#and then i thought about bomb threat confession letter!!! two nights ago

[evercelle]

happy ✌️alentine’s day!! (reads R->L)

[dontdietwd]

Don’t Die, day 15

A flock of birds flew through the sky above the road, chirping loudly and joyfully as the first rays of the sun lit up the landscape, pinks and oranges painting it beautifully. A clear contrast against the road, infinite rows of cars parked in line, gloomy and quiet. It was like nature was mocking us all, pretending nothing out of the ordinary was happening. Like it was celebrating the fact that the city a few miles away had been bombed; celebrating that nature had finally won over humanity.

I’d been staring at the sunrise for a while, sitting on the roof of the car, hugging my knees against my chest. It was gorgeous. After a while I took a deep, deep breath and felt the air was fresh; the smoke from the cars’ exhausts having dissipated hours ago. I had always liked the sky. One good thing of having lived in Garden City was that I could always see the sky there; bright nights of full moons or with millions of shining stars; and the sunrise. More often than not, when the sky was clear, I left her house a few minutes earlier than necessary just so I could take a glimpse of the sky.

Now, on top of the truck, head turned up to avoid seeing the rows of cars and strange, hopeless people around, I felt a tiny flicker of normalcy. The world was still out there; it was only different. By my side, having been silent for more than one hour, Daryl had his elbows resting on his knees, biting into his lower lip, mind seemingly miles away but his presence still there, solid by my side.

“About this group,” he slowly broke the silence in a real low voice, for my ears only.

I turned her head to look at him for a moment and waited for him to go on, but he didn’t say anything else, his thumb now suffering the abuse from his teeth.

“Yeah?” I encouraged him in a whisper, which made Daryl turn his head to look at me.

He still took a few moments to speak. “I don’t like people,” he lowered his eyes and it sounded like a confession.

“I know.”

“Don’t trust them,”, he looked at me again.

“I know. I don’t either.”

He didn’t answer, but also didn’t look away, again biting into his lip.

“That’s why I need you and Merle with me,” I moved on gently. “We’ll be with them for safety. For a real camp, for weapons and more look outs, for food.”

“But we –” Daryl said suddenly, without a thought, and stopped himself abruptly.

“The three of us?” I whispered leaning a bit closer to him, as if I was sharing a secret. “We’re our own group, from the beginning. I’d like to keep it that way.”

Daryl kept quiet again, eyes fixed on mine like he nearly never did, dancing from right to left, searching for something. He then nodded slowly, no longer biting on his lip, trying to see if I really meant it.

“We’re still it… Right?” he asked in the same whisper a moment later.

I took a moment to understand. Being in a group, as small as it was with only three people, seemed to mean more to Daryl than he had ever let out, and I understood it by his question and unguarded expression; unguarded like I had never seen before. He like what we had and didn’t want to lose it.

“Of course,” I said softly, hiding well my surprise, I think. “We’ll always be it. No matter the group we’re in. You and me…” I paused and added, as an afterthought “…and Merle,” because for a moment I did forget to mention Merle and I wondered why. Was I thinking of just Daryl and I as a together thing? I did get along way much better with Daryl than with Merle, that was a fact and I’m sure even they knew it. “We’ll stick together,” I finished and gave him a small, reassuring smile and felt the need to add “Right?” having a sudden need to also hear it.

Daryl nodded. “Right. I’ll have your back.”

“Yeah,” I smiled more. “And I got yours,” and lightly shoved his shoulder with mine, receiving the same gesture back a moment after, accompanied by a tight little closed lips smile.

I was still smiling when I looked again to the sunrise, feeling strangely content for someone in my situation. What was it about this little conversation what warmed my heart like what, like I hadn’t felt in a real long time? By her side, I could feel Daryl stealing few more glances at me, not lingering for too long on each look. By the corner of my eye I caught him eyeing my tattooed art, like he was paying attention to each of them just now. There was a perfectly drawn green hummingbird flying among orange flowers, right above my elbow. A little higher, on my shoulder, the silhouette of a little girl standing, arm outstretched towards a balloon that was clearly soaring away from her. Under the balloon, a date; August 1998. Lower, on my forearm, a colorful mandala with Bowie’s “you’re too old to lose it, too young to choose it” written in typewriter letters under it.

