Prosecutor says trial of man charged with killing 8 in Appomattox will be delayed(Source)
APPOMATTOX, Va. — A man charged with killing eight people at his Appomattox home will not go to trial next month as planned.
Appomattox County Commonwealth's Attorney Darrel Puckett tells the News & Advance that attorneys are still waiting for mental health exerts appointed in the case to submit their evaluations of Christopher Speight, whose trial had been set to begin June 11. A new trial date has not been set.
The 41-year-old Speight is charged with attempted capital murder of a Virginia State Police helicopter pilot and three counts of capital murder in the slayings of his sister, her husband and his niece and nephew in the home they shared. A neighborhood couple, their teenage daughter and a teenage friend were also found dead at Speight's home on Jan. 19, 2010.
Showing posts with label VSP. Show all posts
Showing posts with label VSP. Show all posts
20120502
I Wonder Just How Many People Still Remember...
20120426
20120307
The Omen
Yesterday was my hearing date in Woodstock, VA, for the equipment citation bestowed upon me by handsome Virginia State Trooper D.A. Dean, Jr.
I departed my humble abode on March 6, 2012, at FIVE AM! First stop on this obscenely frigid twenty-five-degree morning? Local McDonalds. Didn’t seem decent to begin the trip without iced coffee, another of my favorite addictions. After my order was filled, I pulled into a parking space to assign my new GPS the address for Shenandoah Valley General District Court.
In my peripheral vision, I noticed a couple of men meandering around the fast food joint’s lot. Must be Ronald’s employees. No sooner had I reversed to leave, I realized the Garmin navigator was in night mode. Ugh. That makes me bonkers! For a quick adjustment, I sidled my auto out of the path of potential drive-thru customers and changed the setting. Why do those two guys keep looking at me? There’s only me and one other vehicle here, right? I glanced over at the latter: a large truck. Ohmigod. No way.
Nobody except me could unintentionally cross paths with the Virginia State Police Search & Recovery Dive Team, in Holeandcorner Town, before dawn’s early light, while en route to take on another member of their agency over a traffic ticket. ‘Twas a sign!
Million and a half miles later, I arrived on location an hour ahead of schedule. Hoping to crib a snapshot or twenty, I settled in a nifty spot at the end of the sole convenient street to the judicial building to watch for Trooper Dean’s arrival. A blue and gray cruiser eventually passed by, both occupants of the marked car blatantly staring at me. Well, it’s not like they don’t know what I drive. I assumed they’d also been forewarned about my penchant for toying with Law Enforcement. Happy happy happy. Joy joy joy.
Twenty minutes prior to the nine o’clock docket -- which my name was on -- I maneuvered my wheels between the double white lines and cut off the ignition. The policemen were nowhere to be seen; obviously they’d made a hurried exit from their transportation. Aww... too bad. Undeterred, I shot a few pictures of their ride.
Beyond the wooden doors, I sat and soaked up the scene. Aside from attorneys and lawboys, I was, as usual, the exclusive person wearing full courtroom-appropriate attire. Trooper Dean was standing on the officials’ side, near the judge’s bench; his squad car confrère, Trooper Backup, was seated on us peons’ side, in the last pew. I got a kick out of the notion that, due to moi, the delightful Dean felt compelled to lure some badged buddy into accompanying him. Reminded me of when a spiteful Trooper B. Long, battling me under his guise of “improper stopping on highway” rather than the reality of “how dare you take a photograph of a cop,” brought his pal Sgt. Bailey along to Bedford Court.
Back outside, I noticed another fellow with the State Police showing face. Prolly here for the ten o’clock docket. I added him and his 5227 to my memory card.
I did, via clandestine methods not worth mentioning at the moment, manage to capture on camera Trooper D.A. Dean Jr. However, since he’d testified he’d “cut me a break” by not charging me with speeding, I’ll cut him a break by not publishing his image. (You’re welcome, Officer.) Take my word for it, he seriously is a beautiful example of the male species. Why can’t he reside a smidgen bit nearer by?
If you’re wondering what the verdict was for my violation of 46.2-1003 -- tag lights out:
Case dismissed!
Perhaps if I get a yen to, I’ll type up a detailed account of what transpired in front of Mrs. Judge.
So. Yes, I spent $50 in gas when I could’ve merely paid the $30 fine. Yes, I didn’t have to journey three hours when I could’ve merely stayed home and re-polished my nails. But it’s the principle of the thing. Oh, yeah, plus the entertainment value. And that’s really what’s most important here, isn’t it?
I departed my humble abode on March 6, 2012, at FIVE AM! First stop on this obscenely frigid twenty-five-degree morning? Local McDonalds. Didn’t seem decent to begin the trip without iced coffee, another of my favorite addictions. After my order was filled, I pulled into a parking space to assign my new GPS the address for Shenandoah Valley General District Court.
In my peripheral vision, I noticed a couple of men meandering around the fast food joint’s lot. Must be Ronald’s employees. No sooner had I reversed to leave, I realized the Garmin navigator was in night mode. Ugh. That makes me bonkers! For a quick adjustment, I sidled my auto out of the path of potential drive-thru customers and changed the setting. Why do those two guys keep looking at me? There’s only me and one other vehicle here, right? I glanced over at the latter: a large truck. Ohmigod. No way.
Nobody except me could unintentionally cross paths with the Virginia State Police Search & Recovery Dive Team, in Holeandcorner Town, before dawn’s early light, while en route to take on another member of their agency over a traffic ticket. ‘Twas a sign!
Million and a half miles later, I arrived on location an hour ahead of schedule. Hoping to crib a snapshot or twenty, I settled in a nifty spot at the end of the sole convenient street to the judicial building to watch for Trooper Dean’s arrival. A blue and gray cruiser eventually passed by, both occupants of the marked car blatantly staring at me. Well, it’s not like they don’t know what I drive. I assumed they’d also been forewarned about my penchant for toying with Law Enforcement. Happy happy happy. Joy joy joy.
Twenty minutes prior to the nine o’clock docket -- which my name was on -- I maneuvered my wheels between the double white lines and cut off the ignition. The policemen were nowhere to be seen; obviously they’d made a hurried exit from their transportation. Aww... too bad. Undeterred, I shot a few pictures of their ride.
Beyond the wooden doors, I sat and soaked up the scene. Aside from attorneys and lawboys, I was, as usual, the exclusive person wearing full courtroom-appropriate attire. Trooper Dean was standing on the officials’ side, near the judge’s bench; his squad car confrère, Trooper Backup, was seated on us peons’ side, in the last pew. I got a kick out of the notion that, due to moi, the delightful Dean felt compelled to lure some badged buddy into accompanying him. Reminded me of when a spiteful Trooper B. Long, battling me under his guise of “improper stopping on highway” rather than the reality of “how dare you take a photograph of a cop,” brought his pal Sgt. Bailey along to Bedford Court.
Back outside, I noticed another fellow with the State Police showing face. Prolly here for the ten o’clock docket. I added him and his 5227 to my memory card.
I did, via clandestine methods not worth mentioning at the moment, manage to capture on camera Trooper D.A. Dean Jr. However, since he’d testified he’d “cut me a break” by not charging me with speeding, I’ll cut him a break by not publishing his image. (You’re welcome, Officer.) Take my word for it, he seriously is a beautiful example of the male species. Why can’t he reside a smidgen bit nearer by?
If you’re wondering what the verdict was for my violation of 46.2-1003 -- tag lights out:
Case dismissed!
Perhaps if I get a yen to, I’ll type up a detailed account of what transpired in front of Mrs. Judge.
So. Yes, I spent $50 in gas when I could’ve merely paid the $30 fine. Yes, I didn’t have to journey three hours when I could’ve merely stayed home and re-polished my nails. But it’s the principle of the thing. Oh, yeah, plus the entertainment value. And that’s really what’s most important here, isn’t it?
