Hung jury dating service

“Size matters” at this special speed dating event for well-endowed men and the women who love them. The New York Post went inside Hung Night — where the minimum penis size is 7 inches. A hung jury forced a federal judge to declare a mistrial today in the case of former Ars Technica reporter Peter Bright, who was indicted in May for allegedly attempting to solicit sex from minors. Your ambivalence alone can be the cause of a hung jury and a mistrial. Similarly, if you are ambivalent about what to do, this can bog you down and prevent you from getting on with your life. The case marked the latest in a long string of riveting San Diego Superior Court trials that, dating back to the mid-1980s, have produced a jury hung on some or all charges. Each case focused on ... noun hung jury a jury that cannot agree on a verdict. 1; noun hung jury panel of jurors: cannot agree on verdict 1; noun hung jury a jury that is unable to reach a decision 0; noun hung jury a jury that is unable to arrive at a verdict; deadlocked jury 0 In 2015 there were 361,300 juror summons issued in England and Wales, but the number who actually sat on a jury was just 179,200. With the two nations having a total population of 57.8 million, it ... Megan maintained her innocence throughout the trial, and claimed that what had happened was that the baby had fallen off a bed and had become immediately unresponsive afterwards. In the end, her murder trial resulted in a hung jury, and she ended up getting just probation and community service. And hey, maybe she was innocent, who knows? 4/1/20 Jury Dismissed Early in Dating App Murder Trial. 4/1/20 Pastor Arrested for Holding Church Service. 4/1/20 Doomsday Cult Mom Case Explained. ... 2/21/20 Weinstein Jury Asks Judge if They Can Be Hung on Most Serious Charges. 2/21/20 FL v. Keetley: Defense Attorney Sounds Off on Hung Jury. The jury was also allowed to consider manslaughter, a lesser charge. 'I was the juror that was going to give them the hung jury. I fought to the end,' she said. The transformative experience of jury service even on hung juries further underscores the importance of engaging citizens. The hung jury is not a case of successful citizen participation as a group; it may be the most personally frustrating and infuriating experience of failure in civic engagement.

Severed thigh and breast found in dumpster by two scavengers in Eugene, Oregon 1978.

2020.08.26 18:28 moon__lady Severed thigh and breast found in dumpster by two scavengers in Eugene, Oregon 1978.

This was posted on a local news page. I don’t know how I’ve never heard of this before.
“This bizarre story opens in the college city of Eugene, Oregon at approximately 12:30 on the morning of February 24, 1978 when two human scavengers were rummaging through one of the dumpsters of a west side shopping center in a search for cardboard. They found plenty of what they were looking for, the intended use of which was known only to them. However, as the couple dug deeper into the trash bin, one of them came across a plastic bag that apparently warranted further investigation.
The bag must have weighed at least 25 to 30 pounds or more, but it was easy to pull free. They had it lifted out of the bin and onto the pavement in no time at all, anxiously tearing open the bag to examine their "find."
At first glance, the contents of the bag simply appeared to be a couple of chunks of discarded meat, one small piece and one large piece, probably spoiled and thrown out a couple of days before from the meat department of the adjacent grocery store. However, upon closer examination, the cold, rancid smelling meat suddenly looked frighteningly familiar, almost human!
While examining the large piece of meat, one of the rummagers noted there was very little blood, about as much as would be present in butchered, prepared beef. Although the smell of the meat was nearly intolerable, the men's curiosity compelled them to examine the smaller piece. Although the smaller piece was nearly unrecognizable, it faintly resembled a severed, mutilated female breast!
Sick and retching from revulsion, the man threw the meat to the pavement and vomited. Following a few moments of illness and nausea, the two regained some of their composure and rushed to the nearest telephone and called the Eugene Police Department, informing the cops of the wretched discovery.
Due to the lateness of the hour, not to mention the seriousness of the trash bin discovery, the police dispatcher who took the call knew he would have to wake up someone with higher authority. He chose to wake up Lt. Don Lonneker, detective division commander.
When Lt. Lonneker and the first police units arrived, officers immediately cordoned off the area to hold back the curious onlookers and the graveyard shift of press members in an attempt to preserve any bits of evidence that might be present.
After the area had been completely sealed off, police detectives took statements from the two midnight rummagers regarding the events that led to the discovery of the two pieces of meat. The police personnel set up lights and began going through other trash bins and garbage cans in search of still more body parts, but when it was evident there was nothing more of any significance to be found, the two pieces of meat were wrapped up and sent off to the medical examiner's office.
In the meantime, the Eugene Police Department launched a massive search effort of other garbage dumpsters and cans in the vicinity of the west side supermarket where the alleged body parts were discovered. Unfortunately, their efforts were futile.
A few days later Dr. Ed Wilson, deputy Lane County medical examiner, reported that tests had determined that the larger piece of meat was that of a female thigh, which had been severed just above the knee and from the groin to the waist, and that the smaller piece was a female breast, ravaged by so many human teeth marks that it was nearly indistinguishable as a human anatomical part! Dr. Wilson reported that further tests were being conducted in an attempt to identify the victim's blood type.
Meanwhile, police detectives began checking their female missing person's files, singling out two young women who were reported missing at approximately the time the body parts were discovered in the shopping center dumpster.
The cops considered Elizabeth Green as the most likely victim, although no hard evidence had been found linking the 24-year-old mother to the mysterious and gruesome thigh and breast. Mrs. Green was described by friends and relatives as a dependable and a devoted mother, and was reportedly to have picked up her infant daughter at the hospital on the day of her disappearance.
According to hospital officials, Mrs. Green arrived at the hospital on the day in question at approximately 11:00 a.m., and she nursed her baby that had been born five weeks prematurely. She was last seen by a parking lot attendant as she drove away from Eugene's Sacred Heart General Hospital shortly after 11:00 a.m., and her car and purse were found the next day in separate parking lots in the 1400 and 1500 blocks of Franklin Boulevard.
Pamela Lee Bruno, 24, was another woman the cops added to their list of possible victims. Mrs. Bruno, a childless housewife, was described as white, 5 feet 8 inches tall, and approximately 165 pounds. She had blonde shoulder-length hair and hazel eyes. She lived with her husband in the 4600 block of Main Street in nearby Springfield in one of several run-down, almost uninhabitable, apartments.
According to Springfield Police Chief Brian Riley, Mrs. Bruno was last seen by her husband, Johnny, at their apartment on February 16th. According to Riley, she was wearing a short brown plaid coat, blue jeans, and brown shoes. She did not own a car, and relied on hitchhiking and taxicabs for her transportation. Considered by many to be a heavy drinker, Mrs. Bruno was known to frequent the local bars and taverns.
According to Mrs. Bruno's husband, Pamela was gone when he awoke on the morning of February 17th. However, he didn't report her as missing until February 22nd.
"This has happened several times in the past, according to Mr. Bruno," said Chief Riley. "It's not unusual for her to be gone this long." According to Chief Riley, Mrs. Bruno was reported missing eight or nine times in recent years. But, he said, her most recent disappearance was different and unusual because none of her friends or relatives had heard from her for over two weeks, and she was never gone for more than two or three days at a time.
In the meantime, with only the thigh and the breast to work with, forensic scientists from the Oregon State Police Crime Labs in Eugene and experts from the University of Oregon were able to determine, by studying the bones, that the victim was a young woman between 18 to 30 years of age, and that she was of medium weight, approximately 140 to 160 pounds. They also determined that the blood type found in the severed parts was not of the same type as Mrs. Green, thus eliminating her as the possible victim.
However, the scientists were continuing to work round the clock in an attempt to connect the severed body parts with Mrs. Bruno. But unless they could locate some kind of official record listing her blood type, little progress in linking the parts was unlikely. The scientists did say, however, that the description they arrived at fit more accurately with Mrs. Bruno than with Mrs. Green or any other woman who was reported missing at that time.
The technique the scientists used to confirm that the thigh came from a woman was relatively simple. They merely examined tissue samples under a microscope in search of "Barr bodies," which, in simplest terms, are tiny specks or dots appearing in the nucleus of a cell that are present in females but not in males.
The detectives turned to the help of an anthropologist specializing in bone structures to help narrow down the age gap of the victim. The techniques involved were far more complicated than those used in determining whether or not the victim was male or female. They had to make estimations and calculations based on measurements of the length and diameter of the thigh bone and compare their findings with statistical tables and graphs. But when their tests were completed, they determined that the victim was between 25 and 30 years of age.
"We're taking a further interest in Springfield's missing woman," said Lt. Don Lonneker, detective division commander, after conferring with other detectives from several local law-enforcement agencies.
In the meantime, Springfield police stepped up their efforts in their search for Mrs. Bruno, and checked further into the backgrounds of the missing woman and her husband.
The cops soon discovered that the Brunos had lived in the Springfield area for about three years, having moved there from Vancouver, Washington. They were married for seven years, but had no children.
Digging still further into their backgrounds, police detectives soon discovered that Johnny Bruno was convicted in Vancouver for driving while under the influence of intoxicants and for hit and run, and that both he and his wife were convicted of contributing to the delinquency of a minor.
According to the Bruno's former probation officer, the latter charge was a result of an incident in which Mrs. Bruno invited two 15-year-old girls into their apartment and gave them alcoholic beverages, then proceeded to have explicit sexual intercourse with her husband as the two girls excitedly looked on! Johnny Bruno then had intercourse with one, possibly both, of the young girls during the incident after arousing their prurient interests.
Meanwhile, police divers searched the area near the university and the parking lots where Mrs. Green's car and purse were found, but they found nothing to help them locate the missing woman. According to Lt. Lonneker, however, divers did find a rusty knife in the water, but denied that it had any significance to the severed thigh and breast case. "It unquestionably has no bearing on our investigation," he said.
Lonneker did say, however, that the severed thigh "appears to have been cut with a knife." He also said that he had temporarily suspended the search for additional anatomical parts and other physical evidence connected with the murder and missing person's cases after a week of exhaustive efforts. "We've simply run out of places and directions to go," he said.
In the meantime, on February 28th, detectives went to the Bruno's cottage in Springfield to obtain hair samples from Mrs. Bruno's hair brush, and they attempted to find out what her blood type was by conferring with her husband. But he simply repeated that he didn't know her blood type, and all that detectives left with were a few strands of long blonde hair and the frustration of knowing that it was likely to be some time yet before positive identification of the severed thigh and breast could be made.
According to Dr. Ed Wilson, deputy Lane County medical examiner, investigators knew that the female victim had not been dead for long, unless the thigh and breast had been preserved by freezing, which they seriously doubted. He also said they could only retrieve a small blood sample from the body parts, but stressed that it would be enough for the Oregon State Police Crime Labs to establish the victim's blood type, the results of which would soon be known.
If the scientists could have obtained more blood, said Wilson, they would have attempted to measure the amount of prolactin (a hormone) in the blood and could possibly have determined whether or not the victim had been nursing a child, a clue that could have been of vital importance to an investigation of this nature. But considering the small amount of blood they had to work with, the blood type identification was the best they could hope for.
The first real breakthrough in the case came when detectives finally learned Mrs. Bruno's blood type through her medical records in Vancouver, Washington, which they wouldn't release to the press. And almost as soon as they had discovered the missing woman's blood type, the Oregon State Police Crime Labs reported to detectives that their samples were of the same blood type as Mrs. Bruno's type.
Considering that detectives now knew that the victim was a female Caucasian, 5 feet 4 inches to 5 feet 7 inches in height, and that she weighed approximately 140 to 160 pounds, they now felt Pamela Bruno might be the victim that had been so savagely butchered.
A short time later, Springfield police Detective Don Bond paid a visit to the Bruno apartment. He told Mrs. Bruno's husband that it was likely his wife was dead, and that it was now believed that the thigh and breast were parts severed from his wife's body, although they were not one hundred percent certain Mrs. Bruno was the victim. While Detective Bond was relating the details to Mr. Bruno, Bruno's dog came barking into the room, at which time Bruno became irritated and angry with the animal.
"I've got to get rid of that damn dog, too," Bruno remarked to Bond. It was at that precise moment that Bond began to suspect that Bruno killed his wife, although he didn't immediately acknowledge Bruno's apparent Freudian slip of the tongue. Instead, he acted as if he hadn't noticed and asked Bruno to visualize the severed thigh found in the trash bin. Astonishingly, Bruno described to Detective Bond precisely how the thigh had been severed!
The investigation continued, and finally, on March 10, the severed thigh and breast were positively identified through laboratory analysis as being parts of what was once Pamela Lee Bruno. With this sudden new development, police went to the Bruno apartment with search and arrest warrants, but in spite of their efforts they could find no traces of blood or other physical evidence that would indicate the murder occurred inside the Bruno's residence.
Police arrested Johnny Charles Bruno just the same, and took him to Springfield Police Headquarters for further questioning. Bruno was cooperative for the most part, and seemed to want to help the police. On a "cop's hunch," Detective Bond told Bruno that they thought someone else was also involved in the grisly murder.
"Well, you know, don't you?" Bruno told the cops. He then broke down and cried, making a full confession of how his wife was repeatedly stabbed and dismembered, and implicated one of his friends and co-workers, Charles Haynes, 31, and Haynes' wife, Lionetti Anita, also 31. The two men worked together for nearly three years as tree planters for a local firm, and Mrs. Bruno and Mrs. Haynes were known to associate with each other when the Brunos would visit the Hayneses.
On Saturday, March 11th, police went to the Haynes' rented house in Eugene, located in the 800 block of West Fifth Avenue, a poor area of town, and arrested Charles Leroy Haynes. The next day, when Mrs. Haynes appeared at Springfield Police Headquarters, she too was arrested.
All three suspects were accused of "acting in concert" with each other when the stabbing of Mrs. Bruno occurred, which police alleged was on or about February 21st, and each allegedly participated in the subsequent ritualistic dismembering of the victim's arms, legs, breasts, and head.
District Attorney Pat Horton would only describe the murder weapon as a "stabbing instrument." "There is a certain uniqueness in this case which I think is unparalleled in Lane County," said Horton. Springfield Police Chief Brian Riley stated he couldn't remember a murder case as gruesome, and went on to praise the cooperative efforts of the Springfield and Eugene Police Departments.
"I've seen a lot of investigations of crimes involving more than one jurisdiction done in other places," said Eugene Police Chief Pierce Brooks, a former detective division commander at the Los Angeles Police Department. "But I've never seen it done as effectively as here."
In the meantime, Lane County District Court Judge Gregory Foote ordered the suspects held without bail at the Springfield city jail, where they would be appointed attorneys by the court. Police now alleged that Pamela Bruno was killed and "slaughtered" at the Haynes' residence in Eugene, and Chief Brooks sent crime lab supervisor Mary Ann Vaughn to the house to investigate.
Wearing an oxygen mask and tank inside the house, Ms. Vaughn used special chemicals that emit toxic fumes to search for "trace evidence" in each of the rooms of the house. Brooks said they were looking for evidence "so minute that it might not be visible to the naked eye."
However, District Attorney Horton and police officials refused to comment further on the case, saying only that a Lane County grand jury would be asked to indict the three suspects. When asked whether additional body parts had been found, Horton replied, "To my knowledge, (additional) body parts have not been found."
On Thursday, March 16th, a Lane County grand jury returned murder indictments against Johnny Charles Bruno, Charles Leroy Haynes, and his wife, Lionetti Anita Haynes. The three suspects were transferred to the Lane County Jail in Eugene, where they were held without bail.
As the weeks passed and turned into months, detectives continued their investigation of the butcher-murder of Pamela Lee Bruno, but chose to remain tight-lipped about their results, preferring to save the details for the soon-to-begin trials.
It was Tuesday, May 23, 1978, and the Lane County Circuit Court of Judge Roland Rodman was filled to capacity, with hopeful spectators being turned away. Johnny Charles Bruno was the first to go on trial for the brutal slaying and butchering of his wife, a trial that the people of Eugene and Springfield would not soon forget. Inside the courtroom, opening arguments were being heard.
Deputy District Attorney Brian Barnes' opening statement was a recounting of the events of the February 24th discovery of the severed thigh and breast, a synopsis of the investigation leading to the arrests of the three suspects, and details of Bruno's confession.
"At the end of this case," said defense attorney Harry Carp, "no matter what evidence the state presents, you're not going to have a pretty picture. You're going to be looking at a charnel house."
"I suggest to you it was more than a charnel house," countered Prosecutor Barnes, "which, as I understand it, is a place where dead bodies and bones are deposited. It was more like a slaughter house, an unparalleled ritualistic killing involving blood, guts, and gore. It's something you will not easily forget."
It was noted that Carp had filed notice of intent to argue his client's defense of extreme emotional disturbance or mental defect which, under Oregon status, is the same as an insanity plea. However, he reserved the right to change his defense theory if necessary.
When Prosecutor Barnes described how Mrs. Bruno's body had allegedly been strung up over the bathtub in the Haynes' residence and "disemboweled and butchered like an animal," Mrs. Bruno's mother, grandmother, and aunt all left the courtroom hurriedly.
To visualize how a loved one had been drained of her blood, and had her entrails scraped out into a cold porcelain bathtub, then to hear details of the grisly dismemberment, was understandably more than a relative of the deceased could bear.
In his statements, Barnes said the state would prove that Mrs. Bruno's death was caused intentionally by her husband and Mr. and Mrs. Haynes during an evening of alcohol, marijuana, and group sex which included sadomasochistic acts.
Dr. David Myers, assistant Lane County medical examiner who examined the tissue of the thigh and breast, told the court that the breast was so mutilated by human teeth marks that he could not immediately recognize it. He also told the court that the body parts had almost no blood, leading him to believe that Mrs. Bruno's body had been drained of blood through a cut or a wound caused by the woman's killers.
The feeling in the courtroom was cold and dismal in a psychological sense rather than physical. It was generally felt that in order for Mrs. Bruno's body to have been so completely drained of blood, her killers would have had to have her strung up over the bathtub for quite some time, a clear indication that her killers were in no hurry to get rid of the body, and that they might well have even enjoyed the ritualistic killing and subsequent hacking up of the victim's corpse.
On the third day of Bruno's murder trial, a packed courtroom of curious spectators and a shocked jury listened intently as a taped statement Bruno made to police was played.
In the taped statement Bruno made while being interviewed by Springfield police detective Donald Bond, Bruno described how he and his wife Pamela hitchhiked into Eugene and arrived at the Haynes' home about 8:00 p.m. Bruno said that after some heavy drinking (he was known to down a six-pack of beer in less than 20 minutes) and pot smoking, Charles Haynes and the Brunos decided to have a session of group sex.
According to the tape, Pamela Bruno had agreed at first to participate in group sex with her husband and the Hayneses. "Pam agreed at first," said Bruno on tape, "then she didn't, so we took her in the other room and tied her up." He also stated on the tape that he bit one of his wife's breasts so hard that he took off part of the nipple.
He also stated on the tape that Mrs. Haynes was the first one to stab the victim because she was enraged when she saw her husband having sex with Mrs. Bruno. He further stated that Charles Haynes stabbed the victim several times after Mrs. Haynes passed him the knife, and that he (Bruno) stabbed his wife only once.
Bruno said he stabbed his wife in the chest after Charles Haynes passed him the knife, but "not very far 'cause I was so weak and leaning against the wall and everything. I couldn't believe this was happening."
"Haynes stabbed her quite a few times," Bruno's taped voice said, repeating that he stabbed his wife only once. "I don't even think I got into her far enough because I was so weak at that point and so scared." The tape continued, and the defendant's voice told the details of what occurred after the stabbing.
"Chuck (Haynes) says," according to the tape," We gotta do something about this now. We're gonna have to cut her up,' he says." Bruno then described how he helped Haynes drag Pamela into the bathroom, occasionally breaking down and crying as he told the horrible details — the blood, the torn flesh.
According to the tape, once they had the victim's body over the bathtub, her blood was drained. Later, the Hayneses and Bruno allegedly cut up Mrs. Bruno's body with a butcher knife, placing the severed parts into several plastic garbage bags. They then drove away with the packaged parts, according to the taped testimony, and deposited the parts in trash containers around various areas of Eugene. However, the only body parts that had been recovered by the police were the breast and thigh found on February 4th.
When asked by Detective Bond in the taped interview if he knew what he was doing on the night of the murder, Bruno replied he did know right from wrong at the time. Bruno's attorney had been trying to show Bruno was too drunk on the night of the murder to form the specific intent to commit murder.
When asked "if this act of sex and violence" would have taken place had there been additional people present Bruno answered, "I would have gotten some help. I would not have been so scared to be alone with him (Haynes)." In yet another statement, Bruno made the implication that Haynes had ordered him to participate in the killing and savage butchery.
Warren Reid, a neighbor of Bruno, took the witness stand and testified that the Brunos fought regularly. He testified that Bruno had attempted to throw his wife in front of an oncoming car, and that he saw Bruno kick Pamela in the back of her head while he was wearing his work boots. Reid also told the court that Mrs. Bruno would very often insult her husband in front of others, telling all about her sexual activities with other men.
"He would sit back and take it for a long time," said Reid. "But then he would become violent with her, and she would fight back." He further stated that the Brunos were drunk or becoming drunk every time he was with them, and that they fought in his presence almost every time he visited with them.
As Reid continued his testimony, he said that after Pamela's disappearance Bruno told him "he knew Pam wasn't going to return," and said that Bruno asked him at least two or three times "if I (Reid) was able to kill someone." According to Reid, Bruno often talked about killing and death in relation to Bruno's army experiences in Vietnam, where he received a Bronze Star for bravery before being reduced from the rank of specialist 4 to private for leaving his guard duty post to see his wife.
On the seventh day of Bruno's trial, the defense called Portland psychiatrist Dr. Barry Maletzky to testify that Bruno "blacked out" on the night of the murder. Maletzky, an expert on alcohol's effects on the brain, testified that Bruno appeared to remember very little about what occurred on the night of his wife's murder, and that his apparent lack of memory was caused by alcohol.
"In a blackout," said Maletzky, "a person is not processing and retaining information in a normal way." He also said Bruno didn't forget or repress what happened the night his wife was killed, but that memories were never formed in his brain in the first place due to alcoholic blackout.
It was clear that the purpose of the defense was to show that Bruno didn't intentionally commit murder, even though he admitted to the police that he was involved. It is necessary to point out at this stage of the trial that even if the jury accepts the arguments of no intent, Bruno could still be convicted of felony murder which, according to legal statutes, "is a murder committed in the course of another felony such as rape or sodomy."
"I think Pamela was a big part of Mr. Bruno's life," continued Maletzky, "and he would not have planned to murder her. John is not a leader. He's not a strong person. It's absolutely inconceivable to me that he could plan such a crime." He went on to say that Bruno was constantly struggling to be accepted by others, and he always wanted to be accepted in a group.
"I think if people suggested things for him to do," testified Dr. Maletzky, "he would go along. Under the influence of alcohol, he would have gone along with anything...just to be accepted."
Several other defense witnesses also took the stand and testified that Mrs. Bruno was a very promiscuous woman, and that she drank heavily. And according to Daniel Olsen, a volunteer for the Eastside Baptist Church in Springfield, Mrs. Bruno jeered at her husband when he attempted to become a Christian in the spring of 1977.
Olsen testified that he went to the Bruno's apartment after Bruno called the church seeking to "accept the Lord," but when he arrived Bruno was drunk. Olsen said he told Bruno to wait until the next night because he should be sober for the religious experience.
But when Olsen returned to the Bruno residence the following night, he testified, Bruno wasn't home yet so he sat and talked with Mrs. Bruno, who "indicated to me she was too far gone to be saved," and further stated that Mrs. Bruno started bragging about her numerous affairs with other men.
Another defense witness, Philip Wright, who was an attendant at the service station near the Haynes' home in Eugene, testified that he observed Mrs. Bruno walking down the middle of Sixth Avenue about 3 a.m. on a morning in Mid-February. Wright testified that he called her off the street because she appeared to be intoxicated. When she walked over to the station, she asked to use the women's room. But when he told her the station had no restrooms, she dropped her pants and squatted, and urinated on the ground in front of him.
In a rebuttal to the defense contention that Bruno blacked out on the night of the murder, the prosecution presented Medford psychiatrist Dr. Hugh Gardener, who testified that Bruno couldn't have possibly blacked out the night his wife was killed because he "indicated in several ways that he remembered his role in what happened that night.
"Bruno had sufficient understanding of what was going on around him to form an intent to kill his wife that night," continued Gardener. "He's an amoral, selfish, sociopath who is quite capable of using anybody for anything to satisfy himself."
June Lerner of Newport, Mrs. Bruno's grandmother, was called to the stand as a witness for the prosecution. She testified that Bruno called her on February 24th.
"He wondered if Joan (Mrs. Bruno's mother, also of Newport) and I could take this and if we were ready for it," said Mrs. Lerner. "I asked him what he meant," she continued, "and he said there had been a stabbing. I asked what he meant, and he said 'forget it,' and hung up."
Nearing the end of the trial, John and Rose Martin both testified that they were living at the Haynes' home and were, in fact, sleeping in the next room on the night Mrs. Bruno was allegedly killed! They astonishingly reported that they heard nothing unusual. However, both the defense and the prosecution agreed during the trial that the Martins were deceptive in their answers when they were questioned during a lie detector test about whether or not they were involved in the killing, a clear indication that both defense and prosecution felt their testimony in court was questionable.
After closing arguments were orated by the prosecution and the defense, which took most of the last day of the three-week trial, all that could be agreed upon was the uncertainty of whether they would ever know the full story of what happened on the night of February 21st.
"We don't know yet whether we have the full story of what took place that night in the Haynes' house," Barnes told the jury only minutes before they were charged with their obligations and went into deliberations.
Although it seemed longer, the Lane County Circuit Court jury of five men and seven women found Johnny Charles Bruno guilty of felony murder after barely three hours of deliberations, because they decided that his wife's death occurred during the course of a sexual assault.
In the meantime, while Bruno was awaiting sentencing for his conviction, Charles Haynes' trial date was fast approaching. It was June 13th, only one day before his trial was to begin that Haynes surprisingly waived his right to a jury trial and was swiftly convicted by Judge William Beckett in a "trial by stipulated facts." Judge Beckett immediately sentenced Haynes to life in prison.
It should be pointed out that in his agreement to a trial by stipulated facts, Haynes did not plead guilty to the crime of which he was charged, but simply admitted that the state had enough evidence to convict him. In such an agreement, the defendant retains the right to appeal the verdict. If he had pleaded guilty, he would not have had the right to appeal for there would not have been a verdict delivered.
Jack Billings, Haynes' attorney, stated that his client would appeal the verdict on the grounds that a portion of the state's evidence was "improperly admitted" in the case by a ruling of circuit Judge Douglas Spencer. According to Billings, Spencer ruled on May 18th that statements made by Haynes to the Springfield police about his role in the killing would be admissible in Haynes' trial.
However, Judge Spencer rejected Billings' argument that Haynes' statements were inadmissible as evidence. Billings had argued that Haynes' rights were violated because Springfield police allegedly refused to let the defendant talk to a lawyer hired by Haynes' family. But the court ruled the statements as admissible because Haynes had not hired the attorney in question himself, and furthermore had no knowledge that an attorney had, in fact, been retained. The attorney in question had been retained and dismissed within only a few hours, supposedly because Haynes' family decided they couldn't afford the cost.
In the meantime, Mrs. Haynes was still being held in Lane County Jail awaiting trial. Her trial was postponed four times, and she was denied bail three times. By November, 1980, it was beginning to look like she may not go to trial at all, due mainly to the fact that she had remained incarcerated since her arrest in March 1978.
The Oregon Supreme Court heard oral arguments concerning that very issue from Mrs. Haynes' attorney, who pleaded with the court to set his client free because he contended that she had been denied a speedy trial.
But the Supreme Court denied the requests, ordering Mrs. Haynes to remain in jail. But the court said "that any further postponement of her trial will no longer be 'trial within a reasonable period of time.' "The court stated that charges against her would have to be dropped if she could not be tried or released on bail.
Meanwhile, the Oregon Supreme Court reversed Charles Haynes' conviction on the grounds that Springfield police kept him from seeing an attorney, a charge that Springfield police repeatedly denied. Nonetheless, a new trial with a change of venue was ordered, this time to be held in Salem.
Johnny Bruno and Lionetti Haynes were not so lucky. Bruno's conviction was upheld after his appeal, and he is currently serving a life sentence. Mrs. Haynes was finally brought to trial and convicted of first-degree manslaughter following a trial in which she vehemently maintained her innocence. She was sentenced to 20 years by Judge William Beckett, but the judge ruled that Mrs. Haynes be given credit for the time she spent in Lane County Jail awaiting trial.
In May, 1981, Charles Haynes received his new trial in Marion County, but was convicted after a two-week proceeding and was sentenced to life in prison.
Haynes and his wife appealed, but on March 18, 1982, the Oregon Court of Appeals upheld their convictions. More than four years after the gruesome murder of Pamela Lee Bruno, her convicted killers' cases were now fully adjudicated, and all are serving their sentences at the Oregon State Penitentiary and the Oregon Correctional Institution for Women.
Editor's Note: The names Warren Reid: Daniel Olsen, Philip Wright, June Lerner, John and Rose Martin, and Elizabeth Green are fictitious and were used because there is no reason for public interest in these persons.”
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2020.08.21 22:59 Quirky-Motor EXTENSIVE two-part write up on the murder of Laci Peterson… is there really reasonable doubt? The prosecution case Part 1 of 2.

Hello everyone, today I decided to share a long form write-up that I have been working on for some time. I hope you enjoy. Other detailed and lengthy write ups about a variety of crimes can be found on my reddit profile - https://www.reddit.com/useQuirky-Motor
So...I read almost every book regarding the murder of Laci Peterson and the trial of her husband Scott Peterson. This is what I found.
During lock down I watched some documentaries about the story which I previously knew nothing about, and then decided to dive deep into the case. At first, I felt bad for Scott Peterson. It really seemed like the guy was hounded by the media and did not get a fair trial, even if he was guilty as sin. But instead of jumping to conclusions about his involvement, I decided to do some research and then read every book I could on the case. I read books from different perspectives. Books that touted Scott’s innocence as well as those which condemned him, I wanted a complete a picture as possible. Here is what I found.
Overview of the case- Scott Peterson was sentenced to death for the murder of his wife Laci and his unborn son, Conner in 2004. In 2020 it was announced that Peterson may get a new trial which prompted this piece. The most intriguing part about this case is that there was no “smoking gun.” Nearly all the evidence was purely circumstantial, which in a court of law is just as valid as physical evidence.
According to the Prosecution: Scott Peterson killed his pregnant wife Laci Rocha Peterson on either the evening of the 23rd of Dec. 2002 or the morning of the 24th of Dec. via a non bloody method such as smothering,or strangling. Then took her to the Berkeley Marina ninety miles away from their home and dumped her body from his new fishing boat that was unregistered, bought with cash, and unknown to his family and friends. Five months after Laci went missing, her torso and the remains of her son washed up on the shores of the San Francisco bay only 1-2 miles from where Scott was fishing that fateful day. She had no hands, head, arms, or feet. The prosecution believes that Laci’s body was weighed down with concrete anchors which caused only her torso to surface.
According to the defense: Scott Peterson last saw his wife on the morning of the 24th before he left for his warehouse where he did some work and then took his new boat, which they claim some people did know about, to the Berkeley Marina to go fishing for approximately one hour before driving back home to find his wife missing. His wife’s body was found near the spot he went fishing either through pure happenstance or because the real killers wanted to frame Scott.
Background
Scott Peterson was born to Lee and Jackie Peterson in San Diego, California in 1972. He was the youngest of seven children, four of whom he grew up with and was dotted upon because he was the baby of the family. By the time Scott was born his family was well off, although they hadn’t always been so. Scott attended private high school and played golf, even attending Arizona State University to play the sport on a scholarship. After a while Scott returned to California to attend community college and then eventually Cal Poly to study Agricultural Business. While in college he worked as a waiter and met a fellow student, Laci Rocha in 1994. By 1996 the couple moved in together. Laci graduated in 1997 with an ornamental horticulture degree and the couple married. Scott later returned to school and graduated in 1998. During this time Scott had a slew of affairs, one of which Laci apparently knew about. The couple did various jobs including owning a sports bar before moving back to Laci’s home town of Modesto. In 2000 with the intention of starting a family, the Petersons bought a home in a nice neighborhood. Laci went to work was a substitute teacher and Scott began work selling fertilizer for a European company called (ironically) TradeCorp. USA.
After 18 or 24 months of infertility the couple conceived their first child, a boy in May 2002 who was due on Feb. 10th 2003. Laci would disappear on December 24th, only six weeks before Conner’s due date.
Laci Rocha was born in Escalon, CA in 1975 to Dennis and Sharon Rocha who were dairy farmers. She has a brother, Brent who is four years her senior. At age two Laci’s parents split and she lived primarily with her mother. Soon afterwards, Sharon met her longtime boyfriend Ron Grantski who became like a step father to Laci. Her father Dennis remarried as well resulting in Laci’s younger sister, Amy Rocha. Laci was described as a talkative and vivacious person who wanted to be a mother and housewife more than anything. She loved entertaining and gardening and she always wore a smile. By the time she disappeared she had been with her husband Scott for eight years and was excited to have a baby.
According to court reports at the time of Laci’s disappearance, money was tight. Both Scott and Laci spent money freely and they had little expendable income and less than $2000 in savings. This was not a fact that was well known to friends and family, however.
Individuals of the case:
Sharon Rocha- Laci’s mother Dennis Rocha- Laci’s father
Ron Grantski- Sharon’s long-term boyfriend and Laci’s step dad
Brent Rocha- Laci’s brother Amy Rocha- Laci’s ½ sister
Lee and Jackie Peterson- Scott’s parents
Spurlock, Evers, Gonzalez, Brocchini, Grogan, Buehler– Modesto PD officers and detectives
Mark Geragos- Scott’s attorney Matt Dalton- lawyer on Scott’s legal team- fired by Geragos
Evidence used by the prosecution (and defense)
Below is a collection of the evidence the prosecution (and defense) gathered during the investigation. Police were first called to the scene of 523 Covena Avenue at 5:15 pm after a report that a woman, Laci Peterson, who was 8 months pregnant had gone missing. While some officers went to search the park near the Peterson home, other officers were dispatched to the home to do a walk-through of the house and speak to the husband of the missing woman, a 30-year-old man named Scott Peterson. Scott told officers that he left the home in the morning and that his wife, Laci who was watching Martha Stewart at that time, was planning on walking the dog a Golden Retriever named McKenzie, doing some grocery shopping, and baking gingerbread that day before they were due at her parents’ home for Christmas eve dinner. He said that Laci was wearing black pants, a white top, and her diamond earrings, diamond necklace, and a gold and diamond watch.
Scott said he worked for a while and then went fishing at Berkeley Marina, between Oakland and El Cerrito, California, before coming home at 4:45 pm and finding his wife gone. He did some cleaning and other things before calling his mother in law Sharon at 5:17 pm. He explained that Laci wasn’t home. She told him to check with neighbors and call Laci’s friends. By 5:32 pm Scott called back and said that she wasn’t there. Sharon decided to go to the park where Laci usually walked the dog. At 5:45 pm Ron Grantski called 911 to report Laci missing. Officers went to search the park where Laci walked the dog, other officers went to the Peterson home to walk through the scene and talk to Scott.
Information gathered December 24th
· Scott told officers that Laci was going to be walking the dog when he last saw her but according to her OBGYN, her yoga teacher, and the neighbors Laci had not been walking due to her advanced pregnancy. Amy Krigbaum and Tara Venable who lived across the street had not seen Laci walking the dog for weeks.
· Scott checked his cell phone voicemail at 10:08 am but then did not use his phone from 10:08-2:15 pm. Scott never told Laci his plans to go fishing and did not call her to let her know his plans or that he had left the area.
· After Scott’s famous “hey beautiful” call at 2:15 pm, he NEVER called Laci’s cellphone even after knowing she was missing
· Scott returned home to an empty house, Laci’s car in the driveway, and a dog in the backyard with a leash on and instead of calling Laci he…
  1. Dumped a bucket of mop water and placed that and the mops outside
  2. Took off ALL of his clothes including a sweater and put them in the washer and started the machine.
  3. He ate a snack
  4. He showered
  5. Then he called Laci’s mom, then checked with neighbors, then Laci’s step dad called the police
· When patrol officers came to the house, they noticed a variety of things which seemed off about the home. The scene was so strange that the officers called their sergeant who agreed that homicide needed to be contacted. Below is a thorough explanation.
By 6 pm the patrol officer, Evers, called for a detective as he believed the story to be more than a typical missing person report. He found two mops and an empty but damp bucket outside the door. It also appeared that the floor had been recently mopped. The sidewalk was wet. Scott explained that he dumped the bucket when he got home. In the bathroom, Laci’s curling iron was on the counter. There was an open bottle of ranch dressing on the kitchen counter, as well as the pizza box from the night before. There was also an open phone book on the counter, it was flipped to a full-page ad for a criminal defense attorney. Evers also found a bunched-up rug by the back door, which he described as looking like something heavy had been dragged over it. As soon as he noticed it, Scott straightened it out- it was never photographed. There was no evidence of a break-in and Laci’s jewelry and purse were untouched. Evers asked Scott to explain the morning again. Scott replied “I was fishing” and gave his parking receipt to the officer Spurlock despite not being asked to. He then had this conversation with Spurlock- who loves fishing.
Spurlock: What did you go fishing for?
Peterson: no answer
S: what did you use for bait?
P: first a pause… “some type of silver lure”
S: where do you keep your fishing stuff?
P: I keep it at my company’s storage facility.
P: later approached Spurlock and said “sturgeon”
· Scott explained to the officers that he made a morning decision to fish because it was too cold to golf (it was in the 40s) but instead of leaving right away he did work at the warehouse before fishing, even though he knew he had errands to run before dinner.
· He explained to the officers that he called Laci’s cell at 2:15 pm but never after that time despite coming home to an empty house with Laci’s car still in the driveway. The officers went outside to talk to their superiors as they arrived and the men relayed their findings to Sergeant Duerfeldt. The patrol officers were concerned that:
  1. Scott had no answer for what he was fishing for or what bait he used
  2. Scott produced the receipt for fishing without being asked
  3. The fact that Scott did not call Laci at any point after he realized he was missing
  4. The fact that Scott did not report Laci missing- Ron Grantski did
  5. Scott cleaning himself and his clothes before calling Sharon
  6. Open phone book ad for a criminal defense attorney
  7. The bunched-up rug near the back door
Duerfeldt decided that the patrol officers were correct- homicide detectives needed to be contacted. Scott’s family and supporters have used this to show that Modesto PD “rushed to judgement” and focused on Scott from the beginning. Modesto PD claims that they simply followed the evidence. Despite calling homicide, other officers continued to search La Loma park and canvassed the neighborhood looking for Laci. The K-9 unit was brought in to search the park and the surrounding area.
· Once homicide detective Al Brocchini arrived at the scene, he noticed several other strange things in the house such as the fact that Scott claimed to be fishing for sturgeon, but he was using incorrect bait for that fish, not to mention sturgeon was not in season.
· Brocchini also noticed an impression on the bed that was about five feet long that he thought was odd, as it was shaped like a wrapped-up body. Pictures were taken of that impression. Picture here- http://photos1.blogger.com/blogge1548/2104/1600/P37i.jpg
· Scott was seen loading three, 4’ tall patio umbrellas in to his truck in the morning according to a neighbor, but he never dropped them off at the warehouse like he told police he was going to. The umbrellas were all wrapped in individual tarps. The neighbor observed this between 9:20-9:40 am.
· An empty tarp was found among the patio umbrellas in the bed of Scott’s truck
· Scott told investigators they could search his warehouse but that it would be hard because there was no electricity. A later search warrant determined that was a lie- the warehouse had electricity including overhead fluorescent lights. No power outages had been reported.
· Concrete debris was found in Scott’s boat and the bed of his truck
· A small cut on Scott’s knuckle was observed
· Scott left the home between 9:30-10 am, (phone records show it was closer to 10) but the neighbor Karen Servas the neighbor found the Petersons’ dog wandering in the street with a leash on at 10:18 am, meaning that if Laci was alive when Scott left, Laci disappeared in a very short time frame.
· Scott bought a boat with cash ($1400) on Dec. 9th despite money being tight
· Scott did not register the boat
· Scott’s family or his friends Guy Miligi or Greg Reed did not know about the boat
Peterson supporters say someone did know about the boat, Bruce Peterson (no relation) knew! This is the man Scott bought the boat from.
· The boat was unused until the day of the 24th
· Scott did not make a morning decision to fish- On the 20th of Dec. he bought a two-day fishing license for Dec. 23rd-24th
· Scott did not know what he was fishing for that day
· Scott claimed later to be fishing for sturgeon which was out of season and illegal to fish for in Dec.
· Scott did not open the lures he had bought for fishing. They remained unopened in his truck
· Scott went fishing 90 miles away from his home even though he had plans for that evening and errands to run
· Scott passed nine other places he could have fished and instead went to Berkeley marina where he fished for less than one hour before leaving
· Scott took a 3 hour round trip to the marina and only fished for one hour
Picture of Scott’s boat https://www.gettyimages.com/detail/news-photo/boat-owned-by-scott-peterson-is-towed-from-a-parking-garage-news-photo/51120067
Information gathered December 25th
· During Scott’s interview he denied that he and Laci had marriage issues and told the detective that neither of them had had affairs
· Scott referred to Laci exclusively in the past tense during his first interview
· Scott asked Brocchini for the numbers of grief counselors even though Laci had only been missing for a few hours.
· When Brocchini pointed this out Scott said “I will need those numbers” for Laci’s family.
Here is the whole conversation:
As Peterson left the interview, he turned to Brocchini and had this conversation.
SP: “The only question I have is… what about resources available? You saw my mother in law tonight, um anyway…”
B: “what do you mean?”
SP: “Counseling and that kind of thing. Can you give use the numbers or do I have to search…”?
B: “I can give you those numbers I just don’t know, you probably aren’t going to get any answers today…”
SP: “yeah of course and there is not a need to call if we find Laci in the next days”
B: “yeah I agree I will get you those numbers.”
SP: “I will need them”
B” Ok I will get you the number for victim services (Laci had only been missing for 6 hours)
· Neighbors Tara Venable and Amy Kirgbaum tell the police on December 25th that the curtains of the Peterson home were drawn all day on the 24th- unusual if Laci was home. They also told police they were sad for Laci because the husband was away so much for overnight trips. They also said they had not seen Laci walking for “quite some time.”
· Neighbor Karen Servas put the Petersons dog away on the morning (10:18 am) of the 24th but did not see any other suspicious things in the neighborhood that morning. Karen also talked to Scott on the evening of 24th when he was looking for Laci and Scott told her he spent the day golfing, not fishing.
· According to Ron Grantski, Scott left the Dec. 25th press conference for Laci because he did not like reporters asking questions about him.
· On Dec. 25th Scott was interviewed a 2nd time this time by detective Grogan. The detective had accosted Peterson as he left the press conference. Scott refused a polygraph- which was within rights but others see as suspicious.
· After the interview Scott called Brocchini and asked an update on the search for Laci. Scott asked “Have you used cadaver dogs yet? Brocchini replied “Cadaver dogs are used for sniffing out dead bodies, have you given up hope on finding Laci alive? Scott did not reply. Laci had been missing for less than 24 hours at this point.
· This was the only time Scott ever contacted law enforcement to inquire about his missing wife.
Information gathered December 26th
· On the 26th Laci’s friends, Stacy and Lori were interviewed. Stacy thought it was strange that on Christmas day, Scott was vigorously vacuuming and re-vacuuming the laundry room area.
· Stacy’s boyfriend was a retired highway patrolman and during all the searches, Scott was carefully avoiding him, specifically.
· Both Stacy and Lori in separate interviews believed Scott was responsible for Laci’s disappearance. Both women also confirmed that Laci had stopped talking walks or walking the dog in early December.
· On the 26th in the afternoon the Medina family who lived across the street from the Petersons returned home to find their home ransacked. The Medinas left their home at 10:32 am on the 24th and did not return until the 26th in the afternoon, so the robbery occurred sometime in between those two times. The burglars stole a safe, some money, and some other valuables.
Information gathered December 27th Search warrants are executed on Scott’s home, business, and both vehicles
· When served the search warrants Scott said to Brocchini “Where’s the trust?”
· Investigators find the umbrellas that Scott said he was going to store at the warehouse, as well as the tarp coverings in the back yard of the Peterson home spread across several sheds.
· They also found the empty tan tarp and boat cover which were in Scott’s truck on the 24th. Both items had been placed under a leaky leaf blower in the garden shed. The items were so soaked with gasoline they had to be dried out for two days.
· The gas smell was so strong it delayed the use of a cadaver dog at the property for two days. Even after 48 hours the scent of gasoline confused the dogs and they were unable find anything.
· Some of the jewelry Scott said Laci was wearing was found in her jewelry box.
· The shoes Scott said Laci wore on walks were found in the home.
· The comforter was seized as it had two drops of blood on it near the end of the bed. The blood was later determined to be Scott’s.
· On the walls of the home Scott had four diplomas framed and displayed, three of them were fake. One of the diplomas was a bachelors in religious studies which Scott purchased on December 16th for $269.70 from phonydiplomas.com. Scott later explained it was a gag gift from Laci, but the diploma was purchased using Scott’s credit card and addressed to him in the mail. It is thought Scott wanted to show the diploma to his girlfriend, Amber Frey, as Amber wanted to go to school to study divinity.
· A sniffer dog was given some of Laci’s clothing and followed the scent into the middle of the street, rather than down the sidewalk indicating that Laci most likely left the area in a car, not on foot.
· In Scott’s boat a rusted pair of pliers with a black hair stuck to them were collected. Later testing showed the hair was consistent with Laci’s hair. MtDNA tests showed the hair belonged to a relative of Sharon Rocha.
· At the warehouse the cadaver dog hit on boat and boat trailer but not anywhere else such as outside the building.
· At Scott’s warehouse, debris from dry concrete and a water pitcher with concrete debris on the bottom is found.
· On the ground and boat trailer were four round circular impressions made of concrete residue. The rings were exactly the same size as the concrete anchor Scott had made for his boat.
When asked Scott was unable to produce the bucket he used to make the anchor he had in his boat. Scott denied making other anchors and provided three different explanations to what happened to the rest of the dry concrete, 1) he threw it away 2) he didn’t know what he did with it 3) he dumped it into a hole in his driveway (which was deemed unlikely at court by both defense and prosecution experts). Scott apparently bought 90 lbs of concrete to make one 8 lbs. anchor.
· Neighbors at Scott’s work Mr. Prater and Ms. O’Donnell were interviewed. Prater said he never talked to Scott but he saw Scott toting a bag of concrete into the warehouse on Dec. 20th. A receipt showed Scott purchased a 90 lbs bag of dry concrete mix.
· O’Donnell explained that Laci had used the bathroom in her warehouse unit on Dec. 20th or 23rd. The police thought this was to prevent Laci from seeing Scott’s boat. Further, the warehouse was so full it was difficult to get to the bathroom in Scott’s warehouse.
· Scott’s computers, both home and work, were seized and it was determined that Scott had been looking up tidal activity in the area of the Berkeley Marina as early as Dec. 8th.
· The home computer was also searched. On the morning of the 24th the computer was used to access The Gap website and look at a woman’s scarf. There was a pop-up ad for a sunflower umbrella stand, and then finally Scott’s personal email was accessed. This happened from 8:40-8:45 am.
· The same day as the search warrant, a woman called a rape crisis line to report that she was sexually assaulted a week or so prior. The woman claimed she was abducted by a group of people in a brown van who assaulted her as part of a satanic ritual. They also told her they were going to commit and Christmas murder that “she would read about in the papers.” This woman never made a police report as far as I can tell, but the rape counselor turned this info over to Modesto PD. The police found the people and van in question and processed the brown van for evidence, surprisingly no evidence of any crime was found in the van. When the police were done with the vehicle the family never returned for it and Geragos bought the van, but he never found anything or used the van at trial- leading spectators to believe that the van held no evidentiary value.
Amber Frey
When exploring this case, it is hard to overlook the character of Amber Frey. On December 29th 2002 a woman named Amber Frey called the Modesto PD and reported that she has been having a romantic relationship with Scott Peterson. Investigators were intrigued and interviewed her on December 30th 2002. Amber had first met Scott in November 2002 through her friend Shawn Sibley. Shawn Sibley met Scott at a work conference in early November 2002. One day after the conference a group of conference-goers had drinks in the hotel bar and watched a baseball game on TV. While goofing around at the bar Scott, who no one knew was married, asked Shawn Sibley what he should put on his name tag to help attract women. She thought about it for a moment and then said he should put “I'm rich” on his name tag. Scott said he was going to put H.B short for horny bastard. At this point some of the people with Shawn and Scott left thinking the conversation was getting too flirty. Shawn and Scott hung out for several more hours but Shawn was wearing an engagement ring and told Scott that she was in a committed relationship. Scott was not wearing a ring. The next day at the conference Shawn and Scott exchanged business cards and Scott went on his way. He called Shawn a couple weeks later and asked if she had any friends who would want to meet up with him. Shawn thought about it and later suggested her friend Amber.
Shawn Scott talked on the phone several times but Scott never mentioned that he was married. In mid-November Scott first met Amber Frey. Amber was a 26-year-old single mother of a toddler who worked as a massage therapist near Fresno, California about an hour's drive from Modesto. From their first blind date on, Scott acted like a perfect gentleman buying Amber flowers and he even got a private dining room for them for their first date. While some Scott supporters will try to tell you that Amber and Scott's relationship was not very serious and the Amber and Scott went on only four or six dates, this is not exactly true. Amber and Scott did only see each other six times but each time was a multi-day visit.
Their first date was a whole weekend together at a hotel where Scott bought champagne and strawberries; Amber said she felt like the perfect man had walked into her life. By the second date Amber was impressed that Scott was making her dinner and buying her daughter gifts. He also picked up Amber's daughter from daycare, helped the young family get a Christmas tree, and talked about meeting members of Amber's family.
Throughout their entire relationship Scott lied, not just about being married but about what he did for a job and other things as well. Scott made it seem like he was some sort of international businessman whose job took him around the world. He told Amber that he could not spend the holidays with her because he was going to go on a hunting trip, and then going to Maine for Christmas, Paris and Brussels for New Year’s, and then Guadalajara, Mexico for work. None of these things were true.
In early December Shawn Sibley heard from an acquaintance that Scott Peterson was married. Shawn was so shocked that she called Scott and demanded to know if he was married. Scott eventually calmed her down and said that he had been married in the past. Shawn was furious and said she would call Amber and tell Amber that Scott was married but Scott begged Shawn not to do this and insisted that he would tell Amber himself. That was on December 8th the same day Scott began looking at tidal activity on his computer.
On December 9th Scott went to Amber's home and told her that he had something very serious to discuss with her. He cried and Amber could not calm him down. After a while he finally explained that he had not been truthful with Amber. He then told Amber that he had “lost” his wife and this would be his first holiday season without her. He expressed that he never told Amber about this because it was such an upsetting situation. When Amber said she wasn't mad at Scott for telling her this, he was suddenly relieved and seemed so happy that Amber now knew the truth. Amber pressed “you are not married currently, right?” And Scott said "no, not currently" after this Amber never pressed him for details. After all she didn't want to make a guy upset or make him talk about such a traumatic experience. Amber admitted that she was not clear on whether or not this meant Scott’s wife had died or that she had left him.
On December 14th both the Petersons and Amber had Christmas parties that they were supposed to attend. Scott told Laci that he could not go to the Christmas party because his boss has had unexpectedly flown in from Europe but in reality, he was going to Amber Frey's Christmas party. In pictures that later became famous, Laci attended a Christmas party alone that evening while her husband went to Amber's boss's formal Christmas party where he was photographed with Amber.
After this Amber and Scott did not talk for a while because of Scott’s “extensive travels”. On December 29th a friend of Amber's called to inform her that a guy with the same name as her boyfriend was accused of causing his wife’s disappearance in Modesto. After some internet research Amber decided to call the task force and told the story that is detailed above. The recorder was put on to Amber cell phone and Amber agreed to record her conversations with Scott for the next several weeks and talk to Scott the next day December 31st.
With the recording device in place, Scott who was at a vigil for his missing wife answered a call from Amber and the two were on the phone for 70 minutes. During this conversation Scott told Amber that he was at the Eiffel Tower celebrating New Year's with his friends Pasqual and Francois. He laughs and tells Amber about all the cool things he has been doing in France, surrounded by mourners worried sick about Laci. On the opposite of the line Amber sounds like she is about to cry.
In other conversations Scott told Amber things such as he wanted to get a vasectomy because he was so adamant about not having any children. He even said that if Amber did want more children and that would be a breaking point for their relationship. He said the only child he could ever think of having in his life was Amber's daughter Ayiana.
These phone calls went on for several weeks even after Amber was revealed by the media to be Scott's girlfriend. About a week after the New Year’s call, on January 4th, Scott told Amber that he was the man who had a wife missing. When Amber presses Scott about it by saying things like “you told me you lost your wife and now your wife is missing how am I supposed to believe you about anything?” Scott replied by saying things like “I can't talk to you about that.” Or “I can’t tell you about that right now.” Amber did not get a confession or any vital information out of Scott but her recorded conversations went to show Scott’s motive and character. Their conversations continued until February 19th. Scott also made other odd statements such as Laci’s baby was not his and that "never cheated on you, Amber." After this line, she said "Never cheated on me? Scott you're married! Explain that one to me!"
Amber ended up being a very good witness for the prosecution. Her attorney Gloria Allred coached her on how to act on the stand. Amber did a superb job of telling the jury that she was not here to explain whether or not Scott killed Laci and Conner; she was there simply to explain what she knew and her role as it possibly pertained to motive. She did not fall apart on cross-examination and she came across as a sweet, naive girl who'd been tricked by Scott Peterson not at all like the homewrecker the media painted her as. Peterson told Amber a variety of things during the recorded conversations. One of the things he told Amber is that he wanted to tell her the whole story but couldn't. Whether this was because he knew he was being surveilled or because he did not want to tell Amber the truth is unknown.
Amber was announced to be Scott’s girlfriend on January 24th 2003. The police did not want to make this announcement but National Enquirer had discovered the story so MPD decided to announce the information before the press could leak it.
Car evidence
Another suspicious thing that Scott did was on three different occasions Scott rented a vehicle and drove to the Berkeley Marina where he would get out of his car look around but never stay for more than two minutes. The police observed Scott making these trips three different times in two different rented cars while they were surveilling him. While Scott supporters have always said that this was to look for witnesses who may have seen him at the marina that day, the police said that they believed Scott was looking to see whether or not Laci’s body had surfaced. Scott's family will also tell you that he had to rent these cars for work. One time Scott rented a truck, but the other times he rented a Lincoln town car. So, unless Scott was selling fertilizer out of the back of a rented car, he had no reason to get these cars except for to disguise himself. The days he went to the marina were January 5th, 6th, and 9th.
No longer missing- Conner and Laci found April 13th and 14th
Laci and Conner were found in the same area but separately on different days, Conner on April 13th and Laci on April 14th. Laci was badly decomposed; barnacles were on her bones and most of her organs except parts of her uterus were gone. There was a large hole in her womb from decomposition. Conner was somewhat decomposed but he was fully intact. The medical examiner thought this was because he was protected inside of Laci until her uterus decomposed expelling him into the bay. The medical examiner could find no cause of death for Laci and ruled that Conner died due to his mother’s death at approximately 33 weeks gestation. Conner seemed to be inside of Laci until shortly before he was found. The medical examiner explained to the jury that Conner most likely floated out of his mother’s abdomen due to gasses building up in her body. Additionally, his umbilical cord was torn, not cut or clamped and he had no injuries of any kind. He was not even bruised. Further, Laci’s cervix was closed indicating she had not given birth recently. The ME also explained that there was 28 cm worth of tape around Conner’s torso, head, and shoulders. It is not a nice neat bow but rather a tangled length of tape or twine. To me it actually looks like the remains of a plastic shopping bag. Laci had no discernible cause of death and Conner’s death was ruled to be because of Laci’s death. *more details about this are in the defense section.
Finding and identifying the bodies is what triggered the arrest of Scott Peterson.
Fleeing the scene
One of the most made-for-tv parts of this story is how Scott was arrested. Scott Peterson was arrested in San Diego where his parents lived. When Scott was apprehended he had dyed his hair and beard blonde, was carrying his brother's ID as well as $15,000 worth of American cash, copious amounts of Mexican currency, 4 cellphones, a knife, extensive survival gear, a tent, a shovel, water purifying equipment, a gun, Viagra pills, and all of this clothes. When asked if Scott dyed his hair, he told everyone that the hair had become bleached from swimming in the pool. When asked why he had $15,000 on him Scott said that Jackie had accidentally made a withdrawal of $15,000 and gave him the cash. His family has also claimed that Scott was using his brother's ID in order to get a discount at a local golf course however, Scott had never been scheduled to play at that golf course. Additionally, why would a man who has enough money to accidentally get $15,000 out of the bank need to use his brother's ID to get several dollars off a golf game? It is speculated that at the time that Scott was arrested he was planning on fleeing to Mexico. Scott's family will tell you that Scott only had enough things in his car to go on a camping trip however, a full inventory would show that Scott had pretty much everything he owned packed into the car. Scott was booked into the county jail and charged with double murder on April 18th, 2003.
Scott’s lies, conversations, and explanations
Ron Grantski arrived at the Peterson house on Dec. 24th after searching the park and approached Scott. “Did you get in a game of golf this morning?” “No, it was too cold I went fishing instead” replied Scott. “what were you fishing for?” asked Ron. Scott said nothing.
On Dec. the 24th, Scott sauntered over to Sharon who had just finished scouring the park for Laci and said “You know if they find blood anywhere that doesn’t mean anything. I’m a sportsman. Just look at my hands, I could drop blood anywhere.” A searcher promptly reported the statement to police.
On December 28th, Scott told detective Grogan that they may find blood Scott’s truck because he cut himself all the time and bled on the door of the truck. Grogan thought it was weird that Scott had an explanation for such a minor thing without being asked.
Scott claimed that he had his brother’s ID when arrested so he could get a local’s discount at Torrey Pines golf course, even though he had no reservations to play golf there.
Scott gave one media interview after news about Amber broke. Scott said on national TV that he told the police about Amber during his first interview. This was a complete and utter lie. Scott did not tell the police about Amber until January after the police showed him the pictures they had of Scott with Amber. Further, he said on national TV that Laci knew about his affair with Amber and the “nothing could break us apart.”
Throughout the case Scott lied about everything. He even lied about things that had no relevance to case. He lied to neighbors about fishing that day. He lied about not having a second debit card. He lied about his affairs and whether or not Laci knew about them. He lied about his cars and phone calls he did not make. Scott also had a history of lying, for example he told his girlfriend Janet Ilse that he had traveled extensively through Africa but this was not accurate and served no purpose. He lied to dish network about moving abroad. He lied about buying his house with cash.
Scott’s other affairs
Another thing that needs to be discussed is Scott's affairs. Many people seem to think that Amber Frey was the only affair Scott had while he was married to Laci Peterson. This is a misconception. Scott had at least four affairs while he was married to Laci. These affairs were sometimes casual and sometimes serious. Scott dated one woman, Janet Ilse for 5 months and told her he wanted to meet her family. Janet actually walked in on Scott in bed with Laci when she tried to surprise him one day. Janet had no idea that her boyfriend was married. Another woman a girl named Michelle had been dating Scott but she said they had only gone on a couple of dates. Scott also briefly saw another woman named Katy. Another unnamed woman had a one night stand with Scott in Las Vegas and then of course there was also Amber Frey. What we can learn from these affairs is the fact that Scott was a chameleon. Scott dated many women and always seemed to morph into whatever they needed. One of Scott’s mistresses was a “health nut” when Scott was dating her, he began hiking and running and doing other healthy endeavors. When Scott dated a vegetarian, he gave up meat. When Scott was dating Amber, he decided to pretend he had a degree in Divinity. It is critical to remember that Scott made all of these transformations while married to Laci and was able to hide his actions pretty well. Finally, when Scott was dating and married to Laci, he was able to be, at least from the outside, a perfect husband and doting father. Of course, being an adulterer does not mean that you are a murderer but it does give some insight into the type of person that Scott was and I think it's important as it shows us that Scott could morph into whoever he wanted to be for a short time.
TO BE CONTINUED with rest of the prosecution case and then the defense case
Here is a wiki link for the case. A complete list of sources is in part 2. https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Murder_of_Laci_Peterson
submitted by Quirky-Motor to UnresolvedMysteries [link] [comments]


