Arrest Long Overdue in Kyron Horman Disappearance

by Stacy Dittrich

It is the tenth week of the exhaustive search for an Oregon boy, seven-year-old Kyron Horman (left). On June 4, his stepmother, Terri Moulton Horman, 40, drove him to Skyline Elementary School in Northwest Multnomah County. The school was holding a science fair, and Terri claimed Kyron excitedly showed her his science project before she watched him walk down the hallway towards his classroom just before 8 a.m.

Around three that afternoon, Terri made the unusual request to her husband—and Kyron’s father, Kaine, 36. She wanted Kaine to accompany her to the bus stop to get Kyron off the bus. As the bus came and went, with no sign of Kyron, Terri made an overly emotional display of panic. Most parents would quickly check with the school to determine whether or not the child missed the bus before completely unraveling. They did check the school, however, and found that Kyron had been marked absent that day. No one had seen him, and he hadn’t made the 10 feet or so to his class as Terri watched him.

There’s another sordid and strange backdrop to this story. Kyron’s mother, Desiree, 38, married Kaine Horman in 2000. But in 2002, when she was eight months pregnant, Desiree filed for divorce. Kyron was born September 9, 2002. The couple shared custody of the newborn, but he mainly lived with Desiree.

In 2004, Desiree suffered debilitating kidney failure and was hospitalized for a significant amount of time in Canada. Kyron moved in with his father, who worked full time and desperately needed child care. Enter Terri Moulton—Desiree’s close friend and confidant. Terri, who now holds a master’s degree in education, was more than happy to oblige. Moving in with her 16-year-old son from her first marriage, Terri quit work to care for little Kyron—and pump up her muscles. In 2005, a huge and odd-looking Terry placed fourth in the Emerald Cup bodybuilding championships.

Meanwhile, Desiree was released from the hospital with a monstrous medical bill, forcing her to move in with her parents. Unable to support Kyron, she felt it best that he stay in the environment he had grown accustomed to -- with Kaine and Terri. Desiree relished the time she spent with Kyron on weekends.

Somewhere between late 2006 and early 2007, Terri and Kaine (yes, you guessed right) fell in love. In an attempt to help out her dear friend, Terri had successfully moved in on Desiree’s former husband and son. Kaine and Terri married in 2007 and went on to have their own child, Kiara, in December 2008. Terri continued to care for the young boy she had raised as a toddler, frequently volunteering in Kyron’s classroom. Regardless, on the morning of June 4, 2010, something clearly went wrong.

Shocking Revelations

Once Kyron was reported missing, a large search ensued. In fact, Kyron’s search has become the largest in Oregon’s history. But a few key facts kept bringing investigators right back to Terri.

The school claimed that Terri had phoned and said Kyron wouldn’t be in class on June 10th because he had a doctor’s appointment. Not so, said Terri. She claimed the appointment was the following Friday—a day when school was closed for the summer. Terri tripped up here, since there would be no reason for her to call, and any parent clearly knows when their child’s last day of school is.

Terri’s reaction to Kyron’s disappearance also had investigators scratching their heads. Just a few days after Kyron disappeared, Terri updated her Facebook page with “Headed to the gym!” And, investigators began circulating pictures of Terri’s white pick-up truck around the community; specifically, at the school. They wanted to know if any parents had witnessed Terri at the school that day—none had.

Furthermore, Terri’s cell phone pinged off a remote island five miles away at the time she claimed to have been at Kyron’s school dropping him off. At this same time, Terri’s close friend, DeDe Spicher, could not account for almost 90 minutes that she was gone from her gardening job that day. During the investigation, police learned that DeDe was providing untraceable cell phones for Terri to use.

Potentially the most shocking information came when investigators found that Terri was text messaging sexual innuendos, aka “sexting,” to Kaine Horman’s close friend just days after Kyron went missing. Investigators then learned the jaw-dropping information from another man Terri had propositioned for sex: Terri had tried to hire the man to kill her husband.

Lies, Lies, Lies

Investigators are now armed with substantial evidence that Terri Moulton Horman obstructed the investigation by lying about her location the day Kyron disappeared—a felony. More importantly, they have Terri conspiring to kill her own husband—a higher felony. And, by far the most important fact, they have a missing seven-year-old boy who was last seen in Terri’s care. Put all of this together and the probable cause for an arrest is overwhelming.

It has been 70 days since Kyron Horman disappeared, and Terri remains free.