Daryl was thinking hard of something, I could tell. He was back to biting his inner lower lip, poor flesh must be sore by now, a sot frown worrying his forehead, but still looking at me and away repeatedly. I wished he would talk to me, speak what was on his mind.

“Uh, hey, hum…” an uncertain voice woke us both from our thoughts. Both of us looked down at the asphalt, a bit startled, to see a young man, Asian with a baseball cap who looked like no more than a teenager. “Excuse me?”

“Yeah?” I was the one to speak, not moving. Daryl did tense a bit by my side, though. Not much, the boy didn’t look like a threat.

“I heard you talking last night? This is my car.” he pointed to the one parked right by ours. “I wasn’t trying to overhear, just… Heard you. I’m - I’m Glenn, by the way.”

“Yeah, Glenn, what did ya hear?” Daryl asked annoyed by the interruption.

“You’re forming a group to get away from the road and set camp?”

“That a question?” I stretched my legs in front of me and crossed my arms.

“No. Question is if I can join.”

I stared at him for a moment. There was no reason at all why I wouldn’t let him join. He was young and probably energetic, and he looked smart – maybe I was just stereotyping him – but we could use smart people on the group.

I looked at Daryl and he shrugged, “You call it.”

I looked again at Glenn, “You know how to do something useful?”

“I learned how to shoot years ago, but I don’t have a gun. And I can run pretty fast, won competitions at school… I’ve killed a few of the dead when I was escaping, so I think I can deal with them. And Atlanta?” he kept going as he pointed towards some random spot with his thumb over his shoulder. “I know the streets like my own backyard, if it’s needed to go there for something. I just… Yeah.”

I simply stared at him for a long moment, one eyebrow up, thinking. Well, I wasn’t really thinking, I had agreed already. I guess I was in a better mood today, enough to even tease the boy. But I felt for him, poor guy, he started t shift his weight from one foot to another, looking from me to Daryl repeatedly.

So I finally smiled at him, “Yeah, you can come.”

Glenn laughed. “Oh, phew! Good, thanks!” and he looked at Daryl, smiling. “Hey!”

“Yeah.” was all he got as an answer, just I Sam hopped down to the floor and extended her hand at the boy.

“I’m Sam.” we shook hands. “This is Daryl, and there’s one more sleeping in the car, name’s Merle.”

Daryl also fell to the asphalt and hit the front of the car three times with his palm. “Wake up!” he shouted and we watched as Merle woke up from a deep daze, defensively looking around the road through the windows, asking “what” repeatedly.

“Morning, sleepyhead!” I said in a sing-song voice.

“Son of a bitch!” was his answer

Daryl poked me and pointed down the road, to where Shane and Lori approached us being followed by three new people who hadn’t been there last night.

“Morning.” Shane greeted us. “You guys ready?”

“Almost,” I answered. “Hey, this is Glenn, he’ll be joining us.”

Shane eyed Glenn for a moment, as the boy waved awkwardly at him, and looked back at me, annoyed.

“Ya picking up people now?”

Oh, the nerve. Instead of an answer, I leaned to her left to be able to look at the three new people behind Shane; an older man with a bucket hat and two blonde girls, very similar to each other. I looked at each of them for a moment then smiled. “Hi, I don’t believe we met, I’m Sam.” and looked back at Shane, smile vanishing in a blink of an eye. “Yes, I am, just like you.”

“Dale’s got an RV. Might be useful.” Shane explained. “Andrea and Amy were with him.”

“And Glenn needed a group. He can run.” I finished and looked again at the three people. “Welcome to the group. We’re heading back south 85 until we find some other road. Gonna look around checking for places. After we find it, all our supplies will be rationed and shared. Get used to the idea.”

“Hey, can I speak to you for a moment?” Shane said in a low, a but urgent voice and touched my arm to nudge me away from the group. Daryl tensed by my side, taking a step to follow us, his chest puffed.

“Alone?” Shane asked looking from me to him, eyebrows raised.

“Anything you gotta say to me, you can say it to Daryl. Gonna him later anyway.”

Shane breathed out loudly as to control something that had instantly boiled inside him. I didn’t want to know what, but wondered what the fuck did he want to tell me tha Daryl’s presence would ruin it.

