OJ Simpson was sentenced to 33 years in prison for his memorabilia heist that took place in Las Vegas on September 13, 2007. The story here, however, is really not about the memorabilia heist. It is about the murders of Nicole Brown Simpson and Ron Goldman. The media speaks of the current case and the duration of the sentence as one of karma, afterall.
The Simpson murder case is particularly fascinating because so many of us were completely convinced that OJ was guilty and yet the so-called defense "Dream Team" somehow won the case. I have spoken my mind over the years about my low opinion of certain members of the defense team, so I will refrain at this time. Nonetheless, the truth remains that nearly all of the evidence you could ever ask for in a prosecutor's fantasy was present in that case, save for video of Simpson actually slaying the two victims.
Defending any case is a combination of science and art. Any case can be won or lost, depending on the preparation, as the OJ Simpson cases remind us. OJ was found innicent in the criminal murder case but lost severely in a civil court. More recently he was hit with a massive sentence for more minor crimes.
As a defense attorney viewed by the legal system to be the authority on murder trials, I must acknowledge another unmistakable truth highlighted by the Simpson criminal murder case. The impact of the media is undeniable. Everyone in this country, and in many cases around the world, had an emphatic opinion as to OJ's guilt long before the trial was televised. The media was at play. Imagine trying to find an unbiased jury, and the advantage that poses to a defense team with even 1% of a dream.
Similar to me, you must all imagine what would have happened in the first OJ case if the internet was as thoroughly utilized as it is today. What would have happened then? Faithful followers, I give you Destiny Blande and the case of The Satin Strangler. I cannot open a magazine or newspaper without seeing an article about the case. And yet thse are the "professional" writers. Everyone and their brother is on the internet, writing blogs, posting comments, and voicing their partially calculated opinions.
The "media" must now be redefined as anyone who wants to write about the Satin Strangler case. On the eve of the most significant trial of this adolescent century, each of you "knows for sure" whether Destiny Blande is innocent or guilty. Soon you will learn more through the trial, albeit through this filter of the media. If the "Dream Team" impressed you, wait and watch what I have in store for the prosecution.
Friday, December 5, 2008
Thursday, October 30, 2008
No Plans to Take on Casey Anthony Case
A Florida grand jury just passed down a 7-count indictment against Casey Anthony for first-degree murder, aggravated manslaughter of a child, aggravated child abuse, and four counts of providing false information to a law enforcement officer.
This unusual case has already gained wide publicity.
I would like to take this opportunity to formally decline any invitation to represent Ms. Anthony's defense in this case. I have not yet received such a request, but I believe that it is important to be open about my decision. I have accepted the assignment to represent Destiny Blande, accused Satin Strangler, and feel that this additional case would prove to be overload.
I apologize to my faithful followers for this decision, but there will be many opportunities to follow me on this blog and through Twitter as the case of Destiny Blande proceeds.
This unusual case has already gained wide publicity.
I would like to take this opportunity to formally decline any invitation to represent Ms. Anthony's defense in this case. I have not yet received such a request, but I believe that it is important to be open about my decision. I have accepted the assignment to represent Destiny Blande, accused Satin Strangler, and feel that this additional case would prove to be overload.
I apologize to my faithful followers for this decision, but there will be many opportunities to follow me on this blog and through Twitter as the case of Destiny Blande proceeds.
Sunday, September 14, 2008
Meeting the Satin Strangler?
I am reclining on a dune behind the hotel, watching two sea gulls battle over a crustacean. The day proceeded beyond my expectations. Henceforth I shall have possession of the Satin Strangler case. You will enjoy some excitement from my ensuing posts, my faithful followers.
The Sea View police station was miniscule, even more Mayberry USA than I had imagined. Upon entering the front door I could see Destiny in a cell along the far wall. There was no mistaking her from the radio reporter’s descriptions. The adjacent cells were vacant.
Destiny looked up as though sensing my gaze, and pivoted ever so slightly toward her cell door. Was she assuming a timid posture or planning her escape? Regardless of her innocence or guilt, she was playing the role of a caged bird. I have witnessed that facade countless times since my studies at Yale. Destiny had perfected this countenance.
She knew I was there to meet with her. Our eyes locked momentarily, once again conjuring the reporter’s description of “a librarian with a secret.” As her defense attorney, I am obligated to write that I believe her to be innocent. Now, therefore, that is what I write herein. She is innocent, and I will win the case and prove her innocent, despite the mounting evidence to the contrary. I nobly take on this task regardless of whether I perceive her completely incapable of any harm or addicted to murder.
The clerk averted his gaze from People Magazine’s secret beach photos of starlets long enough to acknowledge my presence. He wondered Is this person different from the other attorneys lined up outside, or is he just more bold? “Line’s out front,” he said.
