Response to the Video

I have been hounded mercilessly by the media and even my faithful followers to provide a response to the sex tape that appeared on YouTube this week. I recognize that this is a price that I must pay for my role in the spotlight, so I forgive you for these transgressions. I was taught throughout my Ivy League education that it is the truly superior individual who can suffer the slings and arrows of outrageous fortune.

I have not viewed the pornographic film in question. I will not stoop to such base levels. Knowledge of my own whereabouts and experiences is sufficient.

For the record, I will provide only this solitary comment – that any details of my relationship with Destiny Blande are confidential matters between the two of us, and are not to be shared for the amusement of others. I am a gentleman in that regard, and I will not stoop to defend or to further tarnish the reputation of an acquaintance or a lover.

I ask that my faithful followers accept this statement and respect our privacy.

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Two Faced

If you choose to believe that this post is about Destiny Blande's daddy, then I cannot control your perception. Yte please keep in mind that a world reknowned lawyer would not carelessly expose himself for a libel suit. As you and certainly Destiny's daddy have recently learned, libel is difficult to prove in a court of law; however, defending myself in libel suits is not an enjoyable pasttime.

I would like to write about the disappointing preponderance of individuals who hold true to their public personna yet conceal an inner self, a dark and sometimes twisted stranger to the outside world. Let us use the example of an advertising executive, not necessarily becuse Destiny's daddy meets such a description, but rather to simply illustrate the point. The advertising executive is used to creating facades, although typically in the form of printed materials, videos, and commercials. But why should the executive stop there? Or can the executive even stop there if he wants to? Why not create a personal facade? Why not wear two faces: one as a mask to expose to the outside world, and one to keep hidden as the true inner personality?

So many people have such an inner self - one so different from what they show to others. How disappointing it is to have to hide behind a second face, the mask that has little to do with the real person inside.

If you think that this is about Destiny Blande's daddy, then I apologize for any confusion. But if the mask fits, wear it.

Cleveland Serial Killer

You most likely saw me on ABC last night, discussing the Cleveland serial killer case.

Police arriving at the home of Anthony Sowell on October 29th to arrest him on rape charges did not find their suspect. Instead, they found 11 female bodies in crawl spaces and shallow graves. Two days later they arrested Sowell as a suspect in the Cleveland serial killer case. Sowell, who previously served a 15-year prison term for a 1989 rape before being released in 2005, will most likely face numerous charges, including aggravated murder, abuse of corpses, rape, and kidnapping. He is currently being held without bond.

I was misquoted in the Associated Press today as saying that the murders were of no consequence. I am disappointed by that misrepresentation of my statement, which was that male serial killers are unfortunately a dime a dozen, unlike the truly unusual characteristics of the case of Destiny Blande being accused of the Satin Strangler murders. I certainly did not mean to diminish the loss of life in Cleveland or the impact on the families of the victims.

No Challenge

The libel case was unfortunately less of a challenge than I anticipated. Let that be a lesson to you, my faithful followers. When you are completely innocent, you will be vindicated through our legal system.

Unfortunately Destiny’s daddy has chosen to hound me indiscriminately in an attempt to share in my wealth, ironically to the point of ensuring his own financial demise. I mean him no harm, but I must question his sanity at this point.

My book, If She Did It, tells the story of a female serial killer named Daphne Blain in a fictionalized account of the Satin Strangler murders. To suggest that the killer represents Destiny Blande is actually a commentary on her presumed guilt. The libel suit suggests that Destiny’s own father is certain of her guilt in the strangulation murders of more than 100 men.

So many people in our society, from the media to the masses, believe that Destiny is guilty of the Satin Strangler murders. That is no fault of mine. In fact, I strove diligently to prove her innocence in the criminal trial. I have no intention of capitalizing on her otherwise presumed guilt with the upcoming sale of my book. If that is the result, however, then so be it.

My book has nearly outperformed Harry Potter in pre-sales on Amazon. This exceeds acceptability for a Yale lawyer with a passion for writing. The libel suit interrupted my pre-sale tour, but next month the full print book will finally be available in stores nationwide, just in time for Christmas stockings. I will be appearing in several stores in the northeast, starting with Sea View, NJ, signing books for fans.