To give credit to law enforcement, a grand jury has convened in the matter, and an indictment against Terri Horman seems inevitable. But she could have easily been incarcerated during this time on the other felonies. I understand the sheriff’s department is putting together an airtight investigation and doesn’t want any mistakes, but sometimes this is the type of case smaller law enforcement agencies which aren’t quite used to dealing with. They can become overly careful, all the while allowing someone like Terri Horman to remain free.

They’ve already caught Terri Horman attempting to take Kiara out of a daycare center despite a restraining order prohibiting her from any contact with the child. Another charge—violating a protection order. Who knows what else she is capable of? Hiring hit men, lying to investigators, a missing little boy? This woman is clearly dangerous and needs to be off the streets. If investigators are waiting for Terri to trip herself up while out and about, they should think again. If this were to happen, this educated woman would have done it already. She’s not going to talk—lock her up already!

Resolution

It appears that might be happening.

This past weekend, a large swath of law enforcement searched an area two miles from Kyron’s school as well as the area where Spicher was gardening. According to sources, this tip was based on Spicher’s information to law enforcement.

Regardless, a dangerous woman is still on the streets, and an innocent little boy is missing. It is past time to put Terri Moulton Horman where she deserves to be—in jail.

DeDe Spicher is the key here. Aiding Terri with "burn" cell phones and a place to stay, while being unable to account for her time when Kyron disappeared, she is undoubtedly in the thick of it. Investigators executed a search warrant on Spicher’s residence. DeDe has since retained an attorney (clue!). She no doubt can give investigators the answers they desperately seek. Did Terri hurt Kyron while in the throes of a post-partum-psychosis/steroid rage? Did she hurt Kyron because she couldn’t get to Kaine?

Most importantly, where is Kyron? If Spicher’s involvement is as deep as helping Terri get rid of Kyron’s body or aiding in the killing, chances are Terri is reminding Spicher that if she goes down, they both go down. Investigators need to hammer down on Spicher, even if it means the prosecution offers her a plea deal in exchange for her testimony.

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Beyond belief... Sadly, revisited.

by Sue Russell
WCI Guest Contributor

Do you think British taxpayers should have to pay nearly $400,000 to hide the identity of someone who, as a child, committed one of the most horrendous crimes in modern British history? Do you support the government giving this notorious baby-killer another chance? And just how long do you think he should be protected?

In February 1993, British toddler Jamie Bulger (left) was abducted during a Friday trip to a Merseyside shopping mall after briefly straying from his mother. By the next day, police were scrutinizing fuzzy mall surveillance camera footage in utter disbelief. Two-year-old Jamie, in his blue anorak, was being led away not by a hardened pedophile but by two youths. Holding one’s hand, Jamie cheerfully toddled off, away from his mother forever.

His abductors, Jon Venables and Robert Thompson, betrayed his innocent trust in the most ghastly way imaginable. Truants and practiced shoplifters, they dipped in and out of shops and walked two miles with Jamie. At a local canal, they dropped him on his head, leaving him bruised and crying. Further on, at some isolated railway tracks, they unleashed unimaginable violence, beating Jamie with bricks and an iron bar. They also removed his sneakers, socks, trousers and underpants. Forensics experts suspected sexual assault based on suspicious injuries.

Before leaving Jamie for dead, they covered his bleeding head with bricks, then lay his body across the tracks, knowing a train would come. Back home, Jon and Robert were just kids in hot water for playing hooky.

Jon Venables was labeled the “follower,” yet two years earlier, he had pinned a boy with a ruler against his throat until two teachers pulled him off.

Sunday brought a gruesome discovery. Jamie’s upper body was on the tracks; his naked lower half lay nearby. His little face bore a shoe print (later linked to Robert’s shoe.) Jamie survived the initial attack, police say, but mercifully died on the tracks before the train hit him.

Later, Robert Thompson took a single rose and joined mourners at the crime scene.

Police descended on the boys’ homes following a tip. They questioned them but never really suspected them. Jamie’s killers, they assumed, must be 13 or 14 years old at minimum. But there was blood on their shoes, and soon the dreadful truth was inescapable.

Jon Venables (at the time of the murder, booking photo below left) and Robert Thompson, both 10 years old, became the youngest people charged with murder in England and Wales in the 20th century.

They’d talked about pushing the infant into the water, but obviously one or both wanted something more sadistic and personal. We still don’t know why they did it, but Jon was bullied, reportedly cut himself with scissors, and envied the attention given his two special needs siblings.

The killing’s sexual element couldn’t be denied, but Jon and Robert were little kids. However, that November, they were tried as adults. In Britain, 10 is the age of criminal responsibility. Sentenced to at least eight years, their release would hinge upon rehabilitation and no longer being a danger to society.