I slid my business card across the desk. Without even glancing at it, he licked his fingers and turned the magazine page to reveal that lascivious hotel heiress wearing a fur coat and a yellow bikini. “Out front,” he repeated.
“I am here to speak with Ms. Blande. Please show her this.” I slid a portfolio with my most publicized cases across the desk, and then opened it, causing the cover to conceal the hotel heiress in his rubbish periodical.
He clenched both fists. The photograph of yours truly and Gloria Watson on the first page must have registered, however, because he suddenly sat up straight, removed his glasses, and perused my face for the first time. “Holy . . .”
We finally reached my favorite part of any introduction – when they realize that they are in the presence of me.
The clerk inhaled profoundly and composed himself. “One second, Mr. Krouch.” He stood and carried the portfolio and business card back to Destiny’s cell. A brief conversation ensued. Destiny looked at him, then at the portfolio, then at me. Of course her answer was inevitable. She consented with a nod.
An officer opened her cell for me to enter.
Destiny demonstrated no resemblance to the Satin Strangler police sketches, and the radio reports hardly did her justice. She had the lackluster and unassuming countenance of the quintessential librarian, but her eyes were entrancing. An occasional flutter of lashes released a flash of malachite that stopped the world around her. A wisp of auburn hair fell away from her chignon and dangled in front of her forehead as a betrayal to conformity. I fixed my eyes on her face, rather than tracking down her tone but feminine frame toward her legs. I imagined her garnished in black satin stockings.
This was the woman accused of strangling 50 men. She was alluring, but was she also dangerous? Regardless, I could quickly tell that she would never reveal her dark side while in captivity.
Within minutes we achieved bilateral consent that I would represent her. The ensuing conversation lasted for several hours, but remains confidential lawyer-client information at this time.
I am envisioning Destiny’s penetrating, feline eyes as I sit in my Adirondack chair along the beach, reviewing my notes. The jury will certainly be captivated by her; she will appeal to the primal urges characteristic of the masses.
-----
This is post #17 in The Satin Strangler Blogs (TSSB).
The Sea View police station was miniscule, even more Mayberry USA than I had imagined. Upon entering the front door I could see Destiny in a cell along the far wall. There was no mistaking her from the radio reporter’s descriptions. The adjacent cells were vacant.
Destiny looked up as though sensing my gaze, and pivoted ever so slightly toward her cell door. Was she assuming a timid posture or planning her escape? Regardless of her innocence or guilt, she was playing the role of a caged bird. I have witnessed that facade countless times since my studies at Yale. Destiny had perfected this countenance.
She knew I was there to meet with her. Our eyes locked momentarily, once again conjuring the reporter’s description of “a librarian with a secret.” As her defense attorney, I am obligated to write that I believe her to be innocent. Now, therefore, that is what I write herein. She is innocent, and I will win the case and prove her innocent, despite the mounting evidence to the contrary. I nobly take on this task regardless of whether I perceive her completely incapable of any harm or addicted to murder.
The clerk averted his gaze from People Magazine’s secret beach photos of starlets long enough to acknowledge my presence. He wondered Is this person different from the other attorneys lined up outside, or is he just more bold? “Line’s out front,” he said.
I slid my business card across the desk. Without even glancing at it, he licked his fingers and turned the magazine page to reveal that lascivious hotel heiress wearing a fur coat and a yellow bikini. “Out front,” he repeated.
“I am here to speak with Ms. Blande. Please show her this.” I slid a portfolio with my most publicized cases across the desk, and then opened it, causing the cover to conceal the hotel heiress in his rubbish periodical.
He clenched both fists. The photograph of yours truly and Gloria Watson on the first page must have registered, however, because he suddenly sat up straight, removed his glasses, and perused my face for the first time. “Holy . . .”
We finally reached my favorite part of any introduction – when they realize that they are in the presence of me.
The clerk inhaled profoundly and composed himself. “One second, Mr. Krouch.” He stood and carried the portfolio and business card back to Destiny’s cell. A brief conversation ensued. Destiny looked at him, then at the portfolio, then at me. Of course her answer was inevitable. She consented with a nod.
An officer opened her cell for me to enter.
Destiny demonstrated no resemblance to the Satin Strangler police sketches, and the radio reports hardly did her justice. She had the lackluster and unassuming countenance of the quintessential librarian, but her eyes were entrancing. An occasional flutter of lashes released a flash of malachite that stopped the world around her. A wisp of auburn hair fell away from her chignon and dangled in front of her forehead as a betrayal to conformity. I fixed my eyes on her face, rather than tracking down her tone but feminine frame toward her legs. I imagined her garnished in black satin stockings.
This was the woman accused of strangling 50 men. She was alluring, but was she also dangerous? Regardless, I could quickly tell that she would never reveal her dark side while in captivity.
