

While facing the Irish Free State firing squad, Irish nationalist Robert Erskine Childers insisted on shaking hands with every marksman and then encouraged them to:

“Take a step forward lads — it’ll be easier that way.”

Childers was also a poet and novelist and wrote three respected spy novels: Riddle of the Sands; The Great Impersonation; and The Czar’s Spy.

And then there was Tom “Black Jack” Ketchum, a thief, a murderer, and worst of all a “morning person.” He was wide awake for his early morning hanging and full of “piss and vinegar”.

“I’ll be in hell before you start breakfast! Let her rip!”

Ketchum’s executioners apparently didn’t appreciate being subjected to his racket so early in the day. They accidentally on purpose gave his line some additional slack which caused him to be decapitated when he dropped through the gallows.

commentary by Patrick H. Moore

Yesterday, we posted a story about the Delaware boy, Seth Ramsey, who shot and killed his father, Todd Ramsey, with a crossbow because he was afraid that his dad would be angry because he had cut school. In the post, I suggested that Seth’s seemingly incomprehensible actions were a good example of how teens, due to natural chemical imbalances, that are part and parcel of the maturation process, sometimes go crazily overboard (as Seth did here) in ways that make absolutely no sense, with devastating consequences.

Today, we have a story about another 17-year-old boy, Daniel Marsh, who 20 months ago – in an immensely disturbing and completely random torture/attack – literally disemboweled two elderly Davis, California residents purely for the fun of it.

Thus, we have two teens, both of whom have taken life for no good reason. In the case of Seth, however, we appear to have a troubled teen who is probably far from completely evil, yet who — more or less on the spur of the moment — did a terrible thing which may well result in him spending the rest of his life behind bars.

In the case of Daniel Marsh, on the other hand, we have a teen who appears to embody the essence of pure evil — if such a thing exists and is can manifest in one so young. What makes Daniel’s case all the stranger is that fact that when he was 12, he was honored by the American Red Cross for rising to the occasion and steering the family station wagon to safety when his father suffered a heart attack while behind the wheel.

At Daniel’s Yolo County trial back in September, truly shocking testimony (and remember, I don’t shock easily) was introduced concerning both Daniel’s state of mind at the time of the torture-murders, as well as his specific actions upon randomly entering the home of his victims.

CBS Local writer Ron Jones described the disturbing trial events in September:

Chilling new statements rattled a Yolo County courtroom Wednesday in the trial against a teen accused of murdering an elderly couple.

Daniel Marsh sat quietly and stared at papers in front of him as the jury heard a second day of testimony in the gruesome killings of Claudia Maupin and her husband, Chip Northup. Last April they were found stabbed to death in bed in their Davis home.

According to the police, after he was apprehended, Daniel reportedly confessed to breaking into their house and murdering Ms. Maupin and Mr. Northup. Daniel, who was apparently completely immersed in the aftermath of his frenzied blood lust, told the police that he felt “pure happiness” as he stabbed both of his helpless victims 60 times.

This is probably as “up close and personal” as we are likely to get to the state of mind of a “happy killer” as he commits his gruesome handiwork.

In what was undoubtedly a particularly poignant and heart-rending moment, the couple’s housekeeper of 12 years, Delonda Jones, testified that she was in the dark about the murders until she saw a news report on television and cried out: “That’s my clients! That’s my clients!”

Marsh was a mere 15 when, dressed in black, wearing a shoplifted ski mask and armed with a hunting knife, he set out during the wee hours of April 14, 2013 to find a victim(s), any victim. According to the investigators, in his confession, Daniel stated “that he had gone to between 40 and 50 homes looking for unlocked doors or windows when he foud an open window at the couple’s home. He said he watched the couple as they slept before he attacked.”

The investigators also stated that during his confession, Daniel admitted “he knew what he was doing was wrong, but still did it anyway”, telling the police:

“It felt right,” “It felt amazing,” “It felt great.”

Although it’s impossible to fully explain what changed Daniel from a presumably normal boy into a ravenous killer, David Smith, writing for the Sacramento Bee, sheds some light on the situation:

A counselor testified during the trial that Marsh daydreamed of torture. A state psychologist testified that Marsh studied serial killers. He surfed websites with images of beheadings and disembowelment in the weeks before the killings, investigators testified.

Upon breaking into the victims’ home, Marsh stabbed them in their bedroom as they awakened. The torture and mutilation that followed was “so savage that jurors at his murder trial were moved to tears and that prosecutors called it the most heinous they had seen”:

“I’ve been a prosecutor for 28 years, and never have I seen a defendant with such an evil soul,” said Michael Cabral, Yolo County assistant chief deputy district attorney and lead prosecutor on the case.

The intensely disturbing nature of Daniel’s actions is exemplified by testimony from Bryan Esparza, the paramedic who pronounced then dead:

“There was removal of the organs from the bodies.”

Daniel reportedly showed no emotion during most of the testimony.

Yolo Superior Court Judge David Reed was understandably incensed and “laced into Marsh during Friday’s hearing.”

Doyle Murphy writes for the Daily News:

“The murders in this case were brutal, the victims were random,” Reed said, according to the Bee. “He tortured them and took pleasure in what he had done. He told friends. He slaughtered Northup and Maupin out of morbid curiosity.”

Judge Reed sentenced Daniel to 52 years in California State prisons. He will be held in a juvenile facility until he turns 18, at which time he will be transferred to the Big House.

Curiously, the male victim Chip Northup was an attorney who served “as a Yolo County prosecutor early in his law career and once tried cases in the very courthouse” where Daniel was convicted.

His wife Claudia Maupin, 76, “was a pastoral associate and spiritual director at the Unitarian Universalist Church of Davis, where Northup was a founding member.” Northup and Maupin became man and wife late in life and would have been married 18 years this November.

Marsh’s attorney never denied that Daniel murdered the elderly couple. He blamed the teen’s actions on his parents’ divorce and antidepressants, and Daniel pleaded not guilty by reason of insanity, a defense that no one seems to have paid much attention to.