In June 2001, they were freed with new identities, new birth certificates, new secret residences and, spy-like, new back stories, witness protection program-type scenarios usually reserved for mobsters.

Many Britons were out for blood; Jon and Robert had to be protected. They were, essentially, on lifetime probation and could be yanked back into custody immediately if ever they broke its rules.

Thompson stayed under the radar, but in 2008, Jon Venables was in a drunken scuffle and caught carrying a little cocaine. Reportedly, probation  officers knew Jon had a drug and drinking problem, and they let him be.

Then Venables adopted a disturbing online persona: “Dawn,” a pedophile mother willing to pimp out her young daughter. As Dawn, Jon lured pedophiles into sending him hardcore child pornography. He was busted when, fearing his secret identity had been blown and ready to flee, he gave police his computer for safekeeping. He’d tried removing the hard drive, which aroused suspicions.

Police found shocking images; videos of an eight-year-old girl being raped, and pictures of children as young as two being raped by an adult. Jon Venables’ viewing choices are a frightening window into his perverted fantasies.

Rehabilitation was the dream, but in no universe has he been rehabilitated. And so we face a painful truth. Fresh starts can’t always change the toxic mental brew that leads children to kill. They couldn’t erase Venables’ deep-seated problems or recast his warped sexuality. As children, Jon and Robert were anomalies, treated with kid gloves by the system. But Venables’ monstrous act was 17 years ago. He is no longer 10. He’s a man of 27.

Jon’s defenders say living a lie proved too much psychologically. He couldn’t have a girlfriend and feared being alone forever. But most men without girlfriends don’t covet or collect child pornography. He has shown us what excites him, and it is hugely dangerous.

Venables told police he saw downloading the images as “breaking the last taboo.” No. That was the torture murder of Jamie Bulger.

Venables received a two-year sentence for downloading and distributing the pornography, but could be freed in a year. Reportedly he is letting slip who he really is, so authorities are discussing another new identity, at a reported cost of 250,000 pounds (US $398,323) to taxpayers.

One new identity and one fresh start is plenty. All coddling should have gone out the window the minute he re-offended. Brits now need to know who he is, and where he is, and the powers-that-be now must protect those he is most likely to prey upon. Jamie Bulger’s memory deserves that much.

Today downloading child porn; tomorrow acting out? Maybe. But who is willing to take a chance on Venables? Rehabilitation is difficult, if not impossible, for hard-core sex offenders. Their sick sexual fantasies can be managed with enough will and medication, perhaps, but not erased. Jon’s redemption would have been saying “no” instead of “yes” to his dark impulses. It didn’t happen. This baby killer’s rights should never again overshadow the rights of our children. Venables is a time bomb. No good will come of burying the truth a second time, no matter how ugly.

So, just how much money, time or effort do you think should be spent on giving Jon Venables a second new identity? Let us hear from you on this issue.

Sue Russell is a British-born journalist and the author of Lethal Intent, a biography of executed serial killer Aileen Wuornos, who admitted to killing seven men in Florida. Sue is at work on another crime book. Find her at her website; e-mail her at: sue@suerussellwrites.com; or follow her at http://www.twitter.com/@SRussellWrites.

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Of Cerberus, Cleopatra, and Murder

by Deborah Blum

The poison, according to Greek mythology, could be found at the gates of hell. It dripped from the jaws of Cerberus, the hulking three-headed dog that guarded the entrance to the underworld. And when the dog drooled on the ground, strangely beautiful flowers sprang up, each one poisonous at its heart.

The poison always carried the taint of dark magic. People called it wolfsbane, dogsbane, even -- rather horrifyingly -- wifesbane. Its reputation called to writers over the years. Oscar Wilde used it in his story of a determined murderer, Lord Arthur Savile's Crime. It was used by a character in James Joyce's Ulysses who commits suicide. And author J.K. Rowling wrote it into her wildly successful Harry Potter series, where potions master Severus Snape brewed it into a drink that rendered werewolves harmless.

Today, we tend to refer to this poison rather prosaically as aconite. I love the notion of it being drooled by hellish dogs but, in fact, it's simply part of the internal chemistry of a rather decorative plant popularly called monkshood, with the Latin name of Aconitum napellus.