2020.08.03 00:46 Taxi_Dancer MUFFINS (part 1)

MUFFINS
“Look kid,” said the older security guard with the slightly pudgy beer belly which threatened to pop out of his dark grey button down shirt. “This job is real easy.”
The name ‘Pontiac Security Services’ was emblazoned on a black and red patch on his left shoulder. Over his left breast pocket was a badge which read ‘Pontiac Security- Reliable, effective, always ready.’ Over his right breast pocket was a name tag which read ‘Schmidt.’ He ran his right hand over his balding head and stretched. “Yeah, kid. This is easy money.”
Another security officer sat on a well padded chair staring at a huge black wrap around desk which faced a grey painted wall that mounted banks of CCTV monitors. Each monitor was labeled with a white number from 1 to 46 and each showed various locations of the surrounding building and grounds. Bradford Kiefer Shaw, the other security officer, nodded slightly as he took in the panorama of monitors and locations. At twenty-four, Bradford was much younger than the veteran security officer, lean, with curly reddish-brown hair indicative of his Scottish heritage. The security office was fifteen feet by thirty-five feet, a large office for a single person, but that was necessary because of the banks of monitors which lined the walls, and although the security office had no windows, it was well lit.
“As you can see, we have forty-six monitors that cover roughly 80% of this complex as well as the parking garage and the main entrances,” continued the older security guard. “The cameras cover the stair wells, access doors to the various departments, break areas, and… well, just read your post orders. In it, you’ll find a list of cameras and what areas they are covering.”
Security Officer Schmidt reached into a drawer at the desk and handed Bradford a white laminated binder marked ‘Pontiac Security Services Post Orders for The Karr Building, 700 South Flower Street, Los Angeles, CA.’ “You said that the camera’s cover 80% of the area,” said Bradford. Since moving to the states a little over a year ago, he still retained a slight Scottish accent. “Will I be expected to go out and check on the other 20% that the monitor’s don’t cover?”
“Nope,” said Schmidt. “You’ll spend the majority of your ten hour shift here in the security office monitoring the cameras. Your job is simply to observe and report. If you see anything unusual, illegal, or dangerous to the building’s occupants you’ll call the emergency contact number and report the incident. Otherwise, the only challenges you’ll likely face is boredom and sleepiness.”
Schmidt checked his watch. He was coming to the end of his shift and this new kid seemed bright enough. He’d be fine on his first night with just a brief orientation. “The room next to the security office is one of the break rooms. There’s actually three on this floor. They have refrigerated drinks, snacks and microwavable meals. Feel free to get yourself an energy drink if you need to. Just, for goodness sakes don’t fall asleep. And if you do, don’t get caught. Most of the day shift people usually leave at around 6 p.m. A skeleton crew might work a little overtime, but all of the office workers need to be out by 9 p.m. It’s pretty much a ghost town during that time and emptier after that. Do you have any questions?”
Bradford flipped over the first few pages of his post orders, eager to familiarize himself with his duties in his new surroundings. “No, I should be good. Stay in the security office, monitor the cameras, report any suspicions or dangerous activities to the emergency contact number, and don’t fall asleep.”
“Yep,” said Schmidt. “Oh, a couple more things, before I forget. The cleaning crew comes in at around six tonight. There are usually four of them, all Mexicans, and they’re usually done by nine. Keep an eye on them when they go through the office cubicle spaces because… well, they’re Mexicans and we don’t want any of the employees complaining that their stuff went missing when they arrive to work in the morning.”
“Ohhh- kaaay,” replied Bradford.
“Seriously!” said Schmidt. “Old Bloody Ned got fired because six computer monitors and a bunch of lap tops came up missing. Turns out, people from the last cleaning company had snatched them up from one of the training classrooms. That cleaning company was run by a bunch of people from Albania. Anyway, we found out Old Bloody Ned was asleep at his post so he was booted from Pontiac Security.”
“I see,” said Bradford.
“Also, before you clock out when your shift ends, you need take the video recording disc out of the mainframe and replace it with a blank one.” Schmidt pointed at another black table to the left of the main desk where the computer towers sat that held the discs which recorded everything the camera’s monitored.
“After every shift, we need to replace the DVR recording disc with a blank one. We keep the recordings for about a month, then purge the data and reuse the blank disc again,” continued Schmidt. “Take the DVR and put it in one of these white plastic sleeves and put it in this ‘OUTGOING MAIL’ basket. Be sure to label it with the date and time of your shift. Then replace it with one of these blank discs in the ‘INCOMING MAIL’ basket. Any questions?”
“Umm, at the end of my shift, make sure that the cleaning crew is out, and replace the old DVR recording disk with a new one before leaving,” said Bradford.
“Correct,” said Schmidt. “And report anything unusual, hazardous or suspicious to the emergency contact number. And, remember, don’t fall asleep.”
“Right, don’t fall asleep, stay in the security office, don’t let anyone in unless I’m told, and don’t come out unless you or anyone else comes to get me,” smirked Bradford in his best British comedy accent.
“Huh?” said Schmidt.
Bradford smiled awkwardly, seeing that his attempt at levity failed. “Monty Python reference, you know, from that movie where they go looking for the Holy Grail and get attacked by a hungry, big-toothed, bunny rabbit.”
“Son, did you pass your drug screening test?” said Schmidt. “Or is that some of that new young people humor that you college aged folks think is so funny?”
Bradford had never graduated college, having only gone to a few community college classes in Ohio before he got bored. “Uhh, yeah. New college humor. Haaaaa…” Bradford said weakly.
“I’ll never understand you young folks,” replied Schmidt, picking up his lunch cooler and an old desk fan, fishing his car keys out of his pockets. “Okay, kid, I’m out. You got the bridge! ‘You got the bridge,’ get it? That’s real Navy lingo there, kid. Maybe you should think about joining the military.”
“I got the bridge. Got it, Captain Kirk!” said Bradford, saluting.
Schmidt swiped his access card at the reader next to the windowless double doors leading into the security room. It beeped softly before unlocking and Schmidt stepped out, mumbling something about back in the day when men were men and girls were girls, Commies were the bad guys, John Wayne was the good guy, and real cowboys weren’t gay.
Bradford decided that he liked old Officer Schmidt. He reminded him a lot of his old, clueless, grandpa back in Ohio. The drive from Ohio had been long and arduous, especially since he had to take a lot of rural highways and back country roads, but here he finally was on the west coast in the great city of Los Angeles. Admittedly, he was tired from the long journey, having arrived in the city only four days earlier, and he had not had a decent chance to catch up on any good sleep. He had used almost the last of his savings to rent a cheap hotel in an equally cheap neck of the city and was living on cans of beanie-weenies and Vienna Sausages, but at least he was fortunate enough to answer an ad on Craiglist for this security officer position on the morning he arrived. Pontiac Security Services was hurting for people to work, as the Covid-19 pandemic was keeping people at home and collecting more in unemployment per week than if they actually got a job. So after a day and a half of security guard ‘training’, Bradford found himself the graduate of the Pontiac Security Officer Institute, Class of 3:51 p.m. Wednesday Afternoon.
It was now Thursday, and Bradford’s ten hour shift ran from 4 p.m. in the evening to 2 a.m in the morning. Normally, his shift would start at 6 p.m. but he was required to come in two hours early today for orientation training for this site. Officer Schmidt’s security orientation training barely lasted fifteen minutes. Bradford began reading the binder which held his post orders. The Karr Building, which stood at the 700 block of South Flower Street, Los Angeles, 90017, was a tall, multi-story, building of dark tinted thick glass. It was built atop several glass fronted stores and was actually connected to a shopping plaza. A parking garage was also connected to the Karr Building which went up to the first three floors of the fifteen story building, including one level below ground. Above the first floor stores and shopping plaza, the building provided sectioned off office spaces for several businesses and services. Pontiac Security was responsible for providing security monitoring for the first three floors above the shopping area and monitoring for the parking garage. The first floor above the shops consisted mostly of maintenance rooms, stock rooms, and storage areas for the shops below. The second floor consisted of legal offices, accounting firms, travel offices, and a few medical practice services offices. The third floor was entirely dedicated to an asset recovery business, a nicer term to describe a debt collection office where dedicated people call the indebted at all hours of the day and night demanding payment.
The other parts of the building were segregated by security locked doors and elevators and only people with the right access cards allowed them access to the different parts of the building. Therefore, theoretically, anyone without the proper programming in their access card would not be able to gain access to a part of the building which they did not have access. Other security services also provided security to the different parts of the building not covered by Pontiac Security, and it was considered taboo to cross into another company’s area of responsibility. Basically, Bradford was only to monitor everything within his scope of responsibilities and let the other security services monitor theirs.
Bradford looked at the rows upon rows of monitors mounted on the wall in front of him, matching them to the list of monitors in his post orders. As it turned out, they were arranged in a very easy to understand pattern. The first six monitors on the top row were cameras mounted on the top floor of the parking garage. The following twelve monitors were located in various areas inside the third floor of the building. The first six monitors on the second row were cameras mounted on the middle floor of the parking garage and the following twelve monitors were located in various areas inside the second floor, while the bottom first six monitors were connected to cameras mounted on the first floor parking garage while the following twelve monitors were located inside the first floor. The last four monitors were set separately, and were connected to cameras which were monitoring the main entrance to the ground floor elevators and stairs. Soon, Bradford pretty much had memorized where all of the cameras were located and which areas they surveyed.
Should anything require particular watching from a specific camera, Bradford simply had to type in the monitor’s number into a key pad on the desk and press the manual control button on a joystick. He then would have manual control of the camera and would be able to track anyone he wanted, alternately zooming in and zooming out as needed. Bradford practiced this by using the monitors to zoom in on the rear end of a particularly attractive young blonde female wearing cut off denim shorts and a pink tank top as she walked from a gynecologist’s office on the second floor and tracked her as she took the elevators to the first floor parking garage until got into her white Honda Accord. He did this a few more times, next following two young Latina and Asian ladies as they walked to one of the break rooms on the third floor, then by zooming in on a fit looking girl walking up the stairs in tight fitting pink Capri pants, white sandals, and a yellow blouse, before he remembered that everything he did was being recorded on the DVRs.
He scanned the monitors for the next few hours, alternately watching the parking garage, then the offices on the second floor, then the collection agency on the third. The security monitoring office was located at the end of a hallway next to a break room on the first floor above all the fancy stores. It wasn’t as populated on this floor as this was were the offices of the store managers were located, as well as building maintenance workers, cleaning custodians, and a few store workers who would bring down more stock merchandise to the store. The collection agency on the third floor was expansive and was divided up into different sections, such as collections, disputes, training, etc. It was a cubicle farm for literally hundreds and of determined people sitting in front of a computer, calling people across the United States and demanding that their debts be settled.
Getting bored, Bradford decided to try to find his vehicle in the parking garage. If he remembered correctly, it was in Lot E on the second floor of the garage as he took control of the garage cameras on the second floor and began searching. As luck would have it, his vehicle was parked in part of the 20% of the areas not covered by the cameras. It was creeping past six and Bradford noticed that it wasn’t getting any cooler in the security office. In fact, it seemed to be getting warmer. He got up, stretched and looked around the office until he found the thermostat mounted on the wall. He looked at the little box and saw that the indictor was at 85 degrees. Underneath the thermostat was a hand written note which read- ‘Thermostat broken. Do not touch. Maintenance has been notified.’ It was dated one week ago.
“Great,” thought Bradford. “That’s why Schmidt had the desk fan. What else he forget to tell me?”
Needing something to cool himself off and keep himself alert, he decided to go next door to the break room to get an energy drink. Walking out into the hall, he swiped his access card and heard the break room door ‘beep’ as the magnetic lock disengaged. Upon entering, he was hit by the refreshingly chilly air of the air conditioned room. Several snack and soda machines lined the pristine white walls. Refrigerators filled with microwavable foods lined a separate room along with sinks and counters on which sat three microwaves. Two men were in the break room, sitting separately at different tables because of the social distancing restrictions. By the look of their light grey uniforms, Bradford figured that they were either part of the maintenance or custodial crew. They looked Hispanic and were speaking amongst themselves until Bradford walked in. A television mounted on the wall was tuned in to a Spanish speaking channel.
He said, “Hello,” and they nodded towards him courteously, although they said nothing. Bradford, somewhat self consciously, walked towards an ice cold soda machine, looking for an energy drink and was surprised to find that the cheapest caffeinated drink in the machine cost three dollars, with the energy drink he was looking for costing even more. He reached into his pockets and pulled out two crumpled one dollar bills and eighty-six cents.
“Things are a little bit more expensive here, ese!” said a young Latino male seated at the table, smiling. The name embroidered on his shirt said ‘Carlo.’
Bradford smiled back, wondering what it was about him that gave it away that he wasn’t a native of LA. “The cup and ice water are free, ese,” said an older Latino man pointing at the separate room with the refrigerators of prepackaged meals and microwaves. ‘Manuel’ was the name embroidered on his shirt.
“Oh, uh, thank you,” said Bradford, sheepishly walking into the next room. Sure enough, there were plastic cups resting inside a cup dispenser next to an ice maker and water machine. Taking a cup and filling it with iced water, he downed it quickly, feeling a little bit refreshed. He drank another cup full, then filling the cup one more time, he walked out. By then, the workers were walking out of the door and Bradford followed them out.
Turning left, he walked back to the security office, swiping his badge and entering. There was no window to the outside to open and the air was beginning to get stifling. Thinking that it really wouldn’t hurt anything, Bradford decided to take one of the rolling chairs in the office and used it to prop open the door. The cooler air from the hallway would help circulate the warmer, staler, air in the room and there was a camera monitoring this hallway to alert him is anyone was approaching. Besides it was nearly 8 p.m. and just like Schmidt said, the building had rapidly turned into a ghost town. Where the parking garage was nearly full when he arrived at 4 p.m. there were now only a handful of cars left.
The water and the open security office door only helped a little bit in keeping Bradford alert, but he found that his eyelids were getting heavy. Bradford finally had to admit that his days of driving cross country and his whirl-wind schedule once he arrived in LA, combined with his lack of sleep, was getting the best of him. He was losing focus, even after he noticed the same fit and petite girl from earlier with the pink Capri’s and yellow blouse leaving the third floor offices heading towards the stairs that led to the parking garage. He wasn’t even interested in turning a camera to follow her as she bounced down the stairs.
Groaning, Bradford saw that it was a little after 8 p.m. He had to find a way to engage himself mentally to stay awake for the rest of the shift. He picked up a copy of today’s LA Times news paper which he figured Schmidt had left behind- because who but old grandpa’s read the paper anymore? Leaning back in his chair, he went to the front page headlines and began to take in the news of the day.
Amanda really didn’t lie to her husband when she said she would be working late. She actually did work late today. It’s just that she told her husband that she would be coming home at around ten, even though it was just after 8 o’clock. Eh, she didn’t care. Her husband was almost twice as old as she was, but he was loaded. She only married him for the money. He knew it also, and it benefitted him to have a pretty trophy wife when he had to go to his stuffy get togethers with other old rich guys with their pretty young trophy wives. Besides, he was almost never in the mood to satisfy her and Danny, the intern at the law firm downstairs, was a sexual tyrannosaur!
Skipping down the stairs, she emerged on the second deck of the parking garage. As she figured, the garage was nearly empty and her sandals clicked and echoed as she made her way to a parking spot which she knew, from experience, was not covered by the prying eyes of a security camera. Her husband had recently bought her an SUV, one of those nice ones with the big spacious back seats, and even had the windows tinted. It was used, but only a couple of years old. She turned a corner, walking past a concrete post and paused. An ugly pale blue and rust colored van had parked next to her SUV. Ugg, she thought. Probably one of the Mexican cleaning crew’s shit mobiles. Usually, they would park their vehicles closer to the entrance of the building. But, thinking that the vehicle might be an added wall to shield from prying eyes, Amanda pressed the button on her key FOB which unlocked the doors. She couldn’t wait until later. She wanted it now, and then later after dinner with Danny, and maybe after that, as well.
Instead of climbing into the driver seat, Amanda opened the rear door of her SUV and took a seat, quickly undid the buttons on her blouse and unbuttoned the buttons on her Capri’s. She didn’t want any clothing restrictions when Danny finally came down to ravage her. She reached behind her, pushing her hands underneath her blouse to unhook her bra when a dark shadow loomed up over the shit van that had parked next to her SUV. Amanda looked up from the back seat, too terrified to scream.
“Dammit, honey will you get off my back?” The elevator doors closed behind a well dressed young man wearing wire rimmed glasses. He didn’t need glasses to see, but it made him look more sophisticated when he worked with the lawyers at the firm of Phagus, Womac, and Klein as a legal assistant. “I’m not going to have this conversation with you. When I say I’m working late at the firm, I’m damn well working late! I’m not cheating on you!”
He threw his dark blue jacket over his shoulder and loosened his tie. “Look, honey,” Danny continued. “I’m working my ass off here trying to make a name for myself and provide for your future and the kids. And how do you repay me? You repay me by accusing me of cheating on you!”
“Of course I’m cheating on you, you fat cow!” thought Danny. “You haven’t been the same since the twins were born. Always complaining and nagging and getting on my back for every little damn thing. And you never lost that pregnancy weight. It’s been, like, one year since the twins were born and you haven’t lost any of the twenty pounds you gained. Hell, you actually added weight and you’re never in the mood. Of course I need a chick who can satisfy me. This young prince got needs!” He wanted to say these things into the phone, but he held his tongue.
It wasn’t his fault that he was a virile stud that was going places while his wife was as listless in bed as a wet sock. He hurried down the hallway to the stairs which led to the parking garage. When Amanda wanted it, she didn’t have time to waste taking off clothes. He looked down at his watch and seeing it was past 8 o’clock, Danny picked up the pace.
“No, honey, I don’t have time to talk,” continued Danny. “Why am I breathing so hard? Because you’re strangling me, that’s why! Oh… oh… is that the babies I hear crying? Why don’t you spend some time taking care of the babies instead of nagging me to death? Maybe then I’ll have the time to come home!” Danny hung up abruptly and shut off the phone in case the fat cow called back. He was out the door and fast walked across the parking garage towards that familiar parking space, a excitement growing in the front of his trousers as he imagined Amanda waiting in the back seat for him.
Danny turned the corner of the concrete pillar which blocked the view of the camera monitor to that particular back corner of the parking garage. An ugly, windowless, rusty blue panel van was parked next to Amanda’s SUV, looking like the vehicular version of the beast next to beauty. Amanda’s soft, white supple legs stuck out from the back seat towards the van, one of her white sandals already on the floor. Looking around to make sure no one was watching; Danny hustled over to the back seat of the SUV, unbuckling his trousers as he went. Amanda was ready to go tonight!
Eagerly glancing down into the back seat, Danny suddenly shrieked. Amanda was lying in the back seat as he’d expected, but her right arm and head were completely missing. Danny’s trousers fell to his ankles as he stood frozen, looking at the decapitated corpse. All of a sudden, a low growl and the thud of heavy footsteps coming from behind him caused Danny to slowly turn around. He closed his eyes, not wanting to see what was slowly stalking behind him. When he opened his eyes, he shrieked again, ignoring the warm sensation of urine running down his legs. Abruptly, he turned and attempted to run back towards the entrance to the building, nearly tripping from his pants around his ankles. He pulled them halfway up to his knees, turned to see if he was being followed, then shrieked again. Trying to pull his pants up with one hand, he turned the corner around the concrete pillar and began waving frantically at the video camera with the other hand.
Hobbling for everything he was worth Danny successfully reached the doors which led back into the building, but ran face first into the glass creating a loud clanging noise which echoed across the parking garage. Suddenly remembering that the sliding glass doors automatically lock at 8 p.m. he waved both hands over his head at the security video camera mounted on the ceiling just inside the doors before finally remembering that employees could get in after hours by using their access cards. Desperately, he reached down into his pants which were still wrapped around his feet and fished around in his pockets for his access card. Suppressing a yelp of victory, he ripped the card out of his pocket and swiped it over the pad. The doors swung open and Danny heaved himself inside just as his world went black. The last thing he heard was the crunch of his own rib cage and shoulder blades. Metal buckled and glass shattered as something big and black entered the building.
In the section of the second floor which led to the law offices of Phagus, Womac, and Klein, two men stood facing each other across an ornately carved oaken desk. Lining the walls of the dimmed room were oaken shelves similarly carved as the oaken desk and filled with various legal and criminal justice books. A lamp in the desk was the only light, casting harsh shadows around it. A tall, slender, elderly man wearing a tan suit pushed four, small, rectangular packages wrapped in thick plastic towards a smaller man wearing a light grey jumper uniform of the cleaning staff. The smaller man picked up one of the packages, eyeing it nervously. It weighed about one pound, or a little less than half a kilo.
“And this will be the last time, Senior Phagus?” said the man in the cleaning uniform. “This will be the last time? You promise?”
Lewis J. Phagus, senior partner of the law firm Phagus, Womac, and Klein, narrowed eyes filled with contempt at the little Hispanic night laborer standing in front of his desk. However, when Phagas spoke, it was with the same conviction in his voice that swayed many a split jury to acquit an obviously guilty defendant and set them free.
“My dear friend,” said Phagus. “My dear Mr. Manuel Odango, of course I shall keep my part of the bargain. I know the struggles which your family have had to face, and I’m not going to insult you by saying I understand the financial hardships which you face. But I will tell you that I am here to help.”
Phagas leaned in closer. “You just do this one last thing, you just take those small packages to our MS-13 friends down at the Redondo Beach pier, and I’ll do my part. I’ll talk to some of my friends at the DA and file some motions with a few immigration and naturalization court judges that I usually play golf with. Trust me, Mr. Odango, you’ll be reunited with your grandchildren soon.”
Odango nodded doubtfully, but what choice did he have? When his daughter and her children tried to cross the border into southern California, she was taken by human traffickers, forced into drug addiction, and had been sold into prostitution. Thankfully, Odango’s four grandchildren were rescued by the US border patrol and CPS but were now living in the confusing and frustrating red tape limbo that is the United States immigration system. And with Odango being an illegal immigrant himself, trusting this highly respected lawyer was his only chance to save what was left of his family.
“Okay, Senior Phagas,” said Odango, slipping the four packages into the large cargo pockets on either side of his pants. “I will deliver your packages to your friends at midnight, just as we agreed.”
Phagas smiled and nodded, lifting his hand and gesturing towards the door. The dark shadows cast by the lamp framed the sharp angular features of Phagas’s face in such a way that it made him look somewhat devilish. Odango, taking his cue, nodded and turned to leave Phagas’s darkened office and was grateful to emerge into the well lit common area of the law firm. The glass doors to the firm opened automatically for him as he emerged into the hallway. Phagas didn’t trust mag-locked doors, and preferred to lock the doors using old fashioned lock and keys.
The sound of movement attracted the monstrosity as it stalked the corridors of the second floor. It stopped suddenly, sniffing the air then quickly turned as it followed the noise to the main hallway which led to the law firm of Phagus, Womac, and Klein. It rounded a corner in time to see elevator doors close behind a person with a light ‘ding’ sound. The massive thing moved down the hallway towards the closed elevator doors when a part of its form pressed up against a green button mounted on the wall next to it. To the thing’s right, two sliding glass doors opened.
“Fools,” thought Phagas. “Find a way to enslave a person, and they will be your fool for life.” Phagas lit a Cuban cigar as he stood at the tinted bay window of his office, looking outside as darkness engulfed the city.
It was relatively easy to alter evidence documents which would allow a few kilos of confiscated coke to fall through the cracks here and there. The LAPD doesn’t get paid nearly enough for what they do to protect and serve and any opportunity to spread the wealth, including to Lewis Phagas himself, benefitted everyone. Besides, if Odango does get caught, are the feds really going to believe that an illegal immigrant was actually trafficking drugs to MS-13 through a respected criminal defense lawyer?
“Oh, no, Mr. Odango. Tonight isn’t your last delivery, not by a long shot. I’ll give you little bits of hope and little indications that things are progressing, but you’ll never see day two of your journey. You and your grandchildren will be running these deliveries for a long, long time.”
Phagas took a long puff of his Cuban cigar, relishing the smooth rich taste as he exhaled slowly. Suddenly, the dim light of the lamp behind him disappeared as the shape of something massive rising behind him was reflected in the mirror. Phagas blinked at the reflection in the window, thinking, “Did I just grow horns?”
submitted by Taxi_Dancer to DrCreepensVault [link] [comments]


2020.08.02 18:14 Laser_Slice EG thinks her son shouldn’t go to prison. I say heck no!

Try to get him out? I say heck no!(long first time post)
TLDR: Entitled Grandma thinks her Entitled son shouldn’t go to prison.
So this is my first post and my formatting may be bad. Aswell as my spelling(mobile). So the cast will be: EG- Entitled Grandma(my dad’s mom)(60-61 at the time) ED- My Entitled Dad(39M)(36-37 at the time) Op- Me(14M)(11-12 at the time) There where more people but they are not very relevant to the story.
 So here we will start, it’s mid-year 2017, ED has just been sentenced to prison for 15 years at 30%(in other-words he can get out in 5 for good behavior). Of course I don’t remember this perfectly as it was 3 years ago, sorry. My dad was charged with attempted first degree murder against my mom, if you want the news article I will tell with an update. So after the trial and all I had a few things I had to do, including but not limited to trying for more time on ED. I wasn’t aloud to attend the trial. After ED got taken away, EG came to me and asked me for the next time there was a court date set if I could attend and say he was a ‘good father’ and multiple other things to get him out earlier. The exact words I remember her saying was, 
EG: “Hey, OP, I was wondering if you could vouch for you’re father this time around. I know you love him and want him back home.”
Me(with tears in my eyes): “How dare you claim I love that piece of shit, for what he did, HE SHOULD ROT IN HELL.” We where a very religious family and this, along with me saying shit, made her ‘show how unGodly I am’.
EG: “But OP, you know I’m going to buy you you’re first care, send you to college, and set up a trust fund for you.” At this point I wanted to run away, I don’t know where to, but just run.
Me: “You seriously think I care about your, or anyone else’s money right now?! My mom is in the hospital because of you and your piece of shit son.” My mom stayed in the hospital for about 8 months.
EG: “Fine but will you think about it, please? You’re just distressed right now, I know you’ll come around sooner or later.” She got into her car and left. Also I haven’t mentioned it yet, but my family was/is one of the most wealthy in that town, multiple millionaires.
I just went with my DCS(department of child services) case worker crying and climbing into her car, just wanting to go cry myself to sleep. I was never able to get ED more jail/prison time surprisingly, although I had plenty of evidence.
So at this time I also had no choice in the matter of talking to ED, I had to, now of-course it was over phone and in a meeting room, on speaker for my case worker to hear so he couldn’t say anything... off. You see ED was a very manipulative person, so was his family, even though my case worker didn’t know exactly how manipulative he was. He said a few words. I. WILL. NEVER. FORGET. “I love you, OP.”
Now some of you may say this is bitter-sweet. But no. He never had said this to me in my life, they recorded his reaction at my birth, he didn’t say anything near that then either. Whenever ED said that, I looked at my case worker, I’m pretty sure with a super scared/worried face, she instantly hung up and told me,”let’s go get something to eat.”
As far as I know, those four words ED said to me is what caused my anxiety. But after that day I was never the same person, and never will be. Well anyways, back on track. So the judge/jury who chose ED’s sentence was a good one from the state. I know this mainly because she tried bribing them... 70 million dollars. Believe it or not, it is true. She tried bribing them money she did have and they turned it down.
She never got any charges considering she could of gotten an army of the best lawyers. She has tried many little things threw-out then and now trying to lower his sentence any way possible, of-course to no avail. I have more stories of my life being really fricked if you guys think this is good, please say so, I want to know if i should continue with future posts.
submitted by Laser_Slice to u/Laser_Slice [link] [comments]


2020.07.10 00:06 blackfridayswitch13 Last Call

Bobbi sat in her chair, listening to the stranger tell her about his fears and regrets as she had hundreds of times in the last few years at Caring is Sharing, the over the phone counseling company. Her Boss, Mr. Mills, paced back and forth as though something was distressing him greatly. She finally relieved herself from the phone call so she could see what the matter was.
“Mr. Mills, is everything alright?”
“No,” he smiled a twisted grin. “It is not alright, Bobbi. The could not stop it. The government’s plans failed. We are set to die by that asteroid at 7 am tomorrow morning.”
Bobbi clutched her necklace as tears began to fall from her tiny face. Her short dark pixie cut remained entirely in contrast atop her now red and screwed up face. Her eyes wouldn’t leave Mr. Mills.
“What now?” Bobbi asked.
“Go home, call your mother, pet your cat. I don’t really give a fuck.”
Bobbi had never seen the kind and calm Mr. Mills so rattled in all of her life. At twenty-five, she had not learned much about life except for her 4 years of schooling in counseling others off the ledge of life. She had lived minimal experience outside the call center at Caring is Sharing.
Bobbi looked out the window down into the streets. People were running in every direction. She saw a man jump out of the second story building across from theirs to his death below.
Her eyes were seeing too much and could barely process it. Bobbi wiped her eyes and walked over to the phone and picked it up, dialing the nursing home her mother had been in the last two years.
A kind woman answered the phone. “Hidden Oak Nursing Facility, this is Jane, how may I assist you?”
Bobbie wondered if Jane had not yet learned that the world was soon ending. She spoke very softly into the phone and did not recognize the tone that came from her lips.
“My name is Bobbi Williams, I am calling to peak to Helen Williams, my mother.”
“Oh, Miss Williams, your um mother has um she is in a coma. I am so sorry. We were planning to call you but-” she stopped, and Bobbi knew then why they hadn’t. The world was ending in fire and chaos in less than six hours.
“Can you tell her I love her?”
“Very well, Miss.” the young woman said as she began sobbing over the phone. Bobbie hung up and stood in a daze, unsure of what she was going to do. She thought for a moment about her mother being in a coma. She had been ill for so long she deserved to die peacefully. Bobbi comforted herself by the realization that if her ailing mother was in a coma, she would not feel the blast of the fireball headed for their planet.
Bobbi wondered for a small second if it would hurt, would it be so fast she wouldn’t feel anything? She turned to thoughts to all the children, the animals, and she cried.
Bobbi grabbed her coat and went towards the door to walk out when she heard it. What sound was coming from her desk chair? How could something so normal put her at ease for that second? It was the ringing of her telephone, something heard a thousand times. Something that had, on many occasions, made her wish she had chosen a different path in life. It had so many times given her satisfaction that, in fact, she was a good human being for all her listening and hard work. Bobbi wondered for a split second how many people she had helped?
The phone rang again, and she had no idea why, but she sat down, put her headset on, and answered the call.
“Hello, this is Caring is Sharing my name is Bobbi, and how may I extend my hand today?” she had said it a thousand times. It was corny and stupid, but it seemed to be something that Mr. Mills felt worked.
“Uh, you answered?”
“Yes.”
“Oh,” said the voice.
“My name is Bobbi, would you like me to extend my hand to you today? Perhaps I can listen to you while you tell me what is going on.” her voice was still shaking, but she remained focused on the job at hand.
“You saw the news?”
“Yes,” Bobbi responded robotically.
“I have no one left in my life to care for or about me, and it is the end of the world.” the man’s voice said over the phone. “Thank you for answering, but why did you?” he asked, unsure as to why this other human being was there just when he didn’t expect any human being to be.
“I don’t have anyone either.”
The man sighed. “I’m sorry.”
“It is okay. May I ask your name?”
“Jake.”
“Well, Jake, it looks like we have each other right now. Would you like to be my end of the world date?”
Jake laughed, making Bobbi feel better. Jake had a calmness to his voice that helped put her at ease, and she would try to put him at ease in return. “Splendid, idea,” Jake responded.
“Tell me a little about yourself,” Bobbie said gently into the phone as she had been trained.
“I’m a widower,”
“Oh, I’m sorry to hear that.”
“Yeah, it was my fault.”
“Oh, no, don’t say that. We all feel that way when something tragic happens, but it doesn’t mean it is true.”
“Maybe, so tell me a little about you.” Jake switched subjects quickly.
“I’m a 25 UCLA graduate with a major in Psychology. I live alone, no animals, but I love plants.”
“Do you have a boyfriend? Girlfriend?” Jake asked
“Neither.” Bobbi chuckled.
“I think that is wise. Less pressure to be someone that isn’t who you really are all the time.”
“Is that what you feel being in a relationship is like?”
“Yes. I was never given complete freedom in my marriage to Sienna – my wife, that was her name.”
“It is a beautiful name,” Bobbi said as empathetically as her voice would let her sound.
“She hated it,” Jake laughed.
“Why?”
“She never felt she as pretty enough to have a name like Sienna.”
“Oh, well, I’m sure she was beautiful, or at least you must have thought she was beautiful to marry her. I wonder what that may have been like for me.”
“She was stunning in her own way. So, Bobbi, you were never engaged to anyone?”
“Afraid not.”
“How come?”
“I’m not good at dating anyone. I always feel awkward.” Bobbi laughed shyly. She tried to maintain control of the call as she had done hundreds of times.
“I doubt that. Why do you get shy? Is it because you think someone won’t like you if you act a certain way?”
“No, just sometimes, I feel like I don’t matter.”
“You do counseling for a living. That has to matter to someone, it matters to me because you took my call.”
“Maybe I’m afraid to get really close to anyone. I had one terrible relationship in my life, and it is what lead me to do this job.”
“May I ask what happened?”
“My ex-boyfriend killed himself when we were in high school. It was a week before prom. I didn’t even know he was depressed, but I was given signs looking back.”
“What kind of signs? I’m curious as to what sort of things one must be showing to the world before that.”
“He slept all day sometimes, he’d get really excited and manic about stuff then sulk for days afterward. He drew skeletons and made jokes about himself dying all the time. I mean, it is one thing to show artistic intent, but he was rather obsessed and felt like he had no one to talk to. Let’s change the subject.” Bobbi took a deep breath.
It had been a long time since she had thought about her ex, Marty. She tried not to think about it, but given there was little hope now at surviving, she didn’t care.
“Okay, so tell me the craziest thing you have ever done. This will be a fun one.”
“You first.” Bobbi quipped back with a sly smirk that Jake could hear in her voice over the phone.
“I got arrested for the first time in my life at 36.”
“Arrested? Oh well, that is definitely going to be hard to beat. The craziest thing I ever did was I stole wine from the grocery store.”
“Can you tell me the story about that?” Jake laughed
“Oh, no. You have to tell me yours first.”
“Oh, no, I promise it isn’t that interesting. Sadder than anything, and I don’t feel ready to talk about that just yet.”
“Okay, fine. I was at a frat party in college when my best friend and I were shopping. We were both already drunk, and we realized that we had overextended our budget on alcohol. So here I was at the store with a long dress on. My stupid ass shoved a wine jug in the front and pretended to be pregnant. I walked out of the store and got into my friend’s car, convinced I was going to be arrested. It was foolish looking back, but I guess it is funny now.”
“I once had sex in a public restroom.”
Bobbi began laughing hysterically. “What?”
“Yeah, speaking of college. That is the second craziest thing I ever did. This girl I was with at the time thought it would be sexy if we got it on in the bathroom of this coffee shop we used to go to. Well, I guess we were so loud that when we walked out, the entire place started to clap. She was mortified, so we left. I wanted to stay because I thought we’d get free food or something out of it, but she never spoke to me again after that -and it was her idea!”
Bobbi was still laughing when she looked up at the clock in the office. It was three am. There were four hours left on earth, and she was talking to a complete stranger. This is not how she pictured her last hours on earth.
She had always imagined dying in a hospital bed surrounded by loved ones, children, and grandchildren.
There was a loud boom from the other end of the phone.
“Jake?” Bobbi asked.
There was no sound coming from the end of the phone.
“Jake, hello? Are you there?”
Bobbi could hear the sound of someone crying outside her building window. She dared not look at the horrors just outside of her office building in the city that never seemed to rest. Even now, it was complete and utter devastation. She stood to look out the window and could see a group of men accosting a woman outside and then an explosion.
The met scattered, but the woman was now dead. Bobbie went towards the door of her office and locked it firmly. She could hear sirens, but she didn’t know if it meant there were police offering aid or if someone was taking a last-minute joy ride in a police car.
“Jake?” Bobbi asked again, hoping that her only offer of solace was still on the other end of the phone.
“I’m here, I’m sorry. I was moving into a safer place in the jail.”
Bobbi was still watching the fires that had started outside of her window when she realized what Jake had said. She walked back to her desk and sat in her chair.
“Jail?” she was as perplexed as she felt deceived, although she didn’t think that she had any right to feel that way. Jake was hiding something. She needed to know what. It didn’t matter that in less than four hours, they would all be dead. Bobbi had to know what he was hiding. It was the only way she would be able to feel genuinely connected to Jake, and she needed that connection so she wouldn’t feel alone.
“I’m in the county jail. Manslaughter.” his voice was lower, and he became quiet.
“Is that what you didn’t want to talk about?”
“Yes, I was afraid you wouldn’t want to talk to me anymore.”
“What did you do?”
“I killed my wife.”
Bobbi made an audible gasp. “Why?”
“I don’t have an answer for that. I just did it.”
Bobbi was running over scenarios in her mind as she listened to him.
“Tell me what happened. Sometimes if you talk about what happened, it is therapeutic.”
“I was drunk for the hundredth time in our marriage. Sienna didn’t like it when I drank. She said it made me cocky. I was a bit of an ass when I drank, I’ll give her that. We were arguing over some guy I accused her of flirting with at the bar we were at. She refused to go home with me. So, I being the asshole of the hour that I was, decided I needed one more drink before I left the bar and drove my ass home. Instead of doing just that, drinking my last drink and going home, I decided to drag her kicking and screaming into my car. She kept trying to call someone to pick us up, but I said no. I forced her into my car like an idiot. Then I drove us home, going seventy-five miles per hour. The last thing I remember is a light coming at us, and then I woke up in a hospital bed. I killed her and another driver. A grandmother of six coming home from her late-night shift at a Taco Bell.”
Bobbi had no words; Jake was crying now. She wanted to tell him everything was going to be alright, but she knew better. They were both going to die.
“Are you alone in jail?”
“Yes. I was the only prisoner they were going to transport me to the prison first thing tomorrow. A jury gave me 25 to life yesterday.”
“Where did all the guards go?”
“They left me with the keys told me to do what I wanted and ran out. I don’t deserve to be out there anymore. Even with a few hours left on this planet. I’d give anything to tell my wife I’m sorry and that I love her. I’d give anything to tell the family of that grandmother that I never meant to hurt her.”
Bobbi was crying too now. Unsure as what to say to Jake.
“They know those things, Jake. Your wife knows you love her.”
“I don’t think she would care.”
“Do you believe in an afterlife?”
“No. But I’m hopeful.”
“Okay, um, I think deep down, you were never a bad person Jake. What you did was bad, and yet you have remorse.”
“Is this in your training manual too?”
“No, I’m just going off instinct.”
“Tell me something if there were no asteroid would you have come to visit me if I had asked?”
“I don’t know.”
“Where are you now?” he asked.
“Jacksonville, Florida.”
“I’m in a little jail outside of Chicago.”
Bobbi wished for a split second that she could see Jake in person if only so she wouldn’t be physically alone now at the end of the world.
“Well, there are three hours left now. What would you like to talk about?” Bobbie tried to sound cheerful.
“Anything.”
“What is your favorite sport?”
“Basketball,” Jake said.
“What is your favorite color?”
“Blue.”
“Mine too.”
“What is your favorite sport?”
“I hate sports.”
“Oh, come on,” Jake said, laughing now.
“No, really, I hate them,” Bobbi said, laughing. “I hated PE in school. I was tiny and could barely participate in any of them. My best friend was a really tall basketball player, though.”
“What was her name?”
“Emily, she was terrific-” Bobbi was cut off by the electricity going out in the building.
The telephone system went out, and she found herself trying with all of her might to find Jakes’s number to trace.
Bobbi heard another explosion outside, and she noticed the crowds of people had moved out towards the beach. She could see in the distance military crafts flying over the sky as though they were flying up towards something. Maybe they were making one last attempt at destroying the asteroid before it got to earth.
The office was dark, and she searched around for her cellular phone to see if she could find the numbers on the main tracking computer. It was the only computer till connected to the large generator outside. So far, the crowds of people had not destroyed that.
In the distance, she could see a bright green light streaking across the sky in slow motion. This was what would end her life?
She looked back at the computer and could see a number on the screen, please let this be Jake.
Bobbi dialed the telephone number and then she heard the most beautiful sound in the world.
“Holy shit! Bobbi?”
“Jake, thank God! Our electricity is out.”
“It went out here too. I think that’s happening everywhere. So far, at least we have cell service.”
“It is getting closer.” Bobbi was looking at the clock, and from the time she had lost the call, another hour had passed.
“I know,” Jake said.
“I can see it.”
“See what?”
“The asteroid. It hasn’t hit, but I can see it streaking across the sky in the distance.”
“What does it look like?” Jake asked.
“It’s a slow-moving green streak.”
There was another sound this one more frightening to Bobbi.
“Jake, what is that?”
“I don’t know.”
“Where is it coming from?”
“Outside the door to the jail. I’m confident that whatever it is can’t get in. I made sure I locked down the jail.”
The sound was growing louder until she finally heard what sounded like something banging on a steel door.
“Tell me more about your friend that played basketball,” Jake said, distracting himself from what now was the boom on the other end of his jail door.
“Emily was great. She got a scholarship to play for Kansas.”
“Did she take it?” Jake asked.
“Yes, she works in television now,”
Bobbi held the phone to her head tightly as she realized that there was something else in that dark sky besides an asteroid.
In the distance was a large ship. Bobbi blinked twice to make sure she was seeing it correctly. It was floating in the sky, making no sound. The people that were outside were now being shot with a laser beam of light. Bobbi began to breathe heavy into the phone.
“Are you okay? I can tell something is wrong.”
“I don’t’ think we are going to be obliterated from an asteroid. Jake, please believe me when I tell you I am looking at a large spacecraft right now!” Bobbi’s voice was panicked.
“I think you are right,” Jake said calmly.
“Oh my god, Jake, it is coming closer to my window!” The object floated up to the skyscraper and hovered within six feet of where Bobbi was standing.
A large beam of light surveyed the room where she was as she held the cellphone desperately up to her ear.
“What is happening now?” Jake asked.
“I think they are investigating me.”
“Those sounds outside my door, those aren’t people trying to get in, Bobbi.”
“I don’t think it is an asteroid that they are worried about. That seemed to have passed.”
The clock on the wall now said seven am. The time that the governments all around the world said the asteroid was going to hit the earth, pounding it into obliteration. Instead, what awaited them was something much more mundane and sinister. Invaders from another world.
“They are here, Bobbi. I just want to say thank you, thank you for being that voice on the other end of the phone when I needed it most.”
Bobbi held her phone up tighter now as if she could push it inside her mind.
“I would have come to visit you. I’d come now if I could, Jake.”
A flash of light burned intensely into the room, knocking Bobbi over where she stood.
The sound of the beam breaking the window caused Jake’s ear to bleed. He hung onto his phone even as his door broke down, giving way to the most hideous beings he had ever set his eyes on.
They stood seven and a half foot tall with the heads of a praying mantis, and bodies of a deformed humanoid. They came in closer and looked at Jake, who stood behind steel bars.
One by one, all five of the creatures surveyed his enclosure and studied Jake with their large dark eyes. It was as if they were reading every thought feeling and action, and all at once, walked out and left him there, alone.
Jake stood watching as they left the jail. He dared not move for fear of what would happen next. He whispered into the phone. “Bobbi? Bobbi, are you there?”
There was no sound on the other end of the phone. His friend was gone. Most likely, dead now, as he wished he could be. Instead, Jake held the phone to his chest and realized he needed to be honest with Bobbi one last time.
“Bobbi, you may not hear me, but I lied. Yes, my wife is dead at my hands, but I murdered her in cold blood. She left me. She left me like everyone always does. You never left me, Bobbi, you never left me. Thank you for not leaving me.”
He began to sob again when he looked for the keys to the jail. He would starve to death if he didn’t get out of here.
Jake felt for them in his pocket and held them out to unlock the cell doors. That is when he realized that whatever those creatures had done, they melted the keys.
The aliens had looked into his soul and saw what he had done. They were now his judge, jury and sentenced him to death for the hideous crime he had committed.
The papers reported Sienna Bradford had been stabbed to death at least a dozen times by her ex-husband Jake Bradford. The grandmother that he had spoken of that had died was his ex-wife’s mother, Gertrude. He killed her for trying to stop him from murdering her daughter. Hit over the head by a hammer.
Jake Bradford would starve in his own prison sentenced to live out his last moments all alone.
Jake sat in his cell as a single tear fell from his eye.
“Irony is best served cold.”
The sounds of explosions continued outside of his cell as he closed his eyes and waited to die.
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2020.07.09 07:41 Justwonderinif Golden State Killer Timeline III

