Cathy

My macho United States Marine Corps neighbor came over early one morning. I had just poured the first cup of Community Coffee, still in my pajamas, about to read the Sunday paper. I could not imagine what he was doing over so early, perhaps he needed to borrow a cup of coffee.

"Good Morning"

"LinMarie, now don't get mad, but look out your front window and check out the hooker."

Scot, went back home, leaving me to watch the act taking place outside my window.

When I first moved to my old house, I was a seamstress. I had a sewing and alterations business. I had erected a sign on my corner with the name of my company, "Yes I Can" and in smaller letters it read Sewing, Alterations and Classes.

Cathy was standing on my corner under the sign. Anyone in their right mind could tell she was high as a kite in a March wind. I did not know, at the time, which choice of high she was on - crack cocaine, marijuana, booze or perhaps a mixture of all. I did know for her to be out this early in the morning, that she'd never been to bed. Street girls mainly do their thing at night - thinking no one will see them.

At first sight, I was furious. But, after standing by the window watching her, I began to laugh. I watched her for a long time, as she would wriggle her butt in a circular fashion, raise her pleated mini skirt up over her white tee-shirt, point to the sign, and holler, "YES, I CAN!" She never had any "takers" or "johns" stop.

I watched as she began walking up the street, I figured Cathy had tired of her aerobics and cheerleading. Cathy headed for the middle of the street to play her version of dodge ball with her body and cars and trucks being the ball.

All of a sudden Cathy hit the ground. I could tell from my view point that she was either having a seizure or was in DT's from the drugs. I flew out my front door as fast as I could, down the stairs, one foot on top of a tree stump and over the fence I was. When I got to her she was as limp as a wet dish rag.

"What is it, Cathy? Talk to me. Don't you die on me." I yelled to the semi-conscious girl. I knew from the look of her that the attack wasn't a seizure.

She panicked, I suppose thinking I was going to beat the tar out of her for prostituting in front of my house, and began screaming - not in words just noise!

"Shut up screaming," I said. "I ain't going to hurt you. But, I am going to get off this street before you get both of us killed."

I threw that 95 pound girl over my shoulder like a sack of potatoes. I had no choice but to get us out of the road. Instinct, I was headed to my house. Street folk were watching. A group of thugs were piled together on the side walk. No one said a word for a long time. After I passed the group of thugs, one said, just loud enough for me to hear, "That crazy white bitch that stays in the big blue house gonna beat the crap outta that ho..." I ignored him.

The thoughts and opinions of the street people did not matter to me right then. I had other thoughts and other things to think about, like what was I going to do with Cathy. My main concern was to get her cleaned up, let her sleep off whatever she was on, and maybe try to talk some sense into her.

"Please don't call the po-po on me, just help me." she whispered before we ever got to my gate.

All I could do was pray. "God, just help me understand this girl. Maybe if I can understand her, I can help her."

I took Cathy in that day. she soaked for over two hours in a hot tub of water. She was like a kid that didn't want to get out. I brought her a robe and gown that swallowed her - it made her appear to be even more tiny than what she was - but they were clean.

"Can I sleep for just a little while?" she asked.

"Sure, take the bed in the back room."

I sat by the bed off and on the entire 17 hours that Cathy slept. I had heard from street talk that she was seizure prone and I suspected that she may have already had one. If that were the case, then I knew that she needed uninterrupted rest without a john or pimp pushing her to be back out on the streets. And, I knew none of them were brave or crazy enough to come to my house.

Around nine the next morning, Cathy began to stir. Being raise a good portion of my life by a grandmother, I could hear her saying, "Breakfast is your main meal of the day." I wondered if Cathy had a family and a place to go eat breakfast.

"Oh what the heck?" I thought.

On examining the fridge, I only found one egg and some really old milk. I think penicillin could be made with it or something of that nature. The bread was old, too, but I did know how to make biscuits from scratch. Okay, perhaps I secretly wanted to impress my house guest.

By the time Cathy got up, her clothes had been washed and pressed and a good breakfast of egg, sausage gravy and home made biscuits awaited her in my kitchen.

"You did this for me?" she asked suspiciously.

"No, for us. I plan to eat too." I said.

"You mean we eating together? We gonna sit here together?"