In an academic sense, people have long been fascinated by aconite's lethal qualities, believing that a compound this powerful must surely have the ability to alter history. Just last month, researchers proposed that the suicidal death of the ancient Egyptian queen, Cleopatra, might not have been due to snakebite, as suggested by legend (and William Shakespeare). Rather, a German historian proposed that the queen's purported symptoms fit better with a poison cocktail, containing ingredients such as hemlock and aconite.

But in a less academic sense, as a murder trial in London earlier this year reminds us, the poison also remains as a murderer's weapon. The pure alkaloid (called aconitine) is so deadly that it's considered fatal to humans at as little as 5 milligrams (about .0002 ounces.) Fortunately, aconitine is somewhat dilute in the plant material itself -- which maybe one reason why, in this year's rare use of aconite, one of the victims survived.

The story of this winter's murder in London began with a 39-year-old man named Lakhvinder Cheema, who decided to give up a long-time relationship with a married mistress and tie the knot himself. His chosen bride was a 21-year-old recent immigrant to the United Kingdom. She was also 24 years younger than the man's ex-lover.

According to the prosecution, the rejected mistress, Lakvir Singh, responded by collecting seeds from an aconite plant. These contain aconitine, but not at the concentration found in the plant's turnip-shaped roots. Singh then let herself into her ex-lover's apartment, using her key, and mixed the seeds into a container of left-over curry in his refrigerator. That evening Cheema and his fiance had the curry for dinner.

Chemically, aconitine resembles a tangled chain of carbon, hydrogen, and oxygen atoms along with one atom of nitrogen. Its ornate structure allows it to rather efficiently unlock and poison certain nerve cells. In particular, it opens and poisons calcium channels leading to the heart, disrupting the nervous system messages that keep it beating. People exposed to the poison complain of numbness and tingling as their nerves cells fray. Death can occur in less than ten minutes. Cheema called for ambulance as he became increasingly ill. He died with the hour. Doctors at the hospital put his girlfriend into a coma while they identified the poison and treated her. She'd eaten far less of the curry, and she survived.

Singh was convicted of murder on February 9 and sentenced to life in prison. Prosecutors noted that it was the first known aconite murder in England in more than 125 years. In a widely publicized 1882 trial, British doctor George Henry Lamson was convicted of killing his 18-year-old brother-in-law by feeding him a cake poisoned with aconitine. Lamson had wanted his wife to inherit all of a family estate rather than sharing it with a teenage boy.

The lawyers at the recent trial expressed astonishment that such an old-fashioned poison would reappear in modern England. But although the names of poisons may change over the years, their lethal qualities do not abate. And the motives of killers -- jealousy, rage, greed?

Those have stayed the same since Cerberus was drooling poison for the use of the ancient gods.

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Twice, No, Three Times Dead?

by Andrea Campbell

When is a nightmare real? When you die two or more times.

Earlier this year, a Caucasian woman named Pamela Harper was found lying face down and unconscious in an alley behind her brother-in-law’s house at 1322 Hunters Cove Drive in Little Rock. Despite the March night chill, she was wearing a thin gown, light underwear and socks. Her right hand clutched a pair of gray sweat pants. It was 6:30 a.m.

MEMS Arrives
According to Detective M. Nelson’s police report, the patrol officers who arrived on scene said that a Metropolitan Emergency Medical Services (MEMS) was called, and vehicle Unit #503 arrived. Two paramedics named Pat Bajorak and Keith Summerman were the first responders, arriving within twenty minutes at approximately 6:40 a.m. The medics did their work and reported that the victim was deceased. The medics remained on the premises for about an hour altogether according to police officer Ronnie Carr. Carr then notified Sgt. Helton. A couple of other detectives, Sgt. O. Jenkins and Detective Haskins, came out to the scene as well.

Interviews
Officers interviewed Jim Ducket, 71, the subject’s brother-in-law who lived at the address. Ducket said that Pamela Harper had called him a little after 1 o’clock in the morning. Ducket added that he thought she had sounded drunk, and that she said she had to get out of the house. Ducket claims he told Harper that she needed to not leave the house but that she should try to go to sleep. She said, “OK,” and ended the call. The next person police spoke to was the deceased’s husband, Tanny Harper, aged 60, who admitted that he and his wife had been drinking the night before and he thought his wife may have taken some pain pills. But Mr. Harper stated that he didn’t know if she’d left the house, and he reported last seeing her around midnight.