* * * * *

Thus we have two sides of a murderous coin. Heads is Seth Ramsey who appears to have killed his father Todd almost on a whim, for no good reason, although some true crime followers have speculated (without evidence) that Todd may have abused the boy.

Tails we have Daniel Marsh who self-admittedly reveled in his appalling deeds. Daniel received a sentence of 52 years and is eligible for parole — not that he’s likely to receive it — in 25 years.

Seth Ramsey could very likely receive a similar sentence for a single arrow, well-placed, delivered with lethal impact to his father’s torso.

Both teens were undoubtedly laboring under the influence of the natural chemical imbalances that plague most, if not all, teenagers. Why do some teens, like Seth, commit a mindless murder on a whim while others, like Daniel, engage in the most brutal acts imaginable, while a third group (the vast majority) stumble through their teen years without ever getting into any serious trouble? I can’t answer this question and I find it endlessly frustrating…

Meanwhile, it is tempting to believe that the sort of evil that ravaged Daniel Marsh, who in turn ravaged his two elderly victims, is an actual metaphysical presence that usurps the identity of certain unlucky souls such as Daniel who then have little choice other than to carry out the dark force’s infernal bidding.

commentary by Patrick H. Moore

A 78-year-old South Seattle grandfather named Honorario Yano has committed the ultimate sin and if there is eternal justice he will surely pay a heavy, heavy price (and though I’m not usually an eternal justice guy, at times like this I lean in that direction).

Let’s begin with Yano’s 11-year-old granddaughter Anahlia Cowherd, a fifth-grader at Aki Kurose Middle School, whom he shot and killed in late October. Anahlia, who was active on her social media Wattpad blog, had been crying out for help for some time because she claimed Honorario had been constantly sexually abusing her.

Just hours before her grandfather shot and killed her and her mother before turning the gun on himself, Anahlia posted what Andy Campbell of Huffington Post rightly calls a “final panicked entry”:

“Help… Me…” she wrote. “He threatened me… He actually threatened to KILL my family. Right now I’m in my mom’s room, the door locked, my dog close, my brother here, my Grandpa somewhere, my Grandma is not home… My mom is coming… I’m so scared.”

Sadly, poor Anahlia might as well have been talking to the cruel North Wind. No one had any help to bring and around 8 pm that evening, Yano shot his 39-year-old daughter, Christine Dela Isla, and Anahlia, before turning the gun on himself. The only one to survive the carnage was Anahlia’s 10-year-old brother.

Andy Campbell writes:

Police found all three bodies after the killer’s 10-year-old grandson called 911 at 8:17 p.m., according to the Seattle Post-Intelligencer. The boy told police that he escaped after his grandfather pointed a pistol at his mother and sister and shot them. He said he fled after he saw Yano shoot himself.

Strange that the grandfather spared Anahlia’s brother but he did and the boy, who is now staying with relatives, will somehow have to try to pick up the pieces.

KIROTV reports:

A neighbor named Jerome Mannan reports that he saw a young boy, barefoot and limping, leave Anahlai’s home on Monday night.

“He was frightened, you could see that. I feel sorry for him because he looked traumatized,” said Mannan. “The fact that three people are dead? That’s horrific.”

Anahlia’s father is named Terrell Cowherd. Mr Cowherd, who hadn’t seen his daughter since she was six years old, was able to find Anahlia’s Wattpad blog online after simply searching for her name. Though her username is anonymous, Anahlia names herself in one piece she wrote more than six months ago, in which she details long-term sexual abuse at the hands of her grandfather.

It’s not clear why Terrell was searching for his daughter online the day after she was killed. In any event, he says “he found his daughter’s blog alleging abuse from the grandfather on Tuesday morning and called police. While he waited for a call back from Seattle Police Department, he received a call from another detective telling him about the deaths.

“When I Googled my daughter’s name, the blog popped up,” Terrell said. “The only conclusion I can come to is that she must have actually got to the point where she was about to call police, and I guess that was his way of preventing her from doing so.”

It takes tremendous courage for a sexually abused child to go to the authorities (assuming the accusations are true), and the tragedy here is that Anahlia put her faith in her blog and the kindness of the cyber world, which, as is often the case, did not respond, at least not in time. It’s also odd (though not unusual in this era) that her father found out about the sexual abuse by going on his daughter’s blog.

For his part, Terrell Cowherd believes that what his daughter wrote is the horrible truth:

“I’m Anahlia Cowherd … and I’m gonna bring justice to all girls who have been touched.”

Rarely have I seen the call for justice spelled out in such point-blank and moving fashion. It’s both inspiring and heartbreaking but it doesn’t do a damned bit of good.

Neither did Anahlia’s mother Christine do a damned bit of good, not that she didn’t want to, but because she waited too long and didn’t have the strength (and quite possibly had been abused herself by the despicable Honorario.)

In one of her posts in which the child described years of sexual abuse at the hands of her grandfather, she wrote, “My mom said the next f—— time he does this she’s gonna call the police.”

But of course “her mom” very possibly would have done nothing, like she had apparently had been doing for far too long.

In a kind but sadly ineffectual gesture, Seattle Mayor Ed Murray rushed to the house to join police after the shooting.

“Three citizens of this city are dead, and it involves guns,” Murray said.

The police, speaking technically, say Yano had no criminal history. I would say, based on Anahlia’s allegations (if they are true), he has nothing but criminal history.

The police also say that a motive for the killings hasn’t been established.

Terrell Cowherd, however, has revealed what he thinks Yano’s motive was, the fact that Anahlia was on the verge of going to the authorities.

* * * * *

When I began lashing this post together I was so furious I could barely see straight. Now I have a thought, one of my suggestions, and I know damned well it won’t be instituted but here goes:

First of all, although our school system is full of child molesting teachers, the fact remains that most of these molesters go after teens, not little boys and girls.

Here is what should be done:

No later than the second grade, every school in America, public or private, should hold special classes in which improper touching and sexual abuse of any kind is clearly explained. Every child should be urged in the strongest possible terms to report any such improper touching to the authorities. A good way of doing this would be to teach the kids that they can call 911 to report these incidents.