<< Golden State Killer Timeline II
1977: Continued
1978
1979
1980
Golden State Killer Timeline IV>>>
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2020.07.01 19:51 JamesGBoswell It Looks Like Someone You Know (Part 2)

Part 1
Francine sits at Elaine’s kitchen table with her face buried in her arms. Elaine pours Francine some coffee, then pours some for herself and sits down at the table. She holds an icepack over the side of her face where Francine hit her with the gun. A yellow-brown bruise peaks out around the edges.
Francine turns her head to stare through the window into the overcast grey sky, her face lined and sullen. Elaine looks at her pensively, and says, “So, do you want to tell me what this is all about?”
Francine sits up, sighs deeply, and shakes her head. She sips her coffee as she gazes out the window into the morning gloom. “I’m being followed by someone who looks like people I know,” she says, muttering dejectedly.
“You mean, like with disguises?” Elaine says.
“No. I mean, the first time I saw them, it looked like a state trooper I’d just met. The next time, it looked like you.”
“Me?” Elaine says, surprised.
Francine nods. “Yes, I saw someone who looked exactly like you at the police station while I was meeting with my boss. But it wasn’t you, it couldn’t have been. It was this… person. That’s why I…” Her voice trails off as she glances at the icepack.
Elaine says, “It’s alright. I can see that you’re under a lot of stress. That must be what’s triggering these elaborate hallucinations. Is there anything else going on you want to talk about?”
Francine thinks for a moment, then says, “There’s this new case I’m working on. A man’s body was found in an abandoned vehicle out in the middle of nowhere, and his wife and daughter are missing. Something about their family just reminds me so much of Marc and Esther.”
Elaine gives her a sympathetic look. “It sounds like this case is resonating in a place that’s very personal for you. Just remember what we talked about.”
Elaine reaches for a notepad and a pencil laying on the table nearby. She folds the notepad over to a fresh sheet of paper, then draws two big circles next to one another so that they’re not touching. Over one circle, she writes the word, “Business.” Over the other, she writes the word, “Personal.” Then she turns the pad around so Francine can see.
“In life,” Elaine says, “things are either business or personal. The trick is knowing what’s what and keeping the two apart. The ‘Business’ circle never overlaps into the ‘Personal’ circle, and vice-versa. You’re not your job, and what you do for a living is not a reflection of who you are. It’s just how you use your skills and talents to make your way in the world, based on the available opportunities.”
Nodding impatiently, Francine says, “I know, Elaine. You’ve said this nearly every time we’ve met for the past three years.”
“You know it,” Elaine says. “But do you understand it?”
With a frustrated grunt, Francine says, “Elaine, this person, this creature was in my apartment last night. I don’t know what it wanted, but it really was there. I know it was.
“Come on, Francine,” Elaine says. “You don’t really believe that, do you? You’re a police officer, a detective. You deal in facts. You know you’ve had mental health issues for a while now, and they impede your ability to perceive reality. If you buy into the notion that some kind of shapeshifting creature is out to get you, you’ll find yourself sliding down the slippery slope of madness!”
Francine stands abruptly, her chair screeching against the floor. “Thanks for the ride and the coffee, Elaine, but I need to go.”
---
“Fernando, for the last time, stop calling me.”
Sepatha hunches over her desk, placing the phone’s receiver directly over her mouth. Fernando’s voice comes through the speaker. “But baby, I—”
“I am not your ‘baby,’” she says, interrupting him. “If you don’t stop calling me, you are going to face a shit storm of consequences. Do you understand me?”
“I…”
“I said, ‘Do you understand me?’”
“Yes… yes, I understand. I… I’m sorry.”
Sepatha sighs and shakes her head. “Fernando, you know I’m this close to divorcing you. Ever since I found your secret online dating profile, I knew I’d never be able to trust you again. That’s why I kicked you out of our house, remember? Let me guess, you’re sitting there in your crappy little apartment in your boxers, surrounded by empty beer bottles. Am I right?”
“…Yes.”
Sepatha rolls her eyes and scoffs. “When I’m ready to talk, I’ll call you. In the meantime, do not attempt to contact me in any way.”
Fernando starts to say something else, but she hangs up on him. Sighing once more, she looks up at the clock hanging on the wall.
“12:03 a.m.?” she says. “Where did the time go?”
She looks down at the stacks of paper littering he desk; case files from half a dozen murders, robberies, and worse. She yawns and says, “If people could just stop committing crimes, that would be great.”
Sepatha stands, picking her purse up off the floor and slinging it over her shoulder. Then she walks over to the door and opens it as she flips the switch on the wall. The fluorescent lights turn off, shrouding her office in darkness. Pale moonlight beams in through the window as she closes the door behind her.
An “EXIT” sign hangs over a door at the end of the hallway, casting faint red light in the otherwise darkened office. Walking toward it, she passes rows of desks like tombstones in the dim, crimson luminescence. The office is silent except for Sepatha’s footsteps clopping across the tile floor.
She pushes through the door, stepping out into the parking lot. An eye-straining orange glare shines across the cracked blacktop, cast by the aging light poles overhead. The sky above is an opaque, starless void.
Sepatha’s car is the only one in the lot, parked way in the back. She begins striding toward it, but then she sees something out of the corner of her eye. She turns her head to look.
There, at the edge of the parking lot, is a man standing in the bushes. He’s staring at her with a smile on his face.
“Fernando?” Sepatha says.
He takes a step towards her, and she turns and runs the rest of the distance to her car. Upon reaching it, she looks behind her. Fernando is halfway across the parking lot, closing in.
“Fernando, what are you doing here?” Sepatha says with a mix of frustration and anguish. “I told you to leave me alone!”
She opens her purse and begins fumbling around inside it as the man continues to advance. She pulls out a mace canister and points it at him, but he doesn’t slow down or alter his pace.
“Leave me alone!” Sepatha presses her finger down on the button. A stream of liquid sprays out of the nozzle, dousing Fernando’s face and chest in abrasive chemicals. But he doesn’t react. He just keeps walking towards her at the same pace, smiling.
Sepatha lets out a frightened yelp. She digs her keys out of her purse, then jumps inside her car and turns it on. Her tires screech as she speeds away, just before he can reach the door.
---
Francine pulls her car up to the side of the road and gets out, the gravel crunching beneath her boots. Looking down, she sees the curved skid marks on the pavement where Mr. Gomez’s car used to be, before the police towed it away. A rusty lug nut lies in between them.
Morning frost covers the ground like powdered sugar, revealing something Francine hadn’t noticed before: a set of footprints leading from the road into the woods. They’re deep and far apart, as though the person was running.
Looking closely, she sees that there’s also another set of prints headed in the same direction. These ones are fainter, shallower, and closer together than the others. It appears as though this person was walking slowly. Francine follows them like a bloodhound with a scent.
The footprints lead her deeper and deeper into the evergreen forest. She steps on a pinecone hidden beneath the underbrush, rolling her ankle. She falls forward, landing hard upon her hands and knees. Dead pine needles stick into her hands, and she cries out in pain. Blood drips from the wounds as she pulls them out, one by one.
A few minutes later, she arrives at a small clearing with a large pine tree near the center. The running footprints approach the tree, then stop and turn around, headed in the opposite direction. From there, they become shallower and closer together.
The other footprints approach them, and at the spot where they meet is a large pile of ash. It looks the same as the one from Mr. Gomez’s car.
Inspecting the ash pile, Francine notices something shiny just beneath the surface. Pulling it out, she sees that it’s a silver locket on a chain necklace. She recognizes it as the one Alice was wearing in the pictures from the Gomez residence. Francine gingerly opens the locket, finding a tiny mirror inside.
She hears a crunching sound behind her, then she puts the locket into her pocket and turns around. She spies a figure standing at the edge of the clearing. It looks like Esther.
Francine pulls her gun from its holster and points it at her. “I know you’re not my daughter,” she says. “My daughter is dead!”
Esther doesn’t respond, but instead begins shuffling towards her, smiling. Francine pops off a burst of rounds, scoring a few hits on her abdomen. But Esther is unfazed.
Francine fires again, this time aiming for her head. Esther takes a bullet to the skull, but continues slogging forward with a zombie-like gait, smiling obscenely.
As Esther comes closer, Francine feels a sensation of lightheadedness overtake her. She stumbles backward, losing her footing on the slippery ground and falling down onto her rump. She looks up at Esther in horror as darkness crowds the corners of her vision. She feels like she’s about to black out.
Esther stops and looks down at the ground next to where Francine fell. She covers her face and lets out a primal scream that devolves into a guttural hiss. Then she turns around and scurries away through the trees.
Francine watches her go in disbelief as her dizziness dissipates. She glances around for what Esther might’ve seen, then spots the locket lying open on the ground. She looks down at it and sees her reflection in the tiny mirror.
---
“Are you alright, dear? You look a bit peaked.”
The librarian gazes at Francine with bespectacled eyes from where she sits behind the circulation desk. She glances down at the silver locket hanging from Francine’s neck.
“I’m fine, thank you,” Francine says. “Do you keep an archive of past editions of local newspapers?”
“We do,” the librarian says. “How far back in time are you wanting to go?”
“As far as I can.”
“Oh, well in that case you’ll probably need to visit the microfilm room, I’m afraid. Our digital archive only goes back 10 years.”
“That’s fine.”
“Alright, then. Follow me.” The librarian stands up and then starts leading Francine toward the back of the library.
Francine looks around nervously. She sees some high school students studying together at a table, their backpacks propped against their chairs. There’s an older woman scanning a row of cookbooks nearby. A middle-aged man sits at a computer, reading the news. She feels relieved when she doesn’t recognize any of them.
Soon they arrive at a closed metal door. A padlock hangs from metal hinges someone welded to the side of the door and the doorjamb. The lock and hinges look brand new compared to the scuffed-up condition of the door. The librarian reaches into her pocket, producing a large set of keys.
“Teenagers,” she says, shaking her head. “They vandalized our archive a couple months ago, pulling strands of microfilm out of their cases for no reason other than to be destructive. We wouldn’t even have known who did it if our security guard hadn’t caught them in the act. They were fined $1000 each and ordered to do community service. The damage they did to this town’s history, however, is beyond measure.”
“Why not get some cameras and put up some ‘You’re being filmed’ signs?” Francine says.
The librarian smiles. “That’s exactly what I said to the library’s board of directors, but apparently cameras are too expensive. This was the best alternative they could come up with.” She points at the padlock and rolls her eyes. “But don’t worry, dear. The kids only destroyed old business and property records. The newspaper archives should be completely intact.”
Francine gives her a timid smile and says, “Thank you.”
The librarian nods and unlocks the padlock, then opens the door. Inside is a small room lined with metal shelves containing stacks of microfilm cassettes. An old microfilm scanner sits on top of a small wooden table in the middle.
“The news archives are there on the north wall, labeled 100 through 199. The earliest record we have on file is from January 1, 1899, when the town’s first newspaper began publication. Do you know how to use the machine?”
“I think I can figure it out.”
“Ok, just let me know if you need anything.”
The librarian turns and walks back toward the circulation desk. Francine steps into the room and approaches the shelf containing the newspaper archive. The air is noticeably drier here than in the rest of the library, and it smells like sawdust.
She spends the next several hours poring over past newspaper headlines. Her eyes become bloodshot, and her back and rump grow sore from sitting for so long. Her fingers cramp from constantly opening microfilm cassette cases.
Finally, just as she feels herself starting to give up, a small headline on the back page of an issue from 18 years ago catches her eye. It says, “Court Finds Woman Insane After Unexplained Disappearances.” Perking up, she focuses on the article and starts to read it.
“Katie Gillespie, a local transient woman was found not guilty by reason of insanity yesterday in a bizarre case that has baffled investigators from the beginning. Several townspeople, including many of Ms. Gillespie’s close friends and associates, disappeared without a trace over the past several months. No bodies were ever found. Ms. Gillespie was arrested once investigators determined that she was the last individual to see each of the missing persons alive.”
A chill runs down Francine’s spine, and she continues reading.
“Prosecutors had pushed for a second-degree murder conviction against Ms. Gillespie, despite the absence of bodies. The verdict indicates that the jury believes Ms. Gillespie is responsible for the disappearances, but can’t be held criminally liable due to her mental state. Ms. Gillespie has a history of mental illness and spent the majority of her life in jail for various drug charges. She will now spend the rest of her life inside a high-security mental health facility.”
A picture of a woman wearing a prisoner’s uniform appears next to the article. The woman looks into the camera with a blank expression. She has short brown hair and bright green eyes.
Francine stares at the image incredulously. Something about the woman seems so familiar, yet so foreign and far away at the same time.
The article continues. “Against her court-appointed lawyer’s recommendations, Ms. Gillespie took the stand in her own defense. In a tearful entreaty to the jury, she said, ‘I’m being followed by someone who looks like people I know. Why doesn’t it just kill me like it did with all the others?’”
“At one point during the trial, Ms. Gillespie had to be removed from the courtroom. This came after a severe outburst in which she shouted that a person sitting in the back of the courtroom ‘has been dead for 10 years’ and was ‘the thing that did all this.’
“Jurors deliberated for less than an hour before returning their verdict. Ms. Gillespie was subsequently handcuffed and transported to the Bermuda County Mental Hospital to begin receiving treatment.”
Francine looks at the picture once more and into the woman’s bright green eyes. As she does, memories flood her mind from when she was a child.
---
“Mommy, where’s Katie? She’s my favorite cousin!”
10-year-old Francine sits on the sofa in her aunt’s living room beside her mother. Several of her family members stand nearby with drinks in their hands, making conversation. The smell of cooked turkey wafts through the air.
“At last year’s Thanksgiving,” little Francine says, “Katie took me to the movies. I also got to ride in her car since she just got her driver’s license. It was so much fun! I was hoping we could do something like that again this year!”
Her mother regards her with an unhappy frown, then leans in close and speaks in a hushed whisper. “Oh, sweetie, Katie isn’t here. She had to go away for a while.”
“Where’d she go? When will she be back?”
“I…” Francine’s mother pauses, choking back tears. “She just had to go away for a while. I don’t know when she’ll be back.”
“Well, I hope it’s soon.”
“We all do, sweetie. We all do.”
---
“Cousin Katie.” Francine whispers. “I can’t believe I forgot about you.”
With renewed vigor, she resumes scanning the headlines. She finds one from a few months after the first that says, “Criminally Insane Woman Escapes Mental Hospital.”
The article says, “Katie Gillespie, a patient at the Bermuda County Mental Hospital, disappeared from her room in the facility’s maximum security wing last night. Authorities have since been unable to locate her.
“The guard assigned to watch her, 28-year-old Jim Cavanaugh, has also disappeared, leading to speculation that he assisted in her escape. According to an anonymous source at the hospital who is not authorized to speak to the press, security personnel discovered a large pile of ash outside Ms. Gillespie’s room. Upon it sat a pair of glasses similar to those worn by Mr. Cavanaugh. Authorities have not determined what, if any, significance this may have in the disappearances.”
Francine’s phone buzzes in her pocket. She doesn’t notice the door opening behind her as she answers it.
“Hello?” she says.
“Francine, it’s Elaine. This is going to sound like a weird question, but… are you following me?”
“Following you? What do you mean?”
“I thought I saw you at the grocery store this morning. Then I saw someone who looked like you a short time later near my office. And just a few minutes hours ago, I thought I saw you in the restaurant where I had lunch. Each time, you were walking toward me with this weird smile on your face, but then you disappeared before I could say anything.”
Francine clutches the locket hanging from her neck. “N-no, that wasn’t me. I don’t know what to tell you. I-I…”
She hears a quiet rustling sound behind her. Cringing, she says, “Elaine, I’ll have to call you back.” Then, she hangs up and slowly turns around. She’s startled to see the librarian hovering over her, smiling ironically.
Francine jolts in fear, then quickly opens the locket, revealing the tiny mirror inside. With a short, high-pitched yelp, she shoves the mirror into the librarian’s face.
The librarian looks down at it for a moment, then says, “Is this your way of telling me that I need to clean my nose, dear?”
Dumbfounded, Francine closes the locket and says, “N-no, I’m s-sorry. I don’t… I don’t know…”
“The library is closing soon,” the librarian says. “I’m afraid you’ll need to pack up. You can come back when we open tomorrow at 10 a.m.”
---
Francine enters the evidence room inside the police station. In it, there are rows of large metal shelves with various boxes and plastic bags sitting upon them.
She walks along the main aisle and then turns down one of the rows, stopping next to a nondescript cardboard box on one of the shelves. Written in black marker on the side of the box are the words, “Monroe – Code 2501: Criminal Homicide.”
She reaches into the box and pulls out a manila file folder, then opens it and examines its contents. Inside is a small stack of documents held together by several paper clips and plastic clasps. On the top is a police report, signed by “Detective Peter Abernathy.”
Francine recalls how she begged Sepatha to allow her to participate in the investigation into her daughter’s murder with Detective Abernathy. But Sepatha wouldn’t allow it, citing the obvious conflict of interest. Francine knows she shouldn’t even be reading the case file, but continues anyway. She finds that Abernathy’s notes are thorough and objective, noting all the details of her old home, large and small. She braces herself for the description of bullet holes in the front wall and bloodstains on the carpet after they removed Esther’s body. Then, she notices something odd.
In a section detailing the house’s backyard, Abernathy describes a large pile of ash sitting next to a small barbecue grill on the patio. Francine recalls how Marc used to like to cook out whenever possible, and was probably grilling burgers the day their daughter was murdered. Abernathy notes that it seems like too much ash to have accumulated from such a small grill, but then he never mentions it again.
The next part of the report includes a transcript of an interview with the crime’s one eyewitness, Francine’s former next-door neighbor, Ted Early.
“I only caught a glimpse of what happened,” he says. “I was sitting on my front porch, drinking a beer when I saw a beat-up old car roll down the street. It stopped outside of Francine’s house, but I didn’t think anything of it. Then I heard what sounded like a car backfiring. Not unusual at all. But then I heard it again and again and again, and I realized the sounds were gunshots. I ducked for cover and the car sped away. Then I ran inside and called the police.”
Abernathy asks who the person in the car was shooting at. Early says, “It’s the damnedest thing, but I could’ve sworn it was my cousin, Phillip. I saw someone walk out of Francine’s house through her front door right before the shooting started, and it looked exactly like him.
“But it couldn’t have been him. Phillip lives on the other side of the country. And, as a matter of fact, I’d just gotten into an argument with him that morning over the phone. I know he was at home because he only has a landline.
“I was thinking about how mad I was at him when I looked up and saw him in front of Francine’s house at that exact moment! Then the shots rang out. I hit the deck and didn’t see anything else after that.
“I called Phillip right after I called the police. He answered, and I said, ‘Were you just standing outside of my neighbor’s house?’ and he goes, ‘Are you fucking crazy, asshole?’ Then he hung up on me.”
Francine turns the page to look at the next document. The words “Suspect Criminal History Report – Jack Thompson, II” appear at the top.
In a mugshot paper-clipped to the report, a man stares at the camera with a look of dejected contempt. Crude tattoos of various indiscernible shapes cover his neck. His criminal history is voluminous and with a variety of phrases, many of which include the words “Aggravated,” “Assault,” and “Deadly.”
Francine looks at his picture, recognizing him as the man charged with murdering her daughter. She remembers staring at him at the trial like she wanted to kill him, and how he looked back at her like he couldn’t care less. She feels a surge of anger rise within her, but tries to stay focused.
She turns the page. The next document is a court record from the trial. It says, “Mr. Jack Thompson, II, hereby known as inmate #0110365, has pled GUILTY to the charges of ASSAULT WITH A DEADLY WEAPON and NEGLIGENT HOMICIDE. He is sentenced to 20 YEARS in the federal penitentiary system. He will be sent to the Bermuda County Penitentiary to serve out his sentence.” Francine closes the manila folder and places it back inside the box.
Back out in the hallway, she sees Sepatha walking towards her. “Detective Monroe, could I have a word with you?
“Y-yes, of course,” Francine says.
“Have you heard about the situation with my estranged husband, Fernando?”
“No, I haven’t.”
“I was working late a couple nights ago when he called me at my office to harass me. Then, as I was leaving, I saw him in the parking lot. He chased me and I sprayed him with mace before jumping into my car and getting away. He has since been arrested, and I’ve taken a restraining order out on him as well. I intend to press charges against him for stalking. I’m telling everyone in the department so you’re all in the loop.”
Francine shakes her head. “He’d have to be pretty crazy to attack the chief of police, especially in a police station parking lot.”
“Definitely,” Sepatha says. “I knew he was bad, but I never realized how deranged he could be. He didn’t even flinch when I maced him. He just kept walking towards me with this creepy smile on his face like he… like he…”
“Knew something horrible?” Francine says.
“Exactly.”
Francine shudders. “That’s so creepy, Chief. I’ll be sure to keep my eye out for anything suspicious.”
“Please do.”
As Francine starts to walk away, Sepatha says, “Oh, Francine?”
Francine turns back to look at her.
“Have you heard anything from Trooper Magnuson?”
Francine shakes her head. “Why do you ask?”
“He didn’t report in for duty a few days ago, and his wife filed a missing person’s report for him yesterday. Nobody knows where he is.”
TO BE CONTINUED...
submitted by JamesGBoswell to libraryofshadows [link] [comments]


2020.07.01 19:49 JamesGBoswell It Looks Like Someone You Know ( Part 2)

Part 1
Francine sits at Elaine’s kitchen table with her face buried in her arms. Elaine pours Francine some coffee, then pours some for herself and sits down at the table. She holds an icepack over the side of her face where Francine hit her with the gun. A yellow-brown bruise peaks out around the edges.
Francine turns her head to stare through the window into the overcast grey sky, her face lined and sullen. Elaine looks at her pensively, and says, “So, do you want to tell me what this is all about?”
Francine sits up, sighs deeply, and shakes her head. She sips her coffee as she gazes out the window into the morning gloom. “I’m being followed by someone who looks like people I know,” she says, muttering dejectedly.
“You mean, like with disguises?” Elaine says.
“No. I mean, the first time I saw them, it looked like a state trooper I’d just met. The next time, it looked like you.”
“Me?” Elaine says, surprised.
Francine nods. “Yes, I saw someone who looked exactly like you at the police station while I was meeting with my boss. But it wasn’t you, it couldn’t have been. It was this… person. That’s why I…” Her voice trails off as she glances at the icepack.
Elaine says, “It’s alright. I can see that you’re under a lot of stress. That must be what’s triggering these elaborate hallucinations. Is there anything else going on you want to talk about?”
Francine thinks for a moment, then says, “There’s this new case I’m working on. A man’s body was found in an abandoned vehicle out in the middle of nowhere, and his wife and daughter are missing. Something about their family just reminds me so much of Marc and Esther.”
Elaine gives her a sympathetic look. “It sounds like this case is resonating in a place that’s very personal for you. Just remember what we talked about.”
Elaine reaches for a notepad and a pencil laying on the table nearby. She folds the notepad over to a fresh sheet of paper, then draws two big circles next to one another so that they’re not touching. Over one circle, she writes the word, “Business.” Over the other, she writes the word, “Personal.” Then she turns the pad around so Francine can see.
“In life,” Elaine says, “things are either business or personal. The trick is knowing what’s what and keeping the two apart. The ‘Business’ circle never overlaps into the ‘Personal’ circle, and vice-versa. You’re not your job, and what you do for a living is not a reflection of who you are. It’s just how you use your skills and talents to make your way in the world, based on the available opportunities.”
Nodding impatiently, Francine says, “I know, Elaine. You’ve said this nearly every time we’ve met for the past three years.”
“You know it,” Elaine says. “But do you understand it?”
With a frustrated grunt, Francine says, “Elaine, this person, this creature was in my apartment last night. I don’t know what it wanted, but it really was there. I know it was.
“Come on, Francine,” Elaine says. “You don’t really believe that, do you? You’re a police officer, a detective. You deal in facts. You know you’ve had mental health issues for a while now, and they impede your ability to perceive reality. If you buy into the notion that some kind of shapeshifting creature is out to get you, you’ll find yourself sliding down the slippery slope of madness!”
Francine stands abruptly, her chair screeching against the floor. “Thanks for the ride and the coffee, Elaine, but I need to go.”
---
“Fernando, for the last time, stop calling me.”
Sepatha hunches over her desk, placing the phone’s receiver directly over her mouth. Fernando’s voice comes through the speaker. “But baby, I—”
“I am not your ‘baby,’” she says, interrupting him. “If you don’t stop calling me, you are going to face a shit storm of consequences. Do you understand me?”
“I…”
“I said, ‘Do you understand me?’”
“Yes… yes, I understand. I… I’m sorry.”
Sepatha sighs and shakes her head. “Fernando, you know I’m this close to divorcing you. Ever since I found your secret online dating profile, I knew I’d never be able to trust you again. That’s why I kicked you out of our house, remember? Let me guess, you’re sitting there in your crappy little apartment in your boxers, surrounded by empty beer bottles. Am I right?”
“…Yes.”
Sepatha rolls her eyes and scoffs. “When I’m ready to talk, I’ll call you. In the meantime, do not attempt to contact me in any way.”
Fernando starts to say something else, but she hangs up on him. Sighing once more, she looks up at the clock hanging on the wall.
“12:03 a.m.?” she says. “Where did the time go?”
She looks down at the stacks of paper littering he desk; case files from half a dozen murders, robberies, and worse. She yawns and says, “If people could just stop committing crimes, that would be great.”
Sepatha stands, picking her purse up off the floor and slinging it over her shoulder. Then she walks over to the door and opens it as she flips the switch on the wall. The fluorescent lights turn off, shrouding her office in darkness. Pale moonlight beams in through the window as she closes the door behind her.
An “EXIT” sign hangs over a door at the end of the hallway, casting faint red light in the otherwise darkened office. Walking toward it, she passes rows of desks like tombstones in the dim, crimson luminescence. The office is silent except for Sepatha’s footsteps clopping across the tile floor.
She pushes through the door, stepping out into the parking lot. An eye-straining orange glare shines across the cracked blacktop, cast by the aging light poles overhead. The sky above is an opaque, starless void.
Sepatha’s car is the only one in the lot, parked way in the back. She begins striding toward it, but then she sees something out of the corner of her eye. She turns her head to look.
There, at the edge of the parking lot, is a man standing in the bushes. He’s staring at her with a smile on his face.
“Fernando?” Sepatha says.
He takes a step towards her, and she turns and runs the rest of the distance to her car. Upon reaching it, she looks behind her. Fernando is halfway across the parking lot, closing in.
“Fernando, what are you doing here?” Sepatha says with a mix of frustration and anguish. “I told you to leave me alone!”
She opens her purse and begins fumbling around inside it as the man continues to advance. She pulls out a mace canister and points it at him, but he doesn’t slow down or alter his pace.
“Leave me alone!” Sepatha presses her finger down on the button. A stream of liquid sprays out of the nozzle, dousing Fernando’s face and chest in abrasive chemicals. But he doesn’t react. He just keeps walking towards her at the same pace, smiling.
Sepatha lets out a frightened yelp. She digs her keys out of her purse, then jumps inside her car and turns it on. Her tires screech as she speeds away, just before he can reach the door.
---
Francine pulls her car up to the side of the road and gets out, the gravel crunching beneath her boots. Looking down, she sees the curved skid marks on the pavement where Mr. Gomez’s car used to be, before the police towed it away. A rusty lug nut lies in between them.
Morning frost covers the ground like powdered sugar, revealing something Francine hadn’t noticed before: a set of footprints leading from the road into the woods. They’re deep and far apart, as though the person was running.
Looking closely, she sees that there’s also another set of prints headed in the same direction. These ones are fainter, shallower, and closer together than the others. It appears as though this person was walking slowly. Francine follows them like a bloodhound with a scent.
The footprints lead her deeper and deeper into the evergreen forest. She steps on a pinecone hidden beneath the underbrush, rolling her ankle. She falls forward, landing hard upon her hands and knees. Dead pine needles stick into her hands, and she cries out in pain. Blood drips from the wounds as she pulls them out, one by one.
A few minutes later, she arrives at a small clearing with a large pine tree near the center. The running footprints approach the tree, then stop and turn around, headed in the opposite direction. From there, they become shallower and closer together.
The other footprints approach them, and at the spot where they meet is a large pile of ash. It looks the same as the one from Mr. Gomez’s car.
Inspecting the ash pile, Francine notices something shiny just beneath the surface. Pulling it out, she sees that it’s a silver locket on a chain necklace. She recognizes it as the one Alice was wearing in the pictures from the Gomez residence. Francine gingerly opens the locket, finding a tiny mirror inside.
She hears a crunching sound behind her, then she puts the locket into her pocket and turns around. She spies a figure standing at the edge of the clearing. It looks like Esther.
Francine pulls her gun from its holster and points it at her. “I know you’re not my daughter,” she says. “My daughter is dead!”
Esther doesn’t respond, but instead begins shuffling towards her, smiling. Francine pops off a burst of rounds, scoring a few hits on her abdomen. But Esther is unfazed.
Francine fires again, this time aiming for her head. Esther takes a bullet to the skull, but continues slogging forward with a zombie-like gait, smiling obscenely.
As Esther comes closer, Francine feels a sensation of lightheadedness overtake her. She stumbles backward, losing her footing on the slippery ground and falling down onto her rump. She looks up at Esther in horror as darkness crowds the corners of her vision. She feels like she’s about to black out.
Esther stops and looks down at the ground next to where Francine fell. She covers her face and lets out a primal scream that devolves into a guttural hiss. Then she turns around and scurries away through the trees.
Francine watches her go in disbelief as her dizziness dissipates. She glances around for what Esther might’ve seen, then spots the locket lying open on the ground. She looks down at it and sees her reflection in the tiny mirror.
---
“Are you alright, dear? You look a bit peaked.”
The librarian gazes at Francine with bespectacled eyes from where she sits behind the circulation desk. She glances down at the silver locket hanging from Francine’s neck.
“I’m fine, thank you,” Francine says. “Do you keep an archive of past editions of local newspapers?”
“We do,” the librarian says. “How far back in time are you wanting to go?”
“As far as I can.”
“Oh, well in that case you’ll probably need to visit the microfilm room, I’m afraid. Our digital archive only goes back 10 years.”
“That’s fine.”
“Alright, then. Follow me.” The librarian stands up and then starts leading Francine toward the back of the library.
Francine looks around nervously. She sees some high school students studying together at a table, their backpacks propped against their chairs. There’s an older woman scanning a row of cookbooks nearby. A middle-aged man sits at a computer, reading the news. She feels relieved when she doesn’t recognize any of them.
Soon they arrive at a closed metal door. A padlock hangs from metal hinges someone welded to the side of the door and the doorjamb. The lock and hinges look brand new compared to the scuffed-up condition of the door. The librarian reaches into her pocket, producing a large set of keys.
“Teenagers,” she says, shaking her head. “They vandalized our archive a couple months ago, pulling strands of microfilm out of their cases for no reason other than to be destructive. We wouldn’t even have known who did it if our security guard hadn’t caught them in the act. They were fined $1000 each and ordered to do community service. The damage they did to this town’s history, however, is beyond measure.”
“Why not get some cameras and put up some ‘You’re being filmed’ signs?” Francine says.
The librarian smiles. “That’s exactly what I said to the library’s board of directors, but apparently cameras are too expensive. This was the best alternative they could come up with.” She points at the padlock and rolls her eyes. “But don’t worry, dear. The kids only destroyed old business and property records. The newspaper archives should be completely intact.”
Francine gives her a timid smile and says, “Thank you.”
The librarian nods and unlocks the padlock, then opens the door. Inside is a small room lined with metal shelves containing stacks of microfilm cassettes. An old microfilm scanner sits on top of a small wooden table in the middle.
“The news archives are there on the north wall, labeled 100 through 199. The earliest record we have on file is from January 1, 1899, when the town’s first newspaper began publication. Do you know how to use the machine?”
“I think I can figure it out.”
“Ok, just let me know if you need anything.”
The librarian turns and walks back toward the circulation desk. Francine steps into the room and approaches the shelf containing the newspaper archive. The air is noticeably drier here than in the rest of the library, and it smells like sawdust.
She spends the next several hours poring over past newspaper headlines. Her eyes become bloodshot, and her back and rump grow sore from sitting for so long. Her fingers cramp from constantly opening microfilm cassette cases.
Finally, just as she feels herself starting to give up, a small headline on the back page of an issue from 18 years ago catches her eye. It says, “Court Finds Woman Insane After Unexplained Disappearances.” Perking up, she focuses on the article and starts to read it.
“Katie Gillespie, a local transient woman was found not guilty by reason of insanity yesterday in a bizarre case that has baffled investigators from the beginning. Several townspeople, including many of Ms. Gillespie’s close friends and associates, disappeared without a trace over the past several months. No bodies were ever found. Ms. Gillespie was arrested once investigators determined that she was the last individual to see each of the missing persons alive.”
A chill runs down Francine’s spine, and she continues reading.
“Prosecutors had pushed for a second-degree murder conviction against Ms. Gillespie, despite the absence of bodies. The verdict indicates that the jury believes Ms. Gillespie is responsible for the disappearances, but can’t be held criminally liable due to her mental state. Ms. Gillespie has a history of mental illness and spent the majority of her life in jail for various drug charges. She will now spend the rest of her life inside a high-security mental health facility.”
A picture of a woman wearing a prisoner’s uniform appears next to the article. The woman looks into the camera with a blank expression. She has short brown hair and bright green eyes.
Francine stares at the image incredulously. Something about the woman seems so familiar, yet so foreign and far away at the same time.
The article continues. “Against her court-appointed lawyer’s recommendations, Ms. Gillespie took the stand in her own defense. In a tearful entreaty to the jury, she said, ‘I’m being followed by someone who looks like people I know. Why doesn’t it just kill me like it did with all the others?’”
“At one point during the trial, Ms. Gillespie had to be removed from the courtroom. This came after a severe outburst in which she shouted that a person sitting in the back of the courtroom ‘has been dead for 10 years’ and was ‘the thing that did all this.’
“Jurors deliberated for less than an hour before returning their verdict. Ms. Gillespie was subsequently handcuffed and transported to the Bermuda County Mental Hospital to begin receiving treatment.”
Francine looks at the picture once more and into the woman’s bright green eyes. As she does, memories flood her mind from when she was a child.
---
“Mommy, where’s Katie? She’s my favorite cousin!”
10-year-old Francine sits on the sofa in her aunt’s living room beside her mother. Several of her family members stand nearby with drinks in their hands, making conversation. The smell of cooked turkey wafts through the air.
“At last year’s Thanksgiving,” little Francine says, “Katie took me to the movies. I also got to ride in her car since she just got her driver’s license. It was so much fun! I was hoping we could do something like that again this year!”
Her mother regards her with an unhappy frown, then leans in close and speaks in a hushed whisper. “Oh, sweetie, Katie isn’t here. She had to go away for a while.”
“Where’d she go? When will she be back?”
“I…” Francine’s mother pauses, choking back tears. “She just had to go away for a while. I don’t know when she’ll be back.”
“Well, I hope it’s soon.”
“We all do, sweetie. We all do.”
---
“Cousin Katie.” Francine whispers. “I can’t believe I forgot about you.”
With renewed vigor, she resumes scanning the headlines. She finds one from a few months after the first that says, “Criminally Insane Woman Escapes Mental Hospital.”
The article says, “Katie Gillespie, a patient at the Bermuda County Mental Hospital, disappeared from her room in the facility’s maximum security wing last night. Authorities have since been unable to locate her.
“The guard assigned to watch her, 28-year-old Jim Cavanaugh, has also disappeared, leading to speculation that he assisted in her escape. According to an anonymous source at the hospital who is not authorized to speak to the press, security personnel discovered a large pile of ash outside Ms. Gillespie’s room. Upon it sat a pair of glasses similar to those worn by Mr. Cavanaugh. Authorities have not determined what, if any, significance this may have in the disappearances.”
Francine’s phone buzzes in her pocket. She doesn’t notice the door opening behind her as she answers it.
“Hello?” she says.
“Francine, it’s Elaine. This is going to sound like a weird question, but… are you following me?”
“Following you? What do you mean?”
“I thought I saw you at the grocery store this morning. Then I saw someone who looked like you a short time later near my office. And just a few minutes hours ago, I thought I saw you in the restaurant where I had lunch. Each time, you were walking toward me with this weird smile on your face, but then you disappeared before I could say anything.”
Francine clutches the locket hanging from her neck. “N-no, that wasn’t me. I don’t know what to tell you. I-I…”
She hears a quiet rustling sound behind her. Cringing, she says, “Elaine, I’ll have to call you back.” Then, she hangs up and slowly turns around. She’s startled to see the librarian hovering over her, smiling ironically.
Francine jolts in fear, then quickly opens the locket, revealing the tiny mirror inside. With a short, high-pitched yelp, she shoves the mirror into the librarian’s face.
The librarian looks down at it for a moment, then says, “Is this your way of telling me that I need to clean my nose, dear?”
Dumbfounded, Francine closes the locket and says, “N-no, I’m s-sorry. I don’t… I don’t know…”
“The library is closing soon,” the librarian says. “I’m afraid you’ll need to pack up. You can come back when we open tomorrow at 10 a.m.”
---
Francine enters the evidence room inside the police station. In it, there are rows of large metal shelves with various boxes and plastic bags sitting upon them.
She walks along the main aisle and then turns down one of the rows, stopping next to a nondescript cardboard box on one of the shelves. Written in black marker on the side of the box are the words, “Monroe – Code 2501: Criminal Homicide.”
She reaches into the box and pulls out a manila file folder, then opens it and examines its contents. Inside is a small stack of documents held together by several paper clips and plastic clasps. On the top is a police report, signed by “Detective Peter Abernathy.”
Francine recalls how she begged Sepatha to allow her to participate in the investigation into her daughter’s murder with Detective Abernathy. But Sepatha wouldn’t allow it, citing the obvious conflict of interest. Francine knows she shouldn’t even be reading the case file, but continues anyway. She finds that Abernathy’s notes are thorough and objective, noting all the details of her old home, large and small. She braces herself for the description of bullet holes in the front wall and bloodstains on the carpet after they removed Esther’s body. Then, she notices something odd.
In a section detailing the house’s backyard, Abernathy describes a large pile of ash sitting next to a small barbecue grill on the patio. Francine recalls how Marc used to like to cook out whenever possible, and was probably grilling burgers the day their daughter was murdered. Abernathy notes that it seems like too much ash to have accumulated from such a small grill, but then he never mentions it again.
The next part of the report includes a transcript of an interview with the crime’s one eyewitness, Francine’s former next-door neighbor, Ted Early.
“I only caught a glimpse of what happened,” he says. “I was sitting on my front porch, drinking a beer when I saw a beat-up old car roll down the street. It stopped outside of Francine’s house, but I didn’t think anything of it. Then I heard what sounded like a car backfiring. Not unusual at all. But then I heard it again and again and again, and I realized the sounds were gunshots. I ducked for cover and the car sped away. Then I ran inside and called the police.”
Abernathy asks who the person in the car was shooting at. Early says, “It’s the damnedest thing, but I could’ve sworn it was my cousin, Phillip. I saw someone walk out of Francine’s house through her front door right before the shooting started, and it looked exactly like him.
“But it couldn’t have been him. Phillip lives on the other side of the country. And, as a matter of fact, I’d just gotten into an argument with him that morning over the phone. I know he was at home because he only has a landline.
“I was thinking about how mad I was at him when I looked up and saw him in front of Francine’s house at that exact moment! Then the shots rang out. I hit the deck and didn’t see anything else after that.
“I called Phillip right after I called the police. He answered, and I said, ‘Were you just standing outside of my neighbor’s house?’ and he goes, ‘Are you fucking crazy, asshole?’ Then he hung up on me.”
Francine turns the page to look at the next document. The words “Suspect Criminal History Report – Jack Thompson, II” appear at the top.
In a mugshot paper-clipped to the report, a man stares at the camera with a look of dejected contempt. Crude tattoos of various indiscernible shapes cover his neck. His criminal history is voluminous and with a variety of phrases, many of which include the words “Aggravated,” “Assault,” and “Deadly.”
Francine looks at his picture, recognizing him as the man charged with murdering her daughter. She remembers staring at him at the trial like she wanted to kill him, and how he looked back at her like he couldn’t care less. She feels a surge of anger rise within her, but tries to stay focused.
She turns the page. The next document is a court record from the trial. It says, “Mr. Jack Thompson, II, hereby known as inmate #0110365, has pled GUILTY to the charges of ASSAULT WITH A DEADLY WEAPON and NEGLIGENT HOMICIDE. He is sentenced to 20 YEARS in the federal penitentiary system. He will be sent to the Bermuda County Penitentiary to serve out his sentence.” Francine closes the manila folder and places it back inside the box.
Back out in the hallway, she sees Sepatha walking towards her. “Detective Monroe, could I have a word with you?
“Y-yes, of course,” Francine says.
“Have you heard about the situation with my estranged husband, Fernando?”
“No, I haven’t.”
“I was working late a couple nights ago when he called me at my office to harass me. Then, as I was leaving, I saw him in the parking lot. He chased me and I sprayed him with mace before jumping into my car and getting away. He has since been arrested, and I’ve taken a restraining order out on him as well. I intend to press charges against him for stalking. I’m telling everyone in the department so you’re all in the loop.”
Francine shakes her head. “He’d have to be pretty crazy to attack the chief of police, especially in a police station parking lot.”
“Definitely,” Sepatha says. “I knew he was bad, but I never realized how deranged he could be. He didn’t even flinch when I maced him. He just kept walking towards me with this creepy smile on his face like he… like he…”
“Knew something horrible?” Francine says.
“Exactly.”
Francine shudders. “That’s so creepy, Chief. I’ll be sure to keep my eye out for anything suspicious.”
“Please do.”
As Francine starts to walk away, Sepatha says, “Oh, Francine?”
Francine turns back to look at her.
“Have you heard anything from Trooper Magnuson?”
Francine shakes her head. “Why do you ask?”
“He didn’t report in for duty a few days ago, and his wife filed a missing person’s report for him yesterday. Nobody knows where he is.”
TO BE CONTINUED...
submitted by JamesGBoswell to u/JamesGBoswell [link] [comments]


2020.06.24 23:25 spgbmod The A6 murder at Deadmans Hill, 1961. Motiveless random all-night carjacking by strange gunman ends in murder and rape. One surviving witness' positive identification led to one of the last hangings in Britain.