I would like to express my personal and heartfelt gratitude to Destiny’s daddy for all of the press generated by his frivolous libel suit. As an author, there is always a subliminal concern that your efforts will not be a paramount success as interest in a subject wanes. Luckily he has ensured the utmost relevance of my book as it hits the stands.

This is also a splendid opportunity to confirm reports that I am exploring opportunities to bring the book to Broadway. I am certain that, unlike all of you who will cherish the thought of seeing this tale on stage, Destiny’s daddy will find some reason to begrudge its success and hinder my progress. Any such attempts would come as no surprise and result in monumental failure, pursuant to his efforts to date.

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Headed to Broadway

Yes, those rumors have now been verified. My best selling novel, If She Did It, will be headed to Broadway as a play. Leopold Leroux and I have decided to combine formidable forces and create a theater experience like no other yet seen on this planet. I will be providing more information to you, my faithful followers, as we deem appropriate. Remain vigilant for the announcement about ticket sales.

Response to Libel Suit

I apologize to my faithful followers who were planning to get a glimpse of me during the upcoming pre-sale book tour. I have been distracted and slightly delayed by a frivolous libel suit filed by the father of Destiny Blande. I have never even met this man. I cannot even recollect his first name at this moment. In fact, he was in absentia when his daughter was being tried for serial murder. He was nowhere to be seen while I single handedly saved her from capital punishment.

Why is it that someone who never appeared in public while his daughter’s well being was in jeopardy is now so interested in protecting her “good name?” What a fascinating sequence of events.

Destiny’s daddy contends that my book, If She Did It, misrepresents his daughter. The initial quandary here is that the book is not about his daughter. It is a fictionalized account the Satin Strangler, with a protagonist named Daphne Blain. If there are similarities in the book between Destiny and Daphne, then they are coincidental, per the legal disclaimer therein.

It would appear that nearly everyone still believes that Destiny Blande is guilty of the Satin Strangler crimes. Fortunately, the 12 citizens making up the jury did not agree with the populace at large. Perhaps Destiny’s daddy should drop to his self-righteous knees and thank me for that. No. Instead, he is pursuing me through the courts for this so-called libel.

If you believe that Destiny Blande is the Satin Strangler, then you will believe that my story is about her. That is for you to decide as the reader, but it is certainly not my intent. If you are more interested in the details of how the murders could have been committed, then my book will satisfy your craving. If you want to picture Destiny Blande walking in Daphne Blain’s place, using Daphne’s hands to tighten satin stockings around victims’ necks, then I cannot manipulate your imagination.

An esteemed lawyer of my stature need not tolerate an insufferable maggot like Destiny’s daddy. I apologize to all of my faithful followers for any inconvenience resulting from his behavior. As I say, he is a maggot. In case he is reading this, I cannot be accused herein of committing libel against him, because he cannot literally be misconstrued as a maggot as defined in the dictionary:

n - a soft-bodied legless grub that is the larva of a dipteran fly (as the housefly) and develops usually in decaying organic matter or as a parasite in plants or animals

In celebration of the libel suit against me, here is a preview of a later chapter from my book – a chapter that I did not originally intend on releasing until the print version. I dedicate this to Destiny’s daddy.


If She Did It, by Horace P. Krouch
Chapter 20: In Bed With a Strangler

“Daphne Blain” and “Henry Crow” were living under incredible tension for months. Unless you have been a defendant or a lawyer in a murder trial, you have no way of imagining the emotional overload. Every hour in the courtroom is the culmination of hundreds of hours preparing. Every word can help to make your case, or destroy it. The stakes are high; a life waits in the balance. In this case the future of a young woman was at risk.

Daphne and Henry were on edge during all that time. The acquittal released the life and death tension that characterized their relationship, but it forced them into a new sea of emotion. Heretofore, they had been in a purely business relationship. Now they had to decide whether to carry that through to a personal relationship, or go their separate ways.