I realize that this will result in some false accusations, which is a problem. On the other hand, if children who are being violated have no recourse (which of course is all too often the case), the abuse will continue and with each awful act on the part of the abuser, another piece of the child’s young soul will be chipped away.

commentary by Patrick H. Moore

Heidi Fleiss, one of America’s most famous madams, was born on December 30, 1965 in Los Angeles, California. Although she was close to her parents, popular pediatrician Paul Fleiss and schoolteacher Elissa Fleiss, Heidi never liked school and ultimately dropped out of high school. She was always of an entrepreneurial bent and as a “tweener”, she organized a successful babysitting cooperative. In her early 20s, she launched a high class prostitution ring that catered to the rich and famous. This led to her being referred to by those in the know as the “Hollywood Madam.” Little did she know that before the age of 30, she would be charged with pandering and would be sentenced to 37 months in federal prison.

Rachael Bell of Crime Library tells Heidi’s story:

By 1993 Heidi Fleiss, 27, was the talk of Hollywood. She had some of Los Angeles’ most beautiful women working for her high-end prostitution service, which specifically catered to the elite. She was one of the city’s most prosperous madams, netting millions in just a couple years.

Like many successful business persons in any profession, the competition viewed Heidi as a “Joanie Come Lately” and many members of the “world’s oldest profession,” including pimps and madams of competitive prostitution services wanted to knock her out of business. Law enforcement began hearing tales of her illegal activities which led them to eventually formulate a strategy to take her off the streets for good. What they did not contemplate, however, was that her arrest would cause a nationwide sensation that would propel Heidi into the limelight.

In April of that year, the Los Angeles County Sheriff Department coordinated an elaborate plot, along with the FBI and other law enforcement agencies, to catch Heidi in the act of pandering. The plan involved an undercover Beverly Hills police officer who posed as a wealthy Japanese client looking to procure services. The agent contacted Heidi and arranged for four prostitutes to meet him and several “colleagues” at a room in the Beverly Hills Hilton. He offered to pay $6,000 for the girls’ services.

Heidi sent over four of her finest girls and 13 grams of cocaine as requested by the undercover agent. Writer Jesse Birnbaum suggested in her article “Heidi Does Hollywood”, that the police made substantial preparations for the tryst, meticulously installing hidden cameras and bugging equipment.

The undercover agents chatted up the girls while they watched provocative videos together. In time, explicit sexual activities were proposed to which the girls agreed. This was recorded on tape and at an opportune moment, more than 20 officers staked out next door busted into the room and arrested the prostitutes.

Heidi was arrested the next day while taking out her garbage at her home in Benedict Canyon above Los Angeles. Her felony counts included five counts of pandering and one count of possession of narcotics.

Her arrest shook the very foundations of Hollywood. Many of Tinseltown’s biggest names were terrified that they would be exposed should Heidi’s extensive client list be made public:

It was a scandal of epic proportions that threatened many high-profile marriages and the jobs of some of Hollywood’s movers and shakers.

Heidi Fleiss is undoubtedly not a saint but neither is she a “rat”. The names contained in her “little black book” never surfaced, although Hollywood bad boy Charlie Sheen was eventually “outed” as one of her clients.

A True and Loyal Friend

The fact that Heidi chose not to reveal who her clients were is in keeping with her generally loyal and supportive nature which is nowhere better epitomized than in the case of her dear friend, Wendy Tarr.

Fresh out of high school, Wendy Tarr had moved to Los Angeles from her hometown of Collinsville, Illinois in 1989 with dreams of making it big as a model or actress. She and Heidi became fast friends and began spending a great deal of time together. In order to pay the bills while waiting for her career in entertainment to take off, Wendy found a job renting out apartments in a crime-infested part of Central Los Angeles.

On October 2, a man entered the rental office where Wendy was working, allegedly looking to rent property. The man filled out a rental application and then left the office. According to Heidi’s book, he returned to the office a short time later with a .38-caliber pistol and tried to rape Wendy. In the struggle, the man’s gun went off, shooting her in the face at close range.

Although heroic efforts were made by surgeons at USC Medical Center to save Wendy’s life, she remained in a comatose state and never awakened. Like the true friend she was, Heidi spent three entire days at the hospital watching over and praying for her friend. It was to no avail and Wendy succumbed to her wounds on October 5th.

Heidi vowed to bring the killer to justice and publicly stated that the police were aware of his identity. The man, James Edward Noel, 43, had been implicated in many other rape cases before Wendy’s death.

Chafing at the inaction on the part of law enforcement, Heidi wrote a letter to America’s Most Wanted, the popular True Crime television series, appealing to them to air a segment about Wendy’s case. Heidi’s appeal was accepted and Wendy’s tragic story aired on February 5, 1990.

The day after the segment aired on television Noel turned himself in to authorities. He confessed to the first-degree murder and was sentenced to life in prison, with no chance of parole.

Heidi Fleiss’ Legal Nightmare

The Heidi Fleiss prosecution scandal took off like a rocket and news media from around the world converged on Los Angeles Municipal Court hoping to catch a glimpse of the infamous “madam to the stars”. Her arraignment took place on August 9, 1993. She was represented by well-known Los Angeles criminal defense lawyers Anthony Brooklier and Don Marks. Heidi pleaded not guilty and was indicted one month later.

Entrapment is a legitimate defense in California state court proceedings, and during the trial that year, Marks and Brooklier “presented a persuasive argument claiming that officers entrapped her.” The defense argument that she had been set up elicited a positive response on the part of some of the jurors. Other members of the jury, however, were convinced that she had been justly apprehended.

In a controversial gesture, some of the jurors decided to bargain in the hope of coming to a mutual agreement in order to prevent a deadlock. It worked and on December 2, 1994, Heidi was found guilty on three of the five pandering counts. She was acquitted on the other two pandering counts as well as the narcotics charge.

Months later, Los Angeles Superior Court Judge Judith L. Champagne sentenced Heidi to three years in prison and a $1,500 fine.