On Scene
Detective Nelson reports that he was urgently summoned from another crime scene to join the others at the Harper scene. Nelson reported that Lt. King said there was more going on with the dead body. Nelson arrived around 8:50 a.m.; Detective Haskins filled him in: the first MEMS unit had put a sheet over Ms. Harper before they left. Officers then went back to the body and when they pulled back the sheet, they noticed Ms. Harper had “goose bumps” on her shoulders and back! They observed that her stomach was moving up and down and that air was being exhaled from her mouth. He wrote in his report that they witnessed her taking about ten breaths over a two-minute period. Apparently, the first MEMS ambulance crew had pronounced her dead mistakenly, misdiagnosed rigor mortis. They immediately sought to cover her up and called the MEMS service again.

Second Ambulance Visit
This time MEMS Unit #408 was dispatched to 1322 Hunters Cove Drive at about 9:10 a.m. In the meantime, officers had spoken to the Pulaski County deputy coroner and described what they saw. The second ambulance crew arrived, immediately started CPR and Paramedic Brandi Johnson hooked Ms. Harper up to a heart monitor. Johnson determined that she couldn’t detect any heart rhythm, decided Harper was dead, and over the phone asked a doctor—Dr. Kennedy at Baptist Emergency—to "declare Harper officially dead.” Johnson was heard saying the victim showed signs of lividity and was cold. Harper's death was now logged in at 9:29 a.m., about three hours since she was first discovered. Before she left, Paramedic Johnson took the time to explain to the detective that what she believed he had observed was air leaving Ms. Harper’s lungs after death. The MEMS unit left the scene once again.

Notification
Officer Nelson notified his superior and called Deputy Coroner Patrick McElroy to tell him what had transpired and ask him to respond to the scene. Around 10 that morning, McElroy showed up with Pulaski County Coroner Garland Camper and another deputy coroner, Gerone Hobbs. Soon all of them observed Ms. Harper breathe again. She was covered in a blanket and MEMS Unit #133 arrived at 10:27 a.m.; and this time they were advised to take the victim to Baptist Hospital right away. They left around 10:53 a.m., according to the police report.

So let’s get this straight: about three and a half hours after she was first found in the 40-degree March temperature, she was pronounced dead several times and left to chill (literally).

Unfortunately, Ms. Harper died two days later at Little Rock’s Baptist Health Medical Center.

The Official Medical Ruling
Autopsy results determined the death was a suicide as the result of an intentional overdose of the narcotic painkiller Darvocet and alcohol. Hypothermia was a contributing factor in her demise.

The Aftermath
MEMS administrators accepted responsibility for the mistake, but Executive Director Jon Swanson, along with Medical Director Chuck Mason, said that once the two separate crews believed that 52-year-old Pamela Harper was dead, they followed the correct protocols and made decisions accordingly. They also felt that the coroner had portrayed the incident unfairly by criticizing the agency and its employees. Coroner Camper put in his report that paramedics should have followed a hypothermia protocol. Swanson disagreed, saying that paramedics should have done “Pulseless Electrical Activity” had they known Harper was alive. “I don’t know where he got his medical training,” said Mason, a physician and specialist in emergency medicine, said of Camper. “But it wasn’t medical school.”

Some other critical comments were bounced back and forth such as: the questionable age of the medic, a reluctance to share information, how likely the victim was to die, and, apparently, animosity was fully lobbied in both directions. The end result is that MEMS issued an apology for the mistakes and the Harper family did not reply to reporters' requests for comments.

“This is nothing to be proud of,” Swanson said. “We have done a thorough, honest and self-criticizing assessment of our performance. The responsibility is ours for the mistakes we made.”

Coroner Camper said he was confident in his report’s accuracy. “It is what it is,” the coroner said. “It’s as right as I could get it. I gave them the benefit of everything we address in the report.”

In Hindsight

MEMS is revising its training and protocols, in particular, Protocol 803 “Withholding/Withdrawal of Life Support.” The new policy adds four criteria for determining whether a person is “obviously dead”: No breathing through an open airway for 30 seconds, no pulse for 30 seconds, no heart sounds for 60 seconds and fixed and dilated pupils with “no neurological response to painful stimuli,” such as a pinch of the skin.

Other Cautions

There is also this: “Caution: Signs of death may be misleading.” Examples given in the manual are that a burn victim may appear dead and that poor hygiene can simulate decomposition.

And that pesky hypothermia? It “may simulate death, and resuscitation should be attempted if time of exposure to cold environment or water has been less than one hour or is unknown.”

According to news reports, Swanson said MEMS gets more than 6,000 calls a month and transports 4,000 people to hospitals. “Maybe only 1 or 2 or 3 percent of our calls are truly to render lifesaving service, to perform in life-threatening situations,” Swanson said. “We know we don’t get a second chance.”