20120205
Occupationally Mobile
Be assured my lack of updates on here is not a sign I’m inactive out there. I’ve merely been, as is said, broadening my horizons:
Glory Days indeed. Unlike Troopers ‘round these parts, West Virginia ones don’t seem to mind being photographed. Nor are they afraid to get their vehicles dirty.
Yessir, that’s definitely my idea of a pot o’ gold.
During my travels, I got pulled over by the most beautiful Virginia State policeman my eyes have ever beheld: Tpr. D. A. Dean, Jr.
If only he lived forty miles closer... we’d be banging at least once a day and twice on Sundays. Seriously. Anyhotness, he didn’t write me up for speeding -- ;) --, however he did issue a citation for “DEFECTIVE EQUIpment TAg LightS ouT” [sic] -- :(. My right brake bulb has been rather cantankerous lately. I could just pay the ticket immediately, except, really, how can I, of all people, be expected to not take advantage of ogling this particular Trooper again? Thus I will be going to Shenandoah General District Court (Traffic) in Woodstock, VA, on Mar 6, 2012, at 900AM.
Hopefully I’ll get some pictures of the guy so y’all can see I am not exaggerating how very attractive he is.
As for the obligatory I HeArTE JADE Task-Force-related content:
According to this snippet from The Hook, Jefferson Area Drug Enforcement uses GPS tracking. Well, nah! But I do wonder how that little info-share came about.
And NBC 29 News has this dull press release from the US Attorney’s Office, Western District; I haven’t read them yet, but I assume the comments from the peon gallery are much livelier.
As one can surmise, by this image below, neither have I abandoned the locals:
Glory Days indeed. Unlike Troopers ‘round these parts, West Virginia ones don’t seem to mind being photographed. Nor are they afraid to get their vehicles dirty.
Yessir, that’s definitely my idea of a pot o’ gold.
During my travels, I got pulled over by the most beautiful Virginia State policeman my eyes have ever beheld: Tpr. D. A. Dean, Jr.
If only he lived forty miles closer... we’d be banging at least once a day and twice on Sundays. Seriously. Anyhotness, he didn’t write me up for speeding -- ;) --, however he did issue a citation for “DEFECTIVE EQUIpment TAg LightS ouT” [sic] -- :(. My right brake bulb has been rather cantankerous lately. I could just pay the ticket immediately, except, really, how can I, of all people, be expected to not take advantage of ogling this particular Trooper again? Thus I will be going to Shenandoah General District Court (Traffic) in Woodstock, VA, on Mar 6, 2012, at 900AM.
Hopefully I’ll get some pictures of the guy so y’all can see I am not exaggerating how very attractive he is.
As for the obligatory I HeArTE JADE Task-Force-related content:
According to this snippet from The Hook, Jefferson Area Drug Enforcement uses GPS tracking. Well, nah! But I do wonder how that little info-share came about.
And NBC 29 News has this dull press release from the US Attorney’s Office, Western District; I haven’t read them yet, but I assume the comments from the peon gallery are much livelier.
As one can surmise, by this image below, neither have I abandoned the locals:
20111004
Hiya Kenny! Want This One, Too?
You know from the same date your Virginia State Police buddy there, Agent Gattuso, was supposed to be in Lunenburg County Circuit Court to testify?
‘Twas I believe a drug case, to boot -- albeit, unfortunately, not handled by the Jefferson Area Drug Enforcement (JADE) Task Force.
20110919
/Waves At Virginia State Police High Tech Unit Surveillance Agent Kenneth Hicks
Given that you seem to have taken a special interest in the other one from my post, I can tell you there are beaucoup more for your stash:
Oh, yeah, and congratulations on becoming my very first “K” entry label.
;)
Oh, yeah, and congratulations on becoming my very first “K” entry label.
;)
20110918
How I Spent My Sunday Vacation
This was supposed to be a strictly State-Police Sunday for me.
But...
Usually I’m content to “shoot and scoot;” -- you know, snag a photograph or twelve of a traffic stop or radar control then move on before subjecting myself to a vindictive-given sham citation.
It’s a little after 2:30PM. Impulsively I decide to swing by the Area Three Division Headquarters. Considering it’s a weekend, I believe there will be no chance of me encountering BCI Special Agent Jason Trent.
I motor the short distance down Police Tower Rd. Often there are specialty vehicles at the far expanse -- same place I almost got my first picture of SA Tony Gattuso -- however I don’t detect anything remarkable today. Instead I proceed into the front part of the lot at the main building on 3rd Division Loop. There are two cars present but since neither appear official, I drive around to the back. Now I remember why I don’t bother with this place on Sundays. The concrete square dominates the sparse smattering of metal on wheels stationed in betwixt the painted white lines. I circle to make my way out. I am about to go right at the T, intending to leave. I glance left, in case of unexpected oncomers, before pulling forward. Is that... oh my gosh... that looks like... Curiosity forces me to dart where I gazed.
I haven’t seen the Beater belonging to the Jefferson Area Drug Enforcement Task Force in eons but, wow, the ugly rusted Chevy sitting in the space close to the double towers sure seems to be it. So much time has passed, I can’t even remember its license plate. Without slowing, I edge the block of bricks and head west down the narrow plot of pavement out. An east-bound marked gray and blue cruiser is traveling in my direction. My brain is so focused on recalling the JADE tag, I devote nearly no attention to the VSP officer as we cross paths.
Because it’s bugging me, and for the sake of blog fodder, I return to where the abandoned Beater is. Once I break the corner, I observe the abovementioned Trooper’s prowler. I ignore it and bring my Toyota to a halt beyond its rear bumper. Feh, I’m not doing anything wrong. I tug my camera out of the bag and power it up. I adjust the settings, debate for another moment whether JFW-4327 is familiar, aim, and push the shutter. What in the world is it doing all the way the hell down here in my neck of the woods? They donate it to the VSP?
In my side mirror, I catch the Trooper approaching me.
I can direct quote the following because I’m all audio-record-y like that.
“Ma’am, is there something I can help you with?” asks the young man wearing the hat -- not especially politely, I might add.
“No.”
I glimpse his name badge then pivot my face away from him. He inquires about my purpose for being there.
“Oh. I wanted to take some pictures” I declare.
You can imagine how he handled the information.
His tone oozing with superfluous suspicion, he queries “What’s your name?” I supply my first. Once it dawns on him I’m going to leave him hanging on my last, he progresses to “Pictures? Of what?”
I’m not going to lie. “Well, of your --” And I totally blank on what it is. “Umm, that, uh, tank… thing.”
“Tank thing? Ma’am, I have no idea what you’re talking about.”
That’s great ‘cause I have no idea what I’m talking about, either. “You know, big, boxy thing -- it’s silver -- you use it for... I can’t remember what it’s called. Your Tac team uses it. I thought y’all kept it here.”
Though he’s now aware of what I’m referring to, he fails to assist me with its title. “We have several of them. It’s in Richmond.”
“Them” implies plural. “It’s” implies singular. Heh. I don’t point out his inconsistency. Rather, I state the obvious. “That’s far away.”
He glares at me through his pricey sunglasses. “Yes ma’am.”
“Okay” I smile.
He bids me a good afternoon and spins on his heels, returning to his ride.
What a d... I am not giving up on capturing a close-up of the possible JADE assault SUV. Dismissing the existence of the PITA with a Sig Sauer, I remain in position. I hold the Canon up again and zoom in on the Beater.
I spot the Trooper come tearing back at me full speed. Good grief. My eyes roll. I drop the device between my seat and door panel and pick up my cellular phone.
When the Trooper tries to communicate to me this time, I raise my index finger at him to shush him and make him wait. He listens silently to the monologue I have with my Samsung. When I decide he’s been adequately delayed, I hit the end call button and direct my brown orbs at him to signal he can continue.
At that point, the uniformed fellow gets quite aggressive. He notifies me that, although I am “not violating any laws,” I must vacate the premises or he will arrest me for “trespassing.”
“I can’t take pictures?” I question.
“You can take pictures during normal business hours” he responds and starts to ramble about opening at 9AM tomorrow and something-something speak to a supervisor then.