This is a case with lots of strange coincidences the deeper you dig into it, so a bit of a rabbit hole. If you wish to read a longer 4-part account, you can find it elsewhere on reddit. Abridged from Hanratty the Final Verdict by Bob Woffinden.
Tuesday August 22 1961 Evening Michael Gregsten (36) and his mistress Valerie Storie (22), drew up in a Morris Minor car outside the Old Station Inn, a public house just outside the village of Taplow. Storie drank gin and Pepsi, Gregsten had Double Diamond. They left in their Morris Minor. After going over the M4 motorway, they followed the road round to a cornfield at Dorney Reach.
They were just talking when a man tapped at the driver’s window. As Gregsten wound down the window, the intruder stuck a gun through and said, ‘This is a hold-up, I am a desperate man.’ The man got in and sat in the rear off-side seat, with his gun pointing at Gregsten’s back.
He said ‘Keep facing the front and don’t look round. You’ll be all right if you do as I tell you.’
He said he had been living rough for two days. ‘He asked Mike who he lived with, and whether I lived with my parents. He asked us if we were married, and we said no.’ He made them hand over their watches (though he later returned them) and also Gregsten’s wallet, which contained £3, and the purse from Storie’s shopping basket. Before handing it over, she adroitly removed the money - £7 – and put it in her bra. The gunman did not notice.
At about 10:30, an outside light went on at a cottage adjoining the field to the north. The gunman became momentarily agitated, but there was no prospect of anyone at that distance divining the couple’s predicament.
They then retraced their route back up the A4. One mile north of Clophill, they turned off what seemed to be a lay-by, with a strip of parking space parallel to the main road.
Throughout they had been asking him to take what he wanted but just to leave and not shoot them. When they finally stopped, he said, ‘If I was going to shoot you, I would have done it before now.’ . In the front passenger footwell there was a green and white duffel bag containing laundry. The man told Gregsten to pass it back. He instantaneously fired two shots. ‘There was a terrific noise and a smell of gunpowder of something.’ Said Storie. ‘Mike fell forward over the steering-wheel and I could see the blood pouring out of his head.’
Storie screamed,’ You shot him, you bastard, why did you do that?’ The man replied, ‘He frightened me, he moved too quick.’ Storie pressed him to allow her to fetch a doctor. The man replied, ‘be quiet, will you, I am thinking.’ I thought he was slightly round the twist.
He asked me my name and told me to get in the back of the car with him. I said ‘No.’ He then asked her to go and sit in the back with him. Again she refused; again he pressed her, finally making the same threat: ‘I will count to five and if you have not got in I will shoot.’ She had no choice. He raped her.
She then said, ‘For goodness’ sake, take the car and go, it is almost daybreak.’ But first he needed to get Gregsten’s body out of the car. He told her, ‘You will have to get him out. I must not get blood on me.’ She dragged the body around the car and to the edge of the concrete strip. The gunman seemed indecisive. He came back up to her, saying, ‘I think I had better knock you on the head or something, or else you will go for help.’ She said that she would not do so and held out a £1 note, saying ,’you can have that if you go quickly.’ He momentarily seemed to wonder where she had got it from, then took it and walked away. When a few feet from her, he suddenly turned round and fired a number of shots into her body. Then he kicked me and walked away.’
Thursday August 24 1961
At about 11:00 a. m., twenty-three-year-old Audrey Willis was at home in Old Knebworth, Hertfordshire. There was a knock at the back door. A man asked for her husband. When she replied that he was not in, and that she was not alone, he produced a ‘short, black’ gun and forced his way into the house. He next demanded money. I gave him £4 and he left by the back door.
Was the gun that Audrey Willis threatened with the murder weapon? If so, it was taken to London, because it was recovered that evening from a 36A bus at the Rye Lane depot in Peckham, south London. A .38 Enfield, five boxes of ammunition - sixty rounds and a handkerchief was picked up by bus cleaner Edwin Cooke from the recess of the lifted back seat on the top deck who confirmed nothing had been there the previous evening.
Among the many police appeals for information was the customary one to hotels and guesthouses. At the Alexandra Court Hotel in Finsbury Park, north London, guests considered very odd the behaviour of a man who seemed to have spent the time since the murder locked in his room, pacing up and down. Mary Perkins, the lady in the next room, described him as ‘about thirty years, 5 feet 6 inches tall, medium build, fresh complexion, dark hair, with either a cockney or south country accent’. The man was registered as Frederick Durrant, which on learning the name and address were false, D. S. Kilner and D. C. Dean took him in for police questioning where he admitted his name was Peter Louis Alphon.
When asked, where had he been on the Tuesday, the critical date? Alphon said that at about 8 p.m. he went to the Broadway house hotel in Dorset Square. They had no room there, but booked a room for him at a hotel under the same ownership, the Vienna, in Sutherland Avenue, Maida Vale. Thereafter, he met his mother in the street on the corner of Gleneagle Road – ‘as I do not get on with my father.’ He then returned to Victoria station, where had to pick up something from the left luggage office. He then went to the Vienna Hotel, arriving just after 11 p.m.
He stayed in Room 6 and left the following morning at about 11:45a.m. It was confirmed that Alphon stayed the night of 22 August at the Vienna hotel and he was allowed to leave after completing his statement but to return to the police station the following day.
Thursday September 7 1961
At about 1:30 p.m., a twenty-three-year-old Swedish housewife, Meike Dalal, was attacked by a man who called to look at some accommodation. She had received an inquiry about the room the previous day; but when she told the caller the rent, he muttered something about ‘robbing bastards’ and hung up. She received a second call at about 11:00 a.m. on the Thursday from someone who could have been the same man. He asked to see the room, and she gave him the address.
She invited him in and took him to see the room to let. ‘I started showing him around, we were talking about the room and its amenities, and suddenly he closed the door.’ He struck her a violent blow on the left temple with something hard, she didn’t see what. She collapsed on the floor beside the bed. He tied her wrists behind her back with some flex which he’d taken from his coat pocket. As he was doing so, he said to her, ‘Listen, I am the A6 murderer and I want some money.’
She pretended to be unconscious and didn’t reply. He then struck her twice more on the head, gagged her mouth with a silk scarf, and tied her ankles with a piece of blue ribbon. ‘Whilst I was lying on my face, he wiped the blood off the back of my head with a pillow and then he turned me over on my back and lifted up my skirts.’
At this point she began to struggle, but in fact he made no attempt to touch her under her clothing. Once again – if this was the same man – his efforts at binding hands were unsuccessful. Mrs Dalal got hers free, and managed to parry another blow which he aimed at her head. She then got the gag out of her mouth and screamed twice, very loudly. As he escaped downstairs and out into the street, she ran out of the room, along the landing and into the front room. She opened the window on to the main road and screamed to wake the dead.
Two women and a man were passing by. The latter, Philip Dyerson (who thought she’d screamed, ‘He’s the Essex murderer’) came into the house and dialled for an ambulance and the police, while the two women comforted Mrs Dalal. The police received the message at 1:45 and arrived within ten minutes. The attacker made off, turning right along Upper Richmond Road and right again down Grosvenor Gardens.
Despite the prodigious investigations of Richmond police, the detectives on the A6 team instinctively ruled out the possibility that there could be any link between the Dalal incident and the A6 murder itself.
The detectives continued to be preoccupied with the find on the 36A bus, the revolver was an Enfield and there were five boxes, containing about sixty rounds. Nevertheless, this was an extraordinary – and extraordinary bulky – amount of material for someone to dispose of in a hurry. The questions remained unanswered: how had someone managed this, and why had they done it at all when it would have seemed the safer, more sensible option to have hurled it all into the River Thames?
The concentration on ballistics, however, appeared to be vindicated when two cartridge cases from the murder weapon were suddenly discovered in a shabby hotel in Maida Vale.
The man who entered the case as Jim Ryan was born James Francis Hanratty on 4 October 1936. His criminal career started in a small way, convicted of taking a motor-cycle in 1954. Once he started going down the West End as a teenager, he found he could get ready money. That’s what led him astray. In 1955, he was convicted of of housebreaking and theft, and on his release from prison in 1957, stealing a motor-car, the same charge he was convicted for in 1958 and released in 1960.
Resuming burglaries in well-to-do districts of North London, he explained: ‘I never use gloves. I carry a spare hankerchief and use it to pick up articles or clean off fingerprints afterward. Gloves give you away.’ In several respects, James remained an innocent abroad. Adult vices like smoking and drinking were, well for adults, he did neither. Nor was he prone to violence. No one had ever seen him involved in a fight.
Wednesday October 11 1961
Hanratty was apprehended and immediately had his fingerprints taken and straightaway volunteered to provide forensic samples. An identity parade took place at 4.00 p. m. There were four witnesses: Edward Blackhall, John Skillett and James Trower, who had all caught glimpses of the gunman driving the car in Redbridge on the morning of the murder; and Harry Hirons, the garage attendant. Blackhall and Hirons picked out parade extras; Trower and Skillett picked out Hanratty. Hanratty raised with some exasperation the fact that everyone was dressed in light clothing except him.
Valerie Storie was wheeled up and down the line about nine times. She asked them to say ‘Be quiet, will you. I am thinking.’ She was listening for a cockney accent, someone who said ‘finking’. It took twenty minutes before she announced her decision: No. 6, Hanratty.
Some hours earlier, police fingerprint experts were able to report categorically that none of the prints from the 36A bus, Upper Richmond Road or Morris Minor or its contents were Hanratty’s.
Another of the bewildering developments that had characterised the case was someone had been trying to contact Valerie Storie by telephone, and making threats against her. At about ten past six on Sunday 1 October – which was, intriguingly, the weekend that Peter Alphon was released from custody – the telephone operator at Stoke Mandeville hospital had received a strange call. The caller said, ‘I am the man who shot Valerie Storie.’ He added, ‘I will be there at 11.30 to finish her off.’ The following day, a second call from the same man, ‘I rang the hospital yesterday about Valerie Storie. I was unable to come last night, but I will be there tonight.’ That Tuesday, ‘you know the call you had from Windsor? Tonight may be the night.’ Two newspapers also received calls including one stating ‘If anything happens to Jim Hanratty, his mates will be up at Stoke Mandeville to do her in.’ and ‘Tell Bob Traini [the crime correspondent] I am going to kill Valerie Storie tonight.’
Saturday October 14 1961
On Saturday, 14 October, immediately after Hanratty was charged, his lawyer gave details of his client’s alibi for this period. In the late evening of Monday, 21 August Hanratty arrived at the Vienna hotel. Nudds showed him to his room, down in the basement, which no-one, in the event, shared with him. After breakfast, Hanratty went to Paddington station.
On arriving, he realised straightaway that he was at the wrong station. He’d been to Liverpool about five times in the past five years. ‘I do not know why I made this mistake. Perhaps I was excited by the jewellery and the deal I was going to do.’ He called a black cab off the taxi rank and asked the driver to take him to Euston.
He would probably have arrived about 10:45, and had a long wait for the next train. ‘We got into Liverpool about 3:30 in the afternoon.’
He put his case in the left-luggage office, the man who took it had a turned or withered hand. He went into a sweet shop, there was a lady serving, and a small girl also serving. He asked the lady whether she knew where Carlton or Tarleton Avenue was. She said there wasn’t a Carlton Avenue round there. ‘When the woman told me I had to go back into town, I abandoned my intention of going to the road.’ In fact, he walked back to the station. He went towards to the billiard hall on the other side of Lime Street.
According to his own account, Hanratty was in Liverpool between approximately 4.00 p.m. and 6.00 p.m. on Tuesday afternoon. Even apart from all other considerations, this, if accurate, gave him a watertight alibi. If he was there, then, he could not logically have been in a cornfield near Slough by 9.30 that evening.
On Tuesday 17 October, police called in a sweet shop on Scotland Road and made inquiries. Mrs Olive Dinwoodie immediately said, ‘I can remember a man asking for Tarleton Road.’ Her statement given to the police read ‘On Monday 21 August, I was engaged as assistant for two days. I was accompanied in the shop by my thirteen year-old granddaughter Barbara Ford. Between 3.30 and 4.00 p.m. on the Monday, a chap came into the shop and asked me to direct him to Tarleton Road. I did not know where Tarleton Road was, though I knew Tarleton Street. I asked him if it was Tarleton Street, and he said “No, Road.” It was definitely the Monday, because I was alone on the Tuesday, my grand-daughter was only with me on the Monday. The photograph you have shown me is one of the man who came in on Monday, 21 August, asking for Tarleton Road.’
After failing to sell any jewellery, Hanratty had, on the spur of the moment, abandoned Liverpool and caught a Crosville bus to Rhyl, the only service left Liverpool at 6.00 p.m. and arrived in Rhyl at 8.19 and stayed in a guesthouse.
On Thursday 24 August, he sent a telegram from Lime Street, signed from London as follows ‘Having a nice time, be home early Friday morning for business. Yours sincerely, Jim. Mr P. Ryan, Imperial Hotel, Russell Square, London.’
Shortly after midnight on the Friday morning, Hanratty took the train back to London, chatting with two men who got on at Stafford. They complimented him on his suit and discussed the A6 murder. ‘We said what a shocking thing it was.’ They got back in London at 5:20am and Hanratty went to the home of Charles France and his family. Charles said to him, ‘You went to the Club on Monday?’ and Hanratty admitted that he hadn’t, after all gone straight to Liverpool. He showed them the bill from the Vienna Hotel. That weekend Carole France again remarked that she thought the dye was beginning to fade from his hair, so he asked her to touch it up, and again she set to work and redyed it. Carole remembered the date with certainty, again because it fell just before another dental appointment that coming Monday.
On Saturday 2 September, Hanratty burgled a house near the lake in Edgware. On Monday 4 September, Hanratty flew to Dublin, Ireland to legitimately acquire an Irish driving licence. The whole trip should have been inconsequential. It did, however, constitute the most impregnable of alibis for Hanratty for the Meike Dalal incident: at the exact time she was attacked in South London by a man claiming to be the A6 murderer, Hanratty was in a police station in southern Ireland explaining a very minor traffic accident.
Late September, Hanratty burgled in Stanmore where he tore his suit jacket then discarded it in some bushes. On Thursday 5 October Hanratty learned he was wanted for the A6 murder, and the following day he rang the police. He told them where his belongings where kept including clothes and stated he had an alibi for the murder. After Hanratty’s arrest, police questioned Charles France, whose testimony was very damaging. One time, whilst explaining his approach to burglary to Charles France, Hanratty said ‘If you’ve got any rubbish you don’t want, you put it under the back seat on a bus.’
Thus, as the days slipped by to the preliminary court hearing, there were a number of pieces of prosecution evidence which appeared to fuse together: the ‘back seat’ conversation with Charles France, the ‘36A bus’ conversation with William Nudds. Then there were the identifications of John Skillet and James Trower. Finally, of towering importance, there was the evidence of Valerie Storie, which consisted not solely of her identification, but also of what she recalled of the gunman having said about himself during those harrowing hours in the Morris Minor. Much of it seemed to fit Hanratty.
The defence could point to absence of vital corroborating evidence, the total lack of motive and the fact that Hanratty had at least the prospects of an alibi.
At the preliminary court hearing, Valerie Storie commented ‘I told the witness Kerr that the man had brown hair. I said it wasn’t a dark brown. His hair was medium brown, definitely not dark brown. It appeared to be swept straight back without a parting.’
For the Police, Acott was forced to admit that, if Hanratty had committed the murder, the timetable was difficult to gauge. He agreed that if Mrs Dinwoodie had seen Hanratty, then she could not have done so on the Monday, the 21st, ‘because we know from the evidence where he was on the 21st’ [in London].
Nor did the episode of the gun on the bus appear to fit in. ‘I don’t say he got rid of the gun on a bus in London on the [Thursday] 24th and then went off to Liverpool that day so that he could send a telegram saying he was having a nice time and would be back the following day. I cannot say who put the gun on that bus. I do say that probably the defendant abandoned the gun on the bus on the 24th and then tore off to Liverpool. But if that is when he went, he could not have seen Mrs Dinwoodie and she could not have seen him. If Mrs Dinwoodie saw him, it must have been on 22 August. I had Mrs Dinwoodie’s statement double-checked by a further inquiry. Mrs Dinwoodie is a perfectly respectable and responsible citizen.’
The first day of the trial began on Monday 22 January 1962. Hanratty, charged with the murder of Michael Gregsten, pleaded not guilty. The prosecution outlined the main points of evidence against Hanratty: the identification of Valerie Storie; the details which the gunman revealed about himself in the car that, by successive processes of elimination, ultimately pointed to only one man – the defendant; the gun found on a bus; the cartridge cases, left in a hotel room in which he had stayed.
The case continued with evidence pertaining to the 36A bus. The combination of the gun, left on the bus in London that day, and the telegram, sent by Hanratty from Liverpool that evening, created difficulties for the prosecution. The telegram must have been the first and only time in judicial history that someone had tried to establish a fraudulent alibi in Liverpool by giving a bogus address in London. Hanratty had clearly given no thought at all to the notion of establishing a fraudulent alibi.
When Hanratty’s defence team saw him at the beginning of the second week, he had a shock for them. Thus, for the first time, Hanratty mentioned that during the critical period he was staying in a Rhyl guest-house.
Extraordinarily, Peter Alphon attended the court himself.
In summing up the defence pointed out that if Hanratty had gone north to arrange a bogus ‘Liverpool’ alibi, as the prosecution alleged, then the circumstances were more than curious – because he would have been setting up an alibi before a murder could have even been contemplated bearing in mind Valerie Storie’s evidence that no one could have possibly known that she and Gregsten would go to the cornfield that evening.
Hanratty testified in the Rhyl guest-house, he slept in a back room, from where he could hear but not see, the trains shunting. He could remember a green bath at the top of the house. He could recall that there was no front garden, but a small courtyard at the back.
Audrey Willis and Meike Dalal also gave evidence. Both had encounters with a man claiming to be the A6 murderer. He had threatened the former with a gun. Willis was shown the murder weapon in court, and commented that it was ‘very much the sort of gun I remember’. Both women mentioned the mackintosh he wore. Willis described him as having a ‘a long thin face, sallow complexion and brown eyes’. She thought he was ‘about thirty’. Dalal thought he was younger, mid-twenties, but she too recalled ‘an oval face, with dark brown hair plastered back.’ The latter had picked out Alphon at an identity parade. Both had no hesitation in saying that Hanratty was not the man.
Witnesses to the gunman had mentioned ‘a pale face’, whereas Hanratty’s was florid. Then, there was his suit. ‘Do you think you would notice a stripe as jazzy and as prominent as that?’ Everybody who saw Hanratty in his suit noticed the stripe, none of those who saw the gunman noticed it.
This was the longest murder trial ever in Britain. It has never been appreciated how tenuous the overall identification evidence in this case was. The final tally worked out as follows;
Peter Alphon: two identifications
James Hanratty: three identifications
Others: seven identifications.
There was also the documented Vienna Hotel testimony of the manager, Juliana Galves. She said: ‘I do not understand that part of the entry ‘£1 7s 6d deposit’ because if the guest Alphon had telephoned this hotel in the morning he could not have paid a deposit before his arrival.
Finally at 9:10 p.m., the jury returned their verdict: Guilty. Was that the verdict of them all? It was. The judge, with black cap now on his wig, sentenced Hanratty to death.
On Monday 2 April, 1962, when the Home Secretary refused clemency for Hanratty’s scheduled hanging; something extraordinary happened. Audrey Willis, of Knebworth, Herfordshire, the lady who was held up in the immediate aftermath of the A6 crime, and who gave evidence about it at the trial, was ambushed again, by the same man, in entirely parallel circumstances. The once-in-a-lifetime incident happened again. She told police that at 12:50 p.m., he called again with a gun. ‘It was the same man – absolutely, definitely. One of the things that was so unnerving was that he knew his way around, he knew where the stairs were. I can remember my clothes going up and down because my heart was beating so fast.’ He again asked for a drink and money, ‘he was much more sure of himself the second time, he was slightly showing off. The gun – he kept waving it in my baby’s direction – wasn’t wobbling.’ He then left, but as he was leaving said to her, ‘You and I will have a smile on Wednesday morning, knowing that it is the wrong man. You and I know who did it, don’t we?’ He then added, ‘Look into my eyes – they are blue, aren’t they?’ He then disappeared.
Later on Tuesday, Alphon told a friend that he had done certain things to let them know that Hanratty wasn’t the murderer, and that he had employed ‘unconstitutional’ means. Alphon’s attitude was clear ‘One day I will admit it to the world’ but Hanratty is expendable, ‘I have my mission.’
Wednesday April 4 1962
Hanratty was hanged in the morning.
The first anniversary of the murder was eventful. Alphon paid an extraordinary visit to the Hanratty home in Kingsbury. Mr Hanratty asked if it was right that he had written a confession. Alphon replied that he had, and produced the original notes from his pocket. He then said, ‘I am very sorry that all this happened. I never thought that they would hang your son. I know he did not do the murder.’ He then astonished the family by taking out his chequebook and suggested that he recompense them for Jimmy’s death. James Hanratty was understandably livid; he threw Alphon out of the house.
That afternoon, Alphon met campaigners including the Hanratty family who told him they wanted nothing to do with him. Mary Hanratty joined them, but at Green Park a fracas developed. Alphon hurled himself down the steps, gripped Mary by the throat and pushed her against a wall. Shortly afterwards the police came, but by then Alphon had fled. Mary, her neck bearing red weals as proof of the attack, sued for assault but Alphon, after telling the court that the police and Home Secretary had ignored his A6 confession notes, was acquitted.
Alphon also used to make regular phonecalls to the Hanratty family. Sometimes, when one of the family picked up the phone, there would just be silence at the other end; at other times, he spoke and made threats. Once, when Mary answered, he said, ‘I am the A6 killer, and I’m coming to get you.’
Alphon always reacted uncomfortably when the Rhyl alibi was receiving attention. He resented the spotlight moving away from himself, and concern lest the alibi were properly established. So in late 1968 he wrote to the Home Secretary with an entirely unambiguous confession, ‘I killed Gregsten, the establishment murdered Hanratty and have since acted against me as though they knew I was guilty.’
James Hanratty's body was exhumed in 2001 to extract his DNA. His DNA was compared with other DNA extracted from, firstly, mucus preserved in the handkerchief within which the murder weapon had been found wrapped and, secondly, semen preserved in the underwear worn by Storie when she was raped. DNA samples from both sources exactly matched James Hanratty's DNA. No DNA other than Hanratty's was found on the handkerchief in which the murder weapon had been found wrapped.
submitted by spgbmod to TrueCrimeDiscussion [link] [comments]


2020.06.01 04:55 Th3R3493r Peasant Treasures

Even a poor orphan, a simple laborer or a lowly bandit will have a special trinket or something they would view as worth more than any gold or item you could offer to trade for. The trinkets are either not worth anything but have sentimental value or worth something but not too much to be worth taking. This is for a DM who wants to add just a little more personality to the lowly folk who do not have much to their name. (P.S. it has to be easy to carry around and travel with. A bandit or a refugee can not afford to carry a bed frame everywhere they go, but, a good bed roll with a mixed feather and hay stuffing can be carried)
  1. Baby Teeth: a collection of baby teeth in a leather pouch that are jingling with some spare copper pieces and a pebble.
  2. A Souvenir Spoon: it seems to be a expensive and finely engraved spoon, but, a cursory close look reveals it is a cheap pewter spoon that can not be used to eat as it is frail and thin.
  3. A thinly "Silver" Plated Shot: It is a lead cap for a bolt plated with silver (more like shined up tin). Supposedly good for killing werewolves and magical creatures, but, in all likelihood, it would not work as advertised.
  4. A crude drawing: it is a painting that seems to be made by a child or simpleton. It depicts a little cottage near a river with a woman, a man, a small girl and a small boy. A smiling hog with x's over the eye are in the background.
  5. A semi professional scrimshaw: an animal tooth or tusk covered in small etchings. The drawings are varied from a naked woman to a dog. They are not well done nor horrible.
  6. A lucky coin: it is a dirty silver coin that has a lot of damage to it. Only a really down on their luck merchant would accept it.
  7. A White Lotus Tile: It is a old game piece that seems to be worthless. The game (Pai Sho) is not a common one in this country and most who know the game will not use the piece, but, a few die hards will use it to great effect using it as a center cover.
  8. A fire scorched leather cauldron: A heavily worn leather cauldron that seems to have been well cared for. It permanently smells slightly of bean and cabbage stew.
  9. A crudely made wooden spoon: a poorly made wooden spoon that is too thick to eat with easily and too short to cook with.
  10. Weak Mead with Juniper berry: a homemade mead mixed with a juniper puree that is in a repeatedly reused bottle. It is a pleasant brew but not strong enough to get drunk off of.
  11. (Xx_TheNoobSlayer_xX) An old letter. Edges worn and slightly torn from repeated viewings. The writer must have meant a lot to the reader.
  12. (imperfectchicken) Wooden bead necklace/bracelet: a rough-looking beads strung loosely over a circle of thin cord. Some are smoothed by fidgeting with them and physical wear. A few burnt. The cord seems to have been tied and retied, but, never replaced.
  13. (imperfectchicken) Tin locket: a tin locket on a string. It's big enough to hold a ring or similar item. The locking clasp is broken and replaced with a twine piece and two holes.
  14. (imperfectchicken) Wooden ring: a plain but balanced wooden ring with no distinguishing markings. Its outside is badly scratched; its inside is polished from wear.
  15. A fool king's copper: A bronze coin that has been given two faces of an forgotten leader on both sides. No one will accept it as it looks like a counterfeit. A run-of-the-mill collector may trade you for 5 copper pieces for it but they are uncommon and not desirable.
  16. (MurkyGlover) A roughly woven blanket with the finely tailored crest of a noble family roughly sewn in, threadbare and old. It is stained and may have seen several generations. It smells of a grandmother's home and a noble's enchanted cologne.
  17. (MurkyGlover) A magnifying glass, albeit a scratched and dirty one. Seems to have been made in a rush and with as low cost material as available. May have belonged to a scholar or a wizard.
  18. (MurkyGlover) A single, small, flawless pearl, woven into a braided hemp necklace that had a worn bloodstain and sea salt crystals on it. It is well made but, the pearl is too small to be worth anything on the market.
  19. (advancedtaran) A tooth or claw hung from a leather band: possibly a first hunt. It is a small trophy and smells of saddle soap and preserving oil.
  20. (advancedtaran) A hag stone or looking rock: a stone with a hole in it that formed naturally. The superstitious say you can see through fey illusions with it, but, no one or thing has officially confirmed or denied it.
  21. (advancedtaran) A shiny pebble: It is a pebble that has a interesting pattern in it. It was shined by finger tip.
  22. (RandomOptimist) Patchwork quilt: the different faded scraps that make up this quilt came from different garments over the years, and are vital links to the memories of those days
  23. (RandomOptimist) Simple white veil: seems worn by every bride in the family for who knows how long, this many-times-mended heirloom is neatly folded and tucked away for the next generation.
  24. (RandomOptimist) Brass candlesticks: a wedding gift, these candlesticks have graced the family table for decades, and have the nicks and dents to prove it.
  25. (RandomOptimist) An old pipe: crafted from cherry wood rather than yet another corncob or cheap clay one, probably a grandfather's old pipe became father's old pipe many years ago, and became theirs naturally or by force.
  26. (RandomOptimist) Carved statue of the Hunting God, brittle and cracking with age: Seems to be ancient but, in good shape for how old the wood looks. A minuscule layer of wax is on it and seems to be the only thing keeping it together.
  27. (RandomOptimist) A Well-Used Wicker basket: From picnic lunches in the meadow during our honeymoon, to many trips to market, that well-worn basket has seen a lot of use with holes and patchwork to prove it.
  28. (RandomOptimist) Ribbons that marked and cut after the 16 winters: each year at yule time, they marked the height of each child. Some of the children get over 18 hands tall, but, some never make it to 3 hands but, are still kept.
  29. (RandomOptimist) A thin board covered with little foot prints: first traced with charcoal and then carefully carved along the lines, this board has a foot mark of every child born, including two who died of fever before they ever walked.
  30. (RandomOptimist) Wooden comb: It is old to say the least and matches its age with missing teeth. The user might still look good if they style their hair with the combs missing teeth in mind.
  31. (RandomOptimist) Homespun Robe: It is tightly spun, but, hold heat well enough. It has seen many winters, but, reliable enough to not get frost bite for most winters.
  32. (RandomOptimist) Checkers set: A patchwork checkered cloth as a board and bag with white and black pebbles as pieces. It is well made for what it is and seems to have been passed from father to son for 4 generations as a stitched initial is added with each owner on a carrying corner.
  33. (RandomOptimist) A grizzled walking stick with a shiny spot two-thirds up: It seems to have been kept warm and dry for some time now. Just a plain branch that someone has made into a walking stick and others now use if the recent and old blemishes are anything to go by.
  34. (RandomOptimist) A sturdy iron knife with a slightly marred handle: It is a well made knife that seen a lot of use over many moons and maybe even winters. It holds an edge well and seems that it may have been worth several silvers but, the handle make it a bit unwieldy.
  35. (Brand_News_Detritus) A hand-made wooden flute with a small owl carved near the mouthpiece: It plays off key on each note, but, makes a solid owl hoot and ooh if left open on its finger holes.
  36. (Brand_News_Detritus) The tusk of a massive boar: It is well kept in a leather bag filled with seed oil to preserve it. By its size alone, the beast it came from must have been a powerhouse of meat and muscle. It must have been a legendary hunt.
  37. (Brand_News_Detritus) A master-crafted pewter medallion bearing the symbol of the Goddess of Love and Family Bonds: It's been buffed clean on one side as if rubbed during prayer. The other side is dull, but, readable as it presents a prayer for the faithful.
  38. (Brand_News_Detritus) A heavy cast-iron skillet (well-seasoned): It's in good shape and obviously well cared for. Its seasoning is so well baked that just shaking it upside down will clean it from any mess you may put in it and not even a egg will stick to its bottom as it fries. To the uninitiated, worthless. To a chef worth their salt, a treasure beyond measure.
  39. (Brand_News_Detritus) A blood-rusted iron arrowhead still tied to a broken shaft with a sloppy date on it: probably a war trophy or luck charm. Not sure if it was a shot by them or at them, but, if they are breathing they may tell you.
  40. (Brand_News_Detritus) A homemade herbarium: book containing dried and pressed wildflowers with little notes on each page with the date and season the flower was collected. Some of the information is wrong, but, most of it is correct.
  41. (Brand_News_Detritus) An swan-quill sized blue and white feather: The feather matches the plumage of songbirds common in the area although none are large enough to produce a feather of this size. Might be from the Feywild?
  42. (lopjoegel) The Holy Writ, a pamphlet of selected scriptures of several gods: seemingly selected to point towards a message that may have been on the concluding pages of the pamphlet, but those pages are torn off and missing.
  43. (lopjoegel) A receipt for a burial slot in the catacombs and funeral services: The specification indicates internment for one daughter, died at age seven, and buried seven months previously, paid 1 Gold and 7 Silver, with 1 Gold 7 Silver more due on a date seven days from now, for placement of a marker and seal over her pallet cavity.
  44. (lopjoegel) A baked clay/ceramic tile that is marked with a name in Celestial Script and a red painted name on common, Rockios. (A DC10 Knowledge Religion check will identify Rukios as a Planetar known for their interventions on behalf of the helpless and the common name is misspelled in oil and rust paint.)
  45. (misterjta) A crudely cut half coin on a string aka a Soldier's Bond coin: the edges now worn with age. The kind of cheap promissory token a young man may have given as he headed off to war long ago and one remains home.
  46. (misterjta) A small lump of roughly carved yew, part-finished: the top part appears to be the head and arms of a doll, with head and arms. From the mid-chest it's simply unfinished lumber, scuffed and unpolished
  47. (misterjta) A solitary child-sized shoe: its now-perishing leather worn with age rather than use.
  48. (misterjta) An old iron key: Lovely oiled, cut for the sort of vast, intricate lock normally found in a noble's keep. It doesn't match any door in the local area but, it has to match something.
  49. (misterjta) A scrubby lock of fine blonde hair, tightly tied with a scrap of silk ribbon: Not sure if taken or given, but, it smells like strawberries and lilac.
  50. (misterjta) A crudely made clay mug: cracked in the baking, smeared with tiny fingerprints, and too fragile for use. It's been carefully boxed and packed in straw to protect it from harm.
  51. (Chirb1) An emergency gold coin in a hidden sack that is directly tied to person's arm and shoulder: shined to a mirror quality polish in a specially made leather sack. It must be for the day they summon the strength to spend it.
  52. (loreschool) A wonderful painted commemorative plate, still in the original packaging: It was made to mark the date that Viscountess Gillian Lish stayed the night at the local tavern. Ask the holder and they will gush about the Viscountess' acting skills and grace. Ask anyone else and they do not know what who you are talking about but, recount the plate owner trying to seduce her but, ending up seducing her guard.
  53. (World_of_Ideas) Smooth Skipping Stone: A river rock that is nearly a perfect discus which is too perfect to just throw into any old pond or river.
  54. (World_of_Ideas) A leather bracelet: The workmanship is decent and a well made pattern is present on it. It was given to them by someone they care about.
  55. (MaxSizeIs) A poorly taxidermied pet: It is a butcher job. The hide is stitched willy-nilly together. The fur is flaking off the skin. Some parts are rotten and torched to keep the rot from spreading. Shaking it gives off a sound of a box inside. (roll d3 for box contents: 1. random animals teeth in a breaking clay mold. 2. a collection of dried eyeballs, 3. a will made in crayon promising everything the peasant owns to his killer.)
  56. (Kiyohara) A well-used belt knife: A dagger that broke and was tossed away by a noble or well heeled adventurer. It is honed and oiled, but has been used and resharpened so many times the blade is barely a thumb's length now, however the grip is deeply oiled and smoothed by constant use and it is clear it fits a hand perfectly.
  57. (Kiyohara) A sturdy set of boots. The heel is thick leather with solid studs holding it to the sides. The walls, top, and cuff are leather but tooled with designs common to the local area. They are well worn and supple as butter. Inside a layer of felt keeps the feet warm and dry. The downside is the boots are made for the current wearer and too little or too much pressure will make other lose a bit of mobility.
  58. (Kiyohara) A broad shawl: A once plain cloth embroidered with tiny flowers mimicking a beautiful garden by the patient hands of a grandmother. It is beautifully made but out of fashion besides the peasant class for the past three centuries as textiles came into the scene.
  59. (Kiyohara) Tortoise Shell Comb: A engraved comb with a few missing tines that can be shined to reflect a warm golden lights. The engraving is illegible under normal means. (Perception: If you shine the comb and get the light to hit the comb's spine just right, one side will reflect on a surface "I love you." and the other side will reflect "Will you marry me?")
  60. (Kiyohara) A bag of marbles: a fabric bag of marbles of various designs, shape, and quality. Some were consciously made by a glassblower while some are just roughly shaped and painted glass detritus. The biggest masher marbles seems to be the jewel of the bunch with gold and silver flake surrounding a loose and intricate spiral of precious glowing mithril.
  61. (Kiyohara) A wooden soldier: hand carved with skill obviously earned from many decades of wood working. It is not exquisite, or worthy of a nobles collection, but well made and sturdy. It has a small (dull) iron sword and a wooden shield marked with the local lord's colors. It comes with a small carved monster to fight, though the monster was clearly made by someone who never saw the creature it was meant to be.
  62. (Kiyohara) A drink horn: banded with a dull ring of tin edged at the mouth with a spartan bit of shined silver. It is designed a draw string to hand from one's neck, belt, or arm. Not fancy, but nicer than the typical peasant would have. Clearly a family treasure passed down for many years. It has probably seen every type of scrumpy, ale, cider, or drink known to pass through local tavern for the last few decades.
  63. A spare monk's robe: It is a very comfortable plain robe worn by the monks in the nearest monastery. It may have been stolen, bought, or given. The peasant knows they have it and wears it in private but does not wear it public to avoid confusion.
  64. A cowbell: It was affixed to the neck of the last cow they owned. It is beat up from many generation of previous bovine and now it just waits for the next neck it will go on as the bell's owner waits for cattle prices to go down again to 7 goats instead of 10 goats.
  65. (LordsOfJoop) Crow's Coat: When you lose everything of your former life, sometimes it is a fresh start. A crow's coat is a mixed of armor a peasant or deserter squirrels away for either becoming a bandit or defending against bandits. As buying armor costs money, looting battlefields or the occasional dead adventurer is commonplace. As being caught with noble armor means death, a crow's coat usually is often made from rank and file armors jury-rigged together. The term came from how most of these missed matched armors have scavenging crow feathers in them from they were acquired.
  66. (LordsOfJoop) Dentistry Pliers: A pair of pliers that are strong enough to take out teeth. While most peasant hate the idea of pulling teeth to make ends meet, some do not have options in life and will choose a few missing healthy tooth over a starving family while others go and liberate teeth from the mouths of the dead to sell back home when drafted for another god forsaken war. 5 cp seems like a little amount to most but to some, it means living to see another day, thriving on the wake of war, or dying an ignoble death with a fist full of teeth. The pliers help greatly by any means.
  67. (LordsOfJoop) Butcher's Apron: A family heirloom from how it looks and kept. Heavy oiled leather mixed with canvas construction that can hold all the knives and saws you need to butcher most livestock. Makes for good enough improvised armor, but, it is never meant for fighting.
  68. (LordsOfJoop) An Unopened Warden's Box: A tale of the King's Great Grandfather is that after winning a great war that help bring peace to the land for a time, He had a vision of a greater evil on the horizon. In case, no heroes would rise and defend the people, he gave a series of wheeled hand carts full of surplus weapons, armor, and supplies a militia would need to operate and gave orders to aldermen of the villages to wait until the "evil reveals itself and you must take up arms against it". Time passed and most would pilfer and sell the contents of the boxes. Some are lost to time. But, some loyal to the order still have them. The downside is that the weapons and armor are old and have most likely deteriorated or became obsolete to the point they are basically useless.
  69. A collection of foreign coins: It is probably a reminder of their time in different countries. They are all low value and could get you a loaf of bread in the countries they are from. A interesting memento, but, a bit worthless if no one near accepts their implied value.
  70. A chunk of a broken statue: It came from the giant statue that was destroyed a long time ago. While you may not be quite sure how it got in their possession, they may have a tale to tell.
  71. The family kettle: It is a cooking kettle that once was constantly filled with a perpetual stew for the past years. A thick layer of soot has collected on it from years of being on a fire for all those years and a series of line from where the stew last simmering at. Now, it is thinning in some spots but, still will work for a few more years if no one drops it.
  72. A bar of soap: It is a lop-sided cut bar of crude homemade lye soap. While some peasants hate bathing and cleaning with a passion, some progressive peasants want to keep their health and not smell like a dead fish walking. It smells acidic and feels like it burns the skin like a torch blister, but, cleans extremely well.
  73. Special Ointment: It is a small clay bowl that is cover with a leather cap filled with a lard that is mixed thickly with various herbs. It smells heavily earthly and has finger marks in it. The cap has crude directions: dead head with tongue in bowl (don't eat). A stick man taking a two finger worth of the rub and then rubbing his butt with those fingers.
  74. An off-tune lute: it is a plain lute with some visible damage to the neck and body of it that has been lovely patched over with sticks, pine sap, and cloth. You can tune it perfectly but, it will drift off key as you play it.
  75. A pair of leather knee pads: It is a set of knee pads that are heavily scuffed from use. May be from them using them in construction or other professions.
  76. A heavy wooden string top: it is a string top that you usually see the urchins and street kids play with. This one is modified with a lead center and tip covering and a stronger pull-string. The bag it is stored has painted words on it, "This Top belong to Master Baylor Blade. Private Property."
  77. A ceramic "horse": It is a crudely shaped horse made of dry clay. Or at least that what it best looks like.
  78. A poorly made rag doll: It is a doll made of various scrap pieces fabric. Love was put into every stitch, but, the hands of the maker were not experienced in sewing.
  79. A picture book: It is a leather-bound notebook that has seen a lot of time and hands. The picture start out as simple scribbles then evolve to crude caricatures in odd positions then, more realistic but still stilted scene drawings. After several good drawings, you see scribbles again and different art styles form them.
  80. A fake diamond necklace: it is a string full of practice pieces of glass shaped like a gem by a jeweler apprentice. It is an obvious fake as all are etched with fake in common, but, may fool a drunken idiot.
  81. A jar of farts: It is a jar full of farts. Someone has put a lot of effort into jarring the fart and it has been sealed to keep it contained. Why and how did they jar the fart? No one but the creator may know and it will probably not be worth the time to learn how to.
  82. A crude meat cleaver: It is a slab of metal that looks like it was made by a ogre with a severe drinking problem who only used a stones and scrap metal. The uncomfortable grip can be held with 2 hands and the thing is more of a club than a bladed weapon, but, works wonderfully at bashing through bone and flesh. It just hurts you as you hold it and use it.
  83. A rat-skull necklace:It is a braided hemp cord necklace with a bleached and lacquered rat skull hung on it. The words " Requiesat in pace, amicus meus Jerry" so it may have been a pet at one time.
  84. A government war bond: It is a slip of paper that show they gave money in time of strife to their country to fund the war effort and with the promise that they will be paid with interest in the future. It says the conditions state they gave 5 salted ham hock and a year-old fattened pig and will be paid 100000000 platinum pieces in a date 7000 years from now with no way to withdraw early. In a few millennia and if the paper and country survives, it will make them a noble family by default.
  85. A globe model: It is a scientifically fictional diorama of the world if it was spherical and revolved around the sun with the moon revolving it. It based on a historically and scientifically disproved theory with no basis on reality or the natural order that can be easily disproved by astral-projecting your spirit into orbit, but, thrives in those who faith in it is stronger than their wisdom or intelligence.
  86. An ancient cultist robe or Strange silk robe: It is an ancient robe of a would-be mythical cult which almost dethroned all the Gods, Greater Beings, and Demons in all planes of existence. It is now long forgotten by all but the most divine, celestial, ancient, and abyssal beings and all agreed to erase and hide its existence from all sentient minds. Now, it is a robe with completely undecipherable marking on it, but, it is still silk smooth and inexplicably clean.
  87. An odd mirror: It is a strange black mirror that has many cracks in its surface and beset by tiny clicking buttons on its sides. It has no handle and the back of it has a symbol of an apple with a notch cut from it. It looks like it had runic components at one time but they were removed long ago.
  88. A old set of lacy gloves: It is a pair of heavily worn lace gloves that have seen better days. They are discolored with age and use. the lace is falling apart in some places with stray strings moving.
  89. A collection of glowing fungi: It is a jar of glowing fungi that is commonly found in the sewer of several cities. It is not edible nor fatally poisonous. It is an interesting thing to stare at in the dark, but, does not generate a lot of usable light without serious alchemical tampering.
  90. A round box of buttons: It is a small confectionery box full of spare and lost buttons. The buttons vary wildly from each other and you will never manage to make a matching set with it.
  91. A paper swan: It is a folded paper swan that was made from a ripped page of a random book at a university or shop. It is neatly made but it is worn from someone constantly unfolding and refolding it to its current state.
  92. A scroll that has a "naughty" picture on it: It is a possibly stimulating picture for some, but, it is not for everyone and some would say it is just weird. It is just a bunch of crude drawings of feminine feet and nothing else. Most likely the owner made it. I would not touch it, just in case.
  93. A bronze ax: it is an ax that has a bronze ax head and ash wood handle. It is not as reliable as iron or steel but, it will do what an ax can do. On the bright side, its rust preserves it if you leave the ax out in the elements.
  94. A expired lifetime coupon: It was a paper copy of a lifetime coupon for a pint of a specific beer at any tavern that serves it. The once magical seal that would verify it is authentic has been given torn or ripped. Now, it just sits unused as the holder wishes it would go back to working order.
  95. A collection of finger paints: It is a collection of various hues and color of paint in small connected jars. All the colors have been used and mixed to the owner's liking, but, some are drying and a few have began to grow mold or they could just be a fuzzy green as they were mold to begin with.
  96. A egg: It is a chicken egg that was given to them in a trying time. They will not remember who gave it to them. Just that it was a beautiful, charming, caring, and handsome man who offered the egg to them.
  97. A necklace of broken keys: It is iron wire covered in a mess of mangled and snapped keys. None of the keys are useful as they are not going to open any locks without their other halves.
  98. A rock from the peak of the world's tallest mountain: It is a rock in a box with a small plague claiming that it came from the top of the world's tallest mountain. It does not state the mountain's name and on closer inspection, it looks like a river stone from the last river you crossed.
  99. A bag of "strange meat" jerky: It is a unassuming leather bag full to the brim with a oddly sweet and savoury jerky that is just perfect for snacking. The owner has taken good care of the bag as it fills silky smooth like a young maiden's hand. (Perception check: it is just a sweetened boar jerky in a sheep skin bag, but, a cannibals or humanoid eater would swear it was human flesh.)
  100. A nice wineskin: It is a nice and unassuming wineskin canteen. The cork is made of a foreign tree bark that lets air out and keeps wine or water in the bag. This would help with preventing the wine from spoiling from air exposure, but, most of the wine that goes into is poorly made and has tainted it.
submitted by Th3R3493r to d100 [link] [comments]


2020.05.22 16:14 MelissciousMoose I'm Too Hard On Myself And No One Gives A Sh*t Anyway

I should seriously ease up. It's been almost 30 years since the first member of my immediate family died. And his opinion of me was, is and always will be:
"You're special. I love you. You can do anything."
And everyone once in a while he'd throw in a:
"Promise me you won't grow up to be a stupid b*tch!"
That one is hard. I'm sure it's made more difficult by the sheer volume of people out there making stupid b*tch a verb. (I'm docile till provoked, like an alligator).
Like some people (more than I realized), I'm the last member of my immediate family. (Pretty sure I'll die alone from the residual trauma of the sh*t show that got me here so that's handy). This wouldn't be so terrible if I didn't attract so many people.
You get sick of explaining your unorthodox background. Then you get smart and start explaining it simply, sounding like whole milk hymns and using as few words as possible.
It gets easier to do. It gets easier to deal. It's not even that bad when you leave out the unpleasant parts. Or you hear some of the other entries from people in the 'who had it worst' contest. Humaning is difficult sometimes. Sometimes it's so easy I forget that it's all in my head. It's actually enjoyable! I get along with people but that often becomes a problem. People feel really comfortable with me. Too comfortable. Expressing their love or dislike. Usually of me, to me.
Off the hop it's obvious there's something different.
But not what*. I don't own a Lambo. My daddy's not an Ambassador. I'm not a nurse. I don't have a handsome husband or beautiful kids. I'm not actively attempting to save lives here or abroad. I'm not in a church. I don't have a large loving family. I can't advance anyone's career with my connections. I don't play the violin or cello. I'm not friends with a celebrity. I can only show so much compassion. I'm not a volunteer in a third world country. I don't take expensive tropical vacations. I'm not anyone's bridesmaid or bride.
Sometimes people get p*ssed off at me because I'm not impressed. Like, I'm obligated to validate someone's purchases, endeavours or existence because they're in my face? lol
Ironically, not trying to impress people is incredibly impressive to some people! Like reading a book at a pub or brewery (extra points if it's in German).
There's no one left to impress. (Foot off the gas).
If I had someone to impress I might not wake up every morning to inevitable death with the pragmatic relaxed manner of a long-suffering loving wife. I might not feel like I'm resetting everything for nothing?
Or worse, I need to be further than here. Further than me.
First world problems make me feel bad for having them. And for feeling bad, for feeling bad. I feel pretty bad for being here in the first place (we even?)
😄
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*I do own a mint old Dodge that I don't spend much to get serviced and learn how to maintain myself for free. My granddad was a superhero. I'm whatever I need to be when I need to be it. I have "...a 1,000 lonely husbands" (I'm "playing footsie in another dimension"). I've worked, volunteered, hung out with and cared about other people's beautiful kids. I saved a 6-year-old boy's life once, and I always wonder if that exposed him to years of abuse? I work at a Sunday school, and I was Jebus' mom Mary in my school's grade 7 Christmas pageant. I have a large loving group of dead relatives and friends. Living people that like me, love me a lot (and people that hate me, I give a d\mn good reason). I make people feel more confident or proud *with my presence; cracking jokes, stating facts, smiling silently, helping out, feeding dogs, jury-rigging... I play drums, well enough to jam (anyone can fiddle if they play the violin for fun, on shrooms). I'm friends with people who don't use me. I can only be real (but I will humour people). I'm still alive because I can volunteer in a first world country with blind individuals, service dogs, children, vets... I was born in the Miss Universe factory which is essentially growing up in a (poor, but happy) tropical vacation. I'm not dead yet. And I'm still too consumed to feel comfortable being anything to anyone. Plus, c'mon, Stacey and Vince style or nothing! Dude's gonna have to man up, step up. Not live with (or to impress) his mom. I do have a bad habit of dating boys who let me down, posers, who have treated me like it's a privilege I'm with them ("cause you're white or??! Oh, it's cause you're mormon, okay"), who let me make "maximum effort". Someone once told me narcissists (people that use people) know how to pick out someone 'nice' or kind. They know you'll put in the work, care about them and if they treat you 'less than great'? They know you'll put up with it and probably even try harder to make up for their lack. Who deserves that? I know, "I ain't all that bad, but I ain't all that great..."
And there's no scale of justice for all. So there's no need for the judge. No blame in having standards though 😘
submitted by MelissciousMoose to u/MelissciousMoose [link] [comments]


2020.05.03 21:14 TheBonesOfAutumn After stumbling onto a bizarre article in the newspaper archives, I’ve went down quite the rabbit hole and wanted to share my findings with y’all. Here is my in-depth write up about Ted Carr, a serial killer that very few people know about.