Told that it would seem that ambulance crews got a second and then a third chance in Harper’s case, Swanson sighed deeply and thought about what to say next. "We acknowledge the duty that we have to do the best we can with each patient every time," he said after a pause. "This is an outcome that we regret. Which is why it is so important for us to learn what we can from it, to use it to better offer treatment and care to the people we will serve in the future.”

Source: MEMS criticizes coroner’s report on death Responders Erred in Overdose Case but Findings Unfair to Then, Officials Say by Jacob Quinn Sanders Arkansas Democrat Gazette, June 23, 2010.

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My Hero, Antoine Dodson! Bed Intruder Defender!

by Pat Brown

Now, if you don't know who Antoine Dodson is by now, you are living under a rock or your Internet provider is on the blink.

Last time I posted here on Women in Crime Ink, I wrote about how I was a bit peeved (I love that word. I wasn't bitter or bent all of shape; I was just a bit peeved!) that Colton Harris-Moore, the criminal called The Barefoot Bandit, had more Facebook friends than I have! After all, I do a lot of television and radio work, and since my new book, The Profiler: My Life Hunting Serial Killers and Psychopaths, went on sale, I've worked hard to make my publisher happy. Part of that is keeping up with social networking, blogging, and doing all the television and radio I can. Then some lowlife piece of crap who has cost the taxpayers thousands and thousands of dollars, squandered police resources, and stolen citizens' possessions and their sense of security, gets a Facebook fan page written for him, huge publicity, and his poor-excuse-for-a-mother gets a huge book and movie deal.

Sometimes life just didn't seem fair, does it? The uncomfortable truth is that crime does pay at times, and it seems a lot of people support antiheroes more than heroes.

But hol' up now! Here comes Antoine! Heralding from the projects of Huntsville, Alabama, this young man ended up on local television for one of those short interviews, the type where a relative speaks on camera about a neighborhood crime, illustrating how horrible it was and insisting they hope the police will quickly catch the guy. The usual scenario is that the interviewee gets his 15 seconds (never 15 minutes) of fame, and his family and a few of his friends chortle over his appearance. By morning, the fellow and his run-of-the-mill statement are forgotten.

Not Antoine Dodson. He did his brief appearance in front of the camera and began a phenomenon. As I write this blog post (just after midnight on Tuesday morning), his new facebook fan page (put up by someone not connected to Antoine or his family) already has more than 18,000 fans! No, wait, that was 15 minutes ago. Now, he has 18,050! By the time you read this post, I can't even imagine the number.

Please understand that I'm not bitter about all his Facebook friends or that he'll probably have his own television show by the end of the week; envious as hell, but not bitter! In fact, I'm a huge Antoine Dodson fan. I want one of those mugs with his face on it and a t-shirt with his words. I even want the ringtone of The Bed Intruder song (which I tried to download twice and got scammed by two ringtone companies who only wrote in small print that THAT ringtone was not available). I admit it, I am caught up in the Antoine Dodson fever.

Don't know who I'm talking about? This is Antoine who rescued his sister, Kelly, from a rapist before he did her any damage, chased him out of the apartment. As one blogger noted, "Rape is never funny, except when Antoine Dodson is involved."

Well, even attempted rape isn't funny, but Antoine's warning to the community and to the rapist will just put you ROFL unless you ain't got no sense of humor!

Antoine let the people know: "Obviously, we have a rapist in Lincoln Park. He's climbing in your windows. He's snatching up yo people, trying to rape them. So you need to hide yo kids, hide yo wife, and and hide yo husband because they be raping errybody out here."

And he mocked the rapist (something I am always fond of) and threatened him, too (and I am really fond of that).

"We got your t-shirt. You left fingerprints and all. You are so dumb. You are really dumb. For real. You don't have to come and confess that you did this. We're looking for you. We, we 'gon find you. So you can run and tell that, homeboy!”

Reading the words just doesn't quite do it; you have to watch the video.

Now, at this point I was somewhere between laughing myself to death and being totally impressed that this man stood up and just told it straight. Then, someone had to come out with the music video called Bed Intruder Song. God help me, I cannot stop watching the video over and over. I sing along with it. Now I know what crack does to you. I gotta have the damn ringtone! "Hide yo kids, hide your wife, and hide yo husband because they be raping errybody out here!" Oh, Lord, stop me from hitting the replay button so I can get some work done.

I thank you, Antoine, for being a good man and just being you. We all love you for giving us one of the best cheerer-uppers of the year and reminding us that even when bad things happen and evil people cause misery, there are rays of hope and humor and happiness that shine through the dark clouds.