“Look, it’s just…” Shane started once we were away from the rest of the group, Daryl standing facing us both with his arms crossed. “I’ve come to you and invited ya to join my group. Right? Glad you accepted, but we gotta set some boundaries here. Can’t have too many people calling on decisions here. I’m an officer, alright? I know how to deal with things.”

“You’re a cop?” Daryl asked in an impressed tone, making me look surprised at him. I’d never heard him joke before. I liked it, the sarcastic tone. “Really? Hadn’t heard about it yet.”

I held in a laugh, a smile playing on my lips trying to contain it. By the look in Shane’s eyes, he was quickly approaching some kind of limit that I preferred not to push. At least not for now.

“Being a cop in the fuckin’ end of the world ain’t gonna mean that much, Shane,” I said as my smile vanished. “We all got abilities here, you got yours, I got mine. If ya think you’ll be making all the decisions for the group just ‘cause of the profession ya had before the end o the fuckin’ world, well, you wrong.”

“Now look here –”

“You will be making decisions…” I raised my voice to interrupt him and lifting a hand between us to make him stop talking “if that’s so important to you, if you make reasonable decisions. That’s all it’s gonna take. For now, this group has no leader. We don’t know you, alright? Ya can’t expect people to do as you say with no questions asked.”

“Ain’t that what you just did?”

“I stated the obvious, is what I did. Last night we talked about leaving the road, the only possible way is south. About finding a place, sharing and rationing things, all things we talked about last night. Ain’t that what we gotta do?”

Shane stared at me in silence, big eyed, hands on his hips. After a moment he nodded, tongue liking his teeth, and looked from me to Daryl and back again. With that, he turned his back to them, returning to the group.

“Alright, let’s all get the cars and turn around to south, it’s time now. We’ll travel together.”

 * * *

 The day felt like a week as it passed slowly, the stuck traffic on the road making the all our cars, truck and RV need to navigate through the grassy path between the lanes of the road, ever so slowly. Down south on 85, the asphalt was little less packed with cars and we were able to gain a little speed, but by then it was already mid-afternoon. We were unable to leave the main road that day. When evening started to come, we decided to stop in the middle of nowhere, not having a better place to do that. By this time, our caravan was already bigger. One more car and a van had started following us at about four in the afternoon. Shane had sped up to catch up with our truck.

“Ya think we should be worried ‘bout these guys following us?” Shane had asked aloud with both cars moving.

“Saw them too, huh?” Merle shouted from the driver’s seat.

“Yeah, ‘bout a mile ago.”

“Let’s stop.” I yelled leaning over Merle to the window. “We’ll see what they want.”

Shane and I had gone opening the party, Merle, Daryl and Glenn standing behind us with weapons purposefully on sight. It had turned out to be a family, the Morales couple with their two children, and two more people they had picked up to help on the road, Jim and Jackie. Behind them, alone in a van, was a man named Theodore, but he preferred to be called T-Dog. We talked for a while with those six new people, who practically begged to go and set camp with us. I don’t know what they saw in our little group that made them want to join so badly, there was nothing special about us. But well, we did have weapons and food, I guess the value of those was pretty high then. Shane rubbed his nose, scratched his head and, finally, looked at me. I was just waiting, had been quiet almost all the time, and as I looked back at Shane, I nodded. I didn’t think these people would be the kind we’d like to avoid, and they had children. As I said, any group with children would do anything to protect them. At my acceptance, Shane told it would be ok for them to follow.

“Yeah, that’s a good one.” Merle mumbled when the three of us reentered our truck. “Picking up strays. Latinos and niggers. Gonna start mixin’ up our kinds now?”

“Fuck, shut up, ya dickhead!” Daryl barked from the opposite window.

“See, that’s the kinda comment ya gotta keep just here among us, huh?” I told him. “You say that to them, you start a fight, shit hit the fan even before the camp’s settled.”

“Whatever. But ya think like I do, dontcha princess?”

“Of course not! You’re being an asshole again. A racist asshole, to make it worst! Don’t you ever say anything like it to them!”

Merle said even more racist things for a while and I answered to them for a moment, before realizing that working myself up trying to convince Merle of something was a complete waste of time. After a while Daryl and I just told Merle to shut up once again, Merle told us to go fuck ourselves, and everything was peaceful again.