When Heidi’s lawyers learned that some of the jurors “traded votes” to reach a verdict, they appealed for a new trial. Heidi was allowed to remain free on bail. Always the entrepreneur, she threw herself into her new occupation, “selling men’s boxer shorts and other apparel at her newly opened store in L.A. aptly called “Heidi Wear.”

She was hardly out of the woods. however. The federal authorities had their eye on her state case and on July 28, 1994, a federal grand jury indicted her on 14 counts of conspiracy, as well as income tax evasion and money laundering. Heidi’s father, Dr. Paul Fleiss, was brought into the case for having helped Heidi procure a $1 million bank loan, allegedly under false pretenses, which she used to finance her Benedict Canyon home. Father and daughter both entered pleas of “not guilty.”

Despite her iron will, facing charges in both federal and state court proved to be more than Heidi could bear. She was being drug-tested and in September of 1994, a drug test came up positive for methamphetamine. She was ordered to enter a drug treatment center.

Despite the best efforts of her crackerjack defense team, Heidi failed to prevail at her federal trial and in August of 1995, she was convicted on eight counts of conspiracy, and on tax evasion and money laundering. Her father, Dr. Paul Fleiss, was lucky and received three years probation. At sentencing, Heidi’s defense team brought up her many positive qualities, but in those days the Federal Sentencing Guidelines were still mandatory, and Heidi was eventually sentenced to 37 months in a minimum-security prison. She then struck a  a plea bargain in her state case and received another 18 months for the pandering charges. In total, Heidi ultimately served about three years in prison.

Being Heidi, throughout all of this, “Heidi never publicly revealed the names of her customers.” Her only two famous clients who were revealed publicly during the court hearings were actor Charlie Sheen and Texas billionaire businessman Robert T. Crow. The identities of her other customers are still open to speculation.

Doing Time Is No Picnic

Immediately before serving her federal prison sentence, Heidi again tested positive for drugs. She was remanded to a drug rehabilitation clinic where she remained until she was to be transferred to federal prison in September 1996.

The women’s federal prison camp in Dublin, California was worse than Heidi had anticipated. In his article “Don’t Call Me Madam,” Donald Campbell writes that it “was a frightening and humiliating experience.” Because of the perception on the part of some of the other inmates that she had exploited women when running her prostitution service, she was often “harassed by the female inmates, which at times resulted in fights.” Heidi at times was literally forced to fight for her life.

According to anecdotal evidence, “Heidi was pressured to prove her toughness to other inmates by standing up to a female prison officer who remanded her for moving a locker in her cell.” Realizing she had little choice, Heidi hurled two chairs over the officer’s head. In an interview Heidi claimed that had she not done as she was told, there would have been “serious consequences” and she would possibly have become someone’s “little prison bitch.” Although it is not that well known, even low and minimum security women’s federal prisons are known to be “hotbeds” of lesbian activity, which is often coercive in nature.

Heidi ended up spending 63 days in the SHU, a special housing unit for hostile prisoners and prisoners in danger of being assaulted. There, Heidi was confined to small concrete cell.

It wasn’t all bad, however. Heidi got a lot of reading done and played chess with some of the other inmates, some of whom she taught to play the game.

Heidi was an exceptional chess player, having won two city chess championships in a row as a child.

She also made a few friends. During an interview with Larry King, Heidi mentioned she forged a close bond with a woman named Sylvia, who was serving time for drug charges. Sylvia, who was “seasoned by years of imprisonment, gave Heidi advice that helped her through her most difficult periods.”

Heidi was released from prison in November of 1998 and placed in a L.A. halfway house for the duration of her sentence. Surprisingly, she discovered that there was virtually no supervision at the halfway house and that it was in many ways more dangerous than prison. Amazingly, she soon requested to be returned to prison to finish her sentence. Her request was granted and she returned to the Dublin camp to complete her sentence.

What Shall I Do for an Encore?

Heidi was finally released from prison for good in September of 1999. She performed 300 hours of community service, which included her working for seven months at a downtown L.A. soup kitchen.

Although Heidi was reportedly more or less broke upon being released from prison, with help from her parents, she was able to buy  a new house in Hollywood and a Porsche. She also underwent cosmetic surgery to her face and bust.

Over the next five years, she worked as a talk-show hostess and a sex tips advisor both on websites and videos. She appeared in the comedy movie “You’ll Never Work in This Town Again”, with Ellen Degeneres and in 2003, she published her long-awaited memoir Pandering, which did quite well. Heidi’s biggest problem, however, was her love life.

In 2001, she began dating actor Tom Sizemore, who was known for his roles in the movies “Black Hawk Down,” “Heat” and “Saving Private Ryan.” For a period of time, their relationship appeared to be a success and Heidi told Larry King that they were “happy together.” This, however, did next last and abuse charges surfaced which led to a court hearing.

According to Dan Whitcomb’s article “Ex-Hollywood Madam Heidi Fleiss Sobs in LA Court, ” Heidi tearfully stated on the stand that Tom stubbed a cigarette out on her, beat her up, dragged her across the room by her hair and harassed her. Tom’s lawyers said Tom was innocent and that Heidi was lying. However, the prosecution was able to support Heidi’s account with evidence, which included pictures of her beaten and threatening answering machine messages left by Tom.

Tom was ultimately convicted on six charges including physical abuse and harassment. He initially received a sentence of six months in jail which was reduced to ninety days in January 2004.

Heidi’s bad relationship with Sizemore appears to be emblematic of her overall problems with men. To make matters worse, her love affair with methamphetamine proved to be ongoing. She eventually moved to Pahrump, Nevada, where she opened a laundromat called Dirty Laundry. She has also lived in solitude in Death Valley while caring for 25 parrots. The well-known celebrity doctor Drew Pinsky has treated Heidi for substance abuse. He performed brain scans on her that showed significant frontal lobe dysfunction. Dr. Pinsky has surmised that this abnormality, which may well have been exacerbated by methamphetamine abuse, has affected her ability to form intimate relationships later in life.