Within minutes we achieved bilateral consent that I would represent her. The ensuing conversation lasted for several hours, but remains confidential lawyer-client information at this time.
I am envisioning Destiny’s penetrating, feline eyes as I sit in my Adirondack chair along the beach, reviewing my notes. The jury will certainly be captivated by her; she will appeal to the primal urges characteristic of the masses.
-----
This is post #17 in The Satin Strangler Blogs (TSSB).
Read the next post in TSSB.
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In Sea View
It is now 4AM, and I am dictating outside the police station in Sea View, NJ, about to meet Destiny Blande.
The typical serial murderer sequence is in motion. Before any such arrest, we are introduced to the media’s persona of the killer, delivered between spliced morsels of crime scene reports and police statements. Once a defendant appears, the press has to decide how to retro-fit this individual to their fabricated persona. The accused is invariably viewed via this warped media lens.
The Destiny Blande in my imagination is far from the typically vulgar serial murderer. She is indescribably unique. Despite a profound bias accumulated from years of expertise defending accused murderers, I have succumbed to the media’s serial killer portrayal in this case. Hypothetically speaking, in order to be guilty as charged, Destiny Blande would have to be alluring but dangerous, a candle flame beckoning all to experience the warmth without getting burned.
A Yale Law School professor’s admonition echoes from the depths of my subconscious as I follow signs to Sea View. “Getting too close to your clients is career suicide, and sometimes simply suicide.”
Sea View poses a dismal countenance, even while shrouded behind a cloak of darkness. There is no evidence of a community; no semblance of the resort destination of yesteryear. Amusement ride remnants loom over the boardwalk’s weathered wooden planks and boarded-up storefronts.
I once sojourned to Sea View with Mother upon the occasion of my fifth birthday, shortly after Father’s untimely passing. In retrospect the rides were probably already demonstrating their rusty deterioration, and the boardwalk was in disarray. I never appreciated these flaws as a child, but now the images my memory conjures are worn and tattered.
News vans line the beach parking lots. Throngs of rubber-neckers and glory hounds gather at the police station, lining the sidewalks and congesting the streets. Groups of barbarians are even assembling picnics from their open automobile trunks.
Men in suits wait in linear formation adjacent to the police station. They carry folders and attaché cases and computer bags. Lawyers. Suitors attempting to woo Destiny Blande into selecting them as their defense attorney. They are my would-be competition, but they are squandering their time and effort. I will soon be walking through the front door to claim my client.
-----
This is post #15 in The Satin Strangler Blogs (TSSB).
The typical serial murderer sequence is in motion. Before any such arrest, we are introduced to the media’s persona of the killer, delivered between spliced morsels of crime scene reports and police statements. Once a defendant appears, the press has to decide how to retro-fit this individual to their fabricated persona. The accused is invariably viewed via this warped media lens.
The Destiny Blande in my imagination is far from the typically vulgar serial murderer. She is indescribably unique. Despite a profound bias accumulated from years of expertise defending accused murderers, I have succumbed to the media’s serial killer portrayal in this case. Hypothetically speaking, in order to be guilty as charged, Destiny Blande would have to be alluring but dangerous, a candle flame beckoning all to experience the warmth without getting burned.
A Yale Law School professor’s admonition echoes from the depths of my subconscious as I follow signs to Sea View. “Getting too close to your clients is career suicide, and sometimes simply suicide.”
Sea View poses a dismal countenance, even while shrouded behind a cloak of darkness. There is no evidence of a community; no semblance of the resort destination of yesteryear. Amusement ride remnants loom over the boardwalk’s weathered wooden planks and boarded-up storefronts.
I once sojourned to Sea View with Mother upon the occasion of my fifth birthday, shortly after Father’s untimely passing. In retrospect the rides were probably already demonstrating their rusty deterioration, and the boardwalk was in disarray. I never appreciated these flaws as a child, but now the images my memory conjures are worn and tattered.
News vans line the beach parking lots. Throngs of rubber-neckers and glory hounds gather at the police station, lining the sidewalks and congesting the streets. Groups of barbarians are even assembling picnics from their open automobile trunks.
Men in suits wait in linear formation adjacent to the police station. They carry folders and attaché cases and computer bags. Lawyers. Suitors attempting to woo Destiny Blande into selecting them as their defense attorney. They are my would-be competition, but they are squandering their time and effort. I will soon be walking through the front door to claim my client.
-----
This is post #15 in The Satin Strangler Blogs (TSSB).
“Like” TSSB on Facebook.
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Detour to Sea View
My faithful followers, you will undoubtedly be delighted to learn that I anticipate defending another high profile case worthy of a position in the proverbial trophy case of my illustrious career.