Now night had fallen and a fire had been built on the side of the road. Glenn was standing on top of the RV with a rifle, keeping watch and Jim was doing the same in the middle of the road. We were exactly twenty people – four children, seven women, nine men. Around the fire, all the women were sitting together, light conversation rolling between us, a clear search for bonding starting to happen, asking each other what we did before the turn, telling about our lives.

Jackie told us she worked at Atlanta’s city hall, but hadn’t been in the city on the turning days. She had just lost a cousin in LaGrange and had been there for the funeral. She heard the news about what was happening on the radio as she drove back home. At some point on 85 she got a flat tire and started walking her way up the road. Jackie had walked for hours and was completely exhausted when the Morales pulled up for her and offered a lift. They had just done the same for Jim miles before. On the Morales’ car, she got acquainted to Miranda, who gave her water and something to eat. Their family had been driving from much closer to Atlanta, in search for the shelter. Miranda told us she and her husband were married for almost fifteen years and she was a housewife. Lori and Carol both told they were full-time moms and wives as well. Carol didn’t say much about herself, retreating from the subject by asking Lori about her husband.

Lori told the group he had been a deputy-sheriff in King County and had been shot on duty weeks ago. He had passed away in the hospital just days before, Lori said with a trembling voice and unshed tears in her eyes. Her husband’s best friend had run to their house to pick her and Carl up to take them to the shelter. To enlighten a little the mood, we kept on the subject, Andrea telling them she was a civil-rights lawyer and had been on a road-trip with her sister, Amy, driving her back to college when it all happened. They had been caught up in a walker attack on the road and Dale, with his RV, had helped them to get out, only to later be caught up on the traffic.

They finally asked me what I did, and I told them I was a single waitress who went to adult school at night and jumped around things for sport on the weekends, and that was it. As I spoke, I noticed Carol looking around, eyes searching for something worriedly.

“Uh… Have any of you seen Sophia?” she asked in her small voice.

“She left minutes ago, I saw her get up.” Lori told her. “I thought she had told you she was leaving.”

“No…”

“Where did she go?” I asked Lori.

“Towards their car.”

“Oh… I think she went to sleep then. I’d better –” she started motioning to get up.

“I think it’s alright, her dad’s in the car, isn’t he?” Andrea asked in order to make Carol stay.

“Uh… Yeah. He is…” she got up anyway, a nervous look to the car. “I gonna go there anyway. Good night, girls.”

We all were silent as she left. Jackie looked around at the other’s faces, looking for someone who was thinking the same as her, and found my eyes by her side taking a deep breath, brows furrowed, looking at Carol as she reached the car. I then looked back at Jackie, our glance exchange telling us all we had to know. The group dispersed shortly after that, each woman going to try and find comfort to sleep for a few hours in their own cars.

I went to where Daryl was sitting and smoking on the hood of our truck – Merle had just left him to go sleep inside. I sat by him, controlling by breath because damn, I was angry. My fists were closed tight. Carol didn’t want Sophia alone with her dad, her eyes denouncing just how worried she was at the idea, and the meaning of it made by blood boil. Daryl and I didn’t say anything as Daryl handed me a cigarette. I took it and held it between my fingers, but denied with a gesture when Daryl reached out with his lighter. Still holding it, I rested my elbows on my knees.

“Ed definitely beats up his wife,” I whispered for his ears only. “May touch his girl as well, but I ain’t sure ‘bout that yet.”

Daryl took a deep breath then, looking to the same direction I was; the Pelletier’s car.

“Son of a bitch.” he whispered back.

“I know I got nothing with this.”

“Yeah?”

“But if I see something…”

“Won’t blame ya.”

[viralhottopics]

Don Hale: One man’s fight for justice – BBC News

Image copyright Getty Images

Image caption Don Hale has helped to clear Barry George, Stephen Downing and Ched Evans

Fifteen years ago Stephen Downing was acquitted after spending 27 years in prison for murder, overturning one of Britain’s most notorious miscarriages of justice and putting into the spotlight the local newspaper editor who helped to bring the police’s case tumbling down.

Don Hale could hardly have foreseen that by championing the case he would go on to suffer police intimidation and receive death threats – there were even two apparent attempts on his life – forcing him to leave his Derbyshire home.

But the Downing case would eventually change the law, win Hale an OBE and make him a go-to journalist to investigate major miscarriages of justice.