Henry was only a little beyond indifferent to this issue, although he enjoyed Daphne’s company. He had just freed himself from a pending relationship and had his next few dates lined up in the queue.

Daphne was still feeling vulnerable and felt reassured by Henry’s presence. She saw him as her savior, a personality larger than life. She was experiencing the conversion from admiration to love. He was used to this scenario. These were emotions he had seen many times before in his defendants, particularly when the stakes of the case were highest. He had been careful not to give in to the temptation of falling in love with any of the other women he defended. Maintaining a professional relationship was of utmost importance.

The difference between Daphne and his other clients was her aggressiveness. She had to get what she wanted, and in this case she wanted Henry.

Yesterday Daphne came over to his office to gather copies from her file. Henry worked alone, and had a habit of leaving his office door unlocked. Daphne made her way inside. She swung open the door of his office, smiled, and moistened her lips. She reached back to unfasten her chignon and shook her auburn hair free. Her eyes flashed a malachite glow.

“I have your files,” he said.

“You know that’s not why I’m here,” she said while closing the blinds.

“What do you want, then?” he asked, though well aware of the answer.

Daphne pinned him to the wall, grabbed his shirt collar, and kissed him. He simultaneously felt the warmth of her against his entire body, and could feel her heart beating against his chest. Within seconds their clothes were lying around his desk, and the files were spilled across the floor. She skillfully swung him up onto the desk so he was lying on his back, and then pounced on top of him like a lioness. The ease of the motion was part instinct and part experience.

During their lustful interplay, she periodically ran her fingers along his neck, causing shivers throughout his body. At first he grabbed her wrists, blocking her from getting a strong grip. But she seemed energized from the challenge, each time becoming more forceful.

He found himself letting her go progressively further toward cutting off his breathing, which made her excited and brought him more satisfaction than he ever would have anticipated. For a moment, he no longer cared whether she tightened her grip.

By the time his survival instincts re-engaged, he was completely defenseless. His face was red hot as he became light headed. His vision faded as his body experienced a soothing release.

Daphne had no intention of killing Henry. He provided her with a new emotion – one that she could never have with her victims. Was it love? Regardless, she wanted more from this relationship than killing could provide.

She released her grip. In the moments that it took for Henry to regain full consciousness, she was already dressed and walking out the door.

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Response to "If She Did It"

The response to the first chapters of my new book, If She Did It, have been nothing shy of exhilirating. I am pleased to see the splendid judgment portrayed by you, my faithful followers. I am looking forward to the upcoming book tour.

The First Kill

If She Did It, by Horace P. Krouch
Chapter 2: The First Kill

The blonde waiter was sitting nude in the armchair and living room. “Daphne Blain’s” stockings bound his ankles to the chair legs. His hands were secured behind him to the back of the chair. Their clothing was strewn across the room.

They were both still perspiring. His energy was spent, but Daphne was getting even more energized by the thought of fulfilling her fantasy. All of the sex to this point was really foreplay for what was to follow She brushed aside a wisp of auburn hair and watched him quietly, wondering whether he would have the strength to fight back when she attacked. She studied his hands and feet, which were so tightly bound that the veins were bulging.

Daphne could barely control herself. She was trying to savor the moment. Her first kill. Her true passion. The feeling was indescribable. Her eyes were wide with excitement, filling the room with their malachite glow.

Daphne tip-toed behind his chair to grab her satin stockings. So delicate. So light. So seemingly harmless. So perfect for murder. She wrapped her hands at each end and applied a little tension. They would serve their purpose. A feeling of power surged within her. She sensed it flowing through every muscle in her body. She had suppressed the yearning for so long. This was what she needed. This was what she was meant to do. It would only take a few moments. She would be in complete control. She would take revenge for all of the insurrection of her entire life. The thought of being in complete power over another individual was exhilarating. She was ready

With a rapid swipe of both hands she swung the stockings around the waiter’s neck and pulled so tightly that she nearly toppled the chair. His eyes shot open. Every muscle in his body contracted simultaneously as he attempted to free himself from the bondage. His head lurched from side to side in an attempt to free the stockings from his throat, but she had the position of power. He had no chance.