I am dictating this blog entry from my BMW Z8 at 3AM, yet another testament to the tireless dedication I have to educate you concerning my life and career.
I was returning to the Upper East Side moments ago when a news flash blared out of my new RA:1K audio system. The authorities in Sea View, NJ, incarcerated a girl for the Satin Strangler murders. Pursuant to a rising tidal wave of media coverage, this case promises to be monumental. I imagine even illiterates are aware of the Satin Strangler.
The case would be tantalizing enough for me based on the killer’s 40-victim curriculum vitae, which dwarfs even that of my Gloria Watson case. Strangulation, however, is what makes the Satin Strangler case particularly intriguing. Such homicidal technique is typically the modus operandi of male serial murders, whereas women have a propensity for killing at more ample distance with firearms or poison. Strangulation requires an amalgam of will, cunning, passion, and strength. Anything could go awry, particularly when a woman attacks a man.
Strangulation is the most intimate crime. Killer and victim momentarily unite as a single organism. Their eyes lock. Their breath intermingles. They exchange body heat with each other as the sweat boils up to the surface.
The intimacy of strangulation consumes my every thought as my BMW Z8 penetrates the Lincoln Tunnel toward New Jersey. What possesses a woman to terminate life by strangulation? What enables her to succeed? She must be driven by the addictive surge of adrenaline.
How much seductive power is necessary to entice so many victims? Those 40 men must have sensed her passion surge. How did it feel as that passion was interceded by impending demise? How would it feel to succumb to the Satin Strangler’s clutches?
The radio commentator just announced that the suspect, Destiny Blande, is a former office assistant and an entomologist, eliciting an image more of a damsel in distress than of a rabid psychopath. A reporter live in Sea View interviewed a group of inebriates just released from custody after a bar skirmish. They described Destiny Blande as petite but menacing, a “librarian with a secret.” Is she the Satin Strangler? The reporter seems convinced.
I must confess that I am enthralled more by the prospect of meeting the suspect than by the intellectual challenge of defending her case. I am compelled to know the woman behind the public’s Satin Strangler facade. Not since my studies at Yale Law School have I been so intrigued by a suspect.
The Manhattan skyline dims in the rearview mirror. An internal force is luring me down the Garden State Parkway toward Sea View for an encounter with Destiny Blande, accused serial killer.
-----
This is post #12 in The Satin Strangler Blogs (TSSB).
I am dictating this blog entry from my BMW Z8 at 3AM, yet another testament to the tireless dedication I have to educate you concerning my life and career.
I was returning to the Upper East Side moments ago when a news flash blared out of my new RA:1K audio system. The authorities in Sea View, NJ, incarcerated a girl for the Satin Strangler murders. Pursuant to a rising tidal wave of media coverage, this case promises to be monumental. I imagine even illiterates are aware of the Satin Strangler.
The case would be tantalizing enough for me based on the killer’s 40-victim curriculum vitae, which dwarfs even that of my Gloria Watson case. Strangulation, however, is what makes the Satin Strangler case particularly intriguing. Such homicidal technique is typically the modus operandi of male serial murders, whereas women have a propensity for killing at more ample distance with firearms or poison. Strangulation requires an amalgam of will, cunning, passion, and strength. Anything could go awry, particularly when a woman attacks a man.
Strangulation is the most intimate crime. Killer and victim momentarily unite as a single organism. Their eyes lock. Their breath intermingles. They exchange body heat with each other as the sweat boils up to the surface.
The intimacy of strangulation consumes my every thought as my BMW Z8 penetrates the Lincoln Tunnel toward New Jersey. What possesses a woman to terminate life by strangulation? What enables her to succeed? She must be driven by the addictive surge of adrenaline.
How much seductive power is necessary to entice so many victims? Those 40 men must have sensed her passion surge. How did it feel as that passion was interceded by impending demise? How would it feel to succumb to the Satin Strangler’s clutches?
The radio commentator just announced that the suspect, Destiny Blande, is a former office assistant and an entomologist, eliciting an image more of a damsel in distress than of a rabid psychopath. A reporter live in Sea View interviewed a group of inebriates just released from custody after a bar skirmish. They described Destiny Blande as petite but menacing, a “librarian with a secret.” Is she the Satin Strangler? The reporter seems convinced.
I must confess that I am enthralled more by the prospect of meeting the suspect than by the intellectual challenge of defending her case. I am compelled to know the woman behind the public’s Satin Strangler facade. Not since my studies at Yale Law School have I been so intrigued by a suspect.
The Manhattan skyline dims in the rearview mirror. An internal force is luring me down the Garden State Parkway toward Sea View for an encounter with Destiny Blande, accused serial killer.
-----
This is post #12 in The Satin Strangler Blogs (TSSB).
“Like” TSSB on Facebook.
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