In the years since the release of Mr Downing, Hale has also helped to free Barry George, the man who spent eight years in jail for the murder of Jill Dando, and to clear the name of footballer, Ched Evans, after a controversial rape retrial.

Image copyright PA

Image caption Don Hale was editor of weekly local newspaper, the Matlock Mercury, during his battle to free Stephen Downing

For Hale, the brutal trigger for his life of campaigning was the 1973 killing of 32-year-old Wendy Sewell.

She was found badly beaten but still alive in a Bakewell graveyard by Mr Downing, a council gardener.

He was arrested and questioned without a solicitor for several hours but, aged 17 and with a reading age of 11, officers pressured him into signing a confession to the attack, filled with words he did not understand.

When Mrs Sewell died two days later, the charge was upgraded to murder. Mr Downing immediately retracted his confession but was found guilty at a trial at Nottingham Crown Court.

Image caption Legal secretary Wendy Sewell, dubbed “the Bakewell Tart” in the press, was left for dead in the cemetery

After their son had spent two decades in prison, Mr Downing’s parents approached Hale, editor of the Matlock Mercury, for help.

He faced obstacles at every turn, with police telling him all the evidence had been “burnt, lost and destroyed”.

A turning point came when Derby Museum staff informed him that the murder weapon – a pickaxe handle – was on display there.

With Hale’s help, Mr Downing won 13,000 from the Legal Aid Board.

This paid for a modern forensic examination of the weapon, crucially revealing Mr Downing’s fingerprints were not present – although there was a bloody palm print from an unknown person.

The clothes Mr Downing had been wearing, which had been returned to his parents, were flecked with spots of blood which Hale believed were consistent with him having tried to help Wendy Sewell as she lay dying.

Image copyright Don Hale

Image caption Twenty years after the murder Hale reshot scene of crime photographs in Bakewell cemetery

“I reported developments through the Matlock Mercury – it became like The Archers, a bit of a saga,” he joked.

But the articles prompted real-life drama in the form of anonymous death threats and what Hale claims was police harassment.

“They made my life absolute hell for five or six years,” he said.

“I was pulled up for speeding, stopped and searched, victimised.”

Letters were sent to his home and a brick was thrown through the newspaper’s window.

Most seriously, on two occasions a vehicle was driven at him at speed, which he believes were attempts to kill him.

Police even gave him a mirror on a stick to check for bombs under his car.

Image copyright Don Hale

Image caption Don Hale marching for justice for Stephen Downing

“I was very worried for my family. There weren’t threats against other journalists, it was simply against me. It turned into a rollercoaster,” he said.

But all of this merely strengthened his resolve: “If Downing had done it, why should anyone want to threaten me?”

Mr Downing was ineligible for parole under the law at the time because he had refused to admit his guilt.

Hale believed this was unfair and took the matter to the European Court of Human Rights, winning the case in 1996.

It was adopted into law that prisoners who maintained their innocence after conviction could apply for parole.

Image copyright Don Hale

Image caption Derbyshire Dales MP Patrick McLoughlin became one of the Downing campaign’s high-profile supporters

By now, the Downing case was attracting attention from far and wide: “I became a hero in Iraq, Iran, Pakistan, Argentina, because I had taken on the British government and won,” Hale said.

Closer to home, Hale said then Prime Minister Tony Blair asked him for help in setting up an independent body to investigate miscarriages of justice, which became the Criminal Case Review Commission (CCRC).

Stephen Downing’s was one of the first cases to be looked at by the CCRC.

It recommended his conviction should be overturned on the basis that the circumstances in which he gave his confession made it unreliable evidence that should not have gone before a jury.

The conviction was quashed in 2001 with Mr Downing finally walking free in January 2002.

Image copyright AP

Image caption Hale and Stephen Downing on the steps of the Royal Courts of Justice in January, 2002, after his conviction was overturned

Hale was pleased but also disappointed: “He had got off on a technicality,” he said.

“He didn’t get his day in court because police were bang to rights. Somebody should have been called to account.”

The legal challenge to Mr Downing’s conviction focused on the way detectives had conducted the original investigation in 1973.

He had been questioned without a lawyer and there were serious doubts about whether he had been properly advised of his legal rights.

These facts were never made known to the jury that convicted him, but they were enough to overturn the conviction.

