Listen and they will find a way to communicate…

7/21/2014

As I work on this case, I remain cognizant that one of the victims was my age and a few closer to my mother’s age, at the time of her passing.  The more I see and the more I know about the details of these murders [Columbus Stranglings]  after reading police reports and court transcripts, the more I am grateful that my mother was never asked to suffer such tortures or indignities in her final days. Also, I am happy that our family was not left with half truths to salve their wounds- the kind of moth-eaten truths that riddle the prosecutions case in this matter.

You cannot have hair and seminal fluids-DNA from a victim that does not match the convicted [Carlton Gary] and call this thing solved- no matter how much you might need it to warp that way.  Nor can you convict another man of a crime, when you ply little more than hearsay and desire to convict him. So I ask you, if you have DNA from a jacket that a person had just bought at a Goodwill Store- is it possible that DNA from the original owner might still be on it? Hmmmm… possible.

And just like in Cinderella; if you had a white sandal from a crime scene that had blood on it… wouldn’t you test it for a DNA to confirm  a positive match to the victim, and maybe even check to see if you could get a positive to match to the killer?

And what about matching a bite mold or a shoe mold to the convicted?

Shouldn’t these things matter in a court of law when you are talking about execution?

But even more than all that?

Wouldn’t you do your homework if the MO of one convicted serial killer was identical to that of another serial killer?

This weekend was filled with rain and clouds and while normally that would have put me off– still being summer–I found I welcomed the mist as an insurance to keep me house bound and focused on the manuscript. As I worked with my notes, the energy of my father was very present and he made himself known about the house. On Saturday morning, a very sentimental and special symbol for him fell from the dining room hutch onto the floor before me. Later that day I found an old pack of photographs that were not titled. When I opened and pulled out the  first photo… it was him sitting on a couch from our farm and smiling.

That night when I went to bed, the photo  on my nightstand  fell just after I had turned out the light. When I turned the light back on, the photo was right there looking at me…both parents, both smiling.

Take a moment this day to see the signs that fall about your feet everyday- take note of those messages from your loved ones past.

Listen and they will find a way to communicate.

 

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