I can… take pictures… during… normal… business… hours?! Ahahahaha… Hahahahaha… Bwahaha… It is one of the most nonsensical things I’ve ever heard one of these guys say.
Ridiculousness aside, awful nice of him to give me a great opportunity to intel gather. “Who is your supervisor?” He identifies the higher-up.
“Do you have a number for him?”
“352…” He pauses as I grab paper and pen and jot down “Randy Campbell.”
He resumes “7…”
I realize he’s merely going to offer the general Appomattox number for the Virginia State Police, so I end up writing the rest of the digits -- 128 -- faster than he says them. “And your name?” I stare at his pin, as if I haven’t read it already.
“Buzzard. Trooper Buzzard. Like the bird.”
“Ha.” I mention my maiden name to him. “Like the bird.”
He nods. “It’s kind of the same thing, yeah.”
The uniform-donned male advises me to drive safe and I encourage him to do the same. As I exit I see he’s animatedly rushing into the small structure, his cell phone plastered to his ear.
I don’t trouble sneaking a still of Trooper Buzzard or his duty-sedan; I have enough of a site story as it is.
The most hilarious part is I got all this, believe it or not, just because I planned on scanning in, for my other site, a copy of a hotel receipt from one of my and VSP Special Agent Gattuso naughty romps. I’ve redacted his home address but notice he listed Virginia State Police under company when he checked in:
But...
Usually I’m content to “shoot and scoot;” -- you know, snag a photograph or twelve of a traffic stop or radar control then move on before subjecting myself to a vindictive-given sham citation.
It’s a little after 2:30PM. Impulsively I decide to swing by the Area Three Division Headquarters. Considering it’s a weekend, I believe there will be no chance of me encountering BCI Special Agent Jason Trent.
I motor the short distance down Police Tower Rd. Often there are specialty vehicles at the far expanse -- same place I almost got my first picture of SA Tony Gattuso -- however I don’t detect anything remarkable today. Instead I proceed into the front part of the lot at the main building on 3rd Division Loop. There are two cars present but since neither appear official, I drive around to the back. Now I remember why I don’t bother with this place on Sundays. The concrete square dominates the sparse smattering of metal on wheels stationed in betwixt the painted white lines. I circle to make my way out. I am about to go right at the T, intending to leave. I glance left, in case of unexpected oncomers, before pulling forward. Is that... oh my gosh... that looks like... Curiosity forces me to dart where I gazed.
I haven’t seen the Beater belonging to the Jefferson Area Drug Enforcement Task Force in eons but, wow, the ugly rusted Chevy sitting in the space close to the double towers sure seems to be it. So much time has passed, I can’t even remember its license plate. Without slowing, I edge the block of bricks and head west down the narrow plot of pavement out. An east-bound marked gray and blue cruiser is traveling in my direction. My brain is so focused on recalling the JADE tag, I devote nearly no attention to the VSP officer as we cross paths.
Because it’s bugging me, and for the sake of blog fodder, I return to where the abandoned Beater is. Once I break the corner, I observe the abovementioned Trooper’s prowler. I ignore it and bring my Toyota to a halt beyond its rear bumper. Feh, I’m not doing anything wrong. I tug my camera out of the bag and power it up. I adjust the settings, debate for another moment whether JFW-4327 is familiar, aim, and push the shutter. What in the world is it doing all the way the hell down here in my neck of the woods? They donate it to the VSP?
In my side mirror, I catch the Trooper approaching me.
I can direct quote the following because I’m all audio-record-y like that.
“Ma’am, is there something I can help you with?” asks the young man wearing the hat -- not especially politely, I might add.
“No.”
I glimpse his name badge then pivot my face away from him. He inquires about my purpose for being there.
“Oh. I wanted to take some pictures” I declare.
You can imagine how he handled the information.
His tone oozing with superfluous suspicion, he queries “What’s your name?” I supply my first. Once it dawns on him I’m going to leave him hanging on my last, he progresses to “Pictures? Of what?”
I’m not going to lie. “Well, of your --” And I totally blank on what it is. “Umm, that, uh, tank… thing.”
“Tank thing? Ma’am, I have no idea what you’re talking about.”
That’s great ‘cause I have no idea what I’m talking about, either. “You know, big, boxy thing -- it’s silver -- you use it for... I can’t remember what it’s called. Your Tac team uses it. I thought y’all kept it here.”
Though he’s now aware of what I’m referring to, he fails to assist me with its title. “We have several of them. It’s in Richmond.”
“Them” implies plural. “It’s” implies singular. Heh. I don’t point out his inconsistency. Rather, I state the obvious. “That’s far away.”
He glares at me through his pricey sunglasses. “Yes ma’am.”
“Okay” I smile.
He bids me a good afternoon and spins on his heels, returning to his ride.
What a d... I am not giving up on capturing a close-up of the possible JADE assault SUV. Dismissing the existence of the PITA with a Sig Sauer, I remain in position. I hold the Canon up again and zoom in on the Beater.
I spot the Trooper come tearing back at me full speed. Good grief. My eyes roll. I drop the device between my seat and door panel and pick up my cellular phone.
When the Trooper tries to communicate to me this time, I raise my index finger at him to shush him and make him wait. He listens silently to the monologue I have with my Samsung. When I decide he’s been adequately delayed, I hit the end call button and direct my brown orbs at him to signal he can continue.
At that point, the uniformed fellow gets quite aggressive. He notifies me that, although I am “not violating any laws,” I must vacate the premises or he will arrest me for “trespassing.”
“I can’t take pictures?” I question.
“You can take pictures during normal business hours” he responds and starts to ramble about opening at 9AM tomorrow and something-something speak to a supervisor then.
I can… take pictures… during… normal… business… hours?! Ahahahaha… Hahahahaha… Bwahaha… It is one of the most nonsensical things I’ve ever heard one of these guys say.
Ridiculousness aside, awful nice of him to give me a great opportunity to intel gather. “Who is your supervisor?” He identifies the higher-up.
“Do you have a number for him?”
“352…” He pauses as I grab paper and pen and jot down “Randy Campbell.”
He resumes “7…”
I realize he’s merely going to offer the general Appomattox number for the Virginia State Police, so I end up writing the rest of the digits -- 128 -- faster than he says them. “And your name?” I stare at his pin, as if I haven’t read it already.
“Buzzard. Trooper Buzzard. Like the bird.”
“Ha.” I mention my maiden name to him. “Like the bird.”
He nods. “It’s kind of the same thing, yeah.”
The uniform-donned male advises me to drive safe and I encourage him to do the same. As I exit I see he’s animatedly rushing into the small structure, his cell phone plastered to his ear.
I don’t trouble sneaking a still of Trooper Buzzard or his duty-sedan; I have enough of a site story as it is.
The most hilarious part is I got all this, believe it or not, just because I planned on scanning in, for my other site, a copy of a hotel receipt from one of my and VSP Special Agent Gattuso naughty romps. I’ve redacted his home address but notice he listed Virginia State Police under company when he checked in:
20110901
20110819
The Blog Is Mightier Than The Badge -- Henrico County Court (Part 4)
(Part1) (Part 2) (Part 3)
Uncertain of what SA Tony Gattuso would be alleging on this date, prior to court I’d compiled and organized an enormous stack of, well, everything I possibly reckoned could be applicable.
Plausibly Tony would cite the blogs -- yes, both of them, though one hadn’t existed at the time of my last judicial appearance -- his girlfriend, their residence, his and my romance and our sole short-term break-up, the Alcohol, Tobacco, Firearms Agent’s trial, and the Virginia State Police’s both criminal and internal affairs investigations of him and their outcomes.
Hence here I was in court armed with copies of chat logs, emails, and images. Though they were printed out in their entirety to preserve context, I’d highlighted strictly the germane. Additionally, I had my phone which contained recordings and text messages. No less than a hundred pieces of documentation, I swear. My ally had done everything from laugh to shake her head in shock going over them on the trip up.