Although this story has a sad ending, there was a time when Heidi Fleiss was “the talk of the town.” Her notoriety, however, has not translated into any kind of permanent success and today she appears to be a lonely and isolated woman.

commentary by Patrick H. Moore

Some handsome guys seem to have all the luck when it comes to attracting and seducing the lovely ladies…but sometimes these same handsome guys also seem to have a bad habit of trying to kill (or in some cases actually killing) these same lovely ladies when they piss them off (and as we’re all painfully aware, every man or woman who is involved in an intimate relationship succeeds in pissing off their beloved now and again).

A swinging dick named Tyler Mook, formerly of Tennessee and more recently a resident of Palm City, Florida, definitely fell into the first category (if the allegations hold any weight) when he attempted to drown his current lady, Robin Donech, in October of this year.

Considering that he also seems to be a permanent “person of interest” in the disappearance (and probable death) of his ex-wife, Shelley Mook, who was last seen at his Tennessee home in February of 2011, he may also conceivably fall into the second category of the handsome guy who actually succeeds in killing his lady and — rarity of rarities — gets away with it.

The Daily Mail writes:

The ex-husband of a missing Tennessee teacher is now facing an attempted murder charge involving his new girlfriend.

Tyler Mook, 34, is accused of trying to kill Robin Donech in October by pushing her off a boat in Florida and trying to drown her.

His ex-wife, Shelley Mook, disappeared in February 2011 – her burnt out car was found the day she went missing near Murfreesboro, reports The Tennessean.

Shelley Mook, who as the photographs attest, was (is?) a very attractive woman, was last seen at YOU GUESSED IT Tyler’s house where she had taken their 6-year-old daughter, presumably because Tyler had visiting rights.

Although the authorities have long had their suspicions that Tyler may have killed poor Shelley, they apparently have not been able to gather sufficient evidence to charge him or take it before the grand jury which is why he is a mere “person of interest” rather than a “suspect.”

Like any dude who may or may not have a murder hanging over his head, Tyler decided that the grass was greener (and the water was bluer) in good old Florida and relocated there sometime after things had cooled down a bit in Murfreesboro.

In Palm City, Tyler caught the eye of the still surviving Robin Donech whose heart undoubtedly went pitter-patter pitter-patter thump thump thump at the sight of this Big Hunk and before long they were a regular item on the dating scene.

It’s unclear whether Robin was aware that her Big Guy was a permanent “person of interest” in the Volunteer State based on the possibility that he may have killed his ex-wife. I imagine, though, that if she was aware, she somehow managed to rationalize it away and perhaps even felt great gobs of female sympathy for her allegedly wrongfully accused new boyfriend.

In any event, Tyler and Robin (whose picture is not available though I’d bet a 12-pack of Heinekin that she’s also a lovely lady) had been dating for two years when Tyler reportedly lost his temper over nothing and tried to drown her. (BTW, drowning is a form of murder that hadn’t jogged my pea-brain for a while and I bet you we will now have a spate of murders, or attempted murders, by drowning.)

Here’s what happened, “according to witnesses in a police report.”

The Daily Mail writes:

Mook and Donech were on a boat with his brother, Andrew Mook, and his brother’s girlfriend, Nicole Gvajardo, when the incident occurred.

Donech had asked him to slow down in a manatee zone, which saw him fly into a rage, and triggered the attack, according to the report.

So let’s back off for just a moment to break this down. The Florida Fish and Wildlife Conservation Commission describes what happens if a boat hits a manatee, a peace-loving aquatic mammal which often reaches a length of 13 feet and weighs up to 1300 pounds:

Approximately 25-30% of manatee deaths statewide are attributed to watercraft. In recent years, manatee deaths caused by blunt-force impacts (non-cutting) have outpaced manatee deaths caused by propeller cuts, with a small portion of the deaths/injuries attributed to both causes.

The faster a boat goes, the more force is applied to a “strike.” For instance, the force of a strike at 30 miles per hour is four times that of a strike at 15 miles per hour, all other factors being equal. If a watercraft strikes a manatee in the head, such as while the animal is taking a breath, the animal may die immediately. Strikes in other areas can result in acute injuries that quickly result in death but also can result in chronic injuries that linger for days, weeks, or longer before the manatee finally succumbs. Internal injuries, such as broken or dislocated ribs, can result in death from internal bleeding or infection.

So it seems clear that Robin, who had presumably been in Florida a lot longer than our Big Hunk, very considerately didn’t want her boating party to injure or kill any innocent manatees (they are mostly vegetarians, after all) so she asked her BF to “slow the freak down,” perhaps politely, perhaps with some heat in her voice.

Tyler, bless his much-maligned soul, took umbrage at Robin’s request:

Tyler Mook tried to rip off the top of Donech’s bathing suit and then threw her into the water where he tried to keep her submerged, according to the report.

She managed to get free, but he immediately pushed her under again.

Andrew Mook told investigators that when he saw Tyler attempt to hold Donech underwater, that he grabbed a water ‘noodle’ and jumped in after her. (For you landlubbers such as I, a water noodle is a cylindrical piece of polyethylene foam.)

So brave Andrew placed his demented brother in a choke hold, which forced him to release Robin.

Tyler, who is no doubt a regular water baby, then swam back to the boat, where he reportedly told Andrew’s girlfriend Nicole Gvajardo: “No one disrespects me in front of my family. I will kill her.”

This was not smart and clearly took a bad situation and made it that much worse.

Our gallant knight Andrew, who apparently is perfectly capable of treading water while wearing chain mail, stayed in the water with the perhaps lucky to be alive Robin until a passing watercraft picked her up and whisked her to safety.

Robin, who by this point was clearly peeved, flagged down a police officer at Sandsprit Park and told him her boyfriend tried to drown her “and would have succeeded” if a gallant knight in chain mail had not intervened.

Mook was originally arrested on domestic battery charges, but in the perhaps overly enthusiastic manners of so many prosecutors these days, the charges were soon upgraded to attempted first degree murder.

Shelley Mook’s’ mother, Debra Sikora, is currently caring for Shelley’s daughter, who must now be about 9 years old. In response to Big Hunk’s attempted first-degree murder charge, Debra stated, choosing her words carefully and with laudable poetic flare:

‘I want the hurt to stop for those that have and are still affected by the acts of one person. Strength be to those who will stand and have their voices heard. It is by those voices that justice will come.