"If you plan to eat, we are. Trust me, I ain't going to try to poison you. You're not ....." damned my mouth. I started to tell her she wasn't worth me going to jail over her, but I retreated and said, "You're not going to get out of eating my cooking that easy. Sit down and eat."

I could tell she was hesitant. Even if I do say so myself, the smell was pretty appealing. We both dived into eating. No words were spoken for a long time. I could tell from the way she went after the gravy and biscuits she hadn't eaten for a while.

"What you got in this gravy?" she asked.

"I make mine with Cremora Coffee Creamer, it's cheaper and I'm allergic to milk sometimes."

"Get out of here! Are you for real? Coffee creamer?"

"Yes, why is it that bad?"

"NO, it's the best sausage gravy I've ever eaten."

We ate in silence for a while and of course, I found that I just could not sit there and wonder about the things I was thinking.

"Cathy, why do you sell yourself?"

"For rocks mostly."

"How much do you make?"

"What's with all these questions?"

"Just curious, that's all"

"You the police?"

"No, if I were, I would have hauled you in long before now."

"Then, what's it to you?"

"Nothing I just was trying to better understand you. That's all. Don't get your panties in a wad." Then I laughed because I realized she didn't have any on. All of a sudden, with the shock wiped off her face, she started laughing, too!

We ate more food. I served us more coffee and juice.

"No thank you," she said, "I've had enough. I wouldn't want to lose my girlie figure."

"Well," I thought to myself, "At least the little lady has been taught some manners, so I know somebody has raised her right."

"I make between $1.50 and $3.00 for each trick. Well, you, being a white lady would call it a blow job. My man gets the rest."

"What do you mean, 'your man gets the rest'?"

"Well, I charge between $10-$20 each time. They (the "date") rides around and I do my thing to 'em. Then I have to give the money to my john who been following us or he be where I'm to be dropped off."

"You mean "john" as in "pimp"?"

"Whatever you wanna call him - I just know I ain't messing with him and his money."

"Is he the one in that black car that follows not far behind you when you are on the streets?"

"How'd you know that?"

"Cathy, I may be white, I may not understand your life style, but I am not blind. I've seen you beat up and bruised. I cannot understand why someone with your education and personality would do something like that. Please get off the street."

"How you know I got a degree from Lamar?"

"I've done my homework too."

"Well I plan to get off the streets, they ain't nothing nice."

"Yeah? When?"

"One day soon. I gotta go or he's gonna be on the streets looking for me. Thanks for helping me and for the breakfast."

"Cathy, before you go, if you ever need my help, I am not the law, but I can help you or will try, when you are ready."

Cathy hugged my neck and said, "You know you really ain't such a bad white bitch like they say. Thank you for your help."

I thought of Cathy often after that. Every time she would pass the house, she would wave. Sometimes if other girls were working in front of the house, she'd holler at them to get to another street, because "a real lady stays in that house" She also passed the word that my place was a place to find solace and peace and that I would keep their lives and secrets safe within my walls.

I came to the conclusion that sharing the heart warming events that led to me cleaning up my neighborhood, winning a Jefferson Award for my efforts, may help someone else along the way.

Later that same year, Cathy was found murdered in a park in South Beaumont. She was having oral sex, got angry at the guy and bit him. He in turn, slit her throat.

It seemed like a senseless murder. She was so sweet, although confused. I learned her degree was an accountant. She was just that smart before the cocaine took over her body. I'm told that the first high from crack cocaine is unmeasureable. I'm told the body craves more and more. The craving will go to sleep, like a sleeping tiger, but when he awakes, raises his head and roars, he has to be fed.

Perhaps in her death, Cathy had found the peace that she really wanted all along. Over the course of the months after her death, I realized that Cathy was worthy of any one's attention, love and care. And, I regretted the day that I thought she wasn't.

I also thought that she was some one's child and that they would miss her. I knew that she had touched my heart and opened my eyes in a way that no one else had ever done nor any amount of schooling had ever come close to doing. She also had opened the communications line between others like her, the street girls, and myself.

I know Cathy was someone very special, because I know God doesn't make junk. It's been almost twenty years since Cathy and I had our first interaction - my streets and neighborhood are safe and clean - but I still miss seeing her and her beautiful smile...

Kim

I had seen Kim working the streets since the beginning of my life in my old house. She was a really "sassy walker" to say the least. Street talk was she "could strut her stuff" or she was "doggin' it". Either way, those were mild understatements. She could twist her rear end smoother and faster than a Maytag washing machine.