While Tony had been talking, I’d been carefully rearranging the above items to address each of his comments in the order he’d made them.
I’d actually placed some stuff related to Tony and I regarding the ATF John Stoltz harassment garbage on top but chose not to correct his half-lie. Meh. It’s not even worth moving my tongue for.
Instead, I expelled a single sentence that Tony was cognizant from the get-go about me, and how my site operated.
As an example of Tony’s true sentiment about the blog, I provided the judge with a written exchange Tony and I had about the posting of his vehicle on my site months ago and a printout of the entry itself -- made fifteen minutes subsequent to our discussing it. After the judge asked me to clarify whose email address was whose, she read his approval, his jokes about his VSP-issued Ford Expedition becoming “famous,” and his agreement to let me know if his colleagues said anything about it to him. I followed that up with an email received by me three days later, which bore an attachment of a photograph of another VA State Police vehicle. The email exposed Tony himself had taken the picture and urged me to post it.
Next I submitted to the judge the I HeArTE JADE entry in its entirety showing the home Tony lives in. To demonstrate the abode was not some secret hideaway, I presented a paper version of a real estate website that had an identical photograph to mine plus an address and assorted data, and then the government website for Petersburg, VA, property information depicting, again, an identical photograph and address, along with owner’s name and more. With my finger I tapped the date stamp, set off in hot pink marker, of my own site entry, and read it aloud: February of this year.
The judge had started to voice something, then abruptly cut herself off. “That’s from February?” she inquired. I responded in the affirmative. Her eyebrows shot up. She focused her gaze on Tony and in stern tone said to him “It concerns me that is from February and you are only now bringing it up.” Uh-huh. That’s the reason he didn’t print the whole blog post with the picture he’d introduced; he didn’t want to yield the date. I am heavens-glad I brought mine.
That’s when I learned Tony really, really, sucks at being impromptu. Without a script, he rambled something awful. He said he’d begged me to take the pictures down but that I replied I didn’t care about him; he said he requested that I not blog about him but that I replied I didn’t care about him; he said he reminded me that I protect my sources. Did he just admit in open court he’s one of my sources? Yikes. And guess what he said I replied? Right; that I didn’t care about him. He drags me into court, fibs, and then whines that I don’t care about him?! I felt like doing a face-plant on the polished wood in front of us. He contended I was publishing our communications and writing about our intimacy. “I just don’t know what she’s capable of anymore.” Yeah. I might possibly… make a typo.
It went downhill for Special Agent Anthony Gattuso Jr. from there.
I countered every argument he delivered by whipping up a sheet for the judge from the stash I’d carried in.
Tony articulated he’d attempted to dissolve our relationship in mid-to-late 2010. I fanned a substantial sheaf in the air as proof he’d euphorically continued our affair months past then.
“I have nude pictures he sent me recently of himself” I announced. The judge quickly shot her palm up and uttered “I don’t need to see those.” Aww… okay, but you’re totally missing out.
Tony went into damage control mode. He reiterated he’d tried to terminate things, this time modifying his story slightly with assertions that he was afraid if he didn’t stay with me I would write about our involvement. It was the only moment during testimony I looked straight at him. “You were scared so you tried to end it with me by sending me nude pictures of yourself?” I moved my gaze away immediately. The judge waited for Tony’s riposte but he had no comeback for that one.
I maintained Tony was pursuing me all along, enthusiastically at that. Drawing attention to my pile of evidence, I referenced his ongoing contact with me, most of which he’d initiated -- as fresh as two weeks earlier, the very night before he’d acquired the preliminary protective order.
I described the statcounter on my site which tracks visitors and their search terms. I told the judge that Tony had often sent me messages through the I HeArTE JADE navigation bar -- including “hearting jade in Richmond” and even a jealously-produced growl. I had emails and Google chats where we’d bantered about his doing so.
I gave the judge the Stat Counter Internet logs to examine. She requested I explain what she was studying. I indicated the part where, on July 31, 2011, Tony utilized the search field and what he’d typed in it: see me tomrrow before work........;). She wanted to hear how I knew it was from Tony. I had her flip to the first page to verify this particular log contained records exclusively from the Virginia State Police. I said Tony was the only one from their agency to communicate with me in that manner and that he was the only one I knew who used weird ellipses. “See the long string of dots after the message?” From all the Gmails and Gchats the judge had gone over thus far, she could perceive it was congruent with Tony’s writing habits. Plus I have no control over the statcounter nor the ability to generate the Virginia State Police’s IP and Richmond location.
Tony tried to deny it came from him, but by then it was clear the sharp judge wasn’t falling for his bunk.
She asked Tony if I had ever threatened him. He began his answer by supposing a theoretical someone may use the material on my blog to target him due to his being a cop… then ran on to my maplink tagging where the Virginia State Police Surveillance Unit is… blah, blah, blah… until finally wrapping it up with the fact that where he lives is under lone ownership of his girlfriend. Whoa. What a tangent. None of that means I’m dangerous. Wait; from my photograph without an address, dumb yet hostile criminals are going to find a dwelling that isn’t even associated with your name and harm you?
Based on her expression, the judge seemed as unconvinced as me. Given that Tony hadn’t answered her question, she repeated it to him exactly. “Has she ever threatened you?” “Uh, no” he confessed. The judge gave him one more opportunity. “Has she threatened you indirectly?” “No.”
Tony commenced blubbering about my having a cyberjoint devoted specifically to him. The judge promptly enlightened the man. “Even if I grant you this order, I can’t stop her from blogging about you.” Booyah! This judge is uber on. the. ball.
For roughly half a minute the courtroom was silent. Then…
Case dismissed.
To the stares of humored onlookers, I literally danced all the way out of the courthouse.
I can’t help but wonder if Tony didn’t deliberately sabotage himself at the hearing. One of the things I loved about my State Policeman is his intelligence. It wasn’t smart of him to pull this stunt, period, but to be as unprepared in court as he was besides -- not that he had anything to use against me anyway -- is puzzling. I mean, honestly, he must’ve anticipated his solo performance and meager three photocopies were going to be no match against the tons of my hard evidence, which he knew I had, and a deponent.
Despite what he might’ve led his agency and his girlfriend to believe, Tony and I had a beautiful relationship for a year-and-a-half. I’m ultra-sad this officer I was topsy-turvy in-love with turned out to be nothing more than a dirty cop and con artist.
Good for Special Agent Gattuso neither the VSP nor his sweetheart mind his behavior. Good for me they don’t have to.
Uncertain of what SA Tony Gattuso would be alleging on this date, prior to court I’d compiled and organized an enormous stack of, well, everything I possibly reckoned could be applicable.
Plausibly Tony would cite the blogs -- yes, both of them, though one hadn’t existed at the time of my last judicial appearance -- his girlfriend, their residence, his and my romance and our sole short-term break-up, the Alcohol, Tobacco, Firearms Agent’s trial, and the Virginia State Police’s both criminal and internal affairs investigations of him and their outcomes.
Hence here I was in court armed with copies of chat logs, emails, and images. Though they were printed out in their entirety to preserve context, I’d highlighted strictly the germane. Additionally, I had my phone which contained recordings and text messages. No less than a hundred pieces of documentation, I swear. My ally had done everything from laugh to shake her head in shock going over them on the trip up.
While Tony had been talking, I’d been carefully rearranging the above items to address each of his comments in the order he’d made them.
I’d actually placed some stuff related to Tony and I regarding the ATF John Stoltz harassment garbage on top but chose not to correct his half-lie. Meh. It’s not even worth moving my tongue for.
Instead, I expelled a single sentence that Tony was cognizant from the get-go about me, and how my site operated.
As an example of Tony’s true sentiment about the blog, I provided the judge with a written exchange Tony and I had about the posting of his vehicle on my site months ago and a printout of the entry itself -- made fifteen minutes subsequent to our discussing it. After the judge asked me to clarify whose email address was whose, she read his approval, his jokes about his VSP-issued Ford Expedition becoming “famous,” and his agreement to let me know if his colleagues said anything about it to him. I followed that up with an email received by me three days later, which bore an attachment of a photograph of another VA State Police vehicle. The email exposed Tony himself had taken the picture and urged me to post it.