But Mr Downing, for his part, was not angry: “Who would I feel bitter against? The system? I think I would be punishing myself,” he said.

With much more to say himself, Hale wrote the book, Town Without Pity, which was turned into BBC drama, In Denial of Murder, in 2004.

Image caption In Denial of Murder starred Stephen Tompkinson as Don Hale and Jason Watkins as Stephen Downing

Police reopened their investigation, interviewing 1,600 witnesses, at an estimated cost of 500,000, but failed to identify any alternative suspect – although Hale has previously said he believes he has a “very good idea” who killed Wendy Sewell.

Mr Downing was later awarded 900,000 in compensation.

The huge press attention the case attracted finally forced Hale to relocate to north Wales.

“One of the reasons I moved away from Derbyshire was to get relief,” he said. “It wasn’t fair on my family.”

Image caption Jill Dando’s killer has never been brought to justice

But he was soon called on to help with another miscarriage of justice.

BBC Crimewatch presenter Jill Dando was shot dead on her fianc’s west London doorstep in April 1999.

A year later, after interviewing over hundreds of people, the Met Police charged 41-year-old Barry George, a self-confessed stalker and loner, with her murder. He was tried, convicted and jailed for life.

But there were serious concerns about the police investigation, and in 2004 Hale was asked to get involved.

“Quite quickly, I found a lot of evidence that didn’t match up,” he said.

Image copyright PA

Image caption Barry George was “an oddball but not a killer”, Hale said

He went to see Mr George in prison where he was “like a lion in a cage”, pacing the floor.

“How could he do a clinical murder like that?” Hale said.

“Everyone that was dealing with him said he’s a bit of an oddball but he’s not a killer.”

Gunpowder residue on Mr George’s clothing had played a large part in convicting him.

But Hale said there was so little of it that it could have come from weapons armed police were carrying when he was arrested.

The CCRC referred Mr George’s case to the Court of Appeal and a retrial took place at the Old Bailey in 2008, when he was cleared of murder and released.

Image copyright Wales News Service

Image caption Ched Evans leaving Cardiff Crown Court with his fiancee Natasha Massey

Ched Evans was serving a five-year sentence for rape when his family approached Hale for help.

“I didn’t want to touch it because it was so high profile,” he said.

But Mr Evans’ mother had serious doubts about the “rushed” investigation.

The then-Sheffield United striker had been convicted of raping a 19-year-old woman at a Premier Inn in Denbighshire in May 2011.

At the same trial, footballer Clayton McDonald was acquitted of the offence.

Hale believed the guilty verdict was an “emotional response” from the jury, owing to Mr Evans’ “cockiness”. “He thought he was God’s gift to women,” Hale said.

He spent six months working on the case, in which time Mr Evans was released having served half of his sentence.

“My knowledge and experience meant I could cut corners and had an important point that I knew the IPCC would look at.”

Media captionA timeline of events leading to Ched Evans clearing his name

That point was the woman’s sexual history and, after the CCRC agreed there was enough evidence to quash the conviction, this evidence controversially formed part of the retrial.

Unlike during the original trial, her previous sexual partners gave evidence recounting similar encounters to the one in the hotel room that night.

It led to plans to review the law protecting alleged rape victims from disclosing details of their sex lives.

Mr Evans was cleared in October 2016 but it left a bitter taste for Hale.

“In this case it was right – you have got to look at each case on its own merit,” he said.

“But the whole thing was a bit unsavoury and not good for the girl herself.”

Hale said at the time he hoped the case did not deter women from coming forward to report sexual offences.

Image copyright PA

But, had that evidence been used in the original trial, “Evans would have been cleared,” he said.

The case took its toll on Hales, now 64, and he has decided not to investigate any more miscarriages of justice, focusing instead on writing books.

“I am proud of what I have done,” he said.

“If it wasn’t for people like me you’d have no-one to say, ‘this isn’t the way we should interview people, this is not the way we should treat people’.”

Yet he still insists modestly that much of the credit for overturning the miscarriages of justice he has worked on belongs to others, seeing himself more as a catalyst for change.

“You have got to have somebody who gets the ball rolling.”

Related Topics

Matlock

Read more: http://ift.tt/2jgwCDo

from Don Hale: One man’s fight for justice – BBC News