It was a hot night in June. I'd worked on building my garage all day. If you don't know about Texas in June - it's hotter than a pepper patch - like when you walk outside and try to make it to your car, there isn't anything on you dry. Hot. I'd decided a long hot bubble bath, candles and a glass of wine would do the trick to relax my aching muscles.

I had been in that Calgon take me away about twenty minutes when I heard a scream. A woman was hollering, "HELP ME!! PLEEEEZE SOMEONE HELP ME!"

By this time in my adventure of living here, I had already endured a lot of "help me's" that were more like the little boy calling wolf when nothing had happened.. This one seemed to have a "Coca Cola" ring to it - like it was "the real thing". I jumped, grabbed a bathrobe and ran out of the house barefooted.

At first I thought the scream was from my front porch, but once outside, I realized it was next door. I jumped the fence, darn near got my robe caught on the prongs on top and got to the screaming gal laying on the ground. I'm sure my jumping the fence would've made the Funniest Videos! But, in a lurch, fluffy girls can run.

"Ms. Lin, you gots to help me you gots to help me!" she was screaming.

"Kim, if you scream at me one more time I'm gonna knock you out - now shut up screaming and tell me what's wrong."

"Ms Lin, he shot me in the butt!"

"WHO shot you in the butt - WHAT? Who shot you in the butt?"

"My date. He wanted oral sex and I didn't like what it looked like so I said no and when I got out of his car he shot me in the butt!"

Kim was laying on her stomach with both hands reaching toward her buttocks. Those hands were not 'just' on the buttocks, she had a grip on them like she had been switched with a young peach tree limb. Reminded me of a child's reaction after he really messed up and a mama went on the warpath and tore his hind-end up.

"Ohhh pleeeeze, Ms. Lin, help me it hurts."

I hollered at another neighbor to "call 9-1-1 and get me an ambulance out here."

"Ohhhh Ms. Lin, you can fix it you done sewed up a bunch of us when we got beat up you can fix it."

"Kim, I can't fix this - hold still - I'm gonna rip your britches and let me see the bullet wound."

"But, it huuuurrrts"

"KIM" I was shouting at this point, "SHUT UP! And, let me look"

I happened to have had my watch on. Took the blood pressure, checked the pulse - she was going to live, but was going into shock. I knew from the trajectory of the bullet and that it been a small hand gun wound and that the bullet had not come out the other side and was floating inside of her.

"Kim, is there someone we can call? Kim, don't you pass out on me now - wake yourself up - Kim..."

"Ma'am?" she was passing in and out.

"Who do we call?"

"My mama."

"What's her number"

I sent the neighbor to go call the Mama, "tell her to meet the ambulance at Baptist that's where I'd send her."

After he left, I realized that I had rattled off orders like a Marine Drill Sergeant and was fearful that the neighbor didn't grasp all that I had said. Nevertheless, he headed off for the phone.

I ripped her outer pants. I wasn't surprised that she didn't have any step-ins, er underwear on. Most of these street girls wouldn't waste the time to wear a second layer.

"Where is that ambulance?" I kept thinking. I've got my knee in the middle of her back keeping her still to try to keep the bullet from continue to float around inside of her. I figure the bullet was either inside her bladder or had torn her uterus up.

"Kim, tell me what happened again before the law gets here and shut up shouting and you better not go to sleep on me. Dammit you know better than to be out on the street like this and you know bad stuff happens. BE STILL"

I was getting frustrated with her. I kept check of her pulse. I ordered someone else to hand me a quilt or blanket or something. "Not mine, not on her" one person told me.

"If you don't get your skinny black butt in that house and get me something to cover her up you WILL NOT like me when I get done with her" I hoped that sounded forceful enough. I'd learned long ago to get the first bluff in and I'd probably be the winner and get what I wanted!

I got a blanket for her.

"Kim, what happened?"

"I wouldn't give him a blow job because.....ooooh it hurts so bad."

"Kim, did he pay you?"

"Yes, but it didn't look too good and I just didn't want to do it."

"Kim you gotta be still. You've got a bullet in you and from the looks of your lower abdomen that sucker is floating in there." I didn't tell her that she was swelling up like she was nine months pregnant. I figured she had some serious damages.

"Oh, Ms. Lin, please don't leave me."