Next I submitted to the judge the I HeArTE JADE entry in its entirety showing the home Tony lives in. To demonstrate the abode was not some secret hideaway, I presented a paper version of a real estate website that had an identical photograph to mine plus an address and assorted data, and then the government website for Petersburg, VA, property information depicting, again, an identical photograph and address, along with owner’s name and more. With my finger I tapped the date stamp, set off in hot pink marker, of my own site entry, and read it aloud: February of this year.
The judge had started to voice something, then abruptly cut herself off. “That’s from February?” she inquired. I responded in the affirmative. Her eyebrows shot up. She focused her gaze on Tony and in stern tone said to him “It concerns me that is from February and you are only now bringing it up.” Uh-huh. That’s the reason he didn’t print the whole blog post with the picture he’d introduced; he didn’t want to yield the date. I am heavens-glad I brought mine.
That’s when I learned Tony really, really, sucks at being impromptu. Without a script, he rambled something awful. He said he’d begged me to take the pictures down but that I replied I didn’t care about him; he said he requested that I not blog about him but that I replied I didn’t care about him; he said he reminded me that I protect my sources. Did he just admit in open court he’s one of my sources? Yikes. And guess what he said I replied? Right; that I didn’t care about him. He drags me into court, fibs, and then whines that I don’t care about him?! I felt like doing a face-plant on the polished wood in front of us. He contended I was publishing our communications and writing about our intimacy. “I just don’t know what she’s capable of anymore.” Yeah. I might possibly… make a typo.
It went downhill for Special Agent Anthony Gattuso Jr. from there.
I countered every argument he delivered by whipping up a sheet for the judge from the stash I’d carried in.
Tony articulated he’d attempted to dissolve our relationship in mid-to-late 2010. I fanned a substantial sheaf in the air as proof he’d euphorically continued our affair months past then.
“I have nude pictures he sent me recently of himself” I announced. The judge quickly shot her palm up and uttered “I don’t need to see those.” Aww… okay, but you’re totally missing out.
Tony went into damage control mode. He reiterated he’d tried to terminate things, this time modifying his story slightly with assertions that he was afraid if he didn’t stay with me I would write about our involvement. It was the only moment during testimony I looked straight at him. “You were scared so you tried to end it with me by sending me nude pictures of yourself?” I moved my gaze away immediately. The judge waited for Tony’s riposte but he had no comeback for that one.
I maintained Tony was pursuing me all along, enthusiastically at that. Drawing attention to my pile of evidence, I referenced his ongoing contact with me, most of which he’d initiated -- as fresh as two weeks earlier, the very night before he’d acquired the preliminary protective order.
I described the statcounter on my site which tracks visitors and their search terms. I told the judge that Tony had often sent me messages through the I HeArTE JADE navigation bar -- including “hearting jade in Richmond” and even a jealously-produced growl. I had emails and Google chats where we’d bantered about his doing so.
I gave the judge the Stat Counter Internet logs to examine. She requested I explain what she was studying. I indicated the part where, on July 31, 2011, Tony utilized the search field and what he’d typed in it: see me tomrrow before work........;). She wanted to hear how I knew it was from Tony. I had her flip to the first page to verify this particular log contained records exclusively from the Virginia State Police. I said Tony was the only one from their agency to communicate with me in that manner and that he was the only one I knew who used weird ellipses. “See the long string of dots after the message?” From all the Gmails and Gchats the judge had gone over thus far, she could perceive it was congruent with Tony’s writing habits. Plus I have no control over the statcounter nor the ability to generate the Virginia State Police’s IP and Richmond location.
Tony tried to deny it came from him, but by then it was clear the sharp judge wasn’t falling for his bunk.
She asked Tony if I had ever threatened him. He began his answer by supposing a theoretical someone may use the material on my blog to target him due to his being a cop… then ran on to my maplink tagging where the Virginia State Police Surveillance Unit is… blah, blah, blah… until finally wrapping it up with the fact that where he lives is under lone ownership of his girlfriend. Whoa. What a tangent. None of that means I’m dangerous. Wait; from my photograph without an address, dumb yet hostile criminals are going to find a dwelling that isn’t even associated with your name and harm you?
Based on her expression, the judge seemed as unconvinced as me. Given that Tony hadn’t answered her question, she repeated it to him exactly. “Has she ever threatened you?” “Uh, no” he confessed. The judge gave him one more opportunity. “Has she threatened you indirectly?” “No.”
Tony commenced blubbering about my having a cyberjoint devoted specifically to him. The judge promptly enlightened the man. “Even if I grant you this order, I can’t stop her from blogging about you.” Booyah! This judge is uber on. the. ball.
For roughly half a minute the courtroom was silent. Then…
Case dismissed.
To the stares of humored onlookers, I literally danced all the way out of the courthouse.
I can’t help but wonder if Tony didn’t deliberately sabotage himself at the hearing. One of the things I loved about my State Policeman is his intelligence. It wasn’t smart of him to pull this stunt, period, but to be as unprepared in court as he was besides -- not that he had anything to use against me anyway -- is puzzling. I mean, honestly, he must’ve anticipated his solo performance and meager three photocopies were going to be no match against the tons of my hard evidence, which he knew I had, and a deponent.
Despite what he might’ve led his agency and his girlfriend to believe, Tony and I had a beautiful relationship for a year-and-a-half. I’m ultra-sad this officer I was topsy-turvy in-love with turned out to be nothing more than a dirty cop and con artist.
Good for Special Agent Gattuso neither the VSP nor his sweetheart mind his behavior. Good for me they don’t have to.
First He, Then Me -- Henrico County Court (Part 3)
(Part 1) (Part 2)
The uniformed fellow manning the metal detector at the Henrico County Courthouse slipped part of my evidence -- a pretty green cellular -- into a tiny manila envelope and sealed it with sticker tape before placing it back in my hand and waving me on.
Scanning for my name, my belly filled with imaginary and, I should add, rambunctious, butterflies, I perused the dockets at each of the thresholds leading to the four available courtrooms. The purple, silver, gray and black, high heels on my feet clicked rhythmically as I made my way across the long stretch of floor. Last door. Figures! There it was, adjacent to the person’s name who was responsible for my being there: Gattuso Jr., Anthony.
I pointed it out to the friend slash witness who’d come with me. I noticed the time “9 AM” scrawled in red pen above the respective civil case. Instantly my eyes swelled in panic. According to the paperwork I’d been served, the hearing was scheduled for 9:30. My thoughts reflected a sudden overwhelming feeling of anxiety. Oh my God! What if I’m late? What if it already happened, and because I wasn’t here he won by default? Can I appeal? This bites.
Upon entering the courtroom, my trepidation only worsened. I didn’t spot my opponent, Tony, anywhere amid the smattering of people inside. Earlier in the week I’d hypothesized he, knowing how ridiculous this was, would perhaps not even attend but now, considering the possibility what we were present for had already transpired, not seeing him intensified my worry.
As my companion joined the various folks seated on the solid pews, I approached one of the lawmen up front and touched him on the arm to quietly get his attention. I conveyed my problem to him. I inhaled a sigh of assuagement when he returned from checking with the clerk and informed me it was indeed set for the time I’d been given. Thanking him, I sat in the open expanse next to my comrade.
Seconds later, the same bailiff approached me and queried whether I had met with a victim/witness advocate yet. I smiled and shook my head negatively, guessing what he supposed. Leaning towards my friend, I whispered “Isn’t it funny how they assume because I’m female I’m the ‘victim’?”
Catching bits of conversation among the court employees, I gathered which woman was a victim/witness advocate and overheard her say something to the gist that she would bring in the complainant. That must mean he’s here. Hahaha… I can’t believe it!