On April 20th 1977, around 4:30 A.M., 65-year-old Harriet Carr, who lived at 940 North Olney Street in Indianapolis, Indiana, noticed her garage door was slightly ajar and went to investigate. She entered the garage to find her husband, 62-year-old Melvin “Ted” Carr, dead of carbon monoxide poisoning.
Harriet rushed inside to turn off the still running car, only to discover her husband wasn’t the only one in the garage. In the open trunk of Teds car, Harriet saw three bodies; a woman, a teenage girl, and a very young boy. As Harriet ran screaming from the garage, neighbors called police.
The three bodies found in Teds trunk were identified as 24-year-old Karen Nills, her 2-year-old son Robert, and a 17-year-old girl named Sandra Harris. All three were killed by carbon monoxide poisoning, and it was determined that both Karen and Sandra had been sexually assaulted.
Police located a loaded .25 caliber revolver in Teds pocket, and noted Ted was carrying a handkerchief. A vacuum cleaner hose was found leading from the cars tailpipe towards the trunk of the car.
The evidence painted a picture of what had happened.
Ted had abducted the three victims, sexually assaulted the two women, then ordered them into the trunk at gunpoint. He then proceeded to drive his car into the garage, inserted one end of the hose into the tailpipe and the other into the trunk. He closed and locked the trunk and left his victims to die.
Deep scratch marks located on the inside of the trunk told investigators that the two women had fought ferociously in an attempt to escape, breaking their fingernails in the process. Unfortunately their escape attempt was unsuccessful.
When Ted went to confirm his victims were dead, he used the handkerchief to cover his face and opened the trunk. But Teds makeshift mask proved to be no match for the large amount of toxic gas that had filled the trunk and garage, and in a bizarre twist of fate, he succumbed to the fumes himself.
After an autopsy it was concluded that Ted had undiagnosed heart issues that may have made him more susceptible to the fumes.
So who was Ted Carr?
Melvin “Ted” Carr was born in Columbus, Ohio in 1915. In his youth, he was said to be a quiet but good student who made good grades and he rarely got in trouble. Ted spent his summers following his grandpa and dad to work. Over time, he became a very skilled craftsman. But as Ted got older, and after his parents divorced, his personality changed drastically.
According to people who knew Ted, he was “easy on the eyes” and always had a girlfriend, or two. But Ted also had a temper, especially with women.
Teds dad moved to Indiana and bought a small service station, while Teds mom remained in Ohio. Ted stayed with his mother and sister, Virginia, for a short while, but soon got an apartment of his own and a job working as a part time carpenter and painter.
At some point between 1933 and 1942, Ted was married for the first time, but I could find absolutely no information about his first wife.
In 1942 Ted joined the military. While stationed in Virginia he married a woman named Benny French. I couldn’t find any information about their marriage either, other than it didn’t last long. By 1943 the couple was divorced. I did, however, learn that Benny died at age 73 in California.
In 1943 Ted was discharged from the military and returned home to Ohio. He once again used newspaper advertisements to get work as a craftsman. In the same year, Ted was married to his third wife, Harriet, in Ohio.
Harriet was a graduate of Ohio State University. She was a school teacher and also gave private music lessons. She met Ted through a mutual friend, and after only dating for a few months, they were married.
In early 1945 Ted found himself in trouble with the law. A woman named Clara Esser hired Ted to build her a house, but after giving him almost 3,000 dollars and seeing nothing being built, she had him arrested.
In December of 1946 Ted was bound over to a grand jury, and in January of 1947 he was indicted on charges of receiving property under false pretenses. Ted waived his trial by jury and instead his case was presented in front of a judge on May 7th 1947. During the trial it was learned that Ted was on the FBI radar for some time. It was shown that he had been arrested several times for stealing vehicles, carrying concealed weapons, and writing bad checks as far away as San Fransisco.
Finally in June Ted was found guilty. It’s normally customary for the guilty person to remain incarcerated while a full investigation is being conducted, but the judge granted Ted a 2000 dollar bond, and while the investigation continued, Ted was a free man.
Three days after he was found guilty, Ted filed a motion for a new trial. It would take 8 months for a judge to deny his request.
During those eight months, Ted traveled quite extensively, leaving his wife Harriet to care for their home in Ohio. He was known to have traveled to Indiana, Illinois, Texas, Massachusetts, Wyoming, Idaho, and Nebraska.
In October of 1947 Ted was arrested in Kimball, Nebraska after he kidnapped two hitchhikers, a husband and wife named Robert and Betty Carney.
Betty and Robert were hitchhiking in an attempt to get out west. They told police after picking up the pair in Illinois, in a brand new Cadillac that was pulling a trailer, Ted asked them if they would be interested in working for him at a hunting lodge he claimed to own in Idaho. He also told them his name was John Marshall, the same name he used to write bad checks in California years before.
After agreeing to work for him, the couple said things went fine for a few days. Ted bought them food, gave them blankets to sleep with, and chatted with them the entire ride, even telling a joke or two.
Then on the third morning, as they reached a secluded road in Kimball, Nebraska, Teds attitude changed. He suddenly became extremely angry for no reason, and pulled a gun from under his seat. He stopped the vehicle along a secluded road and ordered the couple from the car at gunpoint.
He then proceeded to handcuff Robert to the trailer hitch and violently rape Betty. He struck both Robert and Betty in the face multiple times with the gun, leaving them bleeding and bruised.
Eventually Ted let the couple go and drove away.
The couple flagged down a passing motorist who took them to the police station. The couple explained what happened, and a short time later Ted was arrested for rape and kidnapping.
Believe it or not, Ted was once again granted a bond. He fled the state and headed back home to Ohio.
Finally in February of 1948, the Ohio judge denied Teds request for a new trial. But on the day of his sentencing, Ted requested a continuance for later in February and again for March. The judge agreed. During that month Ted fled Ohio with Harriet and the pair headed for Indiana.
In March of 1948 the Ohio judge who had granted Ted the bond and continuances, decided to seek money from a man named Jack Abrams who had signed Teds 2000 dollar bond. After the state had spent a considerable amount of time and money working on the case against Ted, Jack was charged only 65 dollars, and a warrant was issued for Ted.
After settling down in Indiana, Ted continued to find work as a carpenter and also worked for his dad at his service station. While working at the gas station he met a woman named Lois Williams, who along with her daughter, would later go missing, never to be found.
In February of 1967 it was discovered that Lois Williams, a 35-year-old divorcée, and her 17 year old daughter Karen, had gone missing. Lois’ father had last heard from his daughter and granddaughter in January.
He called police to preform a welfare check. Police noted that Lois’ house was spotless, and nothing appeared to have been taken, not even Lois or Karen’s winter coat, despite the freezing temperatures outside. A missing/endangered persons report was issued.
By the time Lois went missing, she knew Ted Carr well. Ted had met her while working at his dads service station where Lois would frequently take her car for repairs. It was rumored that both Lois and her daughter Karen had a sexual relationship with Ted, though the relationship with Karen was never confirmed.
On the evening Lois was last seen, a neighbor and co-worker of Teds, named Calvin Campbell, witnessed Lois and Karen leave the gas station in Teds car. Hours later, he returned alone and angry, telling the coworker he was mad at Lois who he claimed had went into a bar and refused to come out.
Ted ordered Calvin to close the shop and he did so. The following morning as Calvin was readying for work, Teds dad came across the street yelling that Ted had been beaten up and robbed. Calvin found Ted on the ground, seemingly dazed, incoherent, and bloody. Ted told Calvin a story of how someone had mugged him outside of the service station, but insisted Calvin not call police.
Calvin went inside to check if anything had been stolen from the business. Nothing was missing, but Teds car, the same one he was driving the night before, was on a lift. It had been cleaned with a pressure washer inside and out, with particular focus on the trunk.
Calvin quit his job at the service station after that. Calvins wife, Maurine, believes she was almost a victim of Teds as well. She said one night Ted informed her he was going to the hospital because he was having trouble breathing. Later that night, and while Calvin was working his new night job as a janitor, Ted called her from “the hospital.” He requested she check to see if he had left the garage door open, claiming he was worried he may had left it open and feared for the safety of his tools inside.
Maurine and Calvin had been informed of Teds past and the suspicions that surrounded him by police, so she decided not to go.
It was later discovered that Ted had been at the hospital that evening, but a nurse discovered he had vanished from his room, never bothering to check out, hours before the phone call to Maurine was made. Another neighbor reported seeing his car parked a block away that evening.
Maurine thinks Ted used the landline he had in his garage to call her and believes it was Teds failed attempt at kidnapping her.
Like Maurine, Teds other neighbors found him to be “weird.” They claimed he would often tinker in his garage or do yard work late into the night. One neighbor even claimed he built an entire privacy fence in a single night. They also said they rarely ever saw Harriet, but they would occasionally hear her talking to Ted, who would never respond to her.
Early into the disappearance of Lois and Karen, Police searched Teds garage and found personal papers belonging to Lois in a suitcase, Lois’ watch was also discovered in the garage of the gas station, but no other evidence was discovered and police didn’t believe they had enough to charge Ted with the crime.
In early 1971, Ted was convicted of swindling an elderly blind woman out of her life savings. After giving Ted her power of attorney, he left the handicapped 81-year-old widow with only 30 dollars in her savings account.
Shortly after, he was suspected of forcing a 10 year old girl to commit “an abnormal sex act” under the threat of being raped. He was never charged for this crime.
Later that same year, Ted received five years in jail after he took a 14-year-old girl named Joyce Kinley to Mexico for “immoral” purposes.
Ted had opened a store selling “specialty pottery and ceramics from Mexico.” Teds landlord, a man named Roy Henley, who was also the Kinleys landlord, made the suggestion that Ted take Joyce with him on a trip to Mexico to employ her as his assistant. Her mother, Maurine, agreed and the two spent three weeks in Mexico.
Joyce called her mother daily, telling her Ted was mistreating her, but said he hadn’t attempted to have sex with her. Upon their return, Maurine and Roy demanded Ted give them 500 dollars for them to not report what had happened. Ted agreed and gave them the money.
Shortly after, Maurine signed over her rights of Joyce to Ted, with the promise that Ted would pay for her schooling. It was also suggested by Roy that Ted marry Joyce in Mexico, to prevent any further issues.
Maurine agreed and accompanied Joyce and Ted to Mexico where the ceremony was performed.
Upon their return to the US, Ted was stopped at the border in Texas and questioned about the young girl. He was later arrested and sent back to Indiana where he received his sentence of five years.
Maurine would later testify she had lied about Teds abuse towards Joyce, and was merely in cahoots with Roy to extort money from Ted.
Neither Roy nor Maurine was arrested or charged with any crimes.
While Ted was in prison for the crime, correctional officers discovered several hand drawn maps of the interior of both the elderly woman and the 14-year-old girls homes. The maps also included Teds plans to kill them. He was also reported to put out two “hits” on a detective and an FBI agent.
Ted was released after serving only three of his five year sentence.
After the bodies were discovered in Teds garage, the investigation into Lois and Karen’s disappearance resumed. After a bit of a battle with Teds widow Harriet, police began excavating his yard and his basement and garage floor, where fresh patches of cement were found.
Unfortunately investigators were unable to locate Lois or Karen’s remains. Bones discovered in the backyard turned out to be animal bones, and the investigation stopped.
Some investigators believe they were not allowed an adequate amount of time to fully search the property. Ted was well known as an excellent craftsman, and had completely remodeled his basement shortly after Lois and Karen had disappeared.
Some investigators believe the pairs remains are still inside of the house somewhere, perhaps in a wall.
Lois’ father had believed for quite some time that Ted was responsible for their disappearance. He wrote to Ted while Ted was incarcerated. In the letter he said:
I never did trust you. Those poor girls never did harm to a soul on earth. The suffering for them has passed. They are in Gods heaven. But what about you, Ted Carr? Have you thought about your own death and what lies beyond? I can’t imagine what your punishment will be, can you?
Unfortunately he passed away without ever getting any real closure, as Lois and Karen’s remains have never been found.
The house at 940 North Olney still stands today. I’ve included pictures of it from google street views.
After Teds death, more crimes he had committed came to light.
A 19-year-old woman who had worked for Ted for a short time, told investigators her life had been threatened by him only two weeks prior to Teds death. She said while on a trip to purchase auto parts for Ted, the car she was driving, that belonged to Ted, hit a patch of ice and she wrecked. She sustained minor injuries and was treated at a nearby hospital.
The woman asked Ted to pay her medical bills as she had been injured on the job. According to the woman, Ted told her he would only pay the bills in exchange for sexual favors. When she denied his request, he became violent, and threatened her by saying, ”If you ever go to the police or tell your attorney, I’ll make sure you never speak again.”
She was only the first person to come forward with claims about Ted. Soon after, more victims emerged with much more horrific stories involving Ted.
A 7-year-old girl identified Ted from his picture in the newspaper as the man who had sodomized her in a park in 1975. He had enticed her into his car and took her to a nearby alley where he sexually assaulted her. He then let her go on the other side of town, where she was found by police.
Three girls from Indiana also named Ted as the man who abducted them from Indianapolis in 1975. The girls were walking to an amusement park on the far side of Indianapolis when they said a man forced them into his car at gunpoint and then took them to a secluded field next to some woods.
The man then cut the throats of the two older girls, ages 13 and 14, and raped the youngest girl, age 11, before stabbing her 15 times in the chest. He left the three for dead in the cornfield and drove away.
The two older girls managed to crawl through the field to the edge of a road where they were spotted by a passing motorist who got help. All three of the girls miraculously survived the attack.
While more victims of Teds came to light, so did an accomplice.
A 20-year-old carnival worker named Charles Crouch from Beech Grove, Indiana was arrested on conspiracy charges after he admitted to investigators that he had attempted to kidnap the three victims that were found in Teds trunk, Karen, Robert, and Sandra.
Charles told police Ted had picked him up while he was hitchhiking in Indianapolis. Ted then offered him money if he would drive Karen and Robert to the Texas/Mexico border where he said he would meet them. Charles agreed, but later Ted told him Karen wouldn’t go willingly, so it was time for a new plan.
Charles said after that the pair attempted to recruit others to stage a break-in at the Nills house with the offer of guns of money. Ted wanted Karen and her son Robert to be tied up, and the house robbed. He also quoted Ted as saying after the job was done, he wanted the robbers ”to leave the apartment and never look back.” However, they were unsuccessful in their attempts to hire someone.
Detectives theorized Ted was planning on entering the apartment after the staged robbery occurred, and killing the three people inside.
Charles said that on the night of April 18th, Ted picked Karen, Robert, and Sandra, up from Karen’s apartment. He said they all arrived at Teds house at 10 P.M. and went into the garage. Charles said they “hung out” and sniffed glue from a paper sack.
Charles said when he left around midnight, Karen was still huffing glue, while Robert slept in the front seat of Teds car, and Sandra was sleeping in the backseat.
When Charles left Teds garage, Ted requested he take a different vehicle of Teds to a tavern and leave it parked there. Charles drove the car to the tavern as instructed and left on foot. The car was found three days after Ted died.
Charles said on the day of the killings he left for Richmond, where he worked as a maintenance man for a different carnival. Upon his return to the carnival in Indiana, a police informant called investigators and told them Charles was back. He was then arrested.
Charles bond was set for 20,000 dollars and he was given a court date. On the day of his sentencing, his charges were dropped from conspiracy to commit murder, to conspiracy to commit a felony. I could find no record of what his sentence ultimately was.
Charles wasn’t the only one police questioned. A short time after Teds death, police brought in one of their own.
Francis Wright, then 45, was a former Marion County Sheriffs Deputy. He was promised immunity in exchange for his testimony regarding Lois Williams disappearance.
Another former deputy claimed that Francis had told him he attempted to borrow money from Ted shortly after Lois Williams and her daughter had disappeared. The other deputy advised him against it.
Francis said while he was “friendly” with Ted, he denied ever asking him for money. He also said he had never seen Lois Williams or her daughter, and knew nothing about their disappearance or if Ted was involved.
Who knows how many more people fell victim to Ted. I highly doubt these crimes were the only ones he was responsible for, they were merely the ones that the newspapers reported. I’ve submitted requests to the Marion County Clerks Office and the Veterans Office for Teds records, in the hopes I’ll learn more. Unfortunately, they told me my request could take up to 6 months, so until then this is all of the information I could find.
Sources:
Here are two Imgur albums of articles I clipped about Ted.
Album 1
Album 2
Court Transcripts
Teds Obituary
Harriets Obituary
submitted by TheBonesOfAutumn to serialkillers [link] [comments]


2020.03.10 07:21 EstherClemmens Red Rosebud

Red Rosebud
I'm a collector, of sorts, of art. I've always thought that there was something about those unusual paintings you'd find in second-hand stores. Likely made by a student of a local high school or college near the store. I'd always look for second-hand stores while I travel for business- a business that allowed me to afford to fund my meager interests while keeping me in a reliable vehicle and a roof over my head.
Heading through a rural, dust-ridden town in the midwest US, I noticed a large, dilapidated building of at least 3 stories. It sat between a well-kept Victorian home on the right and a run-down gas station on the left. It almost seemed the highway was leading right into the large building.
As I was heading toward it, I noticed the highway curved around it in a sharp curve, passing next to the gas station. Oddly, this was all that seemed to exist of any kind of town for at least a mile. Small, angular farm houses sparsely dotted the landscape around, with paths that lead to them from the meandering highway.
I see a sign near the old building that piqued my curiosity. In rich black lettering on a yellowed background were the words: LILLIAN'S ANTIQUE EMPORIUM.
I wondered to myself, as I slowed to a stop in front of the sign, how on earth one would supply such a large building in such a remote location- much less find enough business to keep the doors open.
To sate my curiosity, I parked my car in between the small, white graveled space between the building and the gas station. The paint on the building was chipped, peeling, and looked like it had once been a shade of pale green. A sign in the window read in bold red letters OPEN. No hours of operation were posted anywhere I could see, so I decided to walk on in.
A bell chimed above me as I made my way in. To my left was an old, black pram with large, ornate wheels, a crocheted blue blanket draped over the handle. Rows of quilt racks held crocheted afghans and handmade quilts lined the walls. Dust motes floated heavily in the air and caused the shafts of sunlight coming through the window to be slightly dimmer. The middle of the room was glass cabinets displaying antique china that mostly depicted country scenes- lots of denim colored geese.
An elderly lady with a heavily wrinkled face rose from a rocking chair behind the glass cases. I assumed this to be Lillian's, obviously toothless mouth worked as she shakily made her way to the counter nearest me. "What can I help you with, sonny?" she mumbled as her bright blue eyes fixed me with a curious gaze.
"Do you have any paintings or canvas artwork here?" I hear myself ask, looking around me. A couple of canvasses hung on the wall here, but they were the usual reproductions of Victorian ladies with parisols, surrounded by flowers of a well-manicured garden, or just sitting in front of a plain background. None of this piqued my interest, however.
She gave a smile and replied, "Sure. Check the third floor. We keep the books and artwork up there." She motioned a gnarled finger toward the narrow stairs at the back of the building.
By the time I made it to the second landing of the stairs, the woman was back in her chair, pulling out some sewing she had been working on.
The second floor seemed to contain rows and rows of clothing and plastic drawers that seemed to hold cloth of various colors and textures. One wall held pairs of shoes. Some were worn and some almost looked new. This also was not what I was looking for.
I moved on to the third floor. Here, I found many portraits of men and women, old photographs of early twentieth century photographs of farms and families, but next to the entry were shelves of canvas artwork. Most of them were still lifes of bowls of fruit and flowers… in some cases, both at the same time.
But a swath of mustard yellows on the edge of a bit of canvas hidden under a still life of dusty mauve roses, caught my eye. I carefully moved the canvas in front and placed it over another repetitive image of a denim blue country goose, complete with matching hearts surrounding.
What I had uncovered spoke to me in a way I never had felt before. It was an odd painting. The canvas was about 18 inches long and 20 inches wide. Quite a large piece to be certain. And it was odd to see the plain-ness of a yellow wall. From the look of the darker, almost greenish looking jagged lines ran down in a pattern that was reminiscent of water damage. The majority of the canvass was nothing more than this horrid, yellow wall, except at the very base of the canvas. There, a dark mound of concentric brown, black, and yellow lines that reminded me of hair. A clear signature graced the right hand corner: SAAB. I had not heard of an artist that used such a name.
Frowning and curious to find out more, I turned the painting over, hoping to find information on a gallery it might have come from or even a sale slip. In the middle of the wooden slats that held the canvas together is where I found a single, yellowed card that was stapled in place. On that card, in the same penmanship that the artist used for his signature were the words: RED ROSEBUD.
Soon, I was down the road, 20 dollars poorer, but an intriguing painting in my back seat.
The business trip was a blur of discussions and talk. Bored with all the mundane discussions and sales charts, I was glad to make my way home to find the perfect spot to display my newest acquisition.
"I hate you!!"
The sound caused me to nearly jerk the wheel as the car gave a hard fishtail before righting itself. I carefully came to a stop on the side of the highway and got out to look around. Nothing but fields and trees as far as the eye could see. There was not a single sign of the enraged female voice that had screeched out those words.
With a shrug, I decide I must have imagined it and returned to my driver's seat. The rest of the drive home was completely uneventful.
I found a wonderful spot for Red Rosebud on my living room, above the moss green sofa. The yellow was a nice contrast to the eggshell walls and the sofa too. My other acquisitions were much more colorful by comparison. The vibrant reds of a Spanish señorita with a black lace fan, the vibrant colors of a sunset over a rough sea, and the brilliant blues of a sea life depiction that sported dots of coral and flashes of various tropical fish.
My favorite, up to now, hung on my bedroom wall. It was a large oil pastel done in rich blacks, blues, and bits of stark white named "Hurricane". It was an old schooner, depicted in the midst of a night time lightening strike, caught as it was sailing into a storm at sea. The artist's signature was lined along the starboard side of the ship, the scrolling script of Franki.
As I walked by my hallway paintings, most being paintings of Native American vases or the feathers of birds, I heard the sound of ripping cloth. It was loud and coming from the living room. Rushing back to the room, I found nothing out of place and nothing torn. I looked to Red Rosebud. Had that mound gotten larger?
I shook my head. It was a painting. They don't change or move by themselves.
I headed into the bedroom to continue unpacking and then took a shower.
An hour later, I made my way into the living room. There was now a yellow throw pillow in the middle of my sofa. The pillow looked and smelled as if it had come out of a wet dumpster that sat behind the smelliest group of port-o-potties that ever existed.
Brownish water stains ran down its surface and it was damp to the touch. Splotches of blackish green mildew or mold spotted the fabric and a splat of something rusty brown had dried on one of the corners.
I lifted the nasty thing, wondering where it had come from and how it had gotten into my locked house. The thing dripped nasty, moldy water into my sofa where a rank puddle already soaked into the fabric. I hurriedly carried the pillow, corner pinched between my two fingers, to the kitchen sink. The thing made a disgusting splat in the metal basin.
Hoping to keep the stink and stain from setting into the fabric of my couch, I lathered up a dishrag under warm water and wiped down my sofa. The smell of mold and rust permeated the air around the sofa. I made a mental note to pick up some air freshening spray tomorrow morning.
As I was scrubbing the fabric, hoping that I was getting to all of the disgusting liquid, I glanced up at "Red Rosebud" and frowned. It was clear now that the mound was the back of a head. The hair was deep brown and black with highlights of a sickly green. The head was now revealed to just below the jaw line and the hair was painted into matted, jagged edges, as if it had been torn and hadn't seen a brush or comb in a long time.
My heart climbed into my throat. I wasn't sure why, but it felt as if there was an ominous presence trying to reach out and touch me, taint me with its dark presence. A rushing sound filled my ears as i began to back away, dropping the cloth in my shock.
The thwop sound of the wet cloth hitting the floor broke the spell. Suddenly the world was back to what it had always been. I swallowed the ominous feeling and took a few breaths. After a good, deep breath, my stomach growled.
Chuckling at my own overactive imagination, I decided that I had gotten enough of the tainted water up. Picking up the soiled cloth, I decided to go make a sandwich and salad. Surely my blood sugar was messing with me from lack of food. The painting was now back to its original state.
After a filling meal, the sun was now set. I had cleaned up the kitchen, tossing out that disgusting throw pillow and decided to let the world wide web bring me a bit of entertainment before bed.
A couple of documentaries I had wanted to watch popped up in my feed, but my mind couldn't focus on them. I kept looking up at Red Rosebud. Why was it called that anyway? There was no red in it and there certainly were no roses. Who or what was SAAB? Wasn't that the name of a car?
I pulled up my search engine and began researching the name on the painting. A large number of luxury cars came up in response so I added painting behind SAAB. Instead I got results for automotive paint.
After 30 minutes of trying everything I could think to try, I began to feel frustrated. Nothing was forthcoming in the search for this painting. Looking up Red Rosebud painting just brought informative videos on how to paint roses.
My eyelids were growing heavy as I tried another search, the documentary had long since finished playing but I had not noticed. I typed in SAAB Red Rosebud, pressed enter, and waited for the results to load.
THWOP!
My head immediately jerked up to the living room sofa. There, again, on my moss green sofa was that rancid, disgusting pillow. With an unhappy groan I got up and grabbed another trash bag and wet, soapy dish cloth. As I worked, I kept thinking: where does this throw pillow keep coming from?
By now, the sun had long set and the only light on in the house was my dining room light. It bathed part of the living room floor in a dim, yellow glow. Moonlight came through the living room window and softly bathed part of the sofa in its pale glow. I could see what I was doing in that glow but the majority of the room was cast in shadows.
As I bagged the rancid throw pillow in another garbage bag, I glanced up at the hint of bright white that caught my eye. Before me was the painting. In this light, I saw the yellowed background in shades of brown, the crown of hair was like inky black… only now the full back of the head was revealed and the back of a sickly pale neck and shoulders. A small patch of pink showed between her shoulder blades, but the subject was definitely female judging from the lithe proportions.
The hair looked as if it had been ripped from her head. Jagged, matted edges fell onto her neck and shoulders. I could almost imagine that when she turned her head, something horrific would be revealed. My heart skipped in terror as I began to breathe in short gasps as I again back away. Blood rushing in my ears, I raised my hands as if to fend off an oncoming blow, and gulped audibly.
"I HATE YOU!!"
I blinked. That scream again. What was it? Where did it come from? The painting was now back in its original state. Dark dome of hair sitting just at the bottom of the canvas, as if taunting me.
"See? I didn't move. You must be losing your mind. That's all it is."
Shaking my head, I grabbed the bagged pillow and double knotted the bag. Not wanting to bother keeping it in the house, I took it out to the garbage can outside my house. Tossing it in, I wondered how it kept getting back in my house. Spying a heavy stone, I decided to weigh down the lid. If anyone tried to open the lid, they'd at least have a a deterrent in the way.
The night air was damp and cold, promising rain. Looking to the sky I noted the lack of star or a moon- it will definitely be gloomy tomorrow.
I went inside to clean the nasty water out of my sofa… again.
It was dark. Very, very dark. I could smell rot, mildew and stagnant water overwhelming my nose. My back was on fire! My head. My head was being pulled. If I moved far, I could feel my hair being tugged. Everything below the waist felt soaked through. I had to get out of here. What was happening?
Last I remember, I was with my friends. I had brushed out my long, sable colored hair into a ponytail and wore that scandalous short dress that my friend demanded I borrow for tonight. I remember a night of drinks, dancing with strangers, and lots of gossip.
Then a tattoo shop.
I… I went to the bathroom. I can't remember beyond white tiles. I can't remember… what happened.
The water I am in… it feels like it's rising. I need to get out of here!! I turn my head to see what's around me. There's a bit of blue light coming through a heavily barred window near the ceiling. The light falls onto the surface of water… the same water around me. The back of a sofa was sticking up out of the water. I had to try to get to it. To get dry.
My hair. I tugged but it was held fast. I could not stand up being held as I was. My fingers reach below the water, following the path of my hair with my pruny hands. The cold water is making me weak and my hands move sluggishly over a very heavy eye bolt that seemed to be secured into the cement floor. My hair knotted around it- no, tangled in knots around it.
My water-logged hands couldn't loosen any of the tangles. I pull and pull, feeling the strands giving way. The darkness, the water… I had to get out. I hear water sloshing around me. Something is in the water. I scream for help.
I scream and scream as the sloshing gets closer. I grab at my hair and pull, ripping jagged edges away. Some gives way from my scalp and the pain is excruciating!
The sloshing is almost here. The final strands are ripped from me and I slosh and splash, stumbling my way to the sofa. Instead of a solid surface, I feel the cushions separating in front of me. Surprised by this, I look down and see four, once yellow, throw pillows floating in this stagnant water.
Slosh! Slosh! Slosh!
I turn and scream, tossing a pillow in a feeble attempt to protect myself.
With a gasp, I awaken on my living floor. I'm leaning against my sofa with a no longer soapy, cold dish cloth in my hand. I look up to Red Rosebud. The painting looks just as it did the day I had purchased it.
I sigh and shake my head of the strange dream. Deciding to spend the rest of the night in my bed, I tossed the cloth into my kitchen sink. Shutting off the light there, I made my way to my bed.
Light awakens me. There's a light coming through the window and I notice that the water is gone. I ache all over. My head hurts as I lift it from the soggy, yellow throw pillow on the floor. I don't know where my clothes are.
As I sit up on the still damp floor, I feel the world tilt around me. I have lost track of the number of days I've been here, but I know I dread the rain. The rain brings the flood in… and the horrid thing that stalks me and hurts me. I have seen only part of it once. It always drugs me before I get to see it clearly… and always at night.
I have torn and broken my nails, trying to scrape my way out. There are places around the window where the water gets in. I have made those cracks slightly bigger, but not by much. I don't know how much longer I can be down here. I feel sick. My skin feels like it's on fire. Another tickle ensues deep in my chest and brings about another bout of rattling coughs, causing me to fall back to the wet pillow with a slosh.
I think… I think I'm dying…
I feel a deep, seething hatred inside me. Why? Why have I been brought here? Who would do this to me? I see that… that thing. It's black, tight skin and large, bulging eyes. The coughing fit seizes me again. This time, I can't breathe in. It hurts! My god it hurts! The last cough releases a fist sized glob of red tinged mucus, giving me just enough air to breathe my last and to scream out.
I hate you!!
I awaken with a deep, gasping breath as if I had been choking. Dull, greyish light filters through my bedroom window and spills onto the light blue blanket of my bed. The rumble of thunder outside promises rain. I rub my throat and wonder at the dream. I have never been a person to have vivid dreams or nightmares. My dreams usually consisted of disjointed memories or thoughts.
I dress and make my way to the kitchen to get some cold cereal. As I pass by the dining room, I notice my laptop is still plugged in and decide it would be best to shut it down in case the lightening from the storm caused a surge.
As I move the mouse, the image of my last search comes up on the screen. Vaguely, I remember being very tired and must have made a mistake in my typing. There, on the screen, was not SAAB, but SAA8. The image of Red Rosebud just below it.
I click on the article posted with the image. "Samuel A. Allen, dubbed 'The Merman', was killed by the state through lethal injection. He was part of an ongoing prison program called 'The Felon's Artist Guild' which sells art work done by inmates that raises money for local charities.
The painting here is named 'Red Rosebud' and is the eighth and final painting completed by Mr. Allen. This painting and 11 other paintings by various inmates will be sold at auction…"
The article was dated 4 years ago and I tried to recall anything I had heard about The Merman. Snippets of news spoke of him several years ago. I decided to click on the next article.
This one detailed the sale of the paintings that year. I looked up the name of the person that bought Red Rosebud. He had died shortly after by drowning in his pool. The subsequent owner fell overboard on a cruise ship and drowned.
I looked up to the painting. It was the same as it had been. I gulped, thinking of that damn yellow throw pillow. Was the painting causing these deaths? Would it somehow drown me too?
I then searched "The Merman".
"On Monday, May 9th, 2016, Samuel A. Allen was arrested outside his home in Southeast Texas. Allen, known as 'The Merman' by the local police, has been accused of the rape, torture, and murder of 12 women over the past 3 years.
Police searched the home and found that a crudely made basement was where he would hold his victims. 'The basement would flood with any amount of rain,' quoted Billy Abernathy of City Planning and Code Inspection Services. 'This part of Texas sees a lot of rain and flooding every year. With the soil/clay composition, it makes having and maintaining a basement in this area nearly impossible.'
The poorly constructed basement would flood regularly, causing an infestation of toxic mold and mildew. Victims of The Merman usually died from reactions to the mold or pneumonia brought on by infections from their wounds."
Another read:
"The Merman cast a dark shadow over southwest Texas from 2013 to 2016. Women with Long, dark hair were targeted by this terror. He would drug them, tie them to an eye bolt in the floor, by their hair, in his basement, and wait for it to flood. He would then don a wet suit and goggles and terrorize the victim, inflicting injuries, raping, and finally sedating them, leaving them with a moldy throw pillow once the water receded. The victim was treated similarly each day until she died.
When arrested, Allen claimed he had not killed anyone and therefore, was innocent. Authorities, however, claim that he will face several counts of kidnap and rape, among a host of charges.
States' attorneys are confident that The Merman will get put away for the rest of his life. 'The charges of cruelty against a fellow human being are overwhelming in this case,' Elena Zuniga, state attorney says at a preliminary hearing in Austin, TX.
However, Allen's attorney is confident that the jury will see that Allen is innocent of all charges."
"On May 20, 2016, authorities found the body of missing A&M University student Megan Almarez behind a local Buccee's dumpster. Almarez had disappeared on the night of September 24th, 2016 after a party off campus. She and her friends decided to get matching tattoos of a red rose bud on their backs. Almarez was the last one to have hers done. Her friends claim they began their walk back to the dorm and she simply disappeared.
The decomposed body of Almarez was identified through dental records. Authorities were able to identify that the same mold that was present on Almarez's body was the same mold found on the other victims of Samuel Allen, known as The Merman. The same mold was also found in the basement of Allen's home, making this his fifteenth and final victim."
Samuel Allen's trial has been set to begin August 2.
Other articles revealed the sentencing and execution of the Merman.
The rain abated outside, allowing a shaft of sunlight to piece the clouds and come through my window. I looked at the painting. She was his last victim and the one he held the longest. She died slow and painfully.
I saw the head, now nearly midway up the painting. Her hands outstretched, revealing torn and missing fingernails, body waterlogged and infested with splotches of mold. Between her shoulder blades was a very inflamed and infected tattoo of a red rose bud.
"Why?" I asked, not sure of what this meant. Did Allen paint her image to hold her soul here? Or was this a manifestation of his guilt?
I didn't know. And I'm sure she didn't either. All I know is that she deserved better than this. I grabbed the painting, a lighter from the junk drawer, and the metal trash can that now held 3 rancid throw pillows. As I pulled them into my fenced in back yard, I grabbed a bottle of lighter fluid.
Once the contents of the trashcan were soaked in lighter fluid, I set it ablaze. I watched the fire destroy the image, the paint, the canvas, and the pillows. It devoured it all and left a black soot in the metal trash can and around the top of it.
I don't know if this would release Megan's soul, but a part of me felt I was doing the right thing. As if to confirm my thoughts, the clouds above regrouped and rain began to fall again, extinguishing the fire and the remaining cinders.
I walked back into my house, feeling a burden had been lifted from my shoulders. Perhaps Megan could rest in peace now.
As I came into my home and noticed the bare wall above my sofa, I also noticed that my sofa was now holding a yellow, moldy, rancid, soaked throw pillow that was soaking into the cushions.
submitted by EstherClemmens to DrCreepensVault [link] [comments]


2020.02.16 20:25 Howhowhathere My experiences as an Uber Driver, Fair (car rental) customer, and Lyft Driver (LONG)

As you all may know by now, Uber and Lyft have become quite common as apps that replaced Taxis for the most part in major cities and towns as a way to get a ride, and it's a service provided by individual contractors like myself who use a different app as the ride provider to earn an income or sometimes it is marketed as a way to have a "side hustle" to make more income on top of a main job.
I want to share my personal horror stories as a driver and user of these apps as well as offer some incite to other drivers out there on the road. I hope we can all learn from my experiences.
For starters, I'm an actor in Los Angeles so instead of waiting tables or trying to be a bartender, (or turning to prostitution for that matter), I decided to make an income through ride share driving to get myself some flexibility to my schedule for acting auditions (usually at short notice).
Story 1: Early days of Rideshare Driving.
Initially I had my own used 2002 Volkswagen Passat, and it was a car I grew up with and loved and it was very reliable. I signed up solely with Uber at first and in the early days of the app when they gave out incentives and "rush hour" bonuses. In the early days it was very hard to make any money driving the app unless you specifically targeted those large 2x and sometimes 7x earning bonuses. Based on my miles per gallon on my Volkswagen I was actually only making about 3 dollars per hour during most of the day due to the infrequent rides, due to my gas cost, and due to the fact that Uber took a large portion of my earnings per ride. And at that time if I drove during the busy rush hours to catch bonuses, I earned about 20 dollars per hour or sometimes even 30 depending on traffic and how fast I can dodge through it to get another ride with a massive bonus. Of course this wasn't healthy for the long run and it was VERY HARD to earn a steady income and caused a LOT of stress due to having to drive during rush hour traffic in downtown LA to even earn something close to a minimum wage job on average since rush hour only lasted about 2-3 hours each day and the rest of the day it's very hard to get any customers other than the early adopters.
Lesson 1: What I learned during this time is to look at the formula of how we got paid, and to calculate my own gas costs, (also taxes!) to see just how much am I actually earning per hour and to look for ways to lower my own costs down and make more money. I found that the best practice is to turn on the app but park my car somewhere in a decently busy area when I'm in between rides instead of driving around burning gas looking for new rides. This significantly lowered my gas costs down and I am also reducing traffic by doing this! I allowed the App to look for rides and nearby customers for me and I drove a lot less. Think of in between rides as breaks...
Lesson 2: There's a pattern to when there's more demand for rides and I found different times to be on the road that worked for me. It didn't have to be rush hour traffic in 5PM LA, it could be also early mornings when people were waking up to go to work early in the morning, or going to the airport! And it was VERY profitable to pick up long rides back then as it reduced the time between waiting for new rides and I earned a lot more whenever I found these longer rides!
Story 2: Car Problems and the disgusting business called Fair.
My Volkswagen eventually started breaking down and having problems, this happened repeated over the course of 2 years with me having to repeatedly pay large sums to fix my car and at first it was just to change the car batteries, and small expenses... but then soon it started to get really crazy with timing belt changes, and then when the car overheated from a coolant leak that (suspiciously happened immediately after I had an oil change done by a shady mechanic) I had damage to the engine from the overheating... and that was when I knew, fixing my car wasn't going to be worth it... I started eating parking tickets for "abandoned vehicle" which also doubled several times because I didn't know that my car would get ticketed for even being parked... and a long story short I couldn't pay $2000 to fix the car when it was my main source of income and I couldn't sell it since it was broken, and I had to junk it.
In comes my idea to rent a vehicle instead! Haha, that might have sounded like a smart idea at the time, and it was also at the time when Fair partnered up with Uber to offer rental cars. I tried to get a car from Fair and this is what happened:
Initially I called Fair support to see when I can get to pick up the vehicle I wanted... a nice little orange 2016 Toyota Prius with barely 9000 miles on it. They told me the car was in San Diego... Keep in mind I don't have a car at this point and I lived in Los Angeles. I asked them if they could deliver it to me and they told me yes, but at this point Uber has my address as Glendale, which was a while ago when I first signed up with Uber, and of course as an actor who barely lives rent to rent, I had to move around quite often, so this was no longer my current address at the time. I told the Fair support that that was not my address and that I lived in Chatsworth... well that was a disaster, because they told me because my address is no longer up to date, I can't get the car delivered to me by the Fair Concierge team... and ooook? SO what do you want me to do, Fair? They told me to change my address with them, and I went "ok great! let's do that" but Fair Support doesn't have the authorization to change the address on my Fair account... NO... that's something only the Fair Concierge team can do for me and they are only accessible through first calling the Fair Support team on their support line... waiting between 30 minutes to 2 hours on the phone for someone to pick up, tell them to transfer me to the Fair Concierge team so I can change my address, then waiting another 2 hours or so for the Fair Concierge team to pick up the phone and talk about changing my Address with them. And here's how THAT interaction went:
a. They told me I needed to provide proof of address... and again as an actor who moved around a lot, I typically sublet a single room and have no utility bills and no pay stubs to use since hey guess what, I'm an UBER DRIVER. This is a conversation after 2-3 hours waiting between Fair Support, then transferring to Fair Concierge....
b. I called repeatedly asking them to change my address, I literally stood outside my new address with my phone and took pictures of me next to the mailbox number... and held up a sign with the street name, and they told me they can't accept that... so I had to try MANY different times calling them to see if this works, no? Ok how about this other thing I got in the mail? NO? Could somebody please give me a LIST of the acceptable proof of address documents?! OH ok finally... and after much trying and dialing and waiting for literally DAYS worth of time on the phone, I got someone who gave me a very helpful suggestion, That I take an UBER ride as a rider down to San Diego to the car to pick it up and that Fair offers to pay for up to 100 miles worth of Uber ride to go pick up the vehicle... well great... I thanked the man for his offer and took him up on it, but it turns out it was 200 miles between Los Angeles and San Diego so that meant that I had to get TWO 100 mile long Uber rides and only 1 of them could be covered by the company called... Fair (this name is getting ironic, but wait... there's more)
c. Not only did I have to pay out of pocket for my second 100 mile ride to pick up the car in San Diego, but the first 100 mile ride was "paid for" by Fair in the form of a gift card... yes.. a gift card which I could only use at select stores such as Nordstroms, Banana Republic, Gap, Old Navy, etc... I don't know what gave them the impression that a guy who drives Uber for a living would need to shop at Banana Republic and how a gift card for Banana Republic is in any way a form of compensation for hundreds of dollars worth of UBER rides down to pick up a rental car that they were supposed to deliver to me completely free if they didn't have an asinine Change of Address Policy that also includes "You can't change your address with Fair unless you have been renting from Fair for at least 40 days"... so it was a perpetual catch 22, since I can't get it delivered to me if I don't have an up to date address, AND I can't change said address without having had rented a car from Fair for 40 days... This should have been a red flag from the get go, but I was getting pretty desperate since I needed a vehicle to not only drive for Uber, but I needed a vehicle to get anywhere period, and not only was I running out of savings fast, but I also had to get a reliable way to get to auditions... and at this point I was taking the metroline and buses and it would take like a 6 hour round trip to get to auditions downtown from Chatsworth by bus... it was insanity and I really really needed a car... so I here I was... Fair has me cornered, despite their nonsensical policies... SO I picked up my Fair vehicle which I found out didn't belong to Fair, but an actual car dealership doing this program with Fair... so... essentially Fair has no capital invested... they have a contractual agreement with car dealerships to rent their cars, and then they have an agreement with Uber to rent cars to Uber drivers that Uber approves of... and so all they do is B2B service and their service is GOD AWFUL? I should have known better, but hindsight is 20/20 and all that...
So I got my car from Fair, and the car was really nice! I drove it 200 miles back to where I lived so that the round trip cost me upwards of $200 in gas and Uber trip costs... I got a car that I had to make an immediate down payment for and my first month's car rental cost as well, and on top of that and I got a 100 dollar gift card to freakin Banana Republic... great... let's get started with my Actual experiences driving with Fair shall we?
The Fair Rental price for my car was a little over 800 dollars per month for the car which includes their Fair Insurance for the car. Except it wasn't a month to month agreement, it was weekly. SO every WEEK I had to pay 200 dollars to Fair for insurance and car rental. Ok that meant that on top of my gas costs (which was thankfully low due to me driving that Prius and stopping on the side of the road between rides) I had to pay 200 bucks every week out of what I was making as an Uber Driver... at that point I was making on average 100 dollars a day (not taking into account gas and taxes I'll have to pay), so actually with all things considered for every 100 dollars I made I had to pay 20 dollars in gas and a bit of taxes as well as income tax, so for a 10 hour work day as an Uber Driver I was making roughly 60 bucks a day. I was working EVERY DAY and driving about 10 hours a day in the hostile Los Angeles traffic, and it was a living hell... I started struggling with depression and anxiety after the first assault by a rider (which I will go into after this story with Fair), and things kept getting out of hand and it was like I had to put out fires left and right.
In any case, I was barely surviving at this point and about 2 months into driving this Prius that I rented from Fair, I got a notice on my Uber app telling me that in a month my car registration would expire. I immediately called Fair Support (waiting the typical 30 minutes to 2 hours on the phone queue like a solid American), to tell them that I needed my Fair vehicle insurance to be updated and sent to me ASAP. I was told I would get the registration in the mail within 5-7 business days... two weeks later it still didn't happen, so I called them again (waiting for another 2 hours on the phone queue), and they said that I should be patient at wait... so I waited and three days before the expiration of my car registration I called yet again... and got the same response... please wait... so I did, and after my car registration DID expire, the Uber app locked me out of being able to drive for Uber, since I had an expired car registration. Great... I couldn't work for money... but wait there more! I was still getting charged 200 dollars a week for the Fair vehicle WITH NO REGISTRATION. I called them AGAIN and AGAIN and AGAIN and AGAIN practically once a day (one time I actually had to wait for 6 hours on the phone since registration is not handled by Fair Support but by Fair Concierge and Fair Concierge is only accessed by first calling Fair Support, waiting the god awful 2 hours then transferring over to Fair Concierge and waiting for another 2 eternities to get to speak with a human... but this one time I waited 6 hours...) And finally after 4 weeks... I got my new Fair Registration and new license plates for my vehicles... and I had to pay for all 4 weeks according to this company called... wait for it... FAIR. They told me that this was indeed unfair when I called them out on it and they did what again??? You guessed it... another Banana Republic gift card that can't be used to pay Rent, can't be used to pay for Gas, and can't be used to pay for my Fair Car Rental... so it does butt fuck nothing (excuse my Americanism), unless I needed some fancy clothes in a real hurry.
SO at this point I'm severely in debt and I had a maxed out credit card, and moving forward I worked 12 hour shifts, was constantly suicidal and needed my agent to submit me to an actual audition which she hasn't done for over 8 months at that point... and of course in LA anytime you call your agent to speak with them they say "I'm too busy right now"... shit got real (excuse my Americanism).
A few months later, I spoke with my parents about potentially getting help from them to pay a down payment for a car so that I can start financing my own car and pay a lot less each month towards buying my own car, than what I was paying for an UNFAIR company's vehicle.
My mother actually flew over to where I lived in LA and she fronted me the down payment to my brand new 2020 Toyota Corolla Hybrid... and I negotiated with the dealership to get my monthly payments down to about 400 dollars a month. That was half of what I was paying Fair... and this time around this is my OWN car that I'll be paying towards instead of just a rental.
Well... This makes sense then to return my Fair Vehicle right? Yeah... you can already anticipate the stress can't you? But wait, there's more!
Not only did it take a long time for Fair Concierge to come pick up the car... (adding another extra two weeks that I had to pay for the car), but once they picked it up, they continued to charge me weekly for a vehicle I no longer had... I called repeated for Fair to stop charging me but they didn't stop charging me and said it was "included in my contract" that I had to keep paying for Fair even after returning my vehicle. I nearly thought of finding the nearest Fair company location and shooting up the place. But calmer reasoning took over and I decided to simply take this to the law. I went to Court and got all the paperwork necessary to file a Small Claims against the Fair Company. I then was told that in order to serve them and press charges against them, I have to first give them FAIR WARNING ahead of time... SO I called them repeatedly (you know... again and again.. 5 hour phone queues to speak with the correct department who can actually DO something), and then finally I gave up and emailed them instead because I needed evidence for court that I actually contacted them and notified them that if they didn't stop charging me I'm taking this to a court of law. Well, they didn't stop, but I tried something else. I called my bank. I told them about the whole situation and how I want to dispute all charges made to my account by Fair since the date when I returned my vehicle. AND I wanted to dispute all charges made to my account by Fair for the four weeks I didn't have an up to date car registration. My bank's fraud department was on my side for this and helped me out with disputing all these charges and refunding me about $1000 dollars. I provided them with all the necessary documentation including screenshots of my Uber App dates when I didn't work due to the car registration issue, the dates on my car registration both old and new. I have EVERY legal piece of evidence to win my case in court and I knew it.
And once this happened the shoe was on the other foot (so to speak in Americanism) because Fair Support started to call me for money almost 24/7. I got a kick out of that one because I left a very special voice mail response and purposefully ignored all unknown calls. I won't give you my voicemail response on here but needless to say, any Fair representative got a taste of the FAIR support treatment, and was properly served legally that "I will take you to court if you want to pursue this further, and I have all the evidence to win the case".
Eventually the calls from Fair dwindled down to maybe once in a month and I'd laugh at their face when they told me they worked for Fair. Sorry but you guys deserve to be mocked... Fair company if you see this, FUCK YOU (excuse my Americanism).
Lesson 3: Do NOT ever, and I mean EVER rent a vehicle from Fair. They are UNFAIR, have shit service, long phone queues of upwards of 6 hours if you need to talk to someone who can actually change your address or do anything to your account with them... and they charge you even after you've returned your vehicle because "it's in the contract" ... yeah don't ever rent from Fair. EVER. Let this business rot in hell.
Story 3: I got assaulted in my vehicle two separate occasions as an Uber Driver
So... around February of 2019 I drove on the super bowl weekend and the team in LA apparently lost (sorry I don't follow sports... I'm more of an esports kinda guy), and I heard about it all night while driving Uber. I've already had my fair share of drunk people as a driver and I was used to it at this time and I get a lot of rides at night on weekends just like this one or so I thought...
I pulled up to a house to pick some guy up named Bob. Bob and his friend came to my car... and well, let's just say Bob is probably over 500 lbs because it took him 10 minutes to squeeze/wedge/slam/shove himself through the door of my car, took up the entire backseat with his butt and made the entire car sink down with his weight. His friend in comparison is your healthy average American of 200 lb beer belly kinda guy. They were both drunk and talking about football and I tuned them out to drive as per usual.
Then about 5 minutes into the ride, Bob fell asleep in the back of my car and woke up confused and upset and asked "Where are you taking me?" in a panicked tone of voice. His friend reassured him "we're going to the hotel, Bob, relax!" But Bob wouldn't have any of it, no, you see, BOB here thought I might have been abducting him to prove aliens existed ... or something. I'm not a mind reader ok? But he then decided the best response was to start groping me, placing both his hands on my chest. I'm a guy... but still... don't touch my nipples??? I do NOT give consent!
Well, I asked him politely or as politely as I could manage, "sir, would you mind not touching me please?" His friend looked over his shoulder at him and went "What are you doing, Bob? It's ok, just relax".
Bob reacted in anger. He didn't like being told what to do. He didn't like that he doesn't just get to grope his Uber driver. So Bob did what he thought was best, to show people how strong he was. Bob grabbed my seat belt from behind me with both hands and started to strangle me.
I was at this point driving on the 118 high way and I was going around 55 miles per hour. I started to see stars, and I tried desperately to free my airway while maintaining control of my car (This was the orange toyota Prius I was renting from Fair). I thought in my mind, "Oh shit, so this is how it ends... how undignified".... and I was almost about to pass out but I got some more circulation because Bob's friend was helping me pull the seatbelt down... I also pulled down so that instead of it being on my neck it was on my collarbone, and I could breath again but barely, the seatbelt was pressed against my collar bone with enough force to feel like I was in a major car accident, except Bob kept crushing it against me by leaning back with it and pulling with his weight. I thought about pulling over... even just abandoning the vehicle to run for my life... but instead I was in a state of shock and drove them to their destination which was a hotel...
Uber had another customer lined up for me... so I took the next rider in a slightly dazed and confused state... I was probably not safe to drive at that point but I wasn't even really aware... I was kind of on auto pilot at that point, but I told the next drunk passenger what happened, and she said she was the wife of a cop, and that I should call the cops immediately. So after I dropped HER off I called 911, and the police came to where I lived and got my report, and took pictures of my now bruised collarbone and neck area. I was asked if I wanted to press charges and I said I did, and they told me I'd hear from the District Attorney's office in about 3 weeks.
I waited... Nothing ... The DA's office never reached out to me...
I was depressed and had PTSD from this incident and it was so bad that I couldn't go out the next day to get back to work as an Uber Driver. I couldn't go out to work the day after that... nor the next week... I had to take a full month off. My roommates (one of whom was the house mom sorta, and was rather Jewish in both descent and behavior) instead of showing sympathy or being compassionate was trying to evict me or threatening to since I was late on rent, and I had to call my mom to help me at the time with rent.
I tried to work up the courage to drive again, but for that whole month the best I could do was sit in my car and cry.
And guess what? Wouldn't you know it... because wait... there's more.
The very first night I started to feel better enough to go drive again... the very first customer that night, was a drunk guy... who held a switch blade to my throat.
Yup... it went something like this... he got in... he asked where I'm from in a friendly tone... both him and his friend were drunk off their ass and having a good time. I told him I'm from the Bay Area from northern california and they said "NorCal? You better not say Hella". I'm like, "Ok, sure thing, I won't say Hella" because I suppose it's a bit of a stereotype that Northern Californians like to say "hella" like "oh that's Hella cool man!" for extra emphasis. And I took it in stride and laughed and said I won't say hella if it bothered him, and actually I don't say it that often anymore anyways since I've been living in LA for acting.
But then he pulled out his switch blade and held it to my throat. "Don't fucking say hella".
"I won't dude."
"Don't you fucking say it! I'm warning you!"
"I won't say it..."
I just kept driving, hands on the wheel, eyes on the road... my heart actually stopped dead at one point. My mind was just a total blank.
This guy literally drops his knife on seat next to me on his way out of my car when I dropped him off... I looked at him and asked him to "please remove your knife from my car" and nodded to it... I could have driven off with it as evidence... but I just... was done at this point. He looked at the knife then back at me... then paused and realized at that moment what he just did. I waited for what seemed like 10 minutes as he stood there eyeing me...
I mean, I actually wasn't scared for my life this time. Not because I wasn't in any danger, but he was drunk and thought this whole time that this was a joke and that he was using his knife for emphasis. That was what my read on the situation was, and that was why I wasn't driving away in a panic. I wasn't scared for my life in that moment, and I just wanted to be done with him...
He took his knife from my car and closed the door, and tipped me on the app. I drove off. And didn't drive for another week. But I was financially destitute and in debt and living off of food stamps at this point so I had to get back on the road despite the PTSD... in fact, the next time I got a Bob as a customer for my "next ride", I promptly pulled over, almost threw up, and declined the ride.
I eventually called the DA's (District Attorney)'s office to see what's going on and what's taking them so long to let me press charges. I found out my case was dropped. Dropped?! I was told that there's no evidence...
I was outraged. I had all the evidence in the world. I had my Uber app which documents the ride took place. I have his address. I have his name. I have the time stamp of when the ride started, when the ride ended, and I also have the timestamp for the police report, not to mention they took photos of my neck injury.
And I called the person in charge of my case... some guy named Minoui... He told me he dropped the case because Bob had a witness and it was his friend who testified that nothing happened. That this case was just a he said she said at this point. I told him about the pile of evidence I had on my side and how I didn't even get asked by the DA my side of the story or whether I had evidence and that I have a PHOTO of my injuries. He said "oh" like he didn't realize that, then said that the case is closed, that he has years of experience (Tone of voice was condescending like he was talking to a kid) and that even if we put this in front of a judge we can't get a conviction because the jury has to vote unanimously. I told him I wanted it in a court of law anyway and that he didn't have the right to be judge and jury for my case, and then he told me rudely that he did as a DA and hung up on me. I tried to "speak to a manager" by calling his higher up, and his higher up just backed him up... told me I had no case, that the guy had no priors so he's "unimpeachable", I told him " so I can just go out and murder someone and you don't even put my case in a court because I have no priors so I'm UNIMPEACHABLE?" He said there's not enough evidence of injury, that I didn't have a doctor's diagnosis, nor do I have video evidence. I didn't bring up that the guy was WHITE and I'm a minority (Asian) but essentially that's what it felt was going on at that point in the conversation, and I just hung up on this prick, I then called the County Superintendent/Supervisers... Super something ... Board of Trustteess? Fuck I don't know, important douchebags paid to look important who signs off on paperwork that affects the lives of many. Some librarian told me that's who is in charge of the DA schmucks. SO I called them and THEY told me that it was perfectly in the right of the DA to decide what gets put in front of a judge and what doesn't get put in front of a judge and please stop swearing. I told them they can go... well you know what I told them (excuse my Americanism).
It was at this point I also called Uber Support for further evidence. Some Indian guy with a heavy accent replied on the phone and said "I'm bery bery sori sir, but I cunt dew anyting about dis, but I understand your frustratin' and I cunt halp yew with dis. We cannot give out information about our passengers". I was just asking for information to use as proof to reopen my case mind you, but they just wouldn't budge on the phone with me, so THAT's how much Uber cares for the safety of their drivers... ZILCH... NADA, UBER DON'T GIVE A CRAP ABOUT THE PEOPLE WHO MAKE THEM THEIR MONEY.
Lesson 4: I put a camera in my car now on my dash and I point it directly at me for my own protection whenever I drive now... that's the only way you can prove some white drunk asshole strangled you in your car apparently. If you're a minority and you drive ride share, I suggest you do the same. If you're white, you don't worry about a thing, the law's got your back.
submitted by Howhowhathere to uberdrivers [link] [comments]