‘By those voices, healing can begin, closure can be sought and faith in others can be restored.’

Big Hunk’s bond has been set at $100,000 and he is cooling his heels in the Martin County jail.

So all you ladies repeat after me: “I will not be taken in by the next handsome dude that comes along without running a background check on him before I let my guard down and let my heart go thump-thump-thump.” Ah, forget it! I know some of you will be taken in and a few of you will die because of it. That’s just the way it is…

by Lise LaSalle

Eminem’s song for daughter Hailie – Now it don’t feel like the world’s on my shoulders, Everyone’s leaning on me, ‘Cause my baby knows that her daddy’s a soldier, Nothing can take her from me

Little Haleigh Cummings was reported missing from her family’s Satsuma, Florida, home on February 10, 2009. She was 5-years-old at the time with blond hair and brown eyes. The police in this small north Florida community had nothing else to go on, but this physical description.

Haleigh disappeared from the mobile home of her father Ronald Cummings, after being put to bed for the night. By the next morning, an Amber Alert and 14 months of search efforts and investigation into thousands of tips covering several states had begun.

Misty Croslin, 17, who was Ronald Cummings’ girlfriend at the time, was the last person to have seen Haleigh. Her story about the events of that night kept shifting and it became very difficult for the investigators to determine the exact time or circumstances of this vanishing act.

Croslin was the live-in girlfriend of Ronald at the time and while he was working that night, she was babysitting Haleigh and her little 4-year-old brother, Ronald Jr. At first, she claimed that Haleigh was sleeping with her in the big bed but eventually said that she was sleeping on a small mattress on the floor in the master bedroom, barely four feet from the bed.

Croslin said she went to sleep around 10:00 p.m. after doing laundry. Ronald Cummings was working the night shift as a crane operator. He says the back door was locked and secured by him before he left and that the deadbolt was hard to open even for an adult. No way that his daughter Haleigh could have opened it.

Croslin supposedly woke up during the night to use the bathroom and saw a light in the kitchen and the back door held ajar by a cinder block. Someone had opened that door and it was not Haleigh who was gone baby gone.

So far, the story made sense and was going to be properly investigated. But what came next could only be described with words spoken by Slim Shady: Let’s get down to business, I don’t got not time to play around, what is this, must be a circus in town, shut the shit down on these clowns, can I get a witness?

The morning Haleigh was reported missing in Florida, a Memorial service was held in Orlando for Caylee Anthony. The media, especially HLN, had filled the air with this story and it had become the cash cow of the century for them. They kept the public enthralled with the ‘search’ for Caylee when we all knew from day one that she was dead, dead, dead. But it was profitable to keep her alive and missing. The girl’s grandparents played their part with brio in this charade at keeping their granddaughter missing from here to eternity. It kept suspicions from floating directly to the culprit, their daughter, known as ‘tot mom’.

It is not surprising that pretty little Haleigh would become the logical replacement for Caylee who was never missing but had been found nevertheless. So the networks jumped at the chance of interviewing the protagonists in this sad case of ‘real’ kidnapping. But boy would they be in for a big surprise. If they thought that Caylee Anthony’s case was gloomy, this investigation was going to blow the lid wide open from this Satsuma portable toilet.

As it turned out, Ronald Cummings and his underage girlfriend, were living in a world surrounded by drugs, violence and shadiness. They were definitely in a state of 911. Ronald had obtained custody of his two children because their mother, Crystal Sheffield, allegedly had a history of drug problems and basically did not show up for a custody hearing because she had not received the notice. Being unemployed had also been a huge strike against her. This distraught and vulnerable mother who had met Cummings when she was also underage, described him as a volatile man with a drug-related past. She accused him of violence against her and the children. It so happened that Ronald was also another woman’s baby-daddy.

The fact that he would leave his two children in the care of a defiant, troubled, uneducated teenager constantly high as a kite demonstrated very well his lack of parental skills or care.

The circus really came to town when several TV stations started ‘trying’ to interview Ronald and Misty on their shows. It was like asking a donkey if God exists. Ronald was somewhat in control but his teenaged girlfriend would stare ahead with this glazed look. She was not just high, she was in a stuperous, narcotized state.

Ronald soon enrolled his mother Teresa for the media rounds because unlike Misty, she could cry a river in front of the camera and act distressed. Ronald would go down on his knees in front of the cameras, and cry an oxy/meth river of tears.

When NBC host Meredith Vieira asked Misty why she changed her story so often, she woodenly replied, “I don’t know.’’ When Ronald was asked by Vieira why he had married Croslin recently, knowing full well she might have been involved in his daughter’s disappearance, he became rude and defensive and basically told her to mind her own business. It was not going well for the media.

Most of the stations pulled out but HLN kept on trucking with a string of guests like toothless grandma Flo and her crocodile stories and cousin Jo Overstreet with his ‘It was not me’ mantra. Jo was in town visiting family when Haleigh disappeared and he supposedly had a fight with Ron over a gun. Nancy Grace was not going to let go of this bone easily. She was never going to be hungry again and would maintain her ratings no matter what. In the meantime, most people were starting to say “frankly my dear Nancy, we don’t give a damn about these people.’’

Mark Fuhrman said it very well in his book The Murder Business:

“It had turned into too much of a white-trash nightmare, too much of a freak show. Viewers can take the bizarre, frightening underbelly of White America only in small doses in a careful context, as guests in Jerry Springer or Maury Povich’s circus acts or when they’re anonymous.’’

A colleague of Fuhrman called him from Satsuma to urge him not to make the trip there to investigate. “Everybody here is high on something.’’ “And everyone is a nightmare to interview and put on TV.’’

Strangely enough, Nancy Grace, who is the queen of outrage when it comes to cases of missing children, took Ronald Cummings’ side in this saga. She invited him on her show and would soothe him and cheer him on during his ‘cry me a river’ displays for his lost daughter. She brought up every possible suspect, including illustrious cousin Jo, Misty, her brother Tommy, drug dealers, the pedophile brother-in-law, but in her eyes, Ronald remained white as snow, pun intended. He became her favorite pet rat. I even wondered if she carved Nancy loves Ro on a tree in the enchanted forest in her head.