In the meantime, the judge, a plain yet attractive African-American lady, excused herself from her bench.
Whenever I’m in court -- either as a defendant or casual observer -- like most, if I hear the door behind me gap I pivot around to check out the incomer. During one of these instances on this day, I glimpsed Tony. Dang, he is so handsome in business attire. I told the gal pal who’d gone with me that I’d never seen Tony in head-to-toe official garb before. She replied “Well you’ve seen him in his birthday suit; now you’ve seen him in a regular suit.”
Shortly thereafter, the judge exited from her chambers, settled in her chair, and called our names. This is it.
Standing in front of her Honor, from left to right: I, the person I’d identified as a victim/witness advocate, Tony, and another man who was apparently also a victim/witness advocate. Sheesh. How many of these freakin’ people does he need?!
In the side-telling, Tony went first.
Much like VSP Trooper Brandon Long had when he and I battled out my “improper stopping on highway” traffic ticket in the Bedford Court, Tony’s words were exceedingly deceptive and designed to manipulate in his favor.
Reading from a typed leaf, Mr. Gattuso, naturally, kicked things off by introducing himself as a Special Agent with the Virginia State Police. Hey judge, I’m a cop. Wink, wink. Nudge, nudge. Furthermore, he described his work in the Surveillance Unit as “covert.” Hell, why not just claim to be an undercover?
Over the last year and a half, Tony had always called my site by its name “I heart jade.” Eight seconds in a courtroom and he was calling it “I hate jade.” He afforded the judge a printout of my blog banner, encouraging her to take note of its capitalization. She displayed the document to me. I merely nodded, not bothering to rectify the title-misrepresentation. Why get hung up on extraneous details?
Tony didn’t stop there as a spin doctor. He declared my blog “could be construed as anti-Law-Enforcement.” Oh? Then how come you, Mr. Law Enforcement member, were supplying me with content for an anti-Law-Enforcement site? I remained mute about that assertion as well.
He disclosed I had “been arrested and prosecuted for stalking.” Of course he neglected to mention that not only had I not been convicted, but that he had assisted me with the charge.
He went on to report I had posted a photograph of his house on I HeArTE JADE, and labels with his name appeared on said blog too. He pretended the activity was illegal. What the…? He knows I haven’t committed a crime! The judge interrupted his speech to tell him that was irrelevant to the matter at hand and that the allegation was beyond her scope of authority. Hmm… that was… interesting… of her to concede.
Tony extended a duplicate of the snapshot I’d published of his house, which the judge accepted. The picture was huge, spanning the full length of the 8x11; I’m not sure the original version was included in toto. By printing it like that, it failed to even reveal where it came from. That seriously makes no sense.
Then came my chance to defend myself.
(Part 4)
The uniformed fellow manning the metal detector at the Henrico County Courthouse slipped part of my evidence -- a pretty green cellular -- into a tiny manila envelope and sealed it with sticker tape before placing it back in my hand and waving me on.
Scanning for my name, my belly filled with imaginary and, I should add, rambunctious, butterflies, I perused the dockets at each of the thresholds leading to the four available courtrooms. The purple, silver, gray and black, high heels on my feet clicked rhythmically as I made my way across the long stretch of floor. Last door. Figures! There it was, adjacent to the person’s name who was responsible for my being there: Gattuso Jr., Anthony.
I pointed it out to the friend slash witness who’d come with me. I noticed the time “9 AM” scrawled in red pen above the respective civil case. Instantly my eyes swelled in panic. According to the paperwork I’d been served, the hearing was scheduled for 9:30. My thoughts reflected a sudden overwhelming feeling of anxiety. Oh my God! What if I’m late? What if it already happened, and because I wasn’t here he won by default? Can I appeal? This bites.
Upon entering the courtroom, my trepidation only worsened. I didn’t spot my opponent, Tony, anywhere amid the smattering of people inside. Earlier in the week I’d hypothesized he, knowing how ridiculous this was, would perhaps not even attend but now, considering the possibility what we were present for had already transpired, not seeing him intensified my worry.
As my companion joined the various folks seated on the solid pews, I approached one of the lawmen up front and touched him on the arm to quietly get his attention. I conveyed my problem to him. I inhaled a sigh of assuagement when he returned from checking with the clerk and informed me it was indeed set for the time I’d been given. Thanking him, I sat in the open expanse next to my comrade.
Seconds later, the same bailiff approached me and queried whether I had met with a victim/witness advocate yet. I smiled and shook my head negatively, guessing what he supposed. Leaning towards my friend, I whispered “Isn’t it funny how they assume because I’m female I’m the ‘victim’?”
Catching bits of conversation among the court employees, I gathered which woman was a victim/witness advocate and overheard her say something to the gist that she would bring in the complainant. That must mean he’s here. Hahaha… I can’t believe it!
In the meantime, the judge, a plain yet attractive African-American lady, excused herself from her bench.
Whenever I’m in court -- either as a defendant or casual observer -- like most, if I hear the door behind me gap I pivot around to check out the incomer. During one of these instances on this day, I glimpsed Tony. Dang, he is so handsome in business attire. I told the gal pal who’d gone with me that I’d never seen Tony in head-to-toe official garb before. She replied “Well you’ve seen him in his birthday suit; now you’ve seen him in a regular suit.”
Shortly thereafter, the judge exited from her chambers, settled in her chair, and called our names. This is it.
Standing in front of her Honor, from left to right: I, the person I’d identified as a victim/witness advocate, Tony, and another man who was apparently also a victim/witness advocate. Sheesh. How many of these freakin’ people does he need?!
In the side-telling, Tony went first.
Much like VSP Trooper Brandon Long had when he and I battled out my “improper stopping on highway” traffic ticket in the Bedford Court, Tony’s words were exceedingly deceptive and designed to manipulate in his favor.
Reading from a typed leaf, Mr. Gattuso, naturally, kicked things off by introducing himself as a Special Agent with the Virginia State Police. Hey judge, I’m a cop. Wink, wink. Nudge, nudge. Furthermore, he described his work in the Surveillance Unit as “covert.” Hell, why not just claim to be an undercover?
Over the last year and a half, Tony had always called my site by its name “I heart jade.” Eight seconds in a courtroom and he was calling it “I hate jade.” He afforded the judge a printout of my blog banner, encouraging her to take note of its capitalization. She displayed the document to me. I merely nodded, not bothering to rectify the title-misrepresentation. Why get hung up on extraneous details?
Tony didn’t stop there as a spin doctor. He declared my blog “could be construed as anti-Law-Enforcement.” Oh? Then how come you, Mr. Law Enforcement member, were supplying me with content for an anti-Law-Enforcement site? I remained mute about that assertion as well.
He disclosed I had “been arrested and prosecuted for stalking.” Of course he neglected to mention that not only had I not been convicted, but that he had assisted me with the charge.
He went on to report I had posted a photograph of his house on I HeArTE JADE, and labels with his name appeared on said blog too. He pretended the activity was illegal. What the…? He knows I haven’t committed a crime! The judge interrupted his speech to tell him that was irrelevant to the matter at hand and that the allegation was beyond her scope of authority. Hmm… that was… interesting… of her to concede.
Tony extended a duplicate of the snapshot I’d published of his house, which the judge accepted. The picture was huge, spanning the full length of the 8x11; I’m not sure the original version was included in toto. By printing it like that, it failed to even reveal where it came from. That seriously makes no sense.
Then came my chance to defend myself.
(Part 4)
20110817
PPO -- Henrico County Court (Part 2)
(Part 1)
On July 31, 2011, Tony sent me a message through the navigation bar of I HeArTE JADE: meet me tomrrow before work.......;). I took the winking emoticon as a sign he was in high spirits, and looked forward to seeing him.
Unfortunately I was running late the next morning which prevented me from arriving where I’d intended; instead I cruised to the plaza where Tony’s office is located. Also unfortunately, Tony when he arrived was, by then, in a severe funk. He was stressed and depressed.