2020.02.16 20:23 Howhowhathere My experiences as an Uber Driver, Fair (car rental) customer, and Lyft Driver (LONG)

As you all may know by now, Uber and Lyft have become quite common as apps that replaced Taxis for the most part in major cities and towns as a way to get a ride, and it's a service provided by individual contractors like myself who use a different app as the ride provider to earn an income or sometimes it is marketed as a way to have a "side hustle" to make more income on top of a main job.
I want to share my personal horror stories as a driver and user of these apps as well as offer some incite to other drivers out there on the road. I hope we can all learn from my experiences.
For starters, I'm an actor in Los Angeles so instead of waiting tables or trying to be a bartender, (or turning to prostitution for that matter), I decided to make an income through ride share driving to get myself some flexibility to my schedule for acting auditions (usually at short notice).
Story 1: Early days of Rideshare Driving.
Initially I had my own used 2002 Volkswagen Passat, and it was a car I grew up with and loved and it was very reliable. I signed up solely with Uber at first and in the early days of the app when they gave out incentives and "rush hour" bonuses. In the early days it was very hard to make any money driving the app unless you specifically targeted those large 2x and sometimes 7x earning bonuses. Based on my miles per gallon on my Volkswagen I was actually only making about 3 dollars per hour during most of the day due to the infrequent rides, due to my gas cost, and due to the fact that Uber took a large portion of my earnings per ride. And at that time if I drove during the busy rush hours to catch bonuses, I earned about 20 dollars per hour or sometimes even 30 depending on traffic and how fast I can dodge through it to get another ride with a massive bonus. Of course this wasn't healthy for the long run and it was VERY HARD to earn a steady income and caused a LOT of stress due to having to drive during rush hour traffic in downtown LA to even earn something close to a minimum wage job on average since rush hour only lasted about 2-3 hours each day and the rest of the day it's very hard to get any customers other than the early adopters.
Lesson 1: What I learned during this time is to look at the formula of how we got paid, and to calculate my own gas costs, (also taxes!) to see just how much am I actually earning per hour and to look for ways to lower my own costs down and make more money. I found that the best practice is to turn on the app but park my car somewhere in a decently busy area when I'm in between rides instead of driving around burning gas looking for new rides. This significantly lowered my gas costs down and I am also reducing traffic by doing this! I allowed the App to look for rides and nearby customers for me and I drove a lot less. Think of in between rides as breaks...
Lesson 2: There's a pattern to when there's more demand for rides and I found different times to be on the road that worked for me. It didn't have to be rush hour traffic in 5PM LA, it could be also early mornings when people were waking up to go to work early in the morning, or going to the airport! And it was VERY profitable to pick up long rides back then as it reduced the time between waiting for new rides and I earned a lot more whenever I found these longer rides!
Story 2: Car Problems and the disgusting business called Fair.
My Volkswagen eventually started breaking down and having problems, this happened repeated over the course of 2 years with me having to repeatedly pay large sums to fix my car and at first it was just to change the car batteries, and small expenses... but then soon it started to get really crazy with timing belt changes, and then when the car overheated from a coolant leak that (suspiciously happened immediately after I had an oil change done by a shady mechanic) I had damage to the engine from the overheating... and that was when I knew, fixing my car wasn't going to be worth it... I started eating parking tickets for "abandoned vehicle" which also doubled several times because I didn't know that my car would get ticketed for even being parked... and a long story short I couldn't pay $2000 to fix the car when it was my main source of income and I couldn't sell it since it was broken, and I had to junk it.
In comes my idea to rent a vehicle instead! Haha, that might have sounded like a smart idea at the time, and it was also at the time when Fair partnered up with Uber to offer rental cars. I tried to get a car from Fair and this is what happened:
Initially I called Fair support to see when I can get to pick up the vehicle I wanted... a nice little orange 2016 Toyota Prius with barely 9000 miles on it. They told me the car was in San Diego... Keep in mind I don't have a car at this point and I lived in Los Angeles. I asked them if they could deliver it to me and they told me yes, but at this point Uber has my address as Glendale, which was a while ago when I first signed up with Uber, and of course as an actor who barely lives rent to rent, I had to move around quite often, so this was no longer my current address at the time. I told the Fair support that that was not my address and that I lived in Chatsworth... well that was a disaster, because they told me because my address is no longer up to date, I can't get the car delivered to me by the Fair Concierge team... and ooook? SO what do you want me to do, Fair? They told me to change my address with them, and I went "ok great! let's do that" but Fair Support doesn't have the authorization to change the address on my Fair account... NO... that's something only the Fair Concierge team can do for me and they are only accessible through first calling the Fair Support team on their support line... waiting between 30 minutes to 2 hours on the phone for someone to pick up, tell them to transfer me to the Fair Concierge team so I can change my address, then waiting another 2 hours or so for the Fair Concierge team to pick up the phone and talk about changing my Address with them. And here's how THAT interaction went:
a. They told me I needed to provide proof of address... and again as an actor who moved around a lot, I typically sublet a single room and have no utility bills and no pay stubs to use since hey guess what, I'm an UBER DRIVER. This is a conversation after 2-3 hours waiting between Fair Support, then transferring to Fair Concierge....
b. I called repeatedly asking them to change my address, I literally stood outside my new address with my phone and took pictures of me next to the mailbox number... and held up a sign with the street name, and they told me they can't accept that... so I had to try MANY different times calling them to see if this works, no? Ok how about this other thing I got in the mail? NO? Could somebody please give me a LIST of the acceptable proof of address documents?! OH ok finally... and after much trying and dialing and waiting for literally DAYS worth of time on the phone, I got someone who gave me a very helpful suggestion, That I take an UBER ride as a rider down to San Diego to the car to pick it up and that Fair offers to pay for up to 100 miles worth of Uber ride to go pick up the vehicle... well great... I thanked the man for his offer and took him up on it, but it turns out it was 200 miles between Los Angeles and San Diego so that meant that I had to get TWO 100 mile long Uber rides and only 1 of them could be covered by the company called... Fair (this name is getting ironic, but wait... there's more)
c. Not only did I have to pay out of pocket for my second 100 mile ride to pick up the car in San Diego, but the first 100 mile ride was "paid for" by Fair in the form of a gift card... yes.. a gift card which I could only use at select stores such as Nordstroms, Banana Republic, Gap, Old Navy, etc... I don't know what gave them the impression that a guy who drives Uber for a living would need to shop at Banana Republic and how a gift card for Banana Republic is in any way a form of compensation for hundreds of dollars worth of UBER rides down to pick up a rental car that they were supposed to deliver to me completely free if they didn't have an asinine Change of Address Policy that also includes "You can't change your address with Fair unless you have been renting from Fair for at least 40 days"... so it was a perpetual catch 22, since I can't get it delivered to me if I don't have an up to date address, AND I can't change said address without having had rented a car from Fair for 40 days... This should have been a red flag from the get go, but I was getting pretty desperate since I needed a vehicle to not only drive for Uber, but I needed a vehicle to get anywhere period, and not only was I running out of savings fast, but I also had to get a reliable way to get to auditions... and at this point I was taking the metroline and buses and it would take like a 6 hour round trip to get to auditions downtown from Chatsworth by bus... it was insanity and I really really needed a car... so I here I was... Fair has me cornered, despite their nonsensical policies... SO I picked up my Fair vehicle which I found out didn't belong to Fair, but an actual car dealership doing this program with Fair... so... essentially Fair has no capital invested... they have a contractual agreement with car dealerships to rent their cars, and then they have an agreement with Uber to rent cars to Uber drivers that Uber approves of... and so all they do is B2B service and their service is GOD AWFUL? I should have known better, but hindsight is 20/20 and all that...
So I got my car from Fair, and the car was really nice! I drove it 200 miles back to where I lived so that the round trip cost me upwards of $200 in gas and Uber trip costs... I got a car that I had to make an immediate down payment for and my first month's car rental cost as well, and on top of that and I got a 100 dollar gift card to freakin Banana Republic... great... let's get started with my Actual experiences driving with Fair shall we?
The Fair Rental price for my car was a little over 800 dollars per month for the car which includes their Fair Insurance for the car. Except it wasn't a month to month agreement, it was weekly. SO every WEEK I had to pay 200 dollars to Fair for insurance and car rental. Ok that meant that on top of my gas costs (which was thankfully low due to me driving that Prius and stopping on the side of the road between rides) I had to pay 200 bucks every week out of what I was making as an Uber Driver... at that point I was making on average 100 dollars a day (not taking into account gas and taxes I'll have to pay), so actually with all things considered for every 100 dollars I made I had to pay 20 dollars in gas and a bit of taxes as well as income tax, so for a 10 hour work day as an Uber Driver I was making roughly 60 bucks a day. I was working EVERY DAY and driving about 10 hours a day in the hostile Los Angeles traffic, and it was a living hell... I started struggling with depression and anxiety after the first assault by a rider (which I will go into after this story with Fair), and things kept getting out of hand and it was like I had to put out fires left and right.
In any case, I was barely surviving at this point and about 2 months into driving this Prius that I rented from Fair, I got a notice on my Uber app telling me that in a month my car registration would expire. I immediately called Fair Support (waiting the typical 30 minutes to 2 hours on the phone queue like a solid American), to tell them that I needed my Fair vehicle insurance to be updated and sent to me ASAP. I was told I would get the registration in the mail within 5-7 business days... two weeks later it still didn't happen, so I called them again (waiting for another 2 hours on the phone queue), and they said that I should be patient at wait... so I waited and three days before the expiration of my car registration I called yet again... and got the same response... please wait... so I did, and after my car registration DID expire, the Uber app locked me out of being able to drive for Uber, since I had an expired car registration. Great... I couldn't work for money... but wait there more! I was still getting charged 200 dollars a week for the Fair vehicle WITH NO REGISTRATION. I called them AGAIN and AGAIN and AGAIN and AGAIN practically once a day (one time I actually had to wait for 6 hours on the phone since registration is not handled by Fair Support but by Fair Concierge and Fair Concierge is only accessed by first calling Fair Support, waiting the god awful 2 hours then transferring over to Fair Concierge and waiting for another 2 eternities to get to speak with a human... but this one time I waited 6 hours...) And finally after 4 weeks... I got my new Fair Registration and new license plates for my vehicles... and I had to pay for all 4 weeks according to this company called... wait for it... FAIR. They told me that this was indeed unfair when I called them out on it and they did what again??? You guessed it... another Banana Republic gift card that can't be used to pay Rent, can't be used to pay for Gas, and can't be used to pay for my Fair Car Rental... so it does butt fuck nothing (excuse my Americanism), unless I needed some fancy clothes in a real hurry.
SO at this point I'm severely in debt and I had a maxed out credit card, and moving forward I worked 12 hour shifts, was constantly suicidal and needed my agent to submit me to an actual audition which she hasn't done for over 8 months at that point... and of course in LA anytime you call your agent to speak with them they say "I'm too busy right now"... shit got real (excuse my Americanism).
A few months later, I spoke with my parents about potentially getting help from them to pay a down payment for a car so that I can start financing my own car and pay a lot less each month towards buying my own car, than what I was paying for an UNFAIR company's vehicle.
My mother actually flew over to where I lived in LA and she fronted me the down payment to my brand new 2020 Toyota Corolla Hybrid... and I negotiated with the dealership to get my monthly payments down to about 400 dollars a month. That was half of what I was paying Fair... and this time around this is my OWN car that I'll be paying towards instead of just a rental.
Well... This makes sense then to return my Fair Vehicle right? Yeah... you can already anticipate the stress can't you? But wait, there's more!
Not only did it take a long time for Fair Concierge to come pick up the car... (adding another extra two weeks that I had to pay for the car), but once they picked it up, they continued to charge me weekly for a vehicle I no longer had... I called repeated for Fair to stop charging me but they didn't stop charging me and said it was "included in my contract" that I had to keep paying for Fair even after returning my vehicle. I nearly thought of finding the nearest Fair company location and shooting up the place. But calmer reasoning took over and I decided to simply take this to the law. I went to Court and got all the paperwork necessary to file a Small Claims against the Fair Company. I then was told that in order to serve them and press charges against them, I have to first give them FAIR WARNING ahead of time... SO I called them repeatedly (you know... again and again.. 5 hour phone queues to speak with the correct department who can actually DO something), and then finally I gave up and emailed them instead because I needed evidence for court that I actually contacted them and notified them that if they didn't stop charging me I'm taking this to a court of law. Well, they didn't stop, but I tried something else. I called my bank. I told them about the whole situation and how I want to dispute all charges made to my account by Fair since the date when I returned my vehicle. AND I wanted to dispute all charges made to my account by Fair for the four weeks I didn't have an up to date car registration. My bank's fraud department was on my side for this and helped me out with disputing all these charges and refunding me about $1000 dollars. I provided them with all the necessary documentation including screenshots of my Uber App dates when I didn't work due to the car registration issue, the dates on my car registration both old and new. I have EVERY legal piece of evidence to win my case in court and I knew it.
And once this happened the shoe was on the other foot (so to speak in Americanism) because Fair Support started to call me for money almost 24/7. I got a kick out of that one because I left a very special voice mail response and purposefully ignored all unknown calls. I won't give you my voicemail response on here but needless to say, any Fair representative got a taste of the FAIR support treatment, and was properly served legally that "I will take you to court if you want to pursue this further, and I have all the evidence to win the case".
Eventually the calls from Fair dwindled down to maybe once in a month and I'd laugh at their face when they told me they worked for Fair. Sorry but you guys deserve to be mocked... Fair company if you see this, FUCK YOU (excuse my Americanism).
Lesson 3: Do NOT ever, and I mean EVER rent a vehicle from Fair. They are UNFAIR, have shit service, long phone queues of upwards of 6 hours if you need to talk to someone who can actually change your address or do anything to your account with them... and they charge you even after you've returned your vehicle because "it's in the contract" ... yeah don't ever rent from Fair. EVER. Let this business rot in hell.
Story 3: I got assaulted in my vehicle two separate occasions as an Uber Driver
So... around February of 2019 I drove on the super bowl weekend and the team in LA apparently lost (sorry I don't follow sports... I'm more of an esports kinda guy), and I heard about it all night while driving Uber. I've already had my fair share of drunk people as a driver and I was used to it at this time and I get a lot of rides at night on weekends just like this one or so I thought...
I pulled up to a house to pick some guy up named Bob. Bob and his friend came to my car... and well, let's just say Bob is probably over 500 lbs because it took him 10 minutes to squeeze/wedge/slam/shove himself through the door of my car, took up the entire backseat with his butt and made the entire car sink down with his weight. His friend in comparison is your healthy average American of 200 lb beer belly kinda guy. They were both drunk and talking about football and I tuned them out to drive as per usual.
Then about 5 minutes into the ride, Bob fell asleep in the back of my car and woke up confused and upset and asked "Where are you taking me?" in a panicked tone of voice. His friend reassured him "we're going to the hotel, Bob, relax!" But Bob wouldn't have any of it, no, you see, BOB here thought I might have been abducting him to prove aliens existed ... or something. I'm not a mind reader ok? But he then decided the best response was to start groping me, placing both his hands on my chest. I'm a guy... but still... don't touch my nipples??? I do NOT give consent!
Well, I asked him politely or as politely as I could manage, "sir, would you mind not touching me please?" His friend looked over his shoulder at him and went "What are you doing, Bob? It's ok, just relax".
Bob reacted in anger. He didn't like being told what to do. He didn't like that he doesn't just get to grope his Uber driver. So Bob did what he thought was best, to show people how strong he was. Bob grabbed my seat belt from behind me with both hands and started to strangle me.
I was at this point driving on the 118 high way and I was going around 55 miles per hour. I started to see stars, and I tried desperately to free my airway while maintaining control of my car (This was the orange toyota Prius I was renting from Fair). I thought in my mind, "Oh shit, so this is how it ends... how undignified".... and I was almost about to pass out but I got some more circulation because Bob's friend was helping me pull the seatbelt down... I also pulled down so that instead of it being on my neck it was on my collarbone, and I could breath again but barely, the seatbelt was pressed against my collar bone with enough force to feel like I was in a major car accident, except Bob kept crushing it against me by leaning back with it and pulling with his weight. I thought about pulling over... even just abandoning the vehicle to run for my life... but instead I was in a state of shock and drove them to their destination which was a hotel...
Uber had another customer lined up for me... so I took the next rider in a slightly dazed and confused state... I was probably not safe to drive at that point but I wasn't even really aware... I was kind of on auto pilot at that point, but I told the next drunk passenger what happened, and she said she was the wife of a cop, and that I should call the cops immediately. So after I dropped HER off I called 911, and the police came to where I lived and got my report, and took pictures of my now bruised collarbone and neck area. I was asked if I wanted to press charges and I said I did, and they told me I'd hear from the District Attorney's office in about 3 weeks.
I waited... Nothing ... The DA's office never reached out to me...
I was depressed and had PTSD from this incident and it was so bad that I couldn't go out the next day to get back to work as an Uber Driver. I couldn't go out to work the day after that... nor the next week... I had to take a full month off. My roommates (one of whom was the house mom sorta, and was rather Jewish in both descent and behavior) instead of showing sympathy or being compassionate was trying to evict me or threatening to since I was late on rent, and I had to call my mom to help me at the time with rent.
I tried to work up the courage to drive again, but for that whole month the best I could do was sit in my car and cry.
And guess what? Wouldn't you know it... because wait... there's more.
The very first night I started to feel better enough to go drive again... the very first customer that night, was a drunk guy... who held a switch blade to my throat.
Yup... it went something like this... he got in... he asked where I'm from in a friendly tone... both him and his friend were drunk off their ass and having a good time. I told him I'm from the Bay Area from northern california and they said "NorCal? You better not say Hella". I'm like, "Ok, sure thing, I won't say Hella" because I suppose it's a bit of a stereotype that Northern Californians like to say "hella" like "oh that's Hella cool man!" for extra emphasis. And I took it in stride and laughed and said I won't say hella if it bothered him, and actually I don't say it that often anymore anyways since I've been living in LA for acting.
But then he pulled out his switch blade and held it to my throat. "Don't fucking say hella".
"I won't dude."
"Don't you fucking say it! I'm warning you!"
"I won't say it..."
I just kept driving, hands on the wheel, eyes on the road... my heart actually stopped dead at one point. My mind was just a total blank.
This guy literally drops his knife on seat next to me on his way out of my car when I dropped him off... I looked at him and asked him to "please remove your knife from my car" and nodded to it... I could have driven off with it as evidence... but I just... was done at this point. He looked at the knife then back at me... then paused and realized at that moment what he just did. I waited for what seemed like 10 minutes as he stood there eyeing me...
I mean, I actually wasn't scared for my life this time. Not because I wasn't in any danger, but he was drunk and thought this whole time that this was a joke and that he was using his knife for emphasis. That was what my read on the situation was, and that was why I wasn't driving away in a panic. I wasn't scared for my life in that moment, and I just wanted to be done with him...
He took his knife from my car and closed the door, and tipped me on the app. I drove off. And didn't drive for another week. But I was financially destitute and in debt and living off of food stamps at this point so I had to get back on the road despite the PTSD... in fact, the next time I got a Bob as a customer for my "next ride", I promptly pulled over, almost threw up, and declined the ride.
I eventually called the DA's (District Attorney)'s office to see what's going on and what's taking them so long to let me press charges. I found out my case was dropped. Dropped?! I was told that there's no evidence...
I was outraged. I had all the evidence in the world. I had my Uber app which documents the ride took place. I have his address. I have his name. I have the time stamp of when the ride started, when the ride ended, and I also have the timestamp for the police report, not to mention they took photos of my neck injury.
And I called the person in charge of my case... some guy named Minoui... He told me he dropped the case because Bob had a witness and it was his friend who testified that nothing happened. That this case was just a he said she said at this point. I told him about the pile of evidence I had on my side and how I didn't even get asked by the DA my side of the story or whether I had evidence and that I have a PHOTO of my injuries. He said "oh" like he didn't realize that, then said that the case is closed, that he has years of experience (Tone of voice was condescending like he was talking to a kid) and that even if we put this in front of a judge we can't get a conviction because the jury has to vote unanimously. I told him I wanted it in a court of law anyway and that he didn't have the right to be judge and jury for my case, and then he told me rudely that he did as a DA and hung up on me. I tried to "speak to a manager" by calling his higher up, and his higher up just backed him up... told me I had no case, that the guy had no priors so he's "unimpeachable", I told him " so I can just go out and murder someone and you don't even put my case in a court because I have no priors so I'm UNIMPEACHABLE?" He said there's not enough evidence of injury, that I didn't have a doctor's diagnosis, nor do I have video evidence. I didn't bring up that the guy was WHITE and I'm a minority (Asian) but essentially that's what it felt was going on at that point in the conversation, and I just hung up on this prick, I then called the County Superintendent/Supervisers... Super something ... Board of Trustteess? Fuck I don't know, important douchebags paid to look important who signs off on paperwork that affects the lives of many. Some librarian told me that's who is in charge of the DA schmucks. SO I called them and THEY told me that it was perfectly in the right of the DA to decide what gets put in front of a judge and what doesn't get put in front of a judge and please stop swearing. I told them they can go... well you know what I told them (excuse my Americanism).
It was at this point I also called Uber Support for further evidence. Some Indian guy with a heavy accent replied on the phone and said "I'm bery bery sori sir, but I cunt dew anyting about dis, but I understand your frustratin' and I cunt halp yew with dis. We cannot give out information about our passengers". I was just asking for information to use as proof to reopen my case mind you, but they just wouldn't budge on the phone with me, so THAT's how much Uber cares for the safety of their drivers... ZILCH... NADA, UBER DON'T GIVE A CRAP ABOUT THE PEOPLE WHO MAKE THEM THEIR MONEY.
Lesson 4: I put a camera in my car now on my dash and I point it directly at me for my own protection whenever I drive now... that's the only way you can prove some white drunk asshole strangled you in your car apparently. If you're a minority and you drive ride share, I suggest you do the same. If you're white, you don't worry about a thing, the law's got your back.
submitted by Howhowhathere to lyftdrivers [link] [comments]


2020.02.16 20:19 Howhowhathere My experiences as an Uber driver, Lyft Driver, and Fair Vehicle Rental Customer.

As you all may know by now, Uber and Lyft have become quite common as apps that replaced Taxis for the most part in major cities and towns as a way to get a ride, and it's a service provided by individual contractors like myself who use a different app as the ride provider to earn an income or sometimes it is marketed as a way to have a "side hustle" to make more income on top of a main job.
I want to share my personal horror stories as a driver and user of these apps as well as offer some incite to other drivers out there on the road. I hope we can all learn from my experiences.
For starters, I'm an actor in Los Angeles so instead of waiting tables or trying to be a bartender, (or turning to prostitution for that matter), I decided to make an income through ride share driving to get myself some flexibility to my schedule for acting auditions (usually at short notice).

Story 1: Early days of Rideshare Driving.
Initially I had my own used 2002 Volkswagen Passat, and it was a car I grew up with and loved and it was very reliable. I signed up solely with Uber at first and in the early days of the app when they gave out incentives and "rush hour" bonuses. In the early days it was very hard to make any money driving the app unless you specifically targeted those large 2x and sometimes 7x earning bonuses. Based on my miles per gallon on my Volkswagen I was actually only making about 3 dollars per hour during most of the day due to the infrequent rides, due to my gas cost, and due to the fact that Uber took a large portion of my earnings per ride. And at that time if I drove during the busy rush hours to catch bonuses, I earned about 20 dollars per hour or sometimes even 30 depending on traffic and how fast I can dodge through it to get another ride with a massive bonus. Of course this wasn't healthy for the long run and it was VERY HARD to earn a steady income and caused a LOT of stress due to having to drive during rush hour traffic in downtown LA to even earn something close to a minimum wage job on average since rush hour only lasted about 2-3 hours each day and the rest of the day it's very hard to get any customers other than the early adopters.
Lesson 1: What I learned during this time is to look at the formula of how we got paid, and to calculate my own gas costs, (also taxes!) to see just how much am I actually earning per hour and to look for ways to lower my own costs down and make more money. I found that the best practice is to turn on the app but park my car somewhere in a decently busy area when I'm in between rides instead of driving around burning gas looking for new rides. This significantly lowered my gas costs down and I am also reducing traffic by doing this! I allowed the App to look for rides and nearby customers for me and I drove a lot less. Think of in between rides as breaks...
Lesson 2: There's a pattern to when there's more demand for rides and I found different times to be on the road that worked for me. It didn't have to be rush hour traffic in 5PM LA, it could be also early mornings when people were waking up to go to work early in the morning, or going to the airport! And it was VERY profitable to pick up long rides back then as it reduced the time between waiting for new rides and I earned a lot more whenever I found these longer rides!

Story 2: Car Problems and the disgusting business called Fair.
My Volkswagen eventually started breaking down and having problems, this happened repeated over the course of 2 years with me having to repeatedly pay large sums to fix my car and at first it was just to change the car batteries, and small expenses... but then soon it started to get really crazy with timing belt changes, and then when the car overheated from a coolant leak that (suspiciously happened immediately after I had an oil change done by a shady mechanic) I had damage to the engine from the overheating... and that was when I knew, fixing my car wasn't going to be worth it... I started eating parking tickets for "abandoned vehicle" which also doubled several times because I didn't know that my car would get ticketed for even being parked... and a long story short I couldn't pay $2000 to fix the car when it was my main source of income and I couldn't sell it since it was broken, and I had to junk it.
In comes my idea to rent a vehicle instead! Haha, that might have sounded like a smart idea at the time, and it was also at the time when Fair partnered up with Uber to offer rental cars. I tried to get a car from Fair and this is what happened:
Initially I called Fair support to see when I can get to pick up the vehicle I wanted... a nice little orange 2016 Toyota Prius with barely 9000 miles on it. They told me the car was in San Diego... Keep in mind I don't have a car at this point and I lived in Los Angeles. I asked them if they could deliver it to me and they told me yes, but at this point Uber has my address as Glendale, which was a while ago when I first signed up with Uber, and of course as an actor who barely lives rent to rent, I had to move around quite often, so this was no longer my current address at the time. I told the Fair support that that was not my address and that I lived in Chatsworth... well that was a disaster, because they told me because my address is no longer up to date, I can't get the car delivered to me by the Fair Concierge team... and ooook? SO what do you want me to do, Fair? They told me to change my address with them, and I went "ok great! let's do that" but Fair Support doesn't have the authorization to change the address on my Fair account... NO... that's something only the Fair Concierge team can do for me and they are only accessible through first calling the Fair Support team on their support line... waiting between 30 minutes to 2 hours on the phone for someone to pick up, tell them to transfer me to the Fair Concierge team so I can change my address, then waiting another 2 hours or so for the Fair Concierge team to pick up the phone and talk about changing my Address with them. And here's how THAT interaction went:
a. They told me I needed to provide proof of address... and again as an actor who moved around a lot, I typically sublet a single room and have no utility bills and no pay stubs to use since hey guess what, I'm an UBER DRIVER. This is a conversation after 2-3 hours waiting between Fair Support, then transferring to Fair Concierge....
b. I called repeatedly asking them to change my address, I literally stood outside my new address with my phone and took pictures of me next to the mailbox number... and held up a sign with the street name, and they told me they can't accept that... so I had to try MANY different times calling them to see if this works, no? Ok how about this other thing I got in the mail? NO? Could somebody please give me a LIST of the acceptable proof of address documents?! OH ok finally... and after much trying and dialing and waiting for literally DAYS worth of time on the phone, I got someone who gave me a very helpful suggestion, That I take an UBER ride as a rider down to San Diego to the car to pick it up and that Fair offers to pay for up to 100 miles worth of Uber ride to go pick up the vehicle... well great... I thanked the man for his offer and took him up on it, but it turns out it was 200 miles between Los Angeles and San Diego so that meant that I had to get TWO 100 mile long Uber rides and only 1 of them could be covered by the company called... Fair (this name is getting ironic, but wait... there's more)
c. Not only did I have to pay out of pocket for my second 100 mile ride to pick up the car in San Diego, but the first 100 mile ride was "paid for" by Fair in the form of a gift card... yes.. a gift card which I could only use at select stores such as Nordstroms, Banana Republic, Gap, Old Navy, etc... I don't know what gave them the impression that a guy who drives Uber for a living would need to shop at Banana Republic and how a gift card for Banana Republic is in any way a form of compensation for hundreds of dollars worth of UBER rides down to pick up a rental car that they were supposed to deliver to me completely free if they didn't have an asinine Change of Address Policy that also includes "You can't change your address with Fair unless you have been renting from Fair for at least 40 days"... so it was a perpetual catch 22, since I can't get it delivered to me if I don't have an up to date address, AND I can't change said address without having had rented a car from Fair for 40 days... This should have been a red flag from the get go, but I was getting pretty desperate since I needed a vehicle to not only drive for Uber, but I needed a vehicle to get anywhere period, and not only was I running out of savings fast, but I also had to get a reliable way to get to auditions... and at this point I was taking the metroline and buses and it would take like a 6 hour round trip to get to auditions downtown from Chatsworth by bus... it was insanity and I really really needed a car... so I here I was... Fair has me cornered, despite their nonsensical policies... SO I picked up my Fair vehicle which I found out didn't belong to Fair, but an actual car dealership doing this program with Fair... so... essentially Fair has no capital invested... they have a contractual agreement with car dealerships to rent their cars, and then they have an agreement with Uber to rent cars to Uber drivers that Uber approves of... and so all they do is B2B service and their service is GOD AWFUL? I should have known better, but hindsight is 20/20 and all that...
So I got my car from Fair, and the car was really nice! I drove it 200 miles back to where I lived so that the round trip cost me upwards of $200 in gas and Uber trip costs... I got a car that I had to make an immediate down payment for and my first month's car rental cost as well, and on top of that and I got a 100 dollar gift card to freakin Banana Republic... great... let's get started with my Actual experiences driving with Fair shall we?
The Fair Rental price for my car was a little over 800 dollars per month for the car which includes their Fair Insurance for the car. Except it wasn't a month to month agreement, it was weekly. SO every WEEK I had to pay 200 dollars to Fair for insurance and car rental. Ok that meant that on top of my gas costs (which was thankfully low due to me driving that Prius and stopping on the side of the road between rides) I had to pay 200 bucks every week out of what I was making as an Uber Driver... at that point I was making on average 100 dollars a day (not taking into account gas and taxes I'll have to pay), so actually with all things considered for every 100 dollars I made I had to pay 20 dollars in gas and a bit of taxes as well as income tax, so for a 10 hour work day as an Uber Driver I was making roughly 60 bucks a day. I was working EVERY DAY and driving about 10 hours a day in the hostile Los Angeles traffic, and it was a living hell... I started struggling with depression and anxiety after the first assault by a rider (which I will go into after this story with Fair), and things kept getting out of hand and it was like I had to put out fires left and right.
In any case, I was barely surviving at this point and about 2 months into driving this Prius that I rented from Fair, I got a notice on my Uber app telling me that in a month my car registration would expire. I immediately called Fair Support (waiting the typical 30 minutes to 2 hours on the phone queue like a solid American), to tell them that I needed my Fair vehicle insurance to be updated and sent to me ASAP. I was told I would get the registration in the mail within 5-7 business days... two weeks later it still didn't happen, so I called them again (waiting for another 2 hours on the phone queue), and they said that I should be patient at wait... so I waited and three days before the expiration of my car registration I called yet again... and got the same response... please wait... so I did, and after my car registration DID expire, the Uber app locked me out of being able to drive for Uber, since I had an expired car registration. Great... I couldn't work for money... but wait there more! I was still getting charged 200 dollars a week for the Fair vehicle WITH NO REGISTRATION. I called them AGAIN and AGAIN and AGAIN and AGAIN practically once a day (one time I actually had to wait for 6 hours on the phone since registration is not handled by Fair Support but by Fair Concierge and Fair Concierge is only accessed by first calling Fair Support, waiting the god awful 2 hours then transferring over to Fair Concierge and waiting for another 2 eternities to get to speak with a human... but this one time I waited 6 hours...) And finally after 4 weeks... I got my new Fair Registration and new license plates for my vehicles... and I had to pay for all 4 weeks according to this company called... wait for it... FAIR. They told me that this was indeed unfair when I called them out on it and they did what again??? You guessed it... another Banana Republic gift card that can't be used to pay Rent, can't be used to pay for Gas, and can't be used to pay for my Fair Car Rental... so it does butt fuck nothing (excuse my Americanism), unless I needed some fancy clothes in a real hurry.
SO at this point I'm severely in debt and I had a maxed out credit card, and moving forward I worked 12 hour shifts, was constantly suicidal and needed my agent to submit me to an actual audition which she hasn't done for over 8 months at that point... and of course in LA anytime you call your agent to speak with them they say "I'm too busy right now"... shit got real (excuse my Americanism).
A few months later, I spoke with my parents about potentially getting help from them to pay a down payment for a car so that I can start financing my own car and pay a lot less each month towards buying my own car, than what I was paying for an UNFAIR company's vehicle.
My mother actually flew over to where I lived in LA and she fronted me the down payment to my brand new 2020 Toyota Corolla Hybrid... and I negotiated with the dealership to get my monthly payments down to about 400 dollars a month. That was half of what I was paying Fair... and this time around this is my OWN car that I'll be paying towards instead of just a rental.
Well... This makes sense then to return my Fair Vehicle right? Yeah... you can already anticipate the stress can't you? But wait, there's more!
Not only did it take a long time for Fair Concierge to come pick up the car... (adding another extra two weeks that I had to pay for the car), but once they picked it up, they continued to charge me weekly for a vehicle I no longer had... I called repeated for Fair to stop charging me but they didn't stop charging me and said it was "included in my contract" that I had to keep paying for Fair even after returning my vehicle. I nearly thought of finding the nearest Fair company location and shooting up the place. But calmer reasoning took over and I decided to simply take this to the law. I went to Court and got all the paperwork necessary to file a Small Claims against the Fair Company. I then was told that in order to serve them and press charges against them, I have to first give them FAIR WARNING ahead of time... SO I called them repeatedly (you know... again and again.. 5 hour phone queues to speak with the correct department who can actually DO something), and then finally I gave up and emailed them instead because I needed evidence for court that I actually contacted them and notified them that if they didn't stop charging me I'm taking this to a court of law. Well, they didn't stop, but I tried something else. I called my bank. I told them about the whole situation and how I want to dispute all charges made to my account by Fair since the date when I returned my vehicle. AND I wanted to dispute all charges made to my account by Fair for the four weeks I didn't have an up to date car registration. My bank's fraud department was on my side for this and helped me out with disputing all these charges and refunding me about $1000 dollars. I provided them with all the necessary documentation including screenshots of my Uber App dates when I didn't work due to the car registration issue, the dates on my car registration both old and new. I have EVERY legal piece of evidence to win my case in court and I knew it.
And once this happened the shoe was on the other foot (so to speak in Americanism) because Fair Support started to call me for money almost 24/7. I got a kick out of that one because I left a very special voice mail response and purposefully ignored all unknown calls. I won't give you my voicemail response on here but needless to say, any Fair representative got a taste of the FAIR support treatment, and was properly served legally that "I will take you to court if you want to pursue this further, and I have all the evidence to win the case".
Eventually the calls from Fair dwindled down to maybe once in a month and I'd laugh at their face when they told me they worked for Fair. Sorry but you guys deserve to be mocked... Fair company if you see this, FUCK YOU (excuse my Americanism).
Lesson 3: Do NOT ever, and I mean EVER rent a vehicle from Fair. They are UNFAIR, have shit service, long phone queues of upwards of 6 hours if you need to talk to someone who can actually change your address or do anything to your account with them... and they charge you even after you've returned your vehicle because "it's in the contract" ... yeah don't ever rent from Fair. EVER. Let this business rot in hell.

Story 3: I got assaulted in my vehicle two separate occasions as an Uber Driver
So... around February of 2019 I drove on the super bowl weekend and the team in LA apparently lost (sorry I don't follow sports... I'm more of an esports kinda guy), and I heard about it all night while driving Uber. I've already had my fair share of drunk people as a driver and I was used to it at this time and I get a lot of rides at night on weekends just like this one or so I thought...
I pulled up to a house to pick some guy up named Bob. Bob and his friend came to my car... and well, let's just say Bob is probably over 500 lbs because it took him 10 minutes to squeeze/wedge/slam/shove himself through the door of my car, took up the entire backseat with his butt and made the entire car sink down with his weight. His friend in comparison is your healthy average American of 200 lb beer belly kinda guy. They were both drunk and talking about football and I tuned them out to drive as per usual.
Then about 5 minutes into the ride, Bob fell asleep in the back of my car and woke up confused and upset and asked "Where are you taking me?" in a panicked tone of voice. His friend reassured him "we're going to the hotel, Bob, relax!" But Bob wouldn't have any of it, no, you see, BOB here thought I might have been abducting him to prove aliens existed ... or something. I'm not a mind reader ok? But he then decided the best response was to start groping me, placing both his hands on my chest. I'm a guy... but still... don't touch my nipples??? I do NOT give consent!
Well, I asked him politely or as politely as I could manage, "sir, would you mind not touching me please?" His friend looked over his shoulder at him and went "What are you doing, Bob? It's ok, just relax".
Bob reacted in anger. He didn't like being told what to do. He didn't like that he doesn't just get to grope his Uber driver. So Bob did what he thought was best, to show people how strong he was. Bob grabbed my seat belt from behind me with both hands and started to strangle me.
I was at this point driving on the 118 high way and I was going around 55 miles per hour. I started to see stars, and I tried desperately to free my airway while maintaining control of my car (This was the orange toyota Prius I was renting from Fair). I thought in my mind, "Oh shit, so this is how it ends... how undignified".... and I was almost about to pass out but I got some more circulation because Bob's friend was helping me pull the seatbelt down... I also pulled down so that instead of it being on my neck it was on my collarbone, and I could breath again but barely, the seatbelt was pressed against my collar bone with enough force to feel like I was in a major car accident, except Bob kept crushing it against me by leaning back with it and pulling with his weight. I thought about pulling over... even just abandoning the vehicle to run for my life... but instead I was in a state of shock and drove them to their destination which was a hotel...
Uber had another customer lined up for me... so I took the next rider in a slightly dazed and confused state... I was probably not safe to drive at that point but I wasn't even really aware... I was kind of on auto pilot at that point, but I told the next drunk passenger what happened, and she said she was the wife of a cop, and that I should call the cops immediately. So after I dropped HER off I called 911, and the police came to where I lived and got my report, and took pictures of my now bruised collarbone and neck area. I was asked if I wanted to press charges and I said I did, and they told me I'd hear from the District Attorney's office in about 3 weeks.
I waited... Nothing ... The DA's office never reached out to me...
I was depressed and had PTSD from this incident and it was so bad that I couldn't go out the next day to get back to work as an Uber Driver. I couldn't go out to work the day after that... nor the next week... I had to take a full month off. My roommates (one of whom was the house mom sorta, and was rather Jewish in both descent and behavior) instead of showing sympathy or being compassionate was trying to evict me or threatening to since I was late on rent, and I had to call my mom to help me at the time with rent.
I tried to work up the courage to drive again, but for that whole month the best I could do was sit in my car and cry.
And guess what? Wouldn't you know it... because wait... there's more.
The very first night I started to feel better enough to go drive again... the very first customer that night, was a drunk guy... who held a switch blade to my throat.
Yup... it went something like this... he got in... he asked where I'm from in a friendly tone... both him and his friend were drunk off their ass and having a good time. I told him I'm from the Bay Area from northern california and they said "NorCal? You better not say Hella". I'm like, "Ok, sure thing, I won't say Hella" because I suppose it's a bit of a stereotype that Northern Californians like to say "hella" like "oh that's Hella cool man!" for extra emphasis. And I took it in stride and laughed and said I won't say hella if it bothered him, and actually I don't say it that often anymore anyways since I've been living in LA for acting.
But then he pulled out his switch blade and held it to my throat. "Don't fucking say hella".
"I won't dude."
"Don't you fucking say it! I'm warning you!"
"I won't say it..."
I just kept driving, hands on the wheel, eyes on the road... my heart actually stopped dead at one point. My mind was just a total blank.
This guy literally drops his knife on seat next to me on his way out of my car when I dropped him off... I looked at him and asked him to "please remove your knife from my car" and nodded to it... I could have driven off with it as evidence... but I just... was done at this point. He looked at the knife then back at me... then paused and realized at that moment what he just did. I waited for what seemed like 10 minutes as he stood there eyeing me...
I mean, I actually wasn't scared for my life this time. Not because I wasn't in any danger, but he was drunk and thought this whole time that this was a joke and that he was using his knife for emphasis. That was what my read on the situation was, and that was why I wasn't driving away in a panic. I wasn't scared for my life in that moment, and I just wanted to be done with him...
He took his knife from my car and closed the door, and tipped me on the app. I drove off. And didn't drive for another week. But I was financially destitute and in debt and living off of food stamps at this point so I had to get back on the road despite the PTSD... in fact, the next time I got a Bob as a customer for my "next ride", I promptly pulled over, almost threw up, and declined the ride.
I eventually called the DA's (District Attorney)'s office to see what's going on and what's taking them so long to let me press charges. I found out my case was dropped. Dropped?! I was told that there's no evidence...
I was outraged. I had all the evidence in the world. I had my Uber app which documents the ride took place. I have his address. I have his name. I have the time stamp of when the ride started, when the ride ended, and I also have the timestamp for the police report, not to mention they took photos of my neck injury.
And I called the person in charge of my case... some guy named Minoui... He told me he dropped the case because Bob had a witness and it was his friend who testified that nothing happened. That this case was just a he said she said at this point. I told him about the pile of evidence I had on my side and how I didn't even get asked by the DA my side of the story or whether I had evidence and that I have a PHOTO of my injuries. He said "oh" like he didn't realize that, then said that the case is closed, that he has years of experience (Tone of voice was condescending like he was talking to a kid) and that even if we put this in front of a judge we can't get a conviction because the jury has to vote unanimously. I told him I wanted it in a court of law anyway and that he didn't have the right to be judge and jury for my case, and then he told me rudely that he did as a DA and hung up on me. I tried to "speak to a manager" by calling his higher up, and his higher up just backed him up... told me I had no case, that the guy had no priors so he's "unimpeachable", I told him " so I can just go out and murder someone and you don't even put my case in a court because I have no priors so I'm UNIMPEACHABLE?" He said there's not enough evidence of injury, that I didn't have a doctor's diagnosis, nor do I have video evidence. I didn't bring up that the guy was WHITE and I'm a minority (Asian) but essentially that's what it felt was going on at that point in the conversation, and I just hung up on this prick, I then called the County Superintendent/Supervisers... Super something ... Board of Trustteess? Fuck I don't know, important douchebags paid to look important who signs off on paperwork that affects the lives of many. Some librarian told me that's who is in charge of the DA schmucks. SO I called them and THEY told me that it was perfectly in the right of the DA to decide what gets put in front of a judge and what doesn't get put in front of a judge and please stop swearing. I told them they can go... well you know what I told them (excuse my Americanism).
It was at this point I also called Uber Support for further evidence. Some Indian guy with a heavy accent replied on the phone and said "I'm bery bery sori sir, but I cunt dew anyting about dis, but I understand your frustratin' and I cunt halp yew with dis. We cannot give out information about our passengers". I was just asking for information to use as proof to reopen my case mind you, but they just wouldn't budge on the phone with me, so THAT's how much Uber cares for the safety of their drivers... ZILCH... NADA, UBER DON'T GIVE A CRAP ABOUT THE PEOPLE WHO MAKE THEM THEIR MONEY.
Lesson 4: I put a camera in my car now on my dash and I point it directly at me for my own protection whenever I drive now... that's the only way you can prove some white drunk asshole strangled you in your car apparently. If you're a minority and you drive ride share, I suggest you do the same. If you're white, you don't worry about a thing, the law's got your back.
submitted by Howhowhathere to rideshare [link] [comments]


2020.02.12 18:34 taynesflarhgunnstow Scammer(s) Impersonating Travis County Sheriff's Department

Earlier this morning, a man who identified himself as "Lieutenant Joe Daniel of the Travis County Sheriff's Department" called my wife's cell phone and claimed she had two outstanding warrants for failing to appear for jury duty. He demanded she meet him to pay a fine or he would send deputies to arrest her.
She placed the man on hold and called me, suspecting it was a scam. I agreed and had her tell him to call her "attorney" (me). She provided the scammer with my work number and advised him to contact her attorney.
Somewhat surprisingly, the scammer called my phone number within a few minutes. He repeated his narrative about being "Lieutenant Joe Daniel" and confirmed that I was representing my wife in this matter. He seemed fairly self-assured until I had him repeat his name and rank, and advised I'd be recording the call. He immediately hung up. Caller ID showed his number as 512-854-9244. That number is the number for the Travis County Criminal Courts office.
When reporting the scam to the real Travis County Sheriff's Department, the operator said the department was aware of the scam. I'm sure there have been prior iterations of this scam, but it was the first I'd heard of it. Stay vigilant, folks!
Update: conferred with my wife when I got home and she had additional details. The scammer gave her the supposed date her jury summons was mailed (January 4, 2020) and the date of the purported jury service missed (February 4, 2020). He asked whether she had ever had problems receiving her mail, which she denied. He mentioned that in addition to paying the fine, she would need to execute an affidavit stating she'd not received the jury summons in the mail. The scammer then said "Judge Harris" (no such judge in Travis County civil or criminal district courts) had issued a citation for contempt of court and a separate warrant for failure to pay the citation. She couldn't recall all of the legal jargon he used, but said he had a facility with the terminology that lent some credence to his story. He then said she'd have to come to 5555 Airport (a Travis County government building adjacent to the tax office) and pay the fines today.
Appears to be a fairly sophisticated scam. While my wife wasn't duped, the scammer's presentation and spoofed phone number had her momentarily doubting whether the call was legitimate.
submitted by taynesflarhgunnstow to Austin [link] [comments]