She was smiling fiercely and even let out a laugh as he gasped for air. The feeling was even better than she imagined.

The waiter’s face turned shades of purple as he struggled to suck air in. Eyes filled with horror implored her to stop, but nothing could stop her now.

She took a unique delight from every second of the struggle. If she waivered for a moment, he might escape. She wanted to enjoy the moment for longer, maybe even give him a gasp or two of air to prolong his fight, but that seemed too risky. His arms fell limp at his side. She continued to hold tension while lamenting the absence of his resistance

After a few more moments the deed was done. The waiter was dead.

Watching her own nude form in the mirror, she walked over to the kitchen and found some grapes for a snack. She was still hyperventilating, less from the physical effort than from the excitement. From this point forward, her heart would race whenever she remembered the feeling of having completely dominated the waiter.

She kissed his forehead, got dressed, and slipped out the door, unseen.

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This is post #52 in The Satin Strangler Blogs (TSSB).

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Rumors About Conrad Murray Case

Many of you have seen my television appearances regarding the death of Michael Jackson. The case against Conrad Murray, Jackson's physician, will likely gain substantial media attention. The high profile nature of the case has led many experts to speculate that I will be part of the defense team representing Murray. While I have not specifically declined the case, I would like to take this opportunity to dismiss rumors that I have been retained for Conrad's defense. Stay tuned, my faithful followers, for more information on this subject and more television appearances as the facts in the case unravel.

Finding the First Victim

In response to my faithful followers on this website and my fans around the world, I have acquiesced and written my first novel, titled If She Did It. With the most profound gratitude, I dedicate the book to my Yale Law School professors for providing me with the knowledge to represent the otherwise defenseless minions in our legal system.

After extensive bidding by several publishers, the book underwent an editorial massacre with the intent of reducing my sophisticated English prose to sixth grade banter, but the publishers reassure me that this will help make the story intellectually available to the masses. I am now permitted to post the first two chapters as blogs on this website as we prepare to release the full text print version worldwide.


If She Did It, by Horace P. Krouch
Chapter 1: Finding the First Victim

You never forget your first kill.

“Daphne Blain” would only be in town for one night.

She was too beautiful to raise any suspicion, and she was dressed to kill. Her business suit from a long day of meetings was folded and laid neatly in the back seat of her car. (She needed the spare trunk space for later.) Now she was in a black blouse and a red skirt that rode just high enough up her thighs to attract the interest of every man in the bar. She wore black satin stockings, unaware that they would become her trademark. The heels supporting her black shoes were just long enough to accentuate the tone in her legs and just short and flat enough to provide good mobility.

She walked through the bar, glancing from side to side as though looking to meet someone that she knew. The men in the room, and several of the women, gazed in her direction after she passed by and then locked their eyes on her figure. Those who were bolder or had less self-control were sure to get a good look at the front of her as well. Only one or two had the confidence to attract the attention of her mesmerizing malachite eyes.

She already knew what she wanted. She felt an unrelenting restlessness throughout the day. And urge that would not be denied. She needed to find a man that she could control. Someone who wanted to share the rapture. But that wasn't enough. Tonight she would not be satisfied until she killed her newly acquainted lover. Only this would quiet the yearning.

Walking around the room, she could tell that this was going to be even easier than planned. Although she had always fantasized about killing a stranger that she picked up, and had on occasion even visualized the act to the brink of hallucinating, she had never acted on the impulse. Society would prevent her from acting on the impulse. But to hell with society. And to hell with anyone who wanted to come between her and her fantasy. As she looked around the room with all of the potential victims staring at her, yearning for her, she knew it would be easy. She could have anyone in the room. It was just a matter of choosing.

But which one would it be? It definitely had to be someone who was alone. There were enough to choose from. Could it be the one in his early 30s in a gray suit at the corner of the bar? She certainly had his attention. What about the muscular guy at the front table? He would probably put up a fight. More so than some of the others. Probably too much of a fight for her first victim. Maybe the one with a knapsack toward the center of the bar watching all the girls go by. He looked like someone whose absence might not be noticed for a while.