Though his yo-yo-ing had gotten tiresome, I loved him so I let him blow off steam. After he shouted for several minutes, he calmed down. He remarked I couldn’t understand what he was going through. He mentioned his mom was sad, his dad was confused, his girlfriend was mad, and he was hurting me. He verbalized that he thought everyone would be better off without him then he held his thumb and index finger about a quarter-inch apart and announced “I am this close to eating my gun.”
It was the third reference in a month he’d made to suicide. Though I didn’t necessarily feel he was going to hightail it home and put a bullet in his head, I was really worried about him; if he was saying those kind of things, he ought to talk to someone who was equipped to deal with such.
His mental health was more important than our future together. At 10:30 AM, I buzzed the same Sergeant as before and relayed my concerns. He seemed sympathetic and said he would call Tony’s Surveillance Unit to let them know.
At 4-something that afternoon, I returned to the lot at Tony’s place of business to find out if he was okay. Within moments, two marked local police cars entered and the operators who got out of them approached me. One asked for my name, which I provided. He requested I step out of my vehicle. I wanted to know why. He had a “Preliminary Protective Order” for me. Seriously? At least I wasn’t under arrest.
I was cooperative and the lawmen were extremely nice, answering a bunch of questions I posited. The hearing date scheduled was in two weeks, on August 15, 2011. One of the guys had to leave to fetch a copy for me, hence I hung out with the one that remained. Obviously out of curiosity, he fished for information and I ended up sharing with him a fair amount of the story of my and Tony’s affair. When the departing cop came back, he was trailed by a third. I voiced fears about accidentally running into Tony, who would be out of work at any minute, and they kindly volunteered to stand by until I’d had enough time to hit the highway.
The only thing I could think of as I drove off was that Tony couldn’t have possibly instigated this without coercion. Good grief. He’d. Told. Me. To. Come. See. Him. And I had proof! Best as I could figure, since my earlier phone call to the IAD revealed to them Tony had violated the terms of his punishment by being in contact with me, either the VSP or pseudo-wife had backed him into a corner over it. It wasn’t unreasonable to imagine that Tony, to shield himself, had insisted it was I who’d contacted him. No one other than Tony or me knew he’d initiated the get-together. I could just hear him being advised in response to take out a so-called restraining order. What might he say to that: uh, ah, uhm, no, I can’t? That would seem plenty odd. Then again, was this his version of damage control or was it anger- or embarrassment-induced retaliatory? Regardless, it was the last straw. I could tolerate his having a girlfriend, his insecurities, and his PMS-ing, but did he for realiously believe I would let him tie a protective order to my name just so he could cover his butt and save face? Talk about your blatant abuse of the system!
I decided to attempt to file a complaint against him with the Virginia State Police, mainly to gain some insight. I spoke with three Richmond-area VSP individuals: Blackman, Woodhouse, and Moore. All were familiar with me. Blackman and Moore were actually polite; Woodhouse, Tony’s direct supervisor, on the other hand was an obnoxious jerk. I couldn’t determine from any of our dialogues whether Tony had lied to them or they were lying to me. As I’d surmised, they refused to let me make my grievance official.
There was nothing left for me to do but call the Henrico County Court to learn exactly what Tony had claimed to get the temporary restraint, so I could prepare a defense. The clerk had no idea -- “he went in front of a judge” -- however I did garner Tony had waited until 3:00 PM -- approximately five hours after my chat with the Sergeant -- to do so.
I know what y’all are thinking. Boomslang asked me if perhaps Tony was merely trying break it off with me all this time. I weighed out the possibility. The thing is, even when Tony was down or strained, he was consistently communicating with me -- and in a sweet, flirty, romantic manner besides. I have the evidence to show it.
(Part 3)
On July 31, 2011, Tony sent me a message through the navigation bar of I HeArTE JADE: meet me tomrrow before work.......;). I took the winking emoticon as a sign he was in high spirits, and looked forward to seeing him.
Unfortunately I was running late the next morning which prevented me from arriving where I’d intended; instead I cruised to the plaza where Tony’s office is located. Also unfortunately, Tony when he arrived was, by then, in a severe funk. He was stressed and depressed.
Though his yo-yo-ing had gotten tiresome, I loved him so I let him blow off steam. After he shouted for several minutes, he calmed down. He remarked I couldn’t understand what he was going through. He mentioned his mom was sad, his dad was confused, his girlfriend was mad, and he was hurting me. He verbalized that he thought everyone would be better off without him then he held his thumb and index finger about a quarter-inch apart and announced “I am this close to eating my gun.”
It was the third reference in a month he’d made to suicide. Though I didn’t necessarily feel he was going to hightail it home and put a bullet in his head, I was really worried about him; if he was saying those kind of things, he ought to talk to someone who was equipped to deal with such.
His mental health was more important than our future together. At 10:30 AM, I buzzed the same Sergeant as before and relayed my concerns. He seemed sympathetic and said he would call Tony’s Surveillance Unit to let them know.
At 4-something that afternoon, I returned to the lot at Tony’s place of business to find out if he was okay. Within moments, two marked local police cars entered and the operators who got out of them approached me. One asked for my name, which I provided. He requested I step out of my vehicle. I wanted to know why. He had a “Preliminary Protective Order” for me. Seriously? At least I wasn’t under arrest.
I was cooperative and the lawmen were extremely nice, answering a bunch of questions I posited. The hearing date scheduled was in two weeks, on August 15, 2011. One of the guys had to leave to fetch a copy for me, hence I hung out with the one that remained. Obviously out of curiosity, he fished for information and I ended up sharing with him a fair amount of the story of my and Tony’s affair. When the departing cop came back, he was trailed by a third. I voiced fears about accidentally running into Tony, who would be out of work at any minute, and they kindly volunteered to stand by until I’d had enough time to hit the highway.
The only thing I could think of as I drove off was that Tony couldn’t have possibly instigated this without coercion. Good grief. He’d. Told. Me. To. Come. See. Him. And I had proof! Best as I could figure, since my earlier phone call to the IAD revealed to them Tony had violated the terms of his punishment by being in contact with me, either the VSP or pseudo-wife had backed him into a corner over it. It wasn’t unreasonable to imagine that Tony, to shield himself, had insisted it was I who’d contacted him. No one other than Tony or me knew he’d initiated the get-together. I could just hear him being advised in response to take out a so-called restraining order. What might he say to that: uh, ah, uhm, no, I can’t? That would seem plenty odd. Then again, was this his version of damage control or was it anger- or embarrassment-induced retaliatory? Regardless, it was the last straw. I could tolerate his having a girlfriend, his insecurities, and his PMS-ing, but did he for realiously believe I would let him tie a protective order to my name just so he could cover his butt and save face? Talk about your blatant abuse of the system!
I decided to attempt to file a complaint against him with the Virginia State Police, mainly to gain some insight. I spoke with three Richmond-area VSP individuals: Blackman, Woodhouse, and Moore. All were familiar with me. Blackman and Moore were actually polite; Woodhouse, Tony’s direct supervisor, on the other hand was an obnoxious jerk. I couldn’t determine from any of our dialogues whether Tony had lied to them or they were lying to me. As I’d surmised, they refused to let me make my grievance official.
There was nothing left for me to do but call the Henrico County Court to learn exactly what Tony had claimed to get the temporary restraint, so I could prepare a defense. The clerk had no idea -- “he went in front of a judge” -- however I did garner Tony had waited until 3:00 PM -- approximately five hours after my chat with the Sergeant -- to do so.
I know what y’all are thinking. Boomslang asked me if perhaps Tony was merely trying break it off with me all this time. I weighed out the possibility. The thing is, even when Tony was down or strained, he was consistently communicating with me -- and in a sweet, flirty, romantic manner besides. I have the evidence to show it.
(Part 3)
The Set-Up -- Henrico County Court (Part 1)
Way back near the end of February, 2011, my State Policeman, Tony Gattuso, sent word that he, because of his relationship with me, was under investigation by his agency, the Virginia State Police. They’d found out about us due to Law Enforcement’s illegal seizure and search of my property in late 2010.