2019.07.31 02:06 anti-ZOG-sci-fry Forever on the Non-Event Horizon

Forever on the Non-Event Horizon
by Jayge 8^J
Historians cite Socrates saying, "Wisdom begins in wonder." and Khalil Gibran saying, "Perplexity is the beginning of knowledge." "Know Thyself" predates them and was inscribed at Delphi.
Alice Wunderkind grew up in an artificial community of scientists and engineers on the grounds of Los Alamos National Laboratory. Her grandfather worked there on the Manhattan Project in the early 1940s and both her parents Leo and Lane had careers that involved migration among various cyclotron, synchrotron, linear, and other accelerator facilities in the high energy physics network. When her mom took a yearlong sabbatical at CERN in Switzerland, 17-year-old Alice opted to join her for a change of pace in Europe.
Immediately envisioning layovers in exiting cities like New York, London, or Paris, she was brought down to Earth when Lane told her, "We won't be in any city long enough to leave the airport. Trust me, you'll just want to get there." Still, the mundaneness of switching planes in Denver and DC was quite a jolt for her, but at least this route let them stay with the same airline.
At first, she intended to bring her pet rabbit Bunsai along, but the rigors of travel and quarantine seemed too much to put him through so she entrusted his care to Leo and printed detailed instructions for him. Recalling his scientific absent-mindedness, she asked her classmate friend Abby to periodically check on Bunsai's welfare.
Of all days to leave, they were scheduled to depart Albuquerque 7:10am 21 August 2017, total solar eclipse day, and wouldn't arrive in Geneva until 7:40 the following morning. If they were to see the eclipse at all, it was likely within an hour after they leave Denver. For just over 90 minutes the Moon's darkest shadow would race across America, revealing the Sun's corona to 5 state capitals (flights: 7:10a-8:29a, 10:55a-4:19p, 5:30p-7:40a ; totality: 10:17a PDT - 2:47p EDT ; 5 state capitals: Salem OR, Lincoln NE, Jefferson City MO, Nashville TN, Columbia SC).
Their first flight left on time and arrived in Denver about 8:30 with over 150 minutes until their next leg. Lane was preoccupied with emails to colleagues so Alice said she'd wander around. "Just make sure you're back in time," was all she was told.
Monday morning was quiet at Denver International Airport which Alice renamed "Dead In Arrival" with its airport code DEN rechristened "Dead Extraterrestrial Nexus." None of the duty free shops were open yet so she meandered thru the terminal until she found a short vacant hallway and an unlocked door. A well-lit stairway led down several flights to a cavernous space flanked with large machinery she couldn't identify and a steady hum of power generation.
Little did Alice know that a 2004 Freedom of Information Act (FOIA) request revealed "that United Airlines, Inc. is involved in a DOD Air Transportation Program likely connected to COG [Continuity of Government]. This contract would allow United Airlines to fly VIPs, sitting Senators, Congressmen, and top-level officials to-and-from the main COG hub located on DIA grounds."
DIA is infamous for its artwork which fuels conspiracists: "Blucifer," the Murderous Mustang; unnerving "Vorticity"; "Interior Garden," said to cover an Illuminati bunker; multi-paneled "Children of the World Dream of Peace" filled with Freemason symbolism including a machine-gun-armed soldier impaling a dove; "In Peace and Harmony with Nature" contrasting bountifulness and diversity of natural life with extinction of animals and cultures; "Balustrade"; gargoyles, and more.
Alice was woefully unprepared for what she saw next. Door BE64B opened onto an illuminated sleek Maglev rail platform whose tracks vanished in the gloom beyond. Signage was plentiful, but arcane, abstruse and resembled nothing with which she was familiar. It felt otherworldly alien. Where did it lead and for whom was it built? Parts of Alice didn't want to know. She meandered onto the platform and peered at the map sign, which vaguely looked like a cross between a flowchart and a ragged spider's web. Did it symbolize a subway network? she wondered. If so, where were the other nodes? What could be the main trunk wove from lower left to upper right with dozens of branches in all directions. Suddenly, an insight clicked. Was this an underground U.S. map? The idea sent chills running up and down her spine.
Just then, a Humvee rounded one of the platform's structures and sped in her direction, its high beams penetrating her surrounding zone of comfort. Time to retrace her steps pronto! She ran to the spot she entered this level. On its inner side the door read T-47 M and she began leaping up the stairs 2 and 3 at a time. How many stairwells had she descended? She didn't know.
At a certain point in her ascent, the stairs felt different so she knew she was back at the terminal concourse where she started. Mixed jog-walking over to the TSA booths, she strode up to the one for passengers without carry-on luggage and handed the agent her ticket. He gave it a quick once-over, then waived her through. A couple of minutes later she found her mother, much like she had left her. "You look flushed. Are you OK?" Deciding now was not the time to reveal what she had witnessed, she just nodded and slumped into a nearby seat. The minutes passed slowly and eventually their flight to DC was announced ready for boarding.
While taxiing, a flight attendant demonstrated seatbelt operation and pointed out the exits, but who really pays attention? Soon they were airborne and the captain did his cursory welcome with weather report and announced they would fly through both the penumbra and umbra moon shadows. Because of their Eastward speed, they would experience totality slightly longer than those on the ground. He said to enjoy the twilight effect and cautioned not to look at the sun at all, which was unlikely unless the plane banked because the sun and moon would be nearly overhead. Great, thought Alice. A solar eclipse of a lifetime without even seeing it. Lane pulled out her tablet and accessed NASA's Live Stream of the event and they watched it together.
The sky darkened slowly and then suddenly it was twilight with a few stars and planets visible for about 2 minutes before the process reversed. Alice experienced the oddest feeling of her young life and clung close to her mother. Later, the captain mentioned they were flying over the nexus of the Mississippi, Missouri, Illinois, and Ohio Rivers, which looked like greenish-brown ribbons from 35,000 feet. Alice dozed for a while and then they began the descent into DC's Reagan airport. Lane pointed out various landmarks that Alice was seeing for the first time.
Rested and with a couple of hours to kill, Alice again opted to stroll around. DCA she quickly repurposed as Dunce Cap Actor since Reagan was said to not be very bright. This time the duty free shops were open, but she soon grew bored of them and found herself people-watching. She wondered how many were politicians and imagined conversations she might have with them. At one point a phalanx of Secret Service agents, quite obvious by their suits, shades, and earpieces, hastened by with merely a glance Alice's way. It didn't appear they were accompanying any VIP, but she thought she glimpsed 2 of them momentarily shape-shift, yet she couldn't be sure. She tried to nonchalantly follow them, but a fierce rearward glare from one of the 'shape-shifters' nixed that idea.
Despite the aura of jetset elite, airport terminals were universally bland and tedious. Some tried to liven up the experience of waiting for flights with flashy artwork, but that technique was marginally successful at best. A display describing the city's prominent monuments next caught her eye so she dawdled there awhile. The Masonic symbol graced the bottom of the text with its distinctive capital G inside a compass opened to 47° and a builder's square, signifying both the 47th Problem of Euclid on basing a square and the 47° arc of the tropics, 23.5° North and South of the Equator. She noted that the Washington Monument, the largest stone obelisk in the world, was 555 feet, 5 and an eighth inches tall. "There are 132 rooms, 32 bathrooms, and 6 levels to accommodate all the people who live in, work in, and visit the White House. There are also 412 doors, 147 windows, 28 fireplaces, 7 staircases, and 3 elevators."
Stifling a yawn, Alice returned to where she left her mom, but Lane wasn't there. Restroom was her first thought so she waited a few minutes, then went off in search of her. Reagan was a big airport in which to locate someone. She found her at a bank of windows with a partial view of a departure runway. In single file jetliners awaited their turn to throttle up and take to the sky. They watched together silently until soon it was time for theirs.
Settling in, Alice had the window seat so after takeoff, as the skies darkened for the 2nd time that day, the myriad of lights reminded her of star clusters. Haze prevented her from seeing more than 100 miles or so, but that was enough. Dinner and beverages were served, then the movie began, Guardians of the Galaxy, vol. 2. It was just OK. Green, blue, metallic, animal, and insect characters, meh, but Baby Groot was kinda cute voiced by Vin Diesel.
Alice awoke from restless sleep not long after Europe was visible below. A CERN driver met them in baggage claim with a cart so they only carried what they wished and walked with him to the lot. The drive to CERN's campus was quiet and Alice pressed her nose to the window eager to see her new surroundings.
"CERN is built on the former site of a temple to Apollyon, who is referenced in the book of Revelation as the king of the horde of the 'bottomless pit'. Scripture says the key to the pit will be given in the end times and when it is opened something terrible will come through. There is documented evidence that CERN seeks to open doors to other dimensions, they openly admit it. They have also released videos which indicate these intentions, along with other occult messages, as well as erecting the statue of Shiva (the destroyer) who is synonymous with Satan (according to occult scholars).
All of this combined with other prophecy being fulfilled in modern times is an overwhelming sign of the times. People need to do a little digging and open their eyes, no need to take anyone's word for it, the evidence is all there.
Unfortunately most just scoff at the idea of anything beyond their well-programmed existence, they trust in the 'wisdom' of men and science. They put their faith in what they can see but don't realize that most of what they see is manufactured deception, making them blind to the truth.
The LHC will not generate black holes in the cosmological sense. However, some theories suggest that the formation of tiny ‘quantum’ black holes may be possible. The observation of such an event would be thrilling in terms of our understanding of the Universe; and would be perfectly safe.
As far as we know, we live in four dimensions, three of space and one of time. But experimentalists at the Large Hadron Collider are looking for evidence that the universe contains more than that. The existence of extra dimensions could explain some puzzling properties of the universe.
Physicists know about four forces that govern the way particles interact: electromagnetism, the strong and weak nuclear forces, and gravity. Gravity is by far the weakest. Think about sticking a magnet to a refrigerator door. The magnet can respond to the electromagnetic force that attracts it to the door. Or it can respond to the gravitational force of the Earth below. If you let it go at a short enough distance, it sticks straight to the door, ignoring the entire planet beneath it.
Physicists wonder why gravity seems so much weaker than the other three forces. One possibility is that we’re only experiencing a fraction of it. It could be that the gravitational force acts partially in another dimension, or many extra dimensions, that we can’t perceive. Knowing more about gravity could help physicists seeking to form a so-called theory of everything, a theory that combines the four forces into one.
Extra dimensions would not necessarily consist of alternate worlds, as depicted in science fiction. They could simply be too small for us to see. To understand how this would work, imagine walking along a tightrope. You are able to move only forwards and backwards without falling. In this situation, it is almost as if you exist in just one dimension of space.
However, an ant walking along the same tightrope has a different point of view. The ant is able to move forwards and backwards but also around the tightrope. To such a small creature, a tightrope exists in two spatial dimensions instead of just one.
Even if extra dimensions are small, they can still have an effect on how we experience the world. Scientists think that finding evidence of extra dimensions could help answer some of their questions about gravity, still one of the most mysterious forces in the universe.
Finding evidence of extra dimensions could also give credence to theories of physics beyond the Standard Model. Models of string theory, for example, require the existence of at least 11 dimensions.
Discovering extra dimensions could give scientists clues about the mysterious workings of gravity and could help them to unify the forces or determine the validity of string theory. It could also raise more questions about ways other dimensions shape the world around us." from mydailyinformer.com.
Lurelena Klerwing grew up ever in the shadow of her famous TV actor cousin and it drove her crazy. He played the "Fonz", ultra-cool, vain biker bro and babe-magnet with his trademark "Heyyy", but it was all a façade. In reality, she was a chic whiz MS, while he was just an NYC Jewish mama's boy, who couldn't ride a motorbike without crashing it. She felt like she had to overachieve to prove herself, with dual doctorates in nuclear and computer engineering to get recognition. As a post-doc she worked in high energy physics laboratories, currently as CERN Data Centre Director responsible for server farm evolution. This too was a stepping stone to overcome Fonz envy.: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=JQc9L2RbQkw
Arrival day for Lane and Alice at the main Meyrin site was fortuitous because the proton beams had been aligned and were ready for collision. The ATLAS detector was conducting an experiment. "A search for the direct production of charginos and neutalinos in final stages with at least two hadronically decaying tau leptons is presented. The analysis uses a dataset of pp collisions corresponding to an integrated luminosity of 36.1 fb^-1 recorded with the ATLAS detector at the Large Hadron Collider at a center-of-mass energy of √s = 13 TeV. No significant deviation from the Standard Model background expectation is observed. Limits are derived in scenarios of..." Alice was delighted to discover her namesake "ALICE (A Large Ion Collider Experiment)...a heavy-ion detector on the Large Hadron Collider (LHC) ring" for detecting "quark-gluon plasma, a state of matter thought to have formed just after the big bang."
The anomaly occurred just as engineers were incrementally raising luminosity to 14 TeV. Lights flickered and the steady hum of the ring subsided. Dismay played upon the visage of several technicians. Something was wrong. Later they'd learn that tachyons had interrupted the beam with quirky consequences. It'll take those gomers days to be ready again for my services, Lurelena mused. Might as well pack some lederhosen, go climb Jungfrau, and hone my yodel. In her cross-dressing family, she donned the pants while Heinrich wore skirts. She also preferred indoor work environments where she could see her breath, what she called her Deep Freeze. In Nerd Labs Land she was known as the Frigid Witch with a Kelvin Switch. They tended to avoid her Deep Freeze zone as much as they could, which was just as well with her.
Lane indicated they had best leave the ring area for their hotel room in Building 39 on the surface. She decided it was best to send Alice home sooner than planned. That night Alice had trouble sleeping and got up to wander the compound, marveling at all she had experienced so far. In the square was a 2m tall bronze sculpture of Hindu Śiva Nataraja 'lord of dance'. "A special plaque next to the Shiva statue at CERN explains the significance of the metaphor of Shiva’s cosmic dance with several quotations from The Tao of Physics. Here is the text of the plaque: [Known as the Nataraja, this particular form of the Dancing Shiva is one of the greatest gifts to the world of art. Shiva symbolises "Shakti" or life force, in the Hindu Trinity. He is the Creator, the Sustainer, and the Destroyer. Beyond the Nataraja's artistic form lies a profound meaning to be comprehended at many levels. The Nataraja in Ananda Tandava shows Him dancing the universe into existence, sustaining it with His rhythm and dancing it to extinction. Creation is sparked by the vibration of the drum in the right hand; protection of sustenance by the open palm of the front right arm, a gesture of assurance that grants freedom from fear. The fire in the left arm dissolves the universe while the front left arm points downward to the lifted left leg, the solace of the worlds. The dwarf representing ignorance is trampled under the right leg. The aureole represents the cosmos, the sun, moon and stars revolving in perpetual and fiery motion.] Ananda K. Coomaraswamy, seeing beyond the unsurpassed rhythm, beauty, power and grace of the Nataraja, once wrote of it “It is the clearest image of the activity of God which any art or religion can boast of.” More recently, Fritjof Capra explained that “Modern physics has shown that the rhythm of creation and destruction is not only manifest in the turn of the seasons and in the birth and death of all living creatures, but is also the very essence of inorganic matter,” and that “For the modern physicists, then, Shiva’s dance is the dance of subatomic matter.” It is indeed as Capra concluded: “Hundreds of years ago, Indian artists created visual images of dancing Shivas in a beautiful series of bronzes. In our time, physicists have used the most advanced technology to portray the patterns of the cosmic dance. The metaphor of the cosmic dance thus unifies ancient mythology, religious art and modern physics.”" http://www.sanskritimagazine.com/vedic_science/shivas-cosmic-dance-nataraj-at-cern/ and https://hinduexistence.org/2012/07/14/god-particle-cern-lord-shiva-nataraj/
At midnight she began returning to their quarters, when she witnessed from the staircase window a bizarre scene, a solemn procession of black-clad acolytes approach Nataraja and conduct a mock satanic ritual blood sacrifice of a young woman. Access to the square was only through security gates so, whoever these dark figures were, they were authorized to be there. The next day a video appeared on Facebook made from the 3rd floor stairwell of CERN's office Building 40 across the square from the hotel. Bedlam erupted online over the video so CERN officials had to issue a statement proclaiming it a prank. The Guardian oddly reported the incident, "Spokeswoman at high temple of particle physics suggests ‘scientific users’ of the Geneva facility ‘let their humour go too far’ with staging of occult rite...The European Organisation for Nuclear Research (Cern) has launched an investigation into a video filmed at night on its Geneva campus depicting a mock ritual human sacrifice. The video, which circulated online, shows several individuals in black cloaks gathering in a main square at Europe’s top physics lab, in what appears to be a re-enactment of an occult ceremony. The video includes the staged “stabbing” of a woman. It is filmed from the perspective of a secret viewer watching from a window above who, as the ceremony reaches its climax, lets out a string of expletives and flees with the camera still running. The ceremony appears to have been staged in front of a statue of the Hindu deity Shiva that is on permanent display at the complex, home of the Large Hadron Collider. “These scenes were filmed on our premises but without official permission or knowledge,” a Cern spokeswoman told Agence France-Presse in an email. “Cern does not condone this type of spoof, which can give rise to misunderstandings about the scientific nature of our work.” The “investigation” under way was an “internal matter”, she said. The video has raised questions about security on Cern’s campus. Asked to detail the security procedures surrounding access to the campus, the Cern spokeswoman said: “Cern IDs are checked systematically at each entry to the Cern site whether it is night or day.” She further indicated that those responsible for the prank had access badges. “Cern welcomes every year thousands of scientific users from all over the world and sometimes some of them let their humour go too far. This is what happened on this occasion,” the email said. The spokeswoman was not available to comment the possible identity of those responsible. Geneva police told AFP they had been in contact with Cern about the video but were not involved in an official investigation. Cern hosts machinery carrying out some of the world’s most elaborate particle research, including an enormously powerful proton smasher trying to find previously undiscovered particles. With Agence France-Presse": https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=2M667gqmkOc&t=291s
Alice found it peculiar that CERN would conduct an "internal investigation" in which no doubt the laboratory and all ritual participants would be absolved of any wrongdoing. At its weird dedication ceremonies, Switzerland's Gotthard Base Tunnel "The world’s longest and deepest rail tunnel was unveiled with a bizarre ceremony featuring a goat-man [Baphomet] who dies and is resurrected, women simulating sex with each other and drone-like human workers marching to a rhythmic drum beat." They hired performers to enact "dramatic displays" under an all-seeing eye, enacting demonic secret society rituals, some clad in elaborate costumes, others only in underwear.: http://www.wnd.com/2016/06/new-tunnel-christened-by-bizarre-demonic-ceremony/ and https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=0QF3Kvb1u94
In general relativity, an event horizon is a boundary in spacetime beyond which events cannot affect an outside observer. In layman's terms, it is defined as 'the point of no return', i.e., the point at which the gravitational pull becomes so great as to make escape impossible. An event horizon is most commonly associated with black holes. It may represent an end of time.
The Mandela Effect likely got its name from all those who remember learning that South African anti-apartheid revolutionary Nelson Mandela died in prison. People exhibit the Mandela Effect by recalling different song lyrics, subtle logo changes, TV show details, or movie highlights. For some it can be even more dramatic: vivid memories of a celebrity death like Willie Nelson, Doris Day, Keith Richards, Carol Channing, or Zsa Zsa Gabor. Others cite Colorado Flat Tops Wilderness Area Trappers Lake Lodge, rescued by firefighters during the Big Fish fire in 2002, or only the stone fireplace and flagpole remaining. In your time stream, are there Berenstain Bears or Berenstein Bears? What does Snow White's queen say to her mirror? Does bible wine go into new bottles or new wineskins? Do lambs lay down with wolves or lions? Is the Lord's Prayer the same as you learned it? Does it say debt or trespass? How do you remember Sally Field's famous Oscar line?: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=lCnPEwvtwmY Do you recall ever seeing Sulawesi, our world's 11th-largest island? What color are C3PO's legs? What does Forrest Gump say about chocolates? In Field of Dreams, if you build it who will come? Interview with (a or the)Vampire? Sex (in or and) the City? Where did blond pig-tailed Moonraker girl Dolly's braces go? What's going on? Is it CERN? Mandela Effect: http://mandelaeffect.com/
Alice kept hoping that someday physicists would come to their senses and find a simplified description of the Cosmos without extra dimensions, black holes, quanta, and other weird stuff so normal people could understand it, but then her folks might lose their jobs.
When Abby picked her up at Albuquerque International Sunport, the first thing Alice wanted to know was, "Did my dad take good care of Bunsai?" She was not prepared for Abby's reply. "Is that your new nickname for Bonzo? Your dad couldn't have done any better. Every time I checked there was fresh food, water, and litter." Since main matters were covered, she let the name thing drop, made a mental note to tell her dad he's cool now, and inquired about new gossip. Abby wanted to hear about Europe so they bantered back and forth.
Bonzo the guinea pig just squeaked. That was unacceptable. Alice wanted Bunsai back, but no amount of bargaining, pleading, or crying would convince her parents to let her fly back to CERN. Instead, she began to formulate another option. I'm just a mirror of the milieu I perceive, she thought, so who can help me? Arkansas-born Waylor Tilson, the boy who played with fusion and netted a $50K prize for his radiation detector in 2011 at the Intel International Science and Engineering Fair in Los Angeles, was a geek girl's vision of Adonis, 23 as of this writing and living in Reno.: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=bB93E-C7OPo
She talked Abby into a Reno road trip with Bonzo in Abby's beater Dodge by paying expenses with bribe money her dad gave her to quit hounding him about CERN. After an uneventful night off the strip in Vegas and with the air conditioning at full blast, 3/4s of the way en route near Walker Lake on US Route 95, she could have sworn she spotted Marty and Doc in the DeLorean, but they vanished in a flash. At UN-Reno they quickly found Waylor's lab just by asking around. He still hung out at Davidson Academy on campus where he once took both high school and college courses for free as a prodigy. Still weighing his options, he turned down offers from the Departments of Energy and Homeland Security for the device he built cheaply that did the work of one worth tens of thousands of dollars. He imagined himself an entrepreneur like Lon Musky.: http://images.mentalfloss.com/sites/default/files/styles/article_640x430/public/obama-taylor-wilson_5.jpg
Alice walked right up to Waylor, introduced herself and Abby, and quickly described her situation. He was immediately intrigued, while at the same time awkward about interacting with 2 bright cute girls. Alice poured on the charm and soon had him committed to lending his expertise and fusion reactor to her dilemma. Unlike the huge CERN facility, in order to promulgate spacetime variations on the order of reversing species transmigrations ala Bonsai/Bonzo, he'd have to piggyback his device onto a powerful enough particle accelerator. Even the Varian K-9 accelerator at UNLV's Harry Reid Center wasn't up to the task. He closed his eyes for a few moments and grabbed his chin deep in thought. "Your answer is close to home," he blurted. "What do you mean?" she asked. "Los Alamos has a strong enough linear particle accelerator." Soon 3 humans, a fusion reactor, and a caged guinea pig were crammed into the Dodge heading East and South. The A/C began blowing less cool air, then, after a couple hundred miles, quit altogether so they rolled down all the windows.
Back on US 95, Alice kept a lookout for the DeLorean. When they got to Beatty near the Nevada Test Site at sunset, Waylor asked if they could indulge him for a couple of hours. The teens looked at one another, trying to guess what he meant. All he wanted was to find a good viewpoint to scan the sky after dark. He found a rutted track his dad had shown him and they slowly drove it with lights off up to a ridgetop where a rusty gate blocked further progress. Abby switched off the engine and they all got out, except Bonzo. Alice threw a blanket over the car's roof and they climbed up to sit there. Dusk in summer lingers so they passed the time listening to the onset of night insects, admiring the silhouette of the Sierras and welcoming the cooler air. By nightfall, stars emerged in abundant glory. Among Waylor's gadgetry were a wristband Geiger counter, a strobe flashlight, and a tiny camera. Time for some geeky freaky. Off in the distance lay Groom Lake and Area 51.
A peaceful, but uneventful, 2 hours passed, yet the experience bonded Waylor and the 2 girls as friends. They chattered like monkeys the whole time on the car's roof and during the drive back down. When they returned to US 95, they were surprised to find Martin "Marty" Seamus McFly straining to push the DeLorean along the paved shoulder. "Great Scott!", hollered Emmett Lathrop "Doc" Brown. "We'll never reach 88 mph to stop Biff in Hill Valley." Just then Marty spotted the Dodge, still with its lights out. "If you put your mind to it, Doc, you can accomplish anything. Little help here?" The others left their vehicles and walked to Marty's side. "My car can't push yours to 88 mph," Abby said, as Doc opened the DeLorean's hatch, revealing its flux capacitor, and said, "Well, if we had fission material, we wouldn't need a push." Waylor spoke up, "I've got a little in the Dodge." "Do you have any idea how much power 1.21 gigawatts is?" Doc demanded. Fingering his wrist band, Waylor hesitatingly replied, "Actually, I do." Doc replied, "Radiation detector? Of course. 'Cause of all the atomic wars."
Doc gave his usual DeLorean-as-time-machine spiel, "First, you turn the time circuits on. This one tells you where your going. This one tells you where you are. This one tells you where you were. You input your destination time on this keypad. Say you want to see the signing of the Declaration of Independence or witness the birth of Christ. Here's a red-letter date in the history of science: November 5, 1955. Of course, November 5, 1955! That was the day I invented time-travel. I remember it vividly. I was standing on the edge of my toilet hanging a clock, the porcelain was wet, I slipped, hit my head on the sink, and when I came to I had a revelation! A vision! A picture in my head! A picture of this! This is what makes time travel possible: the flux capacitor! It's taken me nearly thirty years and my entire family fortune to realize the vision of that day. My God, has it been that long? Things have certainly changed around here. I remember when this was all farmland as far as the eye could see! Old man Peabody owned all of this! He had this crazy idea about breeding pine trees."
Soon Waylor's fusion reactor was jury-rigged to the unit with promise of its safe return later at Los Alamos. Marty and Doc hopped in and sped away to stop Biff, but a Nevada state trooper was headed the opposite direction just as they accelerated and wheeled around to give chase. "Unit 54. In pursuit of speeder near mile marker 200, 10-31." he radioed. At precisely 88 mph the DeLorean dematerialized, leaving behind twin traces of fire. "Dispatch, cancel that, 10-22." No way he would report that and risk being the laughing stock at HQ, yet another bizarre sighting on this beat. A 13-acre huge silent black triangle glided overhead from the east. The only one of them to see it was Bonzo from his vantage point low in the back seat out the rear window. It was easily the eeriest thing he'd seen in his short life so he whistled in awe as the Geiger counter barely clicked.: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=frB_fXbCjes and https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=pRxbwMfe7iY
With the naiveté of youth, they chose to enjoy their next stay in Vegas and visited the glitziest attractions, before falling into bed after 3. A late afternoon start delayed a Los Alamos ETA until the following day. When they did arrived, the DeLorean and its intrepid crew were awaiting them at the rendezvous. Marty spoke first, "Good, you're back!" "Great Scott, Einstein's clock is exactly one minute behind mine and still ticking!" said Doc too loudly, as usual.
Since this was her project, Alice took charge as much as she could, but soon realized she was out of her depth when it came to linear accelerators, fusion reactors, and flux capacitors. Waylor and Doc brainstormed together, while Marty tried his luck amusing the girls without much success. They reverted to Los Alamos jargon and he found himself commiserating with Bonzo, who relived his reverie with the triangle with occasional nods and squeaks Marty's way.
Nerds seem to find the back door to any secure location and Waylor was no exception. Los Alamos may have state-of-the-art security, but that didn't stop physicist Richard Feynman from making a game of it in the '40s and not much changed in that regard since. Doc and Waylor, as offbeat as could be in normal life, fit right in as super geeks inside the laboratory. Together they fashioned passable IDs and looked like any other team of senior and junior physicist with Doc babbling incoherently and Waylor showing proper deference. They worked their way to the inner sanctum and affixed the fusion reactor to the linear accelerator to function in tandem. Soon energy levels only ever achieved at CERN were pulsing throughout the network. Waylor fine tuned his device deftly with utmost precision so Doc was duly impressed. Brows furrowed among cognoscenti, but never did any suspicion fall on the interlopers. With a flair for the dramatic, Waylor raised his left hand over his head and, like a maestro, brought it down in perfect time with an electrical hiccup that signaled a 2nd anomaly. They removed the piggybacked device and calmly exited the complex.
At Alice's home, people and pets returned to normal. "Just where have you been?" she queried the rabbit. Bonsai tried to answer her but there were no words.
"Put your hand on a hot stove for a minute, and it seems like an hour. Sit with a pretty girl for an hour, and it seems like a minute. That's relativity."—Albert Einstein. As Mahatma Gandhi once said in the midst of his campaign to create a free and self-governing India: "I have so much to do today I will need to meditate twice as long!"
submitted by anti-ZOG-sci-fry to u/anti-ZOG-sci-fry [link] [comments]


2019.07.31 00:57 anti-ZOG-sci-fry Forever on the Non-Event Horizon

Forever on the Non-Event Horizon
by Jayge 8^J
Historians cite Socrates saying, "Wisdom begins in wonder." and Khalil Gibran saying, "Perplexity is the beginning of knowledge." "Know Thyself" predates them and was inscribed at Delphi.
Alice Wunderkind grew up in an artificial community of scientists and engineers on the grounds of Los Alamos National Laboratory. Her grandfather worked there on the Manhattan Project in the early 1940s and both her parents Leo and Lane had careers that involved migration among various cyclotron, synchrotron, linear, and other accelerator facilities in the high energy physics network. When her mom took a yearlong sabbatical at CERN in Switzerland, 17-year-old Alice opted to join her for a change of pace in Europe.
Immediately envisioning layovers in exiting cities like New York, London, or Paris, she was brought down to Earth when Lane told her, "We won't be in any city long enough to leave the airport. Trust me, you'll just want to get there." Still, the mundaneness of switching planes in Denver and DC was quite a jolt for her, but at least this route let them stay with the same airline.
At first, she intended to bring her pet rabbit Bunsai along, but the rigors of travel and quarantine seemed too much to put him through so she entrusted his care to Leo and printed detailed instructions for him. Recalling his scientific absent-mindedness, she asked her classmate friend Abby to periodically check on Bunsai's welfare.
Of all days to leave, they were scheduled to depart Albuquerque 7:10am 21 August 2017, total solar eclipse day, and wouldn't arrive in Geneva until 7:40 the following morning. If they were to see the eclipse at all, it was likely within an hour after they leave Denver. For just over 90 minutes the Moon's darkest shadow would race across America, revealing the Sun's corona to 5 state capitals (flights: 7:10a-8:29a, 10:55a-4:19p, 5:30p-7:40a ; totality: 10:17a PDT - 2:47p EDT ; 5 state capitals: Salem OR, Lincoln NE, Jefferson City MO, Nashville TN, Columbia SC).
Their first flight left on time and arrived in Denver about 8:30 with over 150 minutes until their next leg. Lane was preoccupied with emails to colleagues so Alice said she'd wander around. "Just make sure you're back in time," was all she was told.
Monday morning was quiet at Denver International Airport which Alice renamed "Dead In Arrival" with its airport code DEN rechristened "Dead Extraterrestrial Nexus." None of the duty free shops were open yet so she meandered thru the terminal until she found a short vacant hallway and an unlocked door. A well-lit stairway led down several flights to a cavernous space flanked with large machinery she couldn't identify and a steady hum of power generation.
Little did Alice know that a 2004 Freedom of Information Act (FOIA) request revealed "that United Airlines, Inc. is involved in a DOD Air Transportation Program likely connected to COG [Continuity of Government]. This contract would allow United Airlines to fly VIPs, sitting Senators, Congressmen, and top-level officials to-and-from the main COG hub located on DIA grounds."
DIA is infamous for its artwork which fuels conspiracists: "Blucifer," the Murderous Mustang; unnerving "Vorticity"; "Interior Garden," said to cover an Illuminati bunker; multi-paneled "Children of the World Dream of Peace" filled with Freemason symbolism including a machine-gun-armed soldier impaling a dove; "In Peace and Harmony with Nature" contrasting bountifulness and diversity of natural life with extinction of animals and cultures; "Balustrade"; gargoyles, and more.
Alice was woefully unprepared for what she saw next. Door BE64B opened onto an illuminated sleek Maglev rail platform whose tracks vanished in the gloom beyond. Signage was plentiful, but arcane, abstruse and resembled nothing with which she was familiar. It felt otherworldly alien. Where did it lead and for whom was it built? Parts of Alice didn't want to know. She meandered onto the platform and peered at the map sign, which vaguely looked like a cross between a flowchart and a ragged spider's web. Did it symbolize a subway network? she wondered. If so, where were the other nodes? What could be the main trunk wove from lower left to upper right with dozens of branches in all directions. Suddenly, an insight clicked. Was this an underground U.S. map? The idea sent chills running up and down her spine.
Just then, a Humvee rounded one of the platform's structures and sped in her direction, its high beams penetrating her surrounding zone of comfort. Time to retrace her steps pronto! She ran to the spot she entered this level. On its inner side the door read T-47 M and she began leaping up the stairs 2 and 3 at a time. How many stairwells had she descended? She didn't know.
At a certain point in her ascent, the stairs felt different so she knew she was back at the terminal concourse where she started. Mixed jog-walking over to the TSA booths, she strode up to the one for passengers without carry-on luggage and handed the agent her ticket. He gave it a quick once-over, then waived her through. A couple of minutes later she found her mother, much like she had left her. "You look flushed. Are you OK?" Deciding now was not the time to reveal what she had witnessed, she just nodded and slumped into a nearby seat. The minutes passed slowly and eventually their flight to DC was announced ready for boarding.
While taxiing, a flight attendant demonstrated seatbelt operation and pointed out the exits, but who really pays attention? Soon they were airborne and the captain did his cursory welcome with weather report and announced they would fly through both the penumbra and umbra moon shadows. Because of their Eastward speed, they would experience totality slightly longer than those on the ground. He said to enjoy the twilight effect and cautioned not to look at the sun at all, which was unlikely unless the plane banked because the sun and moon would be nearly overhead. Great, thought Alice. A solar eclipse of a lifetime without even seeing it. Lane pulled out her tablet and accessed NASA's Live Stream of the event and they watched it together.
The sky darkened slowly and then suddenly it was twilight with a few stars and planets visible for about 2 minutes before the process reversed. Alice experienced the oddest feeling of her young life and clung close to her mother. Later, the captain mentioned they were flying over the nexus of the Mississippi, Missouri, Illinois, and Ohio Rivers, which looked like greenish-brown ribbons from 35,000 feet. Alice dozed for a while and then they began the descent into DC's Reagan airport. Lane pointed out various landmarks that Alice was seeing for the first time.
Rested and with a couple of hours to kill, Alice again opted to stroll around. DCA she quickly repurposed as Dunce Cap Actor since Reagan was said to not be very bright. This time the duty free shops were open, but she soon grew bored of them and found herself people-watching. She wondered how many were politicians and imagined conversations she might have with them. At one point a phalanx of Secret Service agents, quite obvious by their suits, shades, and earpieces, hastened by with merely a glance Alice's way. It didn't appear they were accompanying any VIP, but she thought she glimpsed 2 of them momentarily shape-shift, yet she couldn't be sure. She tried to nonchalantly follow them, but a fierce rearward glare from one of the 'shape-shifters' nixed that idea.
Despite the aura of jetset elite, airport terminals were universally bland and tedious. Some tried to liven up the experience of waiting for flights with flashy artwork, but that technique was marginally successful at best. A display describing the city's prominent monuments next caught her eye so she dawdled there awhile. The Masonic symbol graced the bottom of the text with its distinctive capital G inside a compass opened to 47° and a builder's square, signifying both the 47th Problem of Euclid on basing a square and the 47° arc of the tropics, 23.5° North and South of the Equator. She noted that the Washington Monument, the largest stone obelisk in the world, was 555 feet, 5 and an eighth inches tall. "There are 132 rooms, 32 bathrooms, and 6 levels to accommodate all the people who live in, work in, and visit the White House. There are also 412 doors, 147 windows, 28 fireplaces, 7 staircases, and 3 elevators."
Stifling a yawn, Alice returned to where she left her mom, but Lane wasn't there. Restroom was her first thought so she waited a few minutes, then went off in search of her. Reagan was a big airport in which to locate someone. She found her at a bank of windows with a partial view of a departure runway. In single file jetliners awaited their turn to throttle up and take to the sky. They watched together silently until soon it was time for theirs.
Settling in, Alice had the window seat so after takeoff, as the skies darkened for the 2nd time that day, the myriad of lights reminded her of star clusters. Haze prevented her from seeing more than 100 miles or so, but that was enough. Dinner and beverages were served, then the movie began, Guardians of the Galaxy, vol. 2. It was just OK. Green, blue, metallic, animal, and insect characters, meh, but Baby Groot was kinda cute voiced by Vin Diesel.
Alice awoke from restless sleep not long after Europe was visible below. A CERN driver met them in baggage claim with a cart so they only carried what they wished and walked with him to the lot. The drive to CERN's campus was quiet and Alice pressed her nose to the window eager to see her new surroundings.
"CERN is built on the former site of a temple to Apollyon, who is referenced in the book of Revelation as the king of the horde of the 'bottomless pit'. Scripture says the key to the pit will be given in the end times and when it is opened something terrible will come through. There is documented evidence that CERN seeks to open doors to other dimensions, they openly admit it. They have also released videos which indicate these intentions, along with other occult messages, as well as erecting the statue of Shiva (the destroyer) who is synonymous with Satan (according to occult scholars).
All of this combined with other prophecy being fulfilled in modern times is an overwhelming sign of the times. People need to do a little digging and open their eyes, no need to take anyone's word for it, the evidence is all there.
Unfortunately most just scoff at the idea of anything beyond their well-programmed existence, they trust in the 'wisdom' of men and science. They put their faith in what they can see but don't realize that most of what they see is manufactured deception, making them blind to the truth.
The LHC will not generate black holes in the cosmological sense. However, some theories suggest that the formation of tiny ‘quantum’ black holes may be possible. The observation of such an event would be thrilling in terms of our understanding of the Universe; and would be perfectly safe.
As far as we know, we live in four dimensions, three of space and one of time. But experimentalists at the Large Hadron Collider are looking for evidence that the universe contains more than that. The existence of extra dimensions could explain some puzzling properties of the universe.
Physicists know about four forces that govern the way particles interact: electromagnetism, the strong and weak nuclear forces, and gravity. Gravity is by far the weakest. Think about sticking a magnet to a refrigerator door. The magnet can respond to the electromagnetic force that attracts it to the door. Or it can respond to the gravitational force of the Earth below. If you let it go at a short enough distance, it sticks straight to the door, ignoring the entire planet beneath it.
Physicists wonder why gravity seems so much weaker than the other three forces. One possibility is that we’re only experiencing a fraction of it. It could be that the gravitational force acts partially in another dimension, or many extra dimensions, that we can’t perceive. Knowing more about gravity could help physicists seeking to form a so-called theory of everything, a theory that combines the four forces into one.
Extra dimensions would not necessarily consist of alternate worlds, as depicted in science fiction. They could simply be too small for us to see. To understand how this would work, imagine walking along a tightrope. You are able to move only forwards and backwards without falling. In this situation, it is almost as if you exist in just one dimension of space.
However, an ant walking along the same tightrope has a different point of view. The ant is able to move forwards and backwards but also around the tightrope. To such a small creature, a tightrope exists in two spatial dimensions instead of just one.
Even if extra dimensions are small, they can still have an effect on how we experience the world. Scientists think that finding evidence of extra dimensions could help answer some of their questions about gravity, still one of the most mysterious forces in the universe.
Finding evidence of extra dimensions could also give credence to theories of physics beyond the Standard Model. Models of string theory, for example, require the existence of at least 11 dimensions.
Discovering extra dimensions could give scientists clues about the mysterious workings of gravity and could help them to unify the forces or determine the validity of string theory. It could also raise more questions about ways other dimensions shape the world around us." from mydailyinformer.com.
Lurelena Klerwing grew up ever in the shadow of her famous TV actor cousin and it drove her crazy. He played the "Fonz", ultra-cool, vain biker bro and babe-magnet with his trademark "Heyyy", but it was all a façade. In reality, she was a chic whiz MS, while he was just an NYC Jewish mama's boy, who couldn't ride a motorbike without crashing it. She felt like she had to overachieve to prove herself, with dual doctorates in nuclear and computer engineering to get recognition. As a post-doc she worked in high energy physics laboratories, currently as CERN Data Centre Director responsible for server farm evolution. This too was a stepping stone to overcome Fonz envy.: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=JQc9L2RbQkw
Arrival day for Lane and Alice at the main Meyrin site was fortuitous because the proton beams had been aligned and were ready for collision. The ATLAS detector was conducting an experiment. "A search for the direct production of charginos and neutalinos in final stages with at least two hadronically decaying tau leptons is presented. The analysis uses a dataset of pp collisions corresponding to an integrated luminosity of 36.1 fb^-1 recorded with the ATLAS detector at the Large Hadron Collider at a center-of-mass energy of √s = 13 TeV. No significant deviation from the Standard Model background expectation is observed. Limits are derived in scenarios of..." Alice was delighted to discover her namesake "ALICE (A Large Ion Collider Experiment)...a heavy-ion detector on the Large Hadron Collider (LHC) ring" for detecting "quark-gluon plasma, a state of matter thought to have formed just after the big bang."
The anomaly occurred just as engineers were incrementally raising luminosity to 14 TeV. Lights flickered and the steady hum of the ring subsided. Dismay played upon the visage of several technicians. Something was wrong. Later they'd learn that tachyons had interrupted the beam with quirky consequences. It'll take those gomers days to be ready again for my services, Lurelena mused. Might as well pack some lederhosen, go climb Jungfrau, and hone my yodel. In her cross-dressing family, she donned the pants while Heinrich wore skirts. She also preferred indoor work environments where she could see her breath, what she called her Deep Freeze. In Nerd Labs Land she was known as the Frigid Witch with a Kelvin Switch. They tended to avoid her Deep Freeze zone as much as they could, which was just as well with her.
Lane indicated they had best leave the ring area for their hotel room in Building 39 on the surface. She decided it was best to send Alice home sooner than planned. That night Alice had trouble sleeping and got up to wander the compound, marveling at all she had experienced so far. In the square was a 2m tall bronze sculpture of Hindu Śiva Nataraja 'lord of dance'. "A special plaque next to the Shiva statue at CERN explains the significance of the metaphor of Shiva’s cosmic dance with several quotations from The Tao of Physics. Here is the text of the plaque: [Known as the Nataraja, this particular form of the Dancing Shiva is one of the greatest gifts to the world of art. Shiva symbolises "Shakti" or life force, in the Hindu Trinity. He is the Creator, the Sustainer, and the Destroyer. Beyond the Nataraja's artistic form lies a profound meaning to be comprehended at many levels. The Nataraja in Ananda Tandava shows Him dancing the universe into existence, sustaining it with His rhythm and dancing it to extinction. Creation is sparked by the vibration of the drum in the right hand; protection of sustenance by the open palm of the front right arm, a gesture of assurance that grants freedom from fear. The fire in the left arm dissolves the universe while the front left arm points downward to the lifted left leg, the solace of the worlds. The dwarf representing ignorance is trampled under the right leg. The aureole represents the cosmos, the sun, moon and stars revolving in perpetual and fiery motion.] Ananda K. Coomaraswamy, seeing beyond the unsurpassed rhythm, beauty, power and grace of the Nataraja, once wrote of it “It is the clearest image of the activity of God which any art or religion can boast of.” More recently, Fritjof Capra explained that “Modern physics has shown that the rhythm of creation and destruction is not only manifest in the turn of the seasons and in the birth and death of all living creatures, but is also the very essence of inorganic matter,” and that “For the modern physicists, then, Shiva’s dance is the dance of subatomic matter.” It is indeed as Capra concluded: “Hundreds of years ago, Indian artists created visual images of dancing Shivas in a beautiful series of bronzes. In our time, physicists have used the most advanced technology to portray the patterns of the cosmic dance. The metaphor of the cosmic dance thus unifies ancient mythology, religious art and modern physics.”" http://www.sanskritimagazine.com/vedic_science/shivas-cosmic-dance-nataraj-at-cern/ and https://hinduexistence.org/2012/07/14/god-particle-cern-lord-shiva-nataraj/
At midnight she began returning to their quarters, when she witnessed from the staircase window a bizarre scene, a solemn procession of black-clad acolytes approach Nataraja and conduct a mock satanic ritual blood sacrifice of a young woman. Access to the square was only through security gates so, whoever these dark figures were, they were authorized to be there. The next day a video appeared on Facebook made from the 3rd floor stairwell of CERN's office Building 40 across the square from the hotel. Bedlam erupted online over the video so CERN officials had to issue a statement proclaiming it a prank. The Guardian oddly reported the incident, "Spokeswoman at high temple of particle physics suggests ‘scientific users’ of the Geneva facility ‘let their humour go too far’ with staging of occult rite...The European Organisation for Nuclear Research (Cern) has launched an investigation into a video filmed at night on its Geneva campus depicting a mock ritual human sacrifice. The video, which circulated online, shows several individuals in black cloaks gathering in a main square at Europe’s top physics lab, in what appears to be a re-enactment of an occult ceremony. The video includes the staged “stabbing” of a woman. It is filmed from the perspective of a secret viewer watching from a window above who, as the ceremony reaches its climax, lets out a string of expletives and flees with the camera still running. The ceremony appears to have been staged in front of a statue of the Hindu deity Shiva that is on permanent display at the complex, home of the Large Hadron Collider. “These scenes were filmed on our premises but without official permission or knowledge,” a Cern spokeswoman told Agence France-Presse in an email. “Cern does not condone this type of spoof, which can give rise to misunderstandings about the scientific nature of our work.” The “investigation” under way was an “internal matter”, she said. The video has raised questions about security on Cern’s campus. Asked to detail the security procedures surrounding access to the campus, the Cern spokeswoman said: “Cern IDs are checked systematically at each entry to the Cern site whether it is night or day.” She further indicated that those responsible for the prank had access badges. “Cern welcomes every year thousands of scientific users from all over the world and sometimes some of them let their humour go too far. This is what happened on this occasion,” the email said. The spokeswoman was not available to comment the possible identity of those responsible. Geneva police told AFP they had been in contact with Cern about the video but were not involved in an official investigation. Cern hosts machinery carrying out some of the world’s most elaborate particle research, including an enormously powerful proton smasher trying to find previously undiscovered particles. With Agence France-Presse": https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=2M667gqmkOc&t=291s
Alice found it peculiar that CERN would conduct an "internal investigation" in which no doubt the laboratory and all ritual participants would be absolved of any wrongdoing. At its weird dedication ceremonies, Switzerland's Gotthard Base Tunnel "The world’s longest and deepest rail tunnel was unveiled with a bizarre ceremony featuring a goat-man [Baphomet] who dies and is resurrected, women simulating sex with each other and drone-like human workers marching to a rhythmic drum beat." They hired performers to enact "dramatic displays" under an all-seeing eye, enacting demonic secret society rituals, some clad in elaborate costumes, others only in underwear.: http://www.wnd.com/2016/06/new-tunnel-christened-by-bizarre-demonic-ceremony/ and https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=0QF3Kvb1u94
In general relativity, an event horizon is a boundary in spacetime beyond which events cannot affect an outside observer. In layman's terms, it is defined as 'the point of no return', i.e., the point at which the gravitational pull becomes so great as to make escape impossible. An event horizon is most commonly associated with black holes. It may represent an end of time.
The Mandela Effect likely got its name from all those who remember learning that South African anti-apartheid revolutionary Nelson Mandela died in prison. People exhibit the Mandela Effect by recalling different song lyrics, subtle logo changes, TV show details, or movie highlights. For some it can be even more dramatic: vivid memories of a celebrity death like Willie Nelson, Doris Day, Keith Richards, Carol Channing, or Zsa Zsa Gabor. Others cite Colorado Flat Tops Wilderness Area Trappers Lake Lodge, rescued by firefighters during the Big Fish fire in 2002, or only the stone fireplace and flagpole remaining. In your time stream, are there Berenstain Bears or Berenstein Bears? What does Snow White's queen say to her mirror? Does bible wine go into new bottles or new wineskins? Do lambs lay down with wolves or lions? Is the Lord's Prayer the same as you learned it? Does it say debt or trespass? How do you remember Sally Field's famous Oscar line?: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=lCnPEwvtwmY Do you recall ever seeing Sulawesi, our world's 11th-largest island? What color are C3PO's legs? What does Forrest Gump say about chocolates? In Field of Dreams, if you build it who will come? Interview with (a or the)Vampire? Sex (in or and) the City? Where did blond pig-tailed Moonraker girl Dolly's braces go? What's going on? Is it CERN? Mandela Effect: http://mandelaeffect.com/
Alice kept hoping that someday physicists would come to their senses and find a simplified description of the Cosmos without extra dimensions, black holes, quanta, and other weird stuff so normal people could understand it, but then her folks might lose their jobs.
When Abby picked her up at Albuquerque International Sunport, the first thing Alice wanted to know was, "Did my dad take good care of Bunsai?" She was not prepared for Abby's reply. "Is that your new nickname for Bonzo? Your dad couldn't have done any better. Every time I checked there was fresh food, water, and litter." Since main matters were covered, she let the name thing drop, made a mental note to tell her dad he's cool now, and inquired about new gossip. Abby wanted to hear about Europe so they bantered back and forth.
Bonzo the guinea pig just squeaked. That was unacceptable. Alice wanted Bunsai back, but no amount of bargaining, pleading, or crying would convince her parents to let her fly back to CERN. Instead, she began to formulate another option. I'm just a mirror of the milieu I perceive, she thought, so who can help me? Arkansas-born Waylor Tilson, the boy who played with fusion and netted a $50K prize for his radiation detector in 2011 at the Intel International Science and Engineering Fair in Los Angeles, was a geek girl's vision of Adonis, 23 as of this writing and living in Reno.: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=bB93E-C7OPo
She talked Abby into a Reno road trip with Bonzo in Abby's beater Dodge by paying expenses with bribe money her dad gave her to quit hounding him about CERN. After an uneventful night off the strip in Vegas and with the air conditioning at full blast, 3/4s of the way en route near Walker Lake on US Route 95, she could have sworn she spotted Marty and Doc in the DeLorean, but they vanished in a flash. At UN-Reno they quickly found Waylor's lab just by asking around. He still hung out at Davidson Academy on campus where he once took both high school and college courses for free as a prodigy. Still weighing his options, he turned down offers from the Departments of Energy and Homeland Security for the device he built cheaply that did the work of one worth tens of thousands of dollars. He imagined himself an entrepreneur like Lon Musky.: http://images.mentalfloss.com/sites/default/files/styles/article_640x430/public/obama-taylor-wilson_5.jpg
Alice walked right up to Waylor, introduced herself and Abby, and quickly described her situation. He was immediately intrigued, while at the same time awkward about interacting with 2 bright cute girls. Alice poured on the charm and soon had him committed to lending his expertise and fusion reactor to her dilemma. Unlike the huge CERN facility, in order to promulgate spacetime variations on the order of reversing species transmigrations ala Bonsai/Bonzo, he'd have to piggyback his device onto a powerful enough particle accelerator. Even the Varian K-9 accelerator at UNLV's Harry Reid Center wasn't up to the task. He closed his eyes for a few moments and grabbed his chin deep in thought. "Your answer is close to home," he blurted. "What do you mean?" she asked. "Los Alamos has a strong enough linear particle accelerator." Soon 3 humans, a fusion reactor, and a caged guinea pig were crammed into the Dodge heading East and South. The A/C began blowing less cool air, then, after a couple hundred miles, quit altogether so they rolled down all the windows.
Back on US 95, Alice kept a lookout for the DeLorean. When they got to Beatty near the Nevada Test Site at sunset, Waylor asked if they could indulge him for a couple of hours. The teens looked at one another, trying to guess what he meant. All he wanted was to find a good viewpoint to scan the sky after dark. He found a rutted track his dad had shown him and they slowly drove it with lights off up to a ridgetop where a rusty gate blocked further progress. Abby switched off the engine and they all got out, except Bonzo. Alice threw a blanket over the car's roof and they climbed up to sit there. Dusk in summer lingers so they passed the time listening to the onset of night insects, admiring the silhouette of the Sierras and welcoming the cooler air. By nightfall, stars emerged in abundant glory. Among Waylor's gadgetry were a wristband Geiger counter, a strobe flashlight, and a tiny camera. Time for some geeky freaky. Off in the distance lay Groom Lake and Area 51.
A peaceful, but uneventful, 2 hours passed, yet the experience bonded Waylor and the 2 girls as friends. They chattered like monkeys the whole time on the car's roof and during the drive back down. When they returned to US 95, they were surprised to find Martin "Marty" Seamus McFly straining to push the DeLorean along the paved shoulder. "Great Scott!", hollered Emmett Lathrop "Doc" Brown. "We'll never reach 88 mph to stop Biff in Hill Valley." Just then Marty spotted the Dodge, still with its lights out. "If you put your mind to it, Doc, you can accomplish anything. Little help here?" The others left their vehicles and walked to Marty's side. "My car can't push yours to 88 mph," Abby said, as Doc opened the DeLorean's hatch, revealing its flux capacitor, and said, "Well, if we had fission material, we wouldn't need a push." Waylor spoke up, "I've got a little in the Dodge." "Do you have any idea how much power 1.21 gigawatts is?" Doc demanded. Fingering his wrist band, Waylor hesitatingly replied, "Actually, I do." Doc replied, "Radiation detector? Of course. 'Cause of all the atomic wars."
Doc gave his usual DeLorean-as-time-machine spiel, "First, you turn the time circuits on. This one tells you where your going. This one tells you where you are. This one tells you where you were. You input your destination time on this keypad. Say you want to see the signing of the Declaration of Independence or witness the birth of Christ. Here's a red-letter date in the history of science: November 5, 1955. Of course, November 5, 1955! That was the day I invented time-travel. I remember it vividly. I was standing on the edge of my toilet hanging a clock, the porcelain was wet, I slipped, hit my head on the sink, and when I came to I had a revelation! A vision! A picture in my head! A picture of this! This is what makes time travel possible: the flux capacitor! It's taken me nearly thirty years and my entire family fortune to realize the vision of that day. My God, has it been that long? Things have certainly changed around here. I remember when this was all farmland as far as the eye could see! Old man Peabody owned all of this! He had this crazy idea about breeding pine trees."
Soon Waylor's fusion reactor was jury-rigged to the unit with promise of its safe return later at Los Alamos. Marty and Doc hopped in and sped away to stop Biff, but a Nevada state trooper was headed the opposite direction just as they accelerated and wheeled around to give chase. "Unit 54. In pursuit of speeder near mile marker 200, 10-31." he radioed. At precisely 88 mph the DeLorean dematerialized, leaving behind twin traces of fire. "Dispatch, cancel that, 10-22." No way he would report that and risk being the laughing stock at HQ, yet another bizarre sighting on this beat. A 13-acre huge silent black triangle glided overhead from the east. The only one of them to see it was Bonzo from his vantage point low in the back seat out the rear window. It was easily the eeriest thing he'd seen in his short life so he whistled in awe as the Geiger counter barely clicked.: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=frB_fXbCjes and https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=pRxbwMfe7iY
With the naiveté of youth, they chose to enjoy their next stay in Vegas and visited the glitziest attractions, before falling into bed after 3. A late afternoon start delayed a Los Alamos ETA until the following day. When they did arrived, the DeLorean and its intrepid crew were awaiting them at the rendezvous. Marty spoke first, "Good, you're back!" "Great Scott, Einstein's clock is exactly one minute behind mine and still ticking!" said Doc too loudly, as usual.
Since this was her project, Alice took charge as much as she could, but soon realized she was out of her depth when it came to linear accelerators, fusion reactors, and flux capacitors. Waylor and Doc brainstormed together, while Marty tried his luck amusing the girls without much success. They reverted to Los Alamos jargon and he found himself commiserating with Bonzo, who relived his reverie with the triangle with occasional nods and squeaks Marty's way.
Nerds seem to find the back door to any secure location and Waylor was no exception. Los Alamos may have state-of-the-art security, but that didn't stop physicist Richard Feynman from making a game of it in the '40s and not much changed in that regard since. Doc and Waylor, as offbeat as could be in normal life, fit right in as super geeks inside the laboratory. Together they fashioned passable IDs and looked like any other team of senior and junior physicist with Doc babbling incoherently and Waylor showing proper deference. They worked their way to the inner sanctum and affixed the fusion reactor to the linear accelerator to function in tandem. Soon energy levels only ever achieved at CERN were pulsing throughout the network. Waylor fine tuned his device deftly with utmost precision so Doc was duly impressed. Brows furrowed among cognoscenti, but never did any suspicion fall on the interlopers. With a flair for the dramatic, Waylor raised his left hand over his head and, like a maestro, brought it down in perfect time with an electrical hiccup that signaled a 2nd anomaly. They removed the piggybacked device and calmly exited the complex.
At Alice's home, people and pets returned to normal. "Just where have you been?" she queried the rabbit. Bonsai tried to answer her but there were no words.
"Put your hand on a hot stove for a minute, and it seems like an hour. Sit with a pretty girl for an hour, and it seems like a minute. That's relativity."—Albert Einstein. As Mahatma Gandhi once said in the midst of his campaign to create a free and self-governing India: "I have so much to do today I will need to meditate twice as long!"
submitted by anti-ZOG-sci-fry to u/anti-ZOG-sci-fry [link] [comments]


