As a law professor it is important to me to expose the standards and definitions used in the law to judge our actions.
The written word has power. Dominick Dunne’s A Season in Purgatory (1993), a fictional account of the Martha Moxley Murder, reopened eyes to a cold case. Yet, even before the ink dried on this work of literature, two police officers named Steve Carrol and Frank Garr and a reporter named Leonard Levitt suspected Michael Skakel of the crime.
In 1972, an assailant silenced the life of Dr. John Robert Hill in his home. In time, the assassin would be tagged as Bobby Vandiver. He made a case saying that Ash Robinson, the Texas oil tycoon whose daughter became the wife of Dr. Hill years earlier should have been culpable. Negating all of this, a policeman gunned down Vandiver without him giving a full testimony as to how he received $5,000 from Robinson.
AFTER I PURCHASED A PACK OF LATEX GLOVES from the local CVS, I went to my closet to retrieve the gun that Finesse had brought me and laid it on the floor. I took cell phone pictures of the firearm and wrote down the make and serial number.
“I NEED YOUR HELP AGAIN,” Finesse texted me out of the blue in March 2019. “And I’ll do whatever you want me to.”
Are we certain that the Floyd case is one of racism?
(This story is based on a true events, and factual evidence. The names and various locations have been changed for the sake of the families involved.
Today i awoke in a good mood, no particular reason other than I had finally had a chance to go metal detecting a couple of days ago and it did me the world of good mentally, physically I am still in pain and think I may have bruised or pulled something in my right hip but that aside, two days ago I was sitting in a field with a beautiful vista, a magnificent Buzzard hovering very close and a cheese and onion sandwich in my hand.
“It's in your moments of decision that your destiny is shaped.” Anthony Robbins
At a clip of 6,000 words a day, David Graham Phillips built up a reputation as a successful novelist dedicated to his art. The writer lived in New York City with his sister. He did not know that his work would lead someone else to consider him a target for murder. On the evening of January 23, 1911, Phillips, dressed in the gentleman’s style completed by a black alpine hat, journeyed to his social club in New York, the Princeton.