Originally the VSP was treating their probe of Tony as a criminal matter, inferring he was one of my beloved sources. If I recall correctly, Tony told me it was a fellow named Lyons who was handling the case against him. Tony wrote that he could no longer have contact with me during the process lest he get fired. The VA State Police, unable to unearth Tony’s illegal activities, eventually dumped it in the lap of their Internal Affairs Division weeks later.
When I first heard the news, I was devastated. I even decided to stop updating my site. Frequently over the years I’d invariably avowed that I would blog “as long as nobody got hurt.” Well, suddenly someone I cared very much about was being hurt.
I’d always suspected that any officer caught with me would be dealt with as a “traitor.” Once I knew it to be true for certain, I immediately alerted Boomslang and JumpOut. I reluctantly gave them the option to distance themselves from me to avoid their being subjected to the same fate as Tony; I was on top of the world when each of them declined.
Despite Tony’s assertion that he couldn’t interact with me at all anymore, he continued to keep in touch. It was almost as if nothing had changed. We still exchanged emails and texts, still saw each other. We still had a rockin’ hot sex life, though there was a brief period where it wasn’t as often. The only difference was Tony had developed intense mood swings. He’d go from being supernaturally elated to angst-riddled. Off and on he’d tell me he couldn’t have contact with me then he’d turn right around and contact me.
Ultimately the Virginia State Police concluded their scrutiny of Tony. This past June, 2011, according to Tony, my lover was reprimanded for his involvement with me and the disciplinary action taken forbid him to have contact with me for three years. I was livid. Maybe they have a right to control personnel during working hours but how dare the VSP dictate who its employees associate with even on their personal time? Tony said “It’s because it’s you.”
I rang up their IAD to hash it out. I spoke to a Sergeant acquainted with the situation but, of course, got essentially nowhere.
Tony and I discussed ways to bypass the order without risking him losing his job. I rattled off a few tactics Boomslang, JumpOut, and I use to avoid detection and records.
Tony and I remained closely connected until August 1, 2011.
(Part 2)
Originally the VSP was treating their probe of Tony as a criminal matter, inferring he was one of my beloved sources. If I recall correctly, Tony told me it was a fellow named Lyons who was handling the case against him. Tony wrote that he could no longer have contact with me during the process lest he get fired. The VA State Police, unable to unearth Tony’s illegal activities, eventually dumped it in the lap of their Internal Affairs Division weeks later.
When I first heard the news, I was devastated. I even decided to stop updating my site. Frequently over the years I’d invariably avowed that I would blog “as long as nobody got hurt.” Well, suddenly someone I cared very much about was being hurt.
I’d always suspected that any officer caught with me would be dealt with as a “traitor.” Once I knew it to be true for certain, I immediately alerted Boomslang and JumpOut. I reluctantly gave them the option to distance themselves from me to avoid their being subjected to the same fate as Tony; I was on top of the world when each of them declined.
Despite Tony’s assertion that he couldn’t interact with me at all anymore, he continued to keep in touch. It was almost as if nothing had changed. We still exchanged emails and texts, still saw each other. We still had a rockin’ hot sex life, though there was a brief period where it wasn’t as often. The only difference was Tony had developed intense mood swings. He’d go from being supernaturally elated to angst-riddled. Off and on he’d tell me he couldn’t have contact with me then he’d turn right around and contact me.
Ultimately the Virginia State Police concluded their scrutiny of Tony. This past June, 2011, according to Tony, my lover was reprimanded for his involvement with me and the disciplinary action taken forbid him to have contact with me for three years. I was livid. Maybe they have a right to control personnel during working hours but how dare the VSP dictate who its employees associate with even on their personal time? Tony said “It’s because it’s you.”
I rang up their IAD to hash it out. I spoke to a Sergeant acquainted with the situation but, of course, got essentially nowhere.
Tony and I discussed ways to bypass the order without risking him losing his job. I rattled off a few tactics Boomslang, JumpOut, and I use to avoid detection and records.
Tony and I remained closely connected until August 1, 2011.
(Part 2)
20110721
20110707
Electrochemical Cells
I remember way back when, Detective Paul Best informed me his primary role in the Jefferson Area Drug Enforcement (JADE) Task Force was playing electronic handy-man; he’d fix up the dilapidated devices employed by their officers so that they would be in at least quasi-functional shape for surveillance operations. While we spoke in length about the sorry condition of much of their gear, I never thought to ask him about what powers the equipment -- a point that’s kind of weird for somebody like me, who thrives on minutia, to neglect. Too late now to fish for such information from any of their members myself.
These are the batteries utilized by the Virginia State Police (VSP) Criminal Intelligence Division (CID) Technical Support Unit (TSU):
According to my super-sexy source, the VSP are only permitted to use each electricity supplier once per investigation because they can’t risk having an old one go dead when they’re surreptitiously, say, taping a suspect confessing illegal activities to a wire-wearing snitch. Makes sense.
I’m told, however, at the Parham Road Richmond office, the voltaic piles are recycled. Upon removal they’re dropped in a box, and Special Agents and Troopers are free to take and install them in incidental contraptions non-essential to work-conducted procedures.
It may or may not be ironic that the AAs which run the camera I tote to shoot pictures of VA State Policemen and the AAAs which drive the Olympus I carry to also record them came out of that very box. It definitely is, though, in my opinion, wicked funny.
These are the batteries utilized by the Virginia State Police (VSP) Criminal Intelligence Division (CID) Technical Support Unit (TSU):
According to my super-sexy source, the VSP are only permitted to use each electricity supplier once per investigation because they can’t risk having an old one go dead when they’re surreptitiously, say, taping a suspect confessing illegal activities to a wire-wearing snitch. Makes sense.
I’m told, however, at the Parham Road Richmond office, the voltaic piles are recycled. Upon removal they’re dropped in a box, and Special Agents and Troopers are free to take and install them in incidental contraptions non-essential to work-conducted procedures.
It may or may not be ironic that the AAs which run the camera I tote to shoot pictures of VA State Policemen and the AAAs which drive the Olympus I carry to also record them came out of that very box. It definitely is, though, in my opinion, wicked funny.
20110627
Speed And State Police Don’t Mix
(I was only going to post this on my VA State Police blog, but this one gets more worldwide readership and the other has mostly statewide viewers.)
State Trooper Dies In Weekend Crash In King George County
A 28-year-old Virginia State Police trooper died on Friday night when his patrol car was struck at an intersection while he was responding to a call for assistance.
Adam M. Bowen, a resident of Warsaw, Va., was pronounced dead at the scene on Route 3 (Kings Highway) near the intersection with Madison Drive.
According to the police report, Bowen's Ford Crown Victoria patrol car was passing through the intersection westbound when it collided with a Hyundai Elantra. The patrol car left the road and struck a traffic light pole with enough impact to split the car in half. The front end continued into a parking lot and hit three vehicles.
The driver and passenger in the Hyundai Elantra that Bowen hit were transported to Mary Washington Hospital and treated for minor injuries.
(Source)
The pictures of the demolished cruiser actually make me physically ill to see:
It’s heartbreaking.
State Trooper Dies In Weekend Crash In King George County
A 28-year-old Virginia State Police trooper died on Friday night when his patrol car was struck at an intersection while he was responding to a call for assistance.Adam M. Bowen, a resident of Warsaw, Va., was pronounced dead at the scene on Route 3 (Kings Highway) near the intersection with Madison Drive.
According to the police report, Bowen's Ford Crown Victoria patrol car was passing through the intersection westbound when it collided with a Hyundai Elantra. The patrol car left the road and struck a traffic light pole with enough impact to split the car in half. The front end continued into a parking lot and hit three vehicles.
The driver and passenger in the Hyundai Elantra that Bowen hit were transported to Mary Washington Hospital and treated for minor injuries.
(Source)
The pictures of the demolished cruiser actually make me physically ill to see:
It’s heartbreaking.
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