2019.07.30 13:12 sapiohead 7 lesser known serial killers

7)Robert Pickton

In 2007, Robert Pickton was convicted of the murders of six women. In an undercover interview, he admitted to killing 49. His only regret was that he hadn’t gotten to an even 50. Pickton’s murderous streak began in the early 1990s while working on a farm outside of Vancouver, British Columbia. Most locals noted that the farm was “creepy,” to say the least.For one, rather than a guard dog, a large boar patrolled the farm and would often bite or chase trespassers. For another, though it was on the outskirts of Vancouver, it appeared extremely remote. Pickton owned and operated the farm with his brother David, though they eventually began to forgo farming to sell some of their property. This move would not only make them millionaires, but it would also allow them to enter a far different industry. In 1996, the Pickton’s began a non-profit charity, the Piggy Palace Good Times Society under the vague aim to “organize, coordinate, manage and operate special events, functions, dances, shows, and exhibitions on behalf of service organizations, sports organizations, and other worthy groups.” The events were raves that the brothers held in their farm’s slaughterhouse, which had been converted to a warehouse-style space. The events were well known among the locals, and often drew crowds of up to 2,000 people. Members of the Hell’s Angels soon became frequent party attendees.
Other frequent attendees included local prostitutes. In March of 1997, Pickton was charged with the attempted murder of one of the prostitutes, Wendy Lynn Eistetter. During an altercation at the farm, which involved in one of Eistetter’s hands being handcuffed, Pickton stabbed her. Pickton himself was also stabbed and sought treatment at a local hospital, where he was picked up on the attempted murder charge. The charge was later dismissed, but it opened farm worker Bill Hiscox’s eyes to a larger problem occurring on the farm. In the next three years after Pickton’s run-in with the law, Hiscox noticed that women who visited the farm tended to go missing. Eventually, he reported this to police, but it wasn’t until 2002 that a search was conducted and items belonging to missing women were found on the farm property.
A subsequent search of the farm revealed DNA evidence of at least 26 women, all of whom had been reported missing. Originally Pickton was arrested on two murder charges. Soon though, three more murder charges were added, then a fourth. Eventually, by 2005, 26 murder charges had been brought against Robert Pickton, making him the worst serial killer in Canadian history. During the investigation, police uncovered just how Pickton had gruesomely murdered those 26 women.
Through police reports, and a taped confession from Pickton, police concluded that the women had been killed multiple ways. Some of them had been handcuffed and stabbed; others had been injected with antifreeze. After they were dead, Pickton would either take their bodies to a meat rendering plant nearby or grind them up and feed them to the pigs that lived on his farm. Though he was charged with 26 murders, Pickton was only convicted of six counts of second-degree murder because the cases were the most concrete. The charges had been broken up during the trial to make them easier for the jury members to sift through. A judge sentenced him to life in prison with no possibility of parole for 25 years, the maximum sentence for a second-degree murder charge in Canada. Any other charges against him were discontinued, as the courts decided that there was no way any of them could add to his sentence, as he was already serving the maximum.
To this day it is unclear just how many women fell victim to Pickton’s gruesome killing spree. He was charged with 26 murders, convicted of 6, but admitted to 49. Either way, Robert Pickton remains the worst serial killer in Canadian history.

6)Yang Xinhai

Yang Xinhai was born on 29 July 1968 in Zhengyang County, Henan. His family was one of the poorest in their village. The youngest of four children, Yang was clever and introverted. He dropped out of school in 1985, at age 17, and refused to return home, instead travelling around China and working as a labourer.
In 1988 and 1991, Yang was sentenced to labour camps for theft in Xi'an,Shaanxi and Shijiazhuang, Hebei. In 1996, he was sentenced to five years in prison for attempted rape in Zhumadian, Henan and released in 1999. Yang's killings took place between 1999 and 2003 in the provinces of Anhui, Hebei, Henan and Shandong. At night, he would enter his victims' homes, and kill all of the occupants—mainly farmers—with axes, hammers, and shovels, sometimes killing entire families. Each time he wore new clothes and large shoes. In October 2002, Yang killed a father and a six-year-old girl with a shovel and raped a pregnant woman, who survived the attack with serious head injuries. Yang was detained on 3 November 2003 after acting suspiciously during a routine police inspection of entertainment venues in Cangzhou, Hebei. Police took him in for questioning and discovered that he was wanted for murder in four provinces. As news of his arrest and crimes spread, the media dubbed him the "Monster Killer". Shortly after he was arrested, Yang confessed to 65 murders, 23 rapes and five attacks causing serious injury: 49 murders, 17 rapes and five attacks in Henan; eight murders and three rapes in Hebei; six murders and two rapes in Anhui; and two murders and one rape in Shandong. Police also matched his DNA with that found at several crime scenes.Later it was discovered that Yang contracted HIV from one of his victims. On 1 February 2004, Yang was found guilty of 67 murders and 23 rapes, and sentenced to death in Luohe City Intermediate People's Court, Henan. At the time of his sentencing, official Chinese media believed he had carried out China's longest and grisliest killing spree. Yang was executed on 14 February 2004 by firing squad.
According to some media reports at the time of his arrest, Yang's motive for the killings was revenge against society as a result of a break up. Allegedly his girlfriend had left him because of his previous sentences for theft and rape. Later media reports claimed that his enjoyment of robbery, rape and murder was the motive. While Yang never formally provided a motive, he was quoted as saying:
"When I killed people I had a desire. This inspired me to kill more. I don't care whether they deserve to live or not. It is none of my concern...I have no desire to be part of society. Society is not my concern."

5) Luis Garavito

In 1992, Colombia was in the middle of a decades-long civil war that had begun in the late 1960s and left thousands of Colombian residents homeless, fending for themselves on the streets. Many of those left homeless were children, their parents either dead or long gone, ensuring that no one would notice if they started going missing and making them easy targets.Luis Garavito knew this and would use it to his advantage for the next seven years. Though there was hardly a reason to be, Garavito was careful about his crimes. He specifically targeted the downtrodden, the homeless, orphaned boys who roamed the streets looking for food or attention. Once he found one, he would approach him, luring them away from the crowded city streets, promising the younger boys gifts or candy, and the older boys money or employment.
He would dress the part when offering a job, impersonating a priest, a farmer, an elderly man, or a street vendor, looking for someone young to help around his house or business. He would rotate his disguises often, never appearing as the same person too often to avoid suspicion.Once he’d lured the boy away, he would walk with him for a time, encouraging the boy to share with Garavito about his life to earn his trust. In reality, he was wearing the boys down, walking just long enough that they would tire, making them vulnerable and unwary.
Then he’d attack.
He’d corner the tired boy, binding his wrists together. Then he’d torture them beyond belief.
According to police reports, the Beast truly earned his nickname. The bodies of the victims that were recovered showed signs of prolonged torture, including bite marks and anal penetration. In multiple cases, the victim’s genitals were removed and placed in his mouth. Several of the bodies were decapitated.
Five years after Luis Garavito murdered his first victim, police began to take notice of the missing children. In late 1997, a mass grave was discovered, prompting police to launch an investigation into their disappearances. In February of 1998, the bodies of two naked children were found on a hillside, lying next to each other. A few feet away, another corpse was found. All three had their hands bound and their throats slashed. The murder weapon was found nearby.
While searching the area around the three boys, police came across a note with an address handwritten on it. The address turned out to be Garavito’s girlfriend, whom he had been dating for years. Though he wasn’t in the home at the time, his things were, and the girlfriend gave the police access to them. In one of Garavito’s bags, police discovered pictures of young boys, detailed journal entries in which he described each of his crimes, and tally marks of his victims. A search for Garavito continued for days, during which known residences of his were searched, as well as local areas where he was known to hang out to look for new victims. Unfortunately, none of the search efforts turned up any information on Garavitos whereabouts. That is, until April 22. Roughly a week after the hunt for Garavito had begun, police in a neighboring town picked up a man on suspicion of rape. A homeless man, sitting in an alleyway, had noticed a young boy being followed and eventually accosted by an older man. Thinking that the situation was dire enough to intervene, the homeless man rescued the boy and alerted authorities. The police arrested the man on suspicion of attempted rape and booked him. Unbeknownst to them, they had in their custody a man guilty of far more than attempted rape. In an almost accidental arrest, local police had caught the beast that everyone had been looking for, Luis Garavito. As soon as he was interrogated by Colombian national police, Garavito cracked under the pressure. He confessed to abusing 147 young boys and burying their bodies in unmarked graves. He even drew maps to the grave sites for police. His stories were corroborated when police found a pair of eyeglasses at one of the crime scenes which matched Garavito’s highly specific condition. In the end, he was convicted on 138 counts of murder, though the others continue to be investigated.
The maximum penalty for murder in Colombia is roughly 13 years. Multiplied by the 138 counts he received, Luis Garavito’s sentence came out to 1,853 years and nine days. Colombian law states that people who have committed crimes against children are required to serve at least 60 years in prison. However, because he helped the police find the victim’s bodies, he was given 22 and is scheduled to be released in 2021.

4)Robert Hansen

He was skinny, painfully shy, and spoke with a stutter, an impediment that would result in years of mockery. As a social outcast, he took refuge in time spent alone, and over time became an avid hunter, channeling his rage and insatiable need for revenge on those who mocked him into stalking animals. In 1957, when he was 18 years old, he joined the United States Army Reserve, hoping to leave behind the pathetic person he’d been in his youth and make something of himself. For a while, he did. After serving a year in the reserves, he became an assistant drill instructor in Pocahontas, Iowa, and even married a young woman he met there. Unfortunately, after he was arrested for burning down a school bus garage, his wife divorced him, leaving him alone and incarcerated. He was released 20 months into his three-year sentence for arson, though after being released he was jailed a few more times for petty theft, but managed to remarry, to another local woman.
Finally, he’d decided he'd had enough of the continental United States. In 1967, he moved to Anchorage, Alaska, which was about as far from his life in Pocahontas as he could get. There, he moved into a small community, had two children with his wife, and settled into a quiet life. He was well liked, had a nice family, and even opened up a small bakery.
But, while the townspeople bought into the facade of a happy baker with a quiet family and a knack for hunting, inside, Robert Hansen was still the little boy who had been endlessly mocked as a child and was wrought with an insatiable thirst for revenge. Twenty years after Hansen moved to Anchorage, a 17-year-old woman was found running down Sixth Avenue outside of town, barefoot and handcuffed. After being picked up by police, she described being held hostage by a man who’d raped, tortured and chained her up, before attempting to load her onto a bush plane and take her to his cabin in the Matanuska Valley. She’d been able to escape as he was preparing the plane for takeoff. The woman’s description fit that of Robert Hansen, who was brought in by reluctant police. After all, he may have been a meek man, but he was well liked in the community for his bakery. Hansen admitted to police that he had met the young woman, but that he believed she was setting him up because he had refused to pay her extortion demands. When he told police about his strong alibi, from a friend, he was released. Still hung up on the handcuffed woman’s mention of the cabin in the valley, the Alaska State Troopers conducted an investigation of the area. Over the next few months, they found several bodies in the valley, all of women, several of whom were never identified. The evidence lead to the involvement of the Federal Bureau of Investigation, who put together a profile of the would-be killer, based on the injuries inflicted on the recovered bodies. The findings of the criminal psychological profile theorized that the killer was likely an experienced hunter, with low self-esteem, a history of being rejected by women, and likely a stutter. Though he had been cleared several times before, after the profile was completed, there was no doubt about it. Robert Hansen fit the profile almost exactly, and furthermore, he owned a bush plane and a cabin in the Matanuska Valley.
The police soon obtained a warrant to search Hansen’s plane, car, and homes, and what they found shocked them. The horror that the women had endured was deeper than just rape and murder, the likes of which were almost too horrifying to believe. Upon the kidnapping of the women, usually prostitutes and strippers, Robert Hansen would take the women to his remote cabin on a patch of land in the valley. He’d set them free, and for a moment they’d have hope and believe that they had a chance. Then, as they ran for their lives, he would track them down, taking his time, and hunting them like animals. Armed with a hunting knife and a Ruger Mini-14 semi-automatic rifle, he’d torture them for hours, sometimes days at a time, until he located his prey and shot them like game. At his home, police found a map of the area, marked with tiny “x’s,” denoting the kill sites and burials of the women. There were 17 “x’s” in all.
Though he denied involvement in four of the murders, Hansen acknowledged the existence of 13 of them, full on admitting he had killed four of them. He assisted police in locating several of them, though four still remain missing. Robert Hansen, the “Butcher Baker,” was only charged in the murders of four women, and the kidnapping and rape of the handcuffed and barefoot woman, despite the presence of so many bodies. He was sentenced to life in prison in Seward, Alaska, where he died in 2014.

3)Paul John Knowles

To some women who met him, Paul John Knowles was smooth and charismatic, a “cross between Robert Redford and Ryan O’Neal.” To others, he was their worst nightmare, a cold-blooded killer with no pattern, and no regard for anyone but himself.
For decades, Knowles traversed the country, racking up a slew of criminal charges, including kidnapping and theft. Then, in 1974, he escalated, and added murder to his increasingly long list of crimes.
In the 19 short years between 1946 and 1965, Paul John Knowles had made quite the name for himself among the police. Beginning in 1954 when he was just eight years old, Knowles had set out on a life of crime, mostly consisting of petty theft. By the time he was 19, he’d escalated to kidnapping, and was incarcerated for kidnapping a police officer. He was soon let go, however, starting a pattern he’d stick to for the next eight years; short stints in jail followed by a return to petty crime followed again by a short stint in jail.
In early 1974, Knowles was serving a prison sentence in the Raiford Prison in Florida, now known as the Florida State Prison. While incarcerated, he began corresponding with a California woman named Angela Covic.
Covic, a recently divorced cocktail waitress from San Francisco, was delighted to have Knowles as a pen pal, and after just a few letters back and forth had fallen in love with him. Before long she’d hired him a lawyer, who managed to swing him a parole, and arranged for him to fly to San Francisco to marry her.
However, upon seeing Knowles, Covic called off the wedding. According to her, Knowles projected “an aura of fear” that scared her. In addition to his aura, her psychic had recently warned her about a dangerous new man in her life. The aura combined with the warning was enough for Covic to send Knowles packing.
Psychic babble or not, in the end, Covic was lucky she took her psychic’s advice and paid attention to Knowles’ aura. That night, after Covic ended their engagement, Knowles murdered three strangers on the streets of San Francisco. The next day, he arrived back in Jacksonville, Fla., where he pulled a knife on a bartender during a fight. He was arrested for the bar fight, and thrown back in jail, but he didn’t stay there for long.
On July 26, 1974, Paul John Knowles picked the lock on his prison cell and escaped into the night.
The Casanova Murders
Sixty-five-year-old Alice Curtis was Paul John Knowles’ first victim. The retired schoolteacher from Jacksonville was home alone the night that Knowles escaped from jail.
In an attempt to burgle her home, Knowles broke in and bound and gagged her. Her cause of death was later determined to be chocking on her own dentures, and while it’s unclear whether her death occurred while Knowles was in her home, there’s no doubt he was to blame.
Knowles fled the home in Curtis’ car. A few hours later, as he drove up the street looking for a place to abandon the stolen vehicle, he came across two young girls, Lillian and Mylette Anderson. Recognizing them as family acquaintances, he quickly realized they too could recognize him. Instead of abandoning Curtis’ car, he kidnapped the eleven-year-old Lillian and her seven-year-old sister, strangled them, and dumped their bodies in a swamp. Over the next two months, Knowles traveled from Florida up the east coast to Connecticut, leaving a trail of bodies in his wake. Later dubbed the "Casanova murders". for Knowles’ good looks, the police remained largely in the dark about Knowles part in the murders until his capture. For most of the spree, the police were baffled by the murders, as they seemed to have no rhyme or reason behind them. It appeared there was no pattern between any of the cases or even any of the victims.
Of the 20 people found dead, 14 were women and six were men. Three were children, and three were elderly. Some were shot, some were strangled, some were burgled and others seemed to have been killed as an afterthought, murdered while camping or while walking up the street. Some of the corpses had been sexually assaulted, while some of the victims had been raped while alive, further throwing police off the trail.
The victims were also killed in at least six different states, making it almost impossible for police to create a perimeter. At that point, police didn’t know whether they were looking for a rapist, a murderer, an armed gunman, an opportunist or worse – all of the above.
The only real lead that authorities had to go on was from a reporter named Sandy Fawkes. About two weeks before Knowles was ultimately arrested, he attempted to pick up Fawkes in a hotel bar. For three days, Fawkes traveled around with Knowles, booze-filled and blissfully unaware that she was fraternizing with the man at the center of a multi-state manhunt. According to Fawkes, Knowles was a “dreamboat.” It was she who first described him as Redford-like in appearance, years later after realizing how close she had come to becoming one of his victims. However, as close as she was, she truly didn’t realize it. Not once during their three-day bender did he show signs of wanting to hurt her, she claimed, and after the two parted ways Fawkes thought she’d remember her time fondly. Most people believe the reason Knowles let Fawkes go was that he wanted the fame, at least in part, a theory corroborated by the survival of Barbara Tucker, another writer who escaped his wrath. Perhaps he felt that writers would immortalize him and that if they told his story, he could go out in a blaze of glory, rather than the criminal’s ending he got. On Nov. 17, a Florida Highway Patrol Trooper named Charles Eugene Campbell recognized a car matching the description of one stolen from the most recent murder victim. He pulled the car over, never knowing he had just cornered a cunning and skilled mass murderer. Paul John Knowles, however, was ready. As the trooper leaned over to see into the car, Knowles wrestled his gun away from him. After taking Campbell hostage, he took off in Campbell’s patrol car and pulled over another car. Then, he took that driver prisoner, put him and Campbell both in the less conspicuous vehicle, and drove the three of them to a remote area. He then led the two men into the woods, tied them to a tree, and shot them. As he attempted to escape the scene of the crime, he lost control of his vehicle and hit a tree. Though he took off on foot and was pursued by dogs, officers, and helicopters, he ultimately made it out of the perimeter established for the manhunt.
However, thanks to a local man and his shotgun, Knowles was able to be apprehended. Once arrested, he confessed to 35 murders, including the 20 that police were already aware of. Over the next month, police attempted to take Knowles on a tour of his crime scenes, to gain insight into the crimes and help find missing bodies. On December 18, just a month after his arrest, Sheriff Earl Lee and Georgia Bureau of Investigation Agent Ronnie Angel were transporting Knowles to Henry County, where Charles Campbell’s handgun had allegedly been dumped. While en route, Knowles jumped Lee in the car, attempting to steal his handgun. The gun went off through the holster in the car, and as Lee and Knowles struggled, Angel fired three shots at Knowles, killing him instantly. so, the tumultuous life of Paul John Knowles ended as viciously as he’d lived it. The motives behind his murders had never been disclosed, and even today some of the victims remain a mystery as well.

2)Rodney James Alcala

or most people, September 13, 1978 was an ordinary Wednesday. But for Cheryl Bradshaw, the bachelorette on the TV matchmaking show The Dating Game, that day was momentous. From a lineup of “eligible bachelors,” she chose handsome bachelor number one, Rodney Alcala:
But at that very moment, he was keeping a deadly secret: he was an unrepentant serial killer. Bradshaw, if not for a healthy jolt of women’s intuition, would almost certainly be remembered today as one of Alcala’s victims. Instead, after the show ended, she conversed with Alcala backstage. He offered her a date she’d never forget, but Bradshaw got the feeling that her handsome potential suitor was a little off. “I started to feel ill,” Bradshaw told the Sydney Telegraph in 2012. “He was acting really creepy. I turned down his offer. I didn’t want to see him again.” Another one of the episode’s bachelors, actor Jed Mills, recalled to LA weekly that “Rodney was kind of quiet. I remember him because I told my brother about this one guy who was kind of good-looking but kind of creepy. He was always looking down and not making eye contact.” Had the popular dating show performed background checks on their bachelors, they would have discovered that this “kind of good-looking but kind of creepy” guy had already spent three years in prison for raping and beating an eight-year-old girl (he’d done the same to a 13-year-old too), which landed him on the FBI’s Ten Most Wanted Fugitives List. sometimes a background check can’t even uncover the whole story. In Rodney Alcala’s case, the whole story consisted of at least four prior murders that he hadn’t been definitively linked to yet.
As you can probably imagine, Cheryl Bradshaw’s rejection likely only fueled Alcala’s fire. In total, before and after his television appearance, the sadistic “Dating Game Killer” claimed that he killed between 50 and 100 people. Rodney Alcala was born in San Antonio, Texas in 1943. His father moved the family to Mexico when Alcala was eight years old, only to abandoned them there three years later. His mother then moved Alcala and his sister to suburban Los Angeles. At age 17, Alcala entered the Army as a clerk, but after a nervous breakdown, he was medically discharged due to mental health issues. Then, the intelligent young man with an IQ of 135 went on to attend UCLA. But he wouldn’t stay on the straight and narrow for long. Like many serial killers, Rodney Alcala had a style. His signatures were beating, biting, raping, and strangling (often choking victims until the point of unconsciousness, then once they came to, he’d start the process over again). On his first known attempt at killing, he was successful at only two of these things. The victim was Tali Shapiro, an eight-year-old girl he’d lured into his Hollywood apartment in 1968.
Shapiro barely survived her attack; her life saved by a passerby who’d reported a tip to police on a possible abduction. Alcala fled his apartment when the police arrived and remained a fugitive for years afterward. He moved to New York and used the alias John Berger to enroll in film school at New York University where, ironically enough, he studied under Roman Polansk.
After being recognized thanks to an FBI poster, Alcala was finally identified as the perpetrator in the rape and attempted murder of Tali Shapiro. He was arrested in 1971, but only sent to prison on charges of assault (Shapiro’s family kept her from testifying, making a rape conviction unattainable). After spending three years behind bars, he soon spent another two years in prison for assaulting a 13-year-old girl.
Authorities regrettably let parolee and flight risk Alcala travel to New York to “visit relatives.” Investigators now believe that within seven days of his arrival there, he killed a college student named Elaine Hover who was the daughter of a popular Hollywood nightclub owner and goddaughter of both Sammy Davis Jr. and Dean Martin. Soon after all of this, Alcala somehow got a job at the Los Angeles Times as a typesetter in 1978, under his real name, which was now attached to a substantial criminal record. A typist by day, by night he lured in young girls to be part of his professional photography portfolio — some of them never to be heard from again. Now go back and listen to Alcala tell bachelorette Bradshaw, “The best time is at night.” Absolutely chilling stuff.
The year after the Dating Game appearance, 17-year-old Liane Leedom was lucky enough to walk away unscathed from a photoshoot with Rodney Alcala, and she remarked how he “showed her his portfolio, which in addition to shots of women included spread after spread of [naked] teenage boys.” Police have since released parts of Alcala’s “portfolio” to the public to aid in victim identification.Over the years, a few have stepped forward to reveal their horrifying moment with this predator.
The case that would finally break Rodney Alcala’s killing spree was that of 12-year-old Robin Samsoe. She’d disappeared from Huntington Beach, California on her way to ballet class on June 20, 1979.
Samsoe’s friends said that a stranger approached them on the beach and asked if they’d want to do a photoshoot. They declined and Samsoe left, borrowing a friend’s bike to hurriedly get to ballet. At some point between the beach and class, Samsoe disappeared. Nearly 12 days later, a park ranger found her animal-ravaged bones in a forested area near the Pasadena foothills of the Sierra Madre.
Upon questioning Samsoe’s friends, a police sketch artist drew up a composite and Alcala’s former parole officer recognized the face. Between the sketch, Alcala’s criminal past, and the discovery of Samsoe’s earrings in Alcala’s Seattle storage locker, police felt confident that they had their man. But beginning with the trial in 1980, Samsoe’s family would have to follow a rather long and winding road to justice. The jury found Alcala guilty of first-degree murder and he received the death penalty. However, the California Supreme court overturned this verdict due to the jury being prejudiced, they felt, by learning of Alcala’s past sex crimes. It took six years put him back on trial. At the second trial in 1986, another jury sentenced him to death. This one didn’t stick either; a Ninth Circuit Court of Appeals panel overturned it in 2001, LA Weekly wrote, “in part because the second trial judge did not allow a witness to back up the defense’s claim that the park ranger who found Robin Samsoe’s animal-ravaged body in the mountains had been hypnotized by police investigators.”
Finally, in 2010, 31 years after the murder, a third trial was held. Just before the trial, Orange County Senior Deputy District Attorney Matt Murphy told LA Weekly, “The ’70s in California was insane as far as treatment of sexual predators. Rodney Alcala is a poster boy for this. It is a total comedy of outrageous stupidity.” During the years he spent incarcerated, Alcala self-published a book called You, the Jury in which he proclaimed his innocence in the Samsoe case. He hotly contested the DNA swabs done on prisoners periodically for the police department’s evidence bank. Alcala also brought two lawsuits against the California penal system; one for a slip and fall accident, and another for the prison’s refusal to provide him with a low-fat menu. Alcala announced to much surprise that he would be his own lawyer in his third trial. Even though now, 31 years after Samsoe’s murder, investigators also had concrete evidence against him on four different murders from decades past — thanks to the prison’s DNA swabs. The prosecution was able to combine these new murder charges along with Robin Samsoe in the 2010 trial. During the 2010 trial, the jurors were in for a bizarre ride. Rodney Alcala, acting as his own attorney, asked himself questions (referring to himself as “Mr. Alcala”) in a deep voice, which he would then answer. The peculiar question and answer session continued for five hours. He told the jury that he was at Knott’s Berry Farm at the time of Samsoe’s murder, played dumb on the other charges, and used an Arlo Guthrie song as part of his closing argument. Alcala simply stated that he didn’t remember killing the other women. The only other witness for the defense, psychologist Richard Rappaport, offered the explanation that Alcala’s “memory lapse” could be equated to his borderline personality disorder. The jury, not surprisingly, found Alcala guilty of the four DNA-backed charges, and also found him guilty of killing Samsoe.
A surprise witness at his sentencing was Tali Shapiro, the girl that Alcala had raped and beaten within an inch of her life about 40 years before. Shapiro was there to witness as justice for Robin Samsoe, 12; Jill Barcomb, 18; Georgia Wixted, 27; Charlotte Lamb, 31; and Jill Parenteau, 21, had finally been achieved. The court handed Alcala the death penalty again — for the third time. Since that trial, investigators have continued to link the “Dating Game Killer” to many other cold case murders, including two to which he pled guilty in New York in 2013. As of 2018, Rodney Alcala has not been executed. He sits on death row in Corcoran State Prison, California, planning an appeal for his third death sentence.

1)Richard Trenton Chase

Richard Chase was one disturbed serial killer.
Technically all serial killers are disturbed, but there’s a sliding scale. And Richard Chase, the “Vampire of Sacramento,” definitely skewed towards the tippy top of that scale. Chase’s spree included six victims in Sacramento, California in the late 1970s before he was caught in 1980. Not surprisingly given his nickname, Richard Chase’s trademark was drinking blood of his victims after he killed him, also earning him the nickname of the Vampire Killer.But believe it or not, drinking the victims’ blood wasn’t even the Vampire of Sacramento’s most disturbing trait.
Chase was already a troubled child, in large part thanks to his abusive parents. He showed early signs of his future behavior in the form of arson, bedwetting, and cruelty to animals. These three habits are sometimes called the Macdonald triad, or the triad of sociopathy, proposed by psychiatrist J.M. Macdonald in 1963.
Chase turned to alcohol and drugs as an adolescent, which quickly turned to substance abuse. A slew of other odd behaviors also pointed to potential trouble. He would complain that on occasion his heart had stopped beating. He thought that he lacked vitamin C and as a result would hold oranges up to his head with the belief that his brain would absorb the nutrients.Chase also shaved his head because he believed that the bones in his skull had become detached and were moving around. Shaving his head was a means of monitoring that activity. Labeled a paranoid schizophrenic, Chase was institutionalized in the mid-1970s after he was found injecting rabbit’s blood into his veins. This is when he first got his vampire nickname roots after the staff dubbed him Dracula due to his infatuation with blood when he would capture birds flying in his room from the window and drink their blood.
Richard Chase was eventually released due to his mother's request, who would later cut off his medication that was slowly curing him. He moved from his mother’s house out of fear that she was poisoning him. He moved into a shared apartment with friends. But as they were fed up with his behavior, particularly that he was high all the time and constantly walked around naked even with company over, they asked him to leave.
When Chase refused to move out, his roommates did instead. Left all alone in the apartment, Chase’s tendencies became more extreme and more gruesome. It started with capturing and killing small animals. He then would eat them raw or blend the organs with coca cola and drink the mixture.
December 29, 1977 was the Vampire Killer’s first murder. Ambrose Griffin was a 51-year-old man who was helping his wife bring in groceries when Chase killed him in a drive-by shooting. His subsequent murders all hinged on his ability to enter homes whose owners left their doors unlocked.
On January 23, 1978, Chase entered the home of Teresa Wallin, who was pregnant, through her unlocked front door. He shot her three times using the same gun he used to shoot Griffin. Chase proceeded to stab her with a butcher knife and have sex with her corpse before cutting out her organs and drinking her blood. He reportedly used a yogurt container as a cup. The final murder spree Chase went on before getting caught was the most gruesome of all. It was January 27, 1978, just four days after Wallin’s murder. The victims included Jason Miroth, his mother Evelyn Miroth, and a friend named Dan Meredith. They were all killed by Chase inside Evelyn’s home. Meredith was murdered in the hallway, dead by a gunshot wound to the head. Chase subsequently stole his car keys. Evelyn and Jason were found in Evelyn’s bedroom. Six-year-old Jason had been shot twice in the head. Evelyn was partially cannibalized. Her stomach was cut open and she had multiple organs missing. There was also a failed attempt to remove one of her eyes and she had been sodomized as well. 22-month-old David Ferreira was Evelyn Miroth’s nephew who she was babysitting, and was the only one missing from the scene of the crime. The child’s decapitated corpse was found months later behind a church. It came out during the trial that the knock of a visitor startled Chase, who took Ferreira’s body and fled via Meredeth’s stolen car. The visitor alerted a neighbor who then called the cops. The authorities were able to identify Chase’s handprint in Miroth’s blood. When the police searched Chase’s apartment, they found that all of his utensils were stained with blood. He was arrested shortly after. The trial of Richard Chase began on January 2, 1979 and lasted five months. The defense attorneys rejected the suggested death penalty on the grounds that Chase was not guilty by reason of insanity. In the end, after five hours of deliberation, the jury took the side of the prosecution. Richard Chase, the Vampire of Sacramento, was found guilty of six counts of murder and sentenced to death by gas chamber. His fellow inmates who knew of his crimes were frightened by him so they often encouraged him to kill himself. Richard Chase did just that, overdosing on the stockpile of drugs he was keeping. He was found dead in his jail cell the day after Christmas in 1980.
Source:allthatisinteresting.com
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2019.07.21 10:42 lolpolice88 It happened here — a snapshot of hate crime in New Zealand - E-Tangata

https://e-tangata.co.nz/comment-and-analysis/it-happened-here-a-snapshot-of-hate-crime-in-new-zealand/
" Last month, the Human Rights Commission published It Happened Here, a digest of race and religious hate crimes in New Zealand. It draws from news reports of hate crimes in the nine years between 2004 to 2012.
As Paul Hunt, the Chief Commissioner, writes: “The Christchurch shootings have re-ignited public debate about hate crime and hate speech, but there is little information available about the extent of racially and religiously motivated crime in New Zealand.”
He adds that “the absence of systematically collected data and information on racially and religiously motivated crime in New Zealand makes it very difficult to have an informed discussion about their prevalence and design effective measures to counter them.”
The summaries below are taken from the annual reports of Race Relations Commissioner Joris de Bres (2002-2013). Publication of these annual media reports stopped in 2013, because of funding pressures. During Susan Devoy’s term as Race Relations Commissioner, from 2013- 2018, she argued that the police should collect the data on hate crime.
That hasn’t happened — despite calls from the Human Rights Commission since 2004, recommendations from the United Nations Committee on the Elimination of Racial Discrimination in 2007 and 2017, and from the United Nations Human Rights Council in 2009.
It’s important to note that the incidents outlined in this report, which we’ve extracted here in full, are just a snapshot. It’s reasonable to assume, as Paul Hunt points out, that these are just the tip of the iceberg.
. . .
2004
Desecration of Jewish cemeteries
Following the desecration of two Jewish cemeteries in Wellington in July and August, Parliament took the unprecedented action of unanimously passing a resolution deploring these acts. Recalling the terrible history of anti-Semitism culminating in the Holocaust, Parliament expressed unequivocal condemnation of anti-Semitism and all forms of racial and ethnic hatred, persecution and discrimination.
A statement signed by Māori, Pākehā, Pacific, Asian and other ethnic community leaders, religious leaders, mayors and councillors, business and trade union leaders, and community groups was tabled in the House supporting the resolution.
The Speaker also invited community representatives to a forum at Parliament on the way forward for racial harmony. The forum of 250 people heard the ideas that had been put forward by participants beforehand, raised further suggestions, and unanimously adopted the outline of the New Zealand Diversity Action Programme.
Reported incidents
Anecdotal evidence and newspaper reports continue to indicate that some ethnic groups suffer harassment and abuse in the streets and elsewhere, ranging from derogatory remarks to verbal and physical abuse. Among reported incidents in 2004 were:
The emergence of a small National Front group in Christchurch and Wellington led to pro-harmony demonstrations by ethnic groups and other concerned citizens in Christchurch in May and Wellington in September. Police made an arrest in the case of the hate mail to Muslim families and the attack on Somali youth, but many other incidents were either not formally reported to the Police or investigations have been unsuccessful. The Police do not keep separate statistics relating to ethnicity for reported racial offences, treating them as complaints alongside others relating to offences under the Summary Offences and Crimes Acts.
2005
In the absence of Police recording of complaints and prosecutions relating to racially motivated crime it is difficult to assess the extent of the problem. Newspaper reports seem to indicate that there were significantly more prosecutions than usual in 2005.
Cases of racial and religious harassment and abuse successfully prosecuted by the Police included the following:
2006
There were a range of media reports of racial harassment:
2007
There were a number of media reports of racially motivated crime, harassment and discrimination, including:
2008
Race hate murder
A 2008 Police inquiry indicated that a 25-year-old Korean economics student Jae Hyeon Kim was murdered because of his race in 2003. Jae Hyeon Kim was on a 12-month backpacking holiday in New Zealand when he disappeared en route from Westport to Greymouth in September-October 2003. A missing person inquiry in 2004 failed to find anything, but when the Police re-opened the inquiry in May 2008 they received two anonymous letters.
This led to the arrest in June 2008 of a 28-year-old Nelson fisherman and two other men, whose details were suppressed. A number of skinhead supporters attended when the defendants first appeared in court
At a depositions hearing in the Greymouth District Court in October 2008, one of the men pleaded guilty to the murder. The other two were committed to a trial scheduled for June 2009 in Greymouth. During the depositions hearing the Police located Jae Hyeon Kim’s body near Charleston, south of Westport.
The man, who pleaded guilty to the murder charge, was sentenced to 21 years without parole in December 2008. An appeal against the sentence was lodged.
Jae Hyeon’s mother and brother travelled to New Zealand to visit the site of the murder and attend the sentencing. They also attended a funeral at Nelson’s Marsden House, where they were joined by members of the Nelson Multi-Ethnic Council, a representative of the Race Relations Commissioner and other concerned citizens.
Reverend Taeil Choi of the Nelson Full Gospel Korean Church paid tribute to a bright student whose life was too short. He said Jae Hyeon Kim had been drawn to New Zealand because he, like many other young Koreans, believed it was a peaceful country, free of violence and aggression. He said those responsible for Mr Kim’s death had carried the disease of racial hatred: “For the sake of Jae Hyeon Kim, we should all commit ourselves to making this city of Nelson, and our country as a whole, a place where people are welcomed, and a place where all cultures and all people are tolerated equally.”
Media reports of race-related incidents
There were a number of media reports of racially motivated crime, harassment, assault and discrimination, including the following:
2009
Compared to previous years, there were fewer media reports of incidents of racially motivated crime, harassment and assault. Reports this year included:
While a reduction in incidents reported in the media is welcome, the actual number of complaints, prosecutions and convictions are still not recorded by the Police. In the course of the United Nations Human Rights Council review of New Zealand’s human rights performance in May, the issue of recording Police complaints was raised again. The government accepted the recommendation that this data be collected, but said it was not a priority.
Courts take dim view of attack on Manurewa Gurdwara
In a case not widely reported by the media, two 20-year-old men were sentenced in the Manukau District Court in February to two years and nine months imprisonment. They were accused of throwing pipe bombs at the Narskar Thath Isher Dabar Sikh Temple in Manurewa, engaging in threatening acts and painting obscenities on the temple walls. In addition to sexual obscenities, they painted a swastika, the letters KKK and the words “fukin rag heads” on the walls. The offences took place from April to August 2008. Judge Blackie imposed a deterrent sentence, to make clear to all New Zealanders this type of conduct would not be tolerated.
He described their actions as, “racist, abusive and demeaning” and expressed abhorrence on behalf of the community at what had occurred. The men appealed the length of their sentence to the High Court. Judge Heath dismissed the appeal, citing other cases in which racial hostility had been considered an aggravating factor in sentencing. He said, “The attack on the temple involved violent conduct … It was a persistent attack, through physical and psychological means, on those who used the temple. Targeting the temple on four separate occasions over a period of more than three months makes it implausible to suggest that [the men] were not motivated by racial, religious, colour or ethnic hostility.”
2010
The media continue to report sporadic incidents of racially motivated violence, ranging from verbal abuse to severe physical assault. There is no way to establish the actual extent of racially motivated crime. This is because the government has not yet honoured its commitment to the United Nations Human Rights Council to introduce a system of data collection to capture this information. Media reports reflect that most incidents are directed at Asians and occur in the South Island. Some noteworthy media reports are mentioned or discussed below:
2011
There were sporadic media reports of racially motivated crime, although less than in previous years. They were:
Chinese student hospitalised after attack
In August, a Chinese man was the victim of racist comments and an attack at an Invercargill service station. Comments were directed at the man and his passengers by an 18-year-old passenger in another car at the service station.
The pair exchanged words then the offender punched the man in the face. The force broke the man’s glasses and a shard of glass went into his eyelid, causing a laceration. He was taken to hospital and underwent surgery.
The man was an international student and as a result of the attack could not study and failed one of his classes. He has since returned to China.
The offender was sentenced to six months home detention, 200 hours community work and ordered to pay $1000 reparation.
2012
Flurry of racial vandalism in Auckland
There were three separate incidents of racial vandalism in the course of a week in Auckland in October.
Twenty gravestones in the historic Jewish quarter of a cemetery in central Auckland were vandalised and spray painted with Nazi insignia and slogans. Police arrested three youths and charged them with wilful damage. Charges against one were subsequently withdrawn for lack of evidence. Of the other two, one aged 19, pleaded guilty in November to a charge of intentional damage, and was due to be sentenced in February 2013; the other, aged 20, pleaded not guilty and was due to reappear in court in January 2013.
In what was assumed to be a copy-cat incident, an unoccupied house in Grey Lynn, Auckland was broken into and defaced with similar slogans a few days later. Also that same week, a bullet was fired through the front window of the office of an immigration consultant and former Immigration Minister, causing the window to shatter. National Front style slogans were painted on the footpath outside.
There was speculation that the cemetery attack was to give publicity to the annual Flag Day march to Parliament on Labour Day by fringe national socialist and white supremacy groups, the National Front and the Right Wing Resistance, but spokespeople for these groups, Colin Ansell and Kyle Chapman, denied any connection with the incident. Less than 40 people attended the national flag march, and Ansell told 3 News that his group’s biggest problem was maintaining its transient membership and getting them to pay the $15 a year membership fee.
Jail and home detention for racial attack in Dunedin
Three unemployed young people in Dunedin were sentenced to prison or home detention for abusing and assaulting a Korean family in Dunedin at Easter, and for then assaulting a student who tried to intervene. The family, who were visiting from Auckland, were walking along Dunedin’s main street when the drunken trio began shouting racist remarks at them, threw a bottle and punched one of the group in the face.
One woman, aged 22, was sentenced to six months in prison for the assault, another woman, aged18, was sentenced to three months in prison, and a man, aged 18, to two months home detention. All three were also convicted of other unrelated offences. In sentencing one of the offenders, Judge Stephen Coyle said it was entirely unacceptable and abhorrent that anyone should be taunted simply because of their race “or looking different from you”.
Owners jailed for dog attacks on Asians in Christchurch
A man and a woman were sentenced to eight months in prison for setting their dog onto Asian people in Christchurch. A woman (18) and her former boyfriend (24) admitted to the court that they had associated with an extreme right wing group and that the attacks were racially motivated.
The woman had yelled abuse at a Vietnamese man, told her dog to kill him, punched him and tried to hit him with a beer bottle. When he took shelter in a shop she stomped on the bags of groceries he had dropped, threw items at the shop door, and yelled for him to go back to his own country.
A few months later, the pair met a man from the Philippines, and set their dogs on him in Lincoln Road, Addington. The woman let her dog off the leash to let it chase him. The dogs jumped up and tried to bite his shoulders, damaging his jacket, while he took shelter inside a property and then inside a flat.
A Japanese woman was then confronted nearby. The dogs were encouraged to attack her while she huddled in a corner until help arrived. The woman was taken to hospital for treatment for a bite wound and scratches.
In sentencing the pair, Judge Doherty said, “The main purpose of the sentencing is deterrence.” He noted the special provisions of the Sentencing Act for racially motivated crimes.
The judge also ordered the dog to be put down, saying, “It’s not the dog’s fault, but it seems to me it has been socialised into activities that could lead to greater risks in the future”.
It Happened Here: Reports of race and religious hate crime in New Zealand 2004-2012 was published by the Human Rights Commission in June 2019."
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2019.06.21 06:04 Justwonderinif Golden State Killer Timeline III

<< Golden State Killer Timeline II
1977: Continued
1978
1979
1980
Golden State Killer Timeline IV>>>
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