You go, Antoine! The millions who have seen the videos on YouTube thank you and so do all your facebook fans (I clicked the like button too), and all the crime fighters out there. And as soon as the Bed Intruder ringtone actually becomes available, I am sure your voice will be coming out of my telephone every time someone calls.

Sometimes someone just makes you feel good!

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The Media - America's Next Courtroom?

by Anne Bremner

Having been a trial lawyer for well over two decades, I'm keenly interested in the public's perception of the judicial process, the practice of law, and what really transpires in an actual courtroom. With the ever-increasing ranks of pseudo-courtroom shows; the burgeoning blogosphere; reporters with unused bar cards spouting legalese; and lawyers heavy on chutzpah but light on credentials out-shouting each other on the TV screen, it seems that the media portrayal of jurisprudence is increasingly diverging from actuality--the real American courtroom.

The tabloidization of high-profile cases has created a distorted, hybrid version of our legal system--much like a locomotive engine, cut loose from the rest of the train. The rest of the train includes the rules of evidence, admissibility, procedure, burden of proof and the presumption of innocence. The engine steams ahead, fascinating to watch as it veers off the tracks. Train wrecks are compelling. In the blogosphere, over the airwaves, in sensational tabloids, mini-trials are conducted, concluded, verdicts pronounced. Those with mouths open, ears closed, cultivate a certain ipsi dixit mentality devoid of civility. Personal attacks substitute for educated, thoughtful or persuasive argument.

In our instant-everything culture, there is a tendency to want everything wrapped up in a sound bite. We see, as in the Anna Nicole Smith case and the Michael Jackson case, an impatience to wait for toxicology results, the conclusion of a thorough investigation. There is an eagerness to turn "what if's" into presumed fact, the presumption that a bit of google searching turns laypersons into forensic experts, detectives, and armchair lawyers.

Sometimes the rampant speculation ultimately proves to be correct, but many times it does not. For several days Richard Jewell was the Atlanta City Bomber, John Mark Karr had killed JonBenet Ramsey, Kobe Bryant had raped a hotel clerk, the Duke Lacrosse players had raped a stripper. 

In the media, there is no ramification for getting it wrong. In the real courtroom, there is. No one knows that more than Michael Nifong, disbarred for his bungling of the Duke Lacrosse prosecution. No one feels it more than any trial lawyer who has lived and breathed a case for several years leading up to a trial-- the burden of standing in the shoes of a client whose future hangs in the balance.

Then there is the phenomena I call "blogulgation" -- when a group of bloggers feed off each other's posts, citing each other as reliable sources to bolster the validity of their position. A diatribe by another blogger is tagged as "news" in a cyber game of telegraph, where a surreal "reality" is crafted from amalgamated speculation corroborated not by actual facts or independent investigation but by endorsement of other speculators. 

Often regurgitating outdated news, disproven facts, they share such a fanatic devotion to their cultivated theories that they become disturbingly hostile, on a personal level, towards anyone with divergent views. Rather than a quest for enlightenment or intellectual debate, these groups often evolve into a support group for those with identical, albeit misinformed opinions.

Although I appear on a variety of networks discussing numerous topics, I am most frequently asked about my appearances on Nancy Grace. The show is a lightening rod for controversy--viewers divided into two categories: those that love the show and those that love to hate it. Many attorneys who appear on the show receive a mixed bag of effusive fan emails and the smattering of vitriolic admonitions from viewers who suggest the show is not highbrow legal analysis. The show doesn't purport to be highbrow. It is is a forum for the prosecution/victim point of view, those who feel the justice system doesn't effectively deter and punish perpetrators who harm and exploit vulnerable victims. 

A case can't be dissected in a few sound bites. The best I hope to do is act as a counterweight, maybe interject a brief point that will serve to plant a seed in the minds of viewers, a reminder that every case, no matter how open and shut it appears to be, will be defended and must be proven. That Nancy Grace interjects her laserlike acerbic wit makes the show entertaining. I know many lawyers and judges who consider it their "little secret" that they are fascinated by the show.

I know Nancy Grace as a dear friend, champion of the underdog, promoter of others in her profession, generous to a fault, wickedly witty, endlessly kind. I have seen her at home with her ever-amused husband, the breathtakingly adorable twins that are the center of their universe--Nancy in sweats, no makeup, the kind of friend you hang out with on the back porch, drinking sweet tea and talking about normal, everyday things that friends share. On the TV screen, we're just two lawyers on opposite sides of an issue. If I get cut off, don't get to wax loquacious, no harm done. TV is fleeting, soon forgotten. 