Any of these men would be fun to sleep with and even more fun to kill, but when she spotted the right one, the choice was obvious. It would be the waiter with the blond crew cut. He was looking at her now, smiling. Yes, the waiter was already wondering if he could have his way with her tonight. Perhaps up to a point, but then the tables would be turned against him. She smiled at the thought. He smiled back.

Daphne walked up to an empty table where the waiter was standing with a tray of glasses. She lightly tossed her head to raise a wisp of auburn hair dangling near her eyes and asked if the table was taken.

“Not yet," he said. “Will anyone be joining you?"

“I’m not sure yet," she said.

“Well let me know how that goes,” he said, smiling.

She moistened her lips with her tongue. "I’ll make sure to do that.”

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Be Ready for a Surprise

My faithful followers, I am preparing a special treat for you. The exploding traffic volume on this website confirms that you possess an insatiable hunger to hear my thoughts on The Satin Strangler. You read my words here, you stay up late to watch me on talk shows, and you correspond incessantly through email. I am not yet at liberty to reveal this latest surprise, but stay tuned. You will undoubtedly be satisfied by my latest endeavor.

Civil vs. Criminal Cases

Many of my faithful followers have asked about the difference between criminal and civil cases. Read on, and you shall learn.

Public misunderstanding of the concept of double jeopardy still persists in this regard. This protective clause in the Fifth Amendment prevents a defendant from undergoing two criminal trials for the same crime. Criminal cases are intended to deprive a defendant of life or liberty for an alleged offense. Civil trials exist to remedy some inequity by exchanging property or money.

An individual can be tried in both a criminal court and a civil court for the same crime. There is also the potential to be prosecuted in a federal criminal court after being tried for the same crime in a state criminal court, as happened to the police accused in the Rodney King case. For now we should ignore that exception, since it may confuse less educated readers.

There are precedents set for winning a criminal trial but losing a civil suit for the crime. New Yorker Bernard Goetz, the so-called “Subway Vigilante,” was acquitted of murder charges in the criminal case after shooting four young black men who accosted him in the subway. Years later, one of the gun-shot victims who was left paralyzed successfully sued Goetz for $43 million in civil court.

Socialite Claus von Bulow, with the help of the most media-worn defense attorney of our time, Alan Dershowitz, was convicted but then acquitted for allegedly murdering his wife with insulin injections in the 1980’s. He later settled a civil lawsuit filed by his stepchildren, agreeing to concede claims to hundreds of millions of dollars of his wife’s property and estate.

Former heavyweight boxing champion Mike Tyson spent three years in jail for the rape of a beauty pageant contestant, and later settled in a civil suit. He was also represented by the glory seeking Dershowitz.

Perhaps the most notable example, however, is the case of O.J. Simpson. The Hall of Fame NFL star was accused of murdering his ex-wife, Nicole Brown Simpson, and her friend Ronald Goldman, in front of her Brentwood condominium in 1994. Simpson was acquitted in the touted criminal case of the century with the help of his so-called defense attorney Dream Team, led by F. Lee Bailey and Johnnie Cochrane. Despite this acquittal, the Goldmans later successfully sued Simpson in a civil case, winning over $8.5 million in compensatory damages and $25 million in punitive damages in 1997 for the wrongful death of Goldman and battery of Brown.

The decision led to the garnishing of Simpson’s income, with the exception of his NFL pension. Simpson publically denounced the decision, vowing not to pay the Goldmans any of the awarded money. Legal battles ensued, including the Goldmans’ winning the rights to Simpson’s notorious book If I Did It, presumably a fictitious account of the murders, in at attempt to regain some of the $33.5 million previously awarded by the courts.

Destiny has made a perilous mistake by changing her legal counsel between cases. There are so many nuances with serial murder cases, particularly in the civil arena. She is disregarding the Ivy League firepower that won her seemingly insurmountable criminal case by turning to a Rutgers Law School graduate for the civil case. Given the mountain of evidence used against her in the criminal case, it seems likely that she will lose this next battle without adequate counsel.