We know that Nancy Grace went shamelessly after Richard Ricci in the Elizabeth Smart case and never apologized publicly when he was later found innocent. The poor man died in prison, no doubt aggravated by her actions. Poor Melinda Duckette committed suicide after being badgered by Grace. She also went after the Duke Lacrosse players with a vengeance. They were eventually cleared and declared innocent of the charges. What is it about Ronald Cummings that touched her heart? Maybe he was her perfect soul mate, considering the darkness they both share. They would have been perfect partners on Dancing with the Stars. What a hot tango they would have pulled off.

It never bothered her that Cummings had married Croslin shortly after Haleigh’s disappearance, probably to keep her from testifying against him. Who would marry the woman minding the fort when his own child is abducted under her watch? He obviously had to keep her close to minimize the possibilities of her singing the blues to the police.

We can only speculate as to what happened to this precious child. Many scenarios are possible but if they do not involve or incriminate Misty or Ronald, you would think someone would have spilled the beans by now. Misty claimed to have passed a lie detector test but according to Texas Equusearch who had administered the polygraph tests and a voice stress test, she had failed miserably. Ronald Cummings was asked by Nancy Grace about taking a polygraph test. He declared he had passed but there is no evidence and such information was never released by the authorities.

Grandma Flo said on TV that it was cousin Jo with Misty’s brother, Tommy Croslin, who threw Haleigh’s body in the river attached to cinder blocks because of a gun and some unknown dispute. I think this poor woman, in her own way, was trying to get to the bottom of this murky story. Rumors of trafficking circulated and of Misty not even being at the trailer that night. Did she leave the children alone while out on a drug binge as she had done recently with another cat? Ronald had tried to call her incessantly that night and she never answered. Some speculated they had a fight. The story of a drug debt floated around. Maybe some dealers took his daughter as collateral because he owed them money. A jail letter circulated stating that Haleigh died after ingesting oxycontin at the trailer. Either way, Haleigh’s demise was surely not one for the faint of heart.

For a while, a detective working for Haleigh’s mother claimed to have cracked the case. It was another dead end. They tried to revive the story in the media but it always fell flat because of lack of evidence. Two years ago, the Putnam County Sheriff’s Office finally released a statement saying: “The ongoing investigation has minimized the likelihood that Haleigh’s disappearance is the work of a stranger.’’ Thank you, Captain Obvious!

It turns out that Ronald and Misty’s magical union did not last longer than their usual high. Meanwhile, the Putnam County police, the Florida Department of Law Enforcement Task Force and the Office of the State Attorney decided to investigate them during a month-long undercover operation. They were arrested with Tommy Croslin for trafficking controlled prescription medications on January 20, 2010.

Their bond were set excessively high so they would have to be remanded while in jail to await trial and sentencing. They were looking at up to 25 years. One cannot help but think that the set- up was to entrap them into confessing about little Haleigh’s disappearance. The ball was in their court now.

It was a complete bust, literally. HLN played the tapes of their jail conversations and wheeled back grandma Flo to the forefront but to no avail. We heard of a sentence reduction for Ronald Cummings for cooperating with the authorities. Misty’s time in custody did not agree with her. She aged 15 years while incarcerated but never gave an iota of helpful information, in spite of the huge sentence she was facing.

It was very telling. If the truth about Haleigh was not despicable or dangerous, why wouldn’t one of them cut a deal? They obviously had a lot more to lose if they came clean.

The prison sentences they received were excessive. Ronald Cummings’ sentence was reduced to 15 years for agreeing to testify for the state in future cases involving the drug counts or his missing daughter, Haleigh. Misty received 25 years for a single count of trafficking Oxycodone. Tommy Croslin was sentenced to 15 years. It is utterly ridiculous to send drug addicts to prison for that long on those type of charges but that seems to be how they roll in Florida. In my opinion, they should have undergone mandatory drug rehab or received much lighter sentences.

This pitiful band of ill-equipped human beings were probably targeted and thrown in the slammer to pressure them into talking about the case. These tactics should never be allowed. Abuse of power is not acceptable even in cases of suspicion of a more severe crime.

During Misty’s trial, we heard of earlier abuse in her life. She came from a broken home and both her parents did time on crack cocaine charges. It is only normal to infer that the next logical step for that poor girl was to land in the trailer of a sick bird like Ronald Cummings. Unless of course, she could have received support or directions from a teacher, friend or family member; I hear crickets on that one. Ronald was also from the school of Hard Knocks with no sugar on top. He grew up with his grandmother and was arrested multiple times for possession of drugs including heroin and GHB, the rape drug, but the charges were dropped. His mama Teresa was a police dispatcher at the time so some speculate that she scratched someone’s back. He was awarded custody of the kids after he lied to Crystal about the hearing. He is dishonest and has a long history of Child Protective Service being involved with raising his kids. He likes young girls and also has a special needs child with one of them. What you would call a triple threat on the dating scene.

They are undoubtedly the product of their upbringing and surroundings. Like so many in small town America, they got caught in the vicious circle of drug addictions and trafficking and did not have the tools or the intellect to get out of Dodge. They are what famous attorney Vincent Bugliosi described as prime candidates for the mental poverty program. But in my opinion, there is more nature than nurture brewing in the mind of Ron Cummings.

Do I believe they are sorry for what happened to Haleigh? Hell to the yes I do! But not enough to come clean and do the right thing. Saving their hide became more important, which speaks to their character but also to the horror and terror that befell that little girl.

In my mind, this case is closed. I do not want to hear the details of her demise. If more guilty parties are out there, they will hopefully be arrested and appropriately sentenced but as far as this little girl goes, she is now free from a future riddled with drugs, neglect and prison. She was trapped in a vortex of emotional emptiness and on a slow ride to hell. The adults in her life never fought for her. They chose mediocrity and self-gratification. Maybe she would have escaped that life of moral and physical stupor and moved on to greener pastures. But let’s say that the odds were not stacked in her favor. We will never know.