I try to remind people that TV is no substitute for reality, that bloggers are no substitute for quality journalism. As long as we all understand the line between entertainment and reality, the only harm that comes is taking the TV version too seriously.

My advice to anyone interested in the trial process? Pick any courthouse in any town, find a jury trial on the court docket and sit in the courtroom from start to finish. From the motions in limine. voir dire of jurors, opening statements, closings, jury instructions. Listen as the jury's verdict is read. That is our justice system. Accept no substitute.

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What the heck is going on?

by Kathryn Casey

For those of you following me on Facebook, this will come as no surprise: For the past couple of weeks, I've been documenting an alarming rise (no stats to back this up, sorry) of bizarre robberies. No, you say. How could that be the case? Well, hold onto your hats, folks, for a tour of my world, one where neither age, intelligence or lack thereof, nor costume preference thwarts a robber's steely determination. As proof, I'd like to introduce the oxygen-totting, Darth Vader, underwear, bouquet, and clown pants bandits.
On July 9th, 63-year-old Arthur Williams (above left) walked into a Madison Avenue menswear shop with a cane in one hand and a gun in the other. But what the clerk noticed was that Williams was pulling something behind him, an oxygen tank hooked up to clear tubes anchored just under Williams' nose. Poor guy. He must have to be really broke to turn to crime in his condition. Maybe not. It turned out that Williams wasn't some hard up senior citizen, maybe in the Medicare donut hole who needed money to buy food and pay for prescriptions, but a hardened criminal with a long rap sheet nearing the end of a three-state crime spree.


In prison, where he'd spent the bulk of his life, he was known to "praise the lord" during sermons as an ad hock preacher. His promise to the parole board when they let him out: to help troubled youngsters. Guess things didn't turn out that way. Williams died two days after the menswear robbery in a Maryland police chase.

Where's Luke Skywalker when you need him? I'm sure the Chase Bank in Long Island, New York, wondered just that when a caped man wearing a Darth Vader headpiece walked in carrying a gun on July 22nd. At first some in the bank thought it was a prank, but the joke was on them when the guy - assuming it was a guy - walked out with a fistful of bills. Of course, he wasn't much of a method actor. I didn't hear he had the breathing down, and his outfit pretty much fell apart below the waist, where he wore camouflage pants.

While Darth Vader was attacking in New York, on the same day in Oklahoma, a woman named Sharon Lain staked her claim to fame by becoming forever known as the Underwear Bandit. On July 22nd, a woman, allegedly Lain, wore a girdle stretched across her lower face anchored by yellow paperclips, in a failed attempt to hide her visage from surveillance cameras as she robbed the drive-thru cash drawer at a Midwest City, Oklahoma, McDonald's. I felt sorry for Lain at first when I read that her house had been condemned. Perhaps she was a casualty of this blankety-blank recession? Then I read on and discovered she favored the horses and needed the cash to lay down a bet.

Edward Pemberton, the bouquet bandit, allegedly envisioned himself as a kinder, gentler criminal, one who softened the blow of his six bank heists since 2008 by gifting the victims with plants and flowers. "The flowers show I'm a good person," the flower delivery man who has a long record told the NY Daily News. "I'm a good person." He also characterized the flowers as a way of thanking the tellers, "who were giving me something that didn't belong to them." It was this admiral trait of his that led to his capture, when his fingerprints were lifted off a couple of the bouquets. Pictured at right with an unidentified woman, Pemberton viewed the robbery world differently than the Underwear Bandit above: "If you're financially strapped, you can't go stick up McDonald's. You've gotta go where the money is."

Perhaps none can top 48-year-old Dennis Hawkins of North Braddock, PA, who allegedly robbed a bank on July 24th wearing a blond wig, fake breasts under a sweater, and clown pants. Try to be inconspicuous much? If news reports are right, Hawkins didn't plan terribly well. Along with wearing a costume that made an escape unlikely, he forgot about the first item covered in How to Be a Bank Robber 101 classes: you need a getaway car! Instead, he commandeered a woman's car. Unfortunately for him, the driver hopped out, keys in hand, leaving him stranded. A half-woman/half-clown target with red dye all over from the exploding pack tucked in with the bills, he was a highly visible target, easily picked up by police. I'm surprised Hawkins didn't at least shave his beard to try to pull it off.

I'm not even going to get into the woman wearing a cat mask who robbed a Manhattan shoe store. Anyone care to clue us in on what the heck is going on?

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