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Craigslist Killer

Philip Markoff is a 22 year old student accused of using the classifieds Website Craigslist to identify and then kill women who advertised erotic services. Authorities suspect Markoff of committing at least two robberies and one murder in Massachusetts and one robbery in Rhode Island. Police say that on April 10th in Boston, Markoff bound and robbed an escort he met via Craigslist. Four days later, Markoff allegedly met with 26-year-old Julissa Brisman, an aspiring model who police say advertised her services as a masseuse on Craigslist. Markoff allegedly answered the ad and met Brisman at the Copley Marriott Hotel in Boston. Police later found Brisman's battered and bullet-ridden body in her hotel room. The third incident occurred in Warwick, Rhode Island on April 16, when Markoff allegedly attempted to rob an exotic dancer.

Markoff has been charged with murder, unlawful possession of a firearm, robbery and kidnapping. He has pled not guilty and continues to maintain his innocence. Authorities believe Markoff may be connected to other unsolved robberies and homicides in Massachusetts, Rhode Island, New Jersey, Connecticut and the Caribbean.

This case provides further proof of the dangers of internet-based interactions, particularly when perverse sexual favors are at play. The media is comparing this story to that of my client Destiny Blande, due to the erotic sexual fetishes involved. It is important to highlight the fact that Destiny Blande has been acquitted of the Satin Strangler crimes, however.

I have been involved in numerous media discussions about both cases during the last few days. There are rumors that I may be taking on Markoff's defense, but I have not yet had any meetings with the young man.

Night of the Verdict

Pursuant to earlier reports of my relationship with Destiny Blande, there has been incessant speculation about our evening together after the acquittal. The press has taken their liberties. My faithful followers, you have posted countless comments on this website asking for details. While I abhor sharing information on personal matters, I do feel a certain level of obligation to address the subject herein.

The evening of the acquittal promised to be a pivotal point in our relationship. We would finally be alone together for the first time. We originally met in the Sea View prison. We conversed daily for months, but only within the unnatural confines of prison. I had never experienced her company outside of captivity.

We separated in front of the courthouse to avoid attention, intending on reconvening at her home for a quiet evening. I followed her to Mount Rose, NJ, as planned. Within a mile of her home, however, the road was blocked by throngs of well-wishers and police barricades, akin to the scene we had left outside the courthouse. What was once a quiet country road was now a transient metropolis, replete with tents and makeshift shanties.

I snaked my BMW Z8 away from the turmoil and somehow stayed behind Destiny’s silver Accord. I contemplated my relationship with Destiny as I followed her toward New York City.

Destiny has been impressed by me since our initial encounter. Admiration inevitably evolved toward physical attraction. In my personal experience this affinity is essentially inevitable. Captivity would naturally superimpose an interesting component to Destiny’s desires. As long as she was in prison, I was her forbidden fruit. Up until the acquittal, our relationship was safely contained within predictable boundaries. What would happen once she was free to express her emotions? The serial killer psyche can tolerate emotional proximity in captivity, but not out in the world at large. This is not, of course, to suggest that Destiny is guilty of murder. She has been acquitted, so I must convey nothing other than her innocence.

You wonder if the attraction was completely unidirectional. All along I was certain that it was. I must admit that Destiny is an attractive woman. Even more alluring is the Satin Strangler thought by most to lurk somewhere within Destiny.

A few hours later we had reconvened at a restaurant table in Little Italy. During dinner I found myself searching for the Satin Strangler through Destiny’s eyes, trying to decide if I was willing to risk giving into her desires.

Destiny’s face has a girl-next-door sweetness, but her malachite eyes betray an unsettled core. I watched her hands tease apart a loaf of bread into smaller pieces and tuck them between her lips. Were those hands strong enough to tighten stockings around the necks of the Satin Strangler’s victims? I said “no” for months to the police, press, jury and judge. I strode through the courtroom, locked gazes with each juror, and declared, “No, there is insufficient evidence in the prosecutor's case to convict this young woman of those heinous crimes. She is innocent. She could be your daughter. She could be your neighbor. Look at her. Look into her eyes. Is this a woman capable of killing?"