Through time, many artists claim to have created their best work under the influence of drugs. But what is happening right now in places like Satsuma is the mind-body decimation of the residents addicted to prescription drugs and other dangerous and destructive substances like crystal meth. Not a romantic notion anymore if it ever was one.

Lately, I imagine her running in a gigantic field under a beautiful blue sky and she is falling into the arms of the Catcher in the Rye who catches her so she does not fall from the cliff — that beautiful image of innocence so brilliantly described in the novel.

Or maybe she is clicking the heels of her red ruby slippers three times to be transported to Oz. She might also be entering a rabbit hole to follow in Alice in Wonderland’s footsteps. For the religiously inclined, she might be in the arms of an angel. For the reincarnation believers, she might be one day reunited with Ronald, Misty and her mother after a long healing.

What counts is that by some Amazing Grace, she was lost and now she is found.

Author’s note: What I have related is only my opinion. I am a huge Eminem fan and I resent Nancy Grace but I have nothing against trailers. And I totally realize that some might hope that Haleigh is still alive or would want to know exactly what happened to her.

Visit Lise Lasalle’s website, The Trouble with Justice

by JJ Rogers

I was born in Clarkston, Washington and grew up across the Snake River in Lewiston, Idaho.  The two cities are located in a deep valley at the confluence of the Clearwater and Snake Rivers.  They are not large cities and they didn’t traditionally experience the horrors of serial killers that metropoleis are known for.  That is, until the late 70’s and early 80’s when I was in my teens. That’s when everything changed.  That’s when one man, filled with loathing and complete disregard for human life, selected a series of girls and young women as the objects of his dark desires.

Every spring the Valley filled with excitement in anticipation of the Asotin County Fair, which was held on the Snake River just north of both cities. Everyone who possibly could attended. It was April 28, 1979. I was there. So was Christina White, a 12-year-old child.

At some point during the day Christina felt ill from the early spring heat, and her mother suggested she get a damp towel to cool herself down.  Christina went to her friend’s house, where she was apparently given a wet towel and also used the phone.  She reportedly called her mother, but no one knows what was said. After that, Christina was never seen again.  No one saw her leave the house at 503 2nd Avenue — she simply vanished.  The home belonged to Patricia Brennan, Lance Voss’s girlfriend.  Lance and Patricia were married 26 months later on July 24, 1981.

For the next two years the rumors concerning Christina White’s death swirled like eddies in the mighty Snake River. These rumors created fear in our closely connected region of small towns and cities. For the first time in our lives, our parents admonished us not to walk alone and began locking our doors, even in the daytime.

Then it happened again. It was unthinkable but it happened. On June 26, 1981, 22-year-old Kristen David vanished while riding her bike between Moscow and Lewiston-Clarkston.  About a week later, the dismembered body of the 22-year-old University of Idaho student was found in the Snake River. The rumors spread fast that her dismembered body parts were found in plastic bags floating down the river.

Then in September 1982 it happened a third time. Three people turned up missing who were last seen at, or near, the Lewiston Civic Theatre, where Kristen David, the dismembered biker, had once worked. These three victims were 21-year-old Kristina Nelson, her stepsister, 18-year-old Brandi Miller and Former Air Force Cpl. Steven Pearsall who was 35.

On her last evening on earth, Sept. 12, 1982, Kristina left a note in her apartment for her boyfriend indicating that she and Brandi were going downtown to do some grocery shopping at the Safeway store.  A logical route downtown would have taken them by the Civic Theatre.

Steven Pearsall, 35, worked as a janitor there — he and Lance Voss had recently helped build a pirate ship that rolled on a dolly complete with several ropes for actors playing pirates to slide down.  Steven’s girlfriend dropped him off at the theater around midnight on Sept. 12th. Steven’s plan was to practice his music.  He may have walked in while Kristina and Brandi were being attacked. Steven was never seen again, nor was he ever considered a suspect. He is presumed dead.

The bodies of stepsisters Kristina Nelson and Brandi Miller were found 18 months later in March of 1984 at the bottom of a steep embankment near the community of Kendrick, along with rope that is presumed to have been “borrowed” from the Civic Theater’s pirate ship that Steven and Lance had built together.

The authorities noted that three of the four female victims had similar names: Kristin, Christina and Kristina, and that all three were about the same height.

One person of interest was interrogated by the police, twice. That person of interest was Lance Jeffrey Voss, a big man standing 6’ 5” and weighing roughly 200 lbs. Voss was not only seen at the theater, but actually admitted to being there at the time of the murders, working on the pirate ship for the play with the missing Steven. Voss had also, of course, dated (and later married) Patricia Brennan, the owner the house on 2^nd Avenue where the 12-year-old Asotin girl, Christina White, was last seen alive. In addition, Voss admitted that he often drove the same route taken by 22-year-old Kristen David when she met her grisly fate.

Lance is quoted as stating, “I was in the theater, but asleep; yes, I just saw Kristina.” 

Lewiston authorities believe the same person killed Christina White, Kristin David, Kristina Nelson, Brandy Miller, and Steven Pearsall.  One Lewiston Police Captain went as far as to say he’s “99 percent certain” who the killer is.  But law enforcement doesn’t believe they can prove who the killer is in a court of law. Lance Jeffrey Voss moved back to the East Coast and no similar murders have occurred since he left town. It’s no secret that authorities want to bring formal charges against him, but to this day, they have taken no action.

Voss is a self-proclaimed survivalist who enjoys listening to Rush Limbaugh.  Here is a quote by Voss that I came across while I was researching the case. Hunting is of course very popular in our part of the world but Voss’s quote is certainly not something we would expect a hunter to say:

“By the way, don’t neglect edged tools/weapons in your survival kit.  After you’ve shot your dinner rabbit, preparation is much easier if you don’t have to gut it with a rock.  It can be done, but it’s not fun.”

This case is still open and surfaces from time to time in the Valley. Many of us grew up hearing, telling and re-telling this awful tale and much as we would like to, these are murders we cannot forget.