Was Destiny capable of killing? I continued to ask myself this question. As her lawyer, I had to say “no.” But sitting there at dinner, watching her every move, I was suddenly exhilarated by the possibility that she could in fact be the Satin Strangler. Could those hands strangle a man? Could this girl kill? I found myself wanting to think so. I imagined being wrapped in her satin web. I fantasized about the touch, not of the frightened young Destiny Blande, but of the fiery Satin Strangler seductress within.

We left our dinner half eaten. The rest of the evening must be left to your imagination.

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Leaving the Courtroom

I reached my car at the courthouse just moments ago, and I must admit that I am overwhelmed by exhaustion, but my first loyalty is to dictate my sentiments at this very moment for you, my faithful followers.

The jury deliberated just a few hours before reaching a “not guilty” verdict. I obviously expected to win the case. I commanded the jury from my opening statement. I was nonetheless surprised at the expeditious nature of the deliberation. In my experience on the Yale Law Review, and in my subsequent consumption of the legal literature, I am unaware of such a decisive win in a serial murder case. In fact, a serial murderer acquittal is essentially unprecedented. This coup de grace eclipsed even the previous trajectory of my illustrious career.

Reporters swarmed the courtroom, thrusting toward us or retreating with their cameras and microphones toward the frenzy brewing outside.

Analogous to other paramount events in history, the number of self-proclaimed “eye-witnesses” already appears to exceed the modest courtroom capacity as the news reporters cling to any available story. Observers just reported that the victims’ families were crying out obscenities at me and Destiny. The brother of Satin Strangler victim Grant Leighton supposedly pushed through the crowd and threw himself across the guard rail lining the defense stand. He was presumably attacking us, but eventually succumbed to police Tasers. It should be stated for the record that I witnessed none of this. Instead, I was attending to the inundating paparazzi and well-wishers.

We anticipated Destiny’s extradition to Virginia to face the next set of murder charges, but were pleasantly surprised when authorities informed us during the courtroom adjournment that she was released from custody. I have since learned that charges in all other Satin Strangler states have been postponed.

Destiny and I embraced as the verdict was read. At first I sensed in her the massive relief that comes with an acquittal of a capital offense. But when I began to back away, she held me tighter. In other circumstances I might have reciprocated, but I had to adhere to my professional code of ethics and extricate myself from her embrace.

Destiny’s face quivered momentarily as we separated. Never during the months leading up to the case, never in the courtroom, never in the flashing lights of the cameras did she express the slightest fear. But her emotion at that moment was unmistakable.

The reason for her trepidation was readily apparent to me. Ever since the arrest, Destiny’s friends and family progressively abandoned her. Several sold their stories to newspapers, magazines and talk shows. I was the only one to remain by her side. I emerged as her knight in shining armor.

Destiny was leaving her former life behind in exchange for a world of bright lights and cameras. She would be living an endless reality show, with a blurred distinction between reality and fiction. Our relationship together, which was confined by our professional interaction boundaries, was impeded from proceeding to the next phase. This reality suddenly weighed heavily on her during our embrace.

“I know,” I said, brushing a wisp of auburn hair back from her face. “Don’t be afraid.”

Police wedged the crowd apart, allowing us through like a newlywed couple exiting a church. The cacophony outside was deafening, causing Destiny to retract closer to my side. Suddenly I spotted a projectile hurling toward; we braced for the impact. Striking me across my left cheek was a black satin stocking, the first of many to precipitate down upon us from all directions. Cameras flashed as Destiny reached over to remove the stocking from my face and neck.

Radio correspondents are already reporting that Destiny was pantomiming strangling me with the stocking. This “strangulation photograph” and our well-documented embrace are presumably igniting love affair speculations throughout the airwaves.

I will soon navigate my BMW Z8 through a stream of paparazzi, so please carry on without me until I return with more thoughts on the trial.

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