"I thought you didn't like me"

"Ms. Lin you a real bitch sometimes, but I know you are a nice lady, please don't leave me"

"Kim, I'm not going to leave you, but SHUT UP SHOUTING! I know that it hurts but I'm right here and so are the medics"

Boy, was I EVER glad and grateful that the medics had finally gotten there, because honestly I didn't know how much longer I could have kept her still and lying down.

"LinMarie, what's her pulse rate" EMS had already taught me what to look for, how to do it, I'd bandaged and doctored many of these street girls, gardeners, ho-s - over the last year or so since I'd been here.

"Pulse rate is 135 ...subject has been shot in the left buttocks by a small handgun..small amount of bleeding.." I was spouting off what I had learned from the first incidents that had happened around this neighborhood.

"Good going, LinMarie. We'll take it from here."

"Kim the medics are here now. They're going to take you to Baptist Hospital. I've got your mama going there to meet you. You are going to be fine."

I wasn't sure she was going to be fine.

Here came the cops. "Did you see anything? What happened?" Questions from the three cops were swirling about in the night air. I did not have the answers, only what I was told.

All of these same questions have been asked hundreds of times over the years. I wondered if these people ever got tired of picking up hookers that had been beaten up or shot, and I wondered how this girl's mother was feeling.

I called her mother the next day to check on Kim. I learned she had been kept in ICU after having an emergency hysterectomy. Having undergone one myself, I knew that surgery wasn't a walk in the park. The bullet was from a .25 automatic. No suspect had been arrested. In fact, Kim didn't even know who the guy was that shot her. "Some dude in a fancy mercedes with lots of diamond rings - white dude."

The mother voluntarily told me that Kim was from a Christian home and family. I didn't need an explanation. This was none of my business. "You are the lady that Kim says helps the girls. Kim said you give them food and clothes and sew them up sometimes. I thank you for taking care of them."

Kim still works the streets. I pray that I won't pick up the paper one day and see her obituary. She wouldn't be the first to have died at the hands of the thugs of the streets and she probably wouldn't be the last.

I just pray that no one ever dies while I'm holding them in my arms. It could happen. I don't want it to, though. So, in the evenings, now, part of my prayers are for the girls of the streets. And, maybe in some small way, I've been a little help to them. Just maybe I've been called on to be here for that reason. So, maybe I had better stay here on my corner for a little while longer instead of fostering a desire to leave.

Frankie

Frankie was one of the prettiest girls that worked the streets. To say that she worked the streets perhaps isn't really a fair overview of her. She worked the drugs. She stayed high. She had to prostitute to get the money for the drugs. She had a John that fed them to her like M&Ms. When she wasn't high, Frankie was one of the sweetest people that a person would ever want to be around or have in their home. She was basically good people, from a good family, with a good upbringing. Drugs happen.

Frankie lived in one of the three little houses at the end of my street. There were frequent visits there by local police officers - SWAT - jump out boys, not to mention the whores and crack heads.

When I first bought my house, the one I live in, it was extremely quiet by day. But that first night? Oh, it was nothing nice. Crack-hos and prostitutes everywhere. Gun shots would ring in the night air. It was from one of these houses that Frankie lived in that the first shot was fired my first night in my beautiful old historical home.

My phone rang late that night. "Are you okay?" Pam, my cousin's wife was asking. She was calling to see if I knew where the gunshot had come from.

"Yeah, I'm fine." I said. "I think it came from one of the three gray houses. I guess I'm gonna have to try to buy those to stop that crap."

What began to become a habit, a habit several times a day, I phoned the Police Department. "What is your emergency?" asked the dispatcher.

"Gunshots hvae been fired from the area of Pennsylvania and Royal Streets."

"Do you know who is doing the shooting?" she calmly asked.

"No ma'am I don't. And, I don't intend to go over and ask them either. Would you please send an officer over here now?"

Me and the dispatcher had no more hung up when the sounds of police sirens filled the night air. Hookers and pimps scattered like cock roaches when someone turns on a light. Crack pipes were extinguished. The "po po was here".

Lights and police cars and an ambulance started appearing from everywhere heading for the middle house. An officer that I knew came over to see if I was Okay.

"Yeah, I'm fine." I said "Just a little shook up to be awakened in the middle of the night like this. What do we have to do to get a good night's sleep in this neighborhood?"

"Look, I'm going to give you some names of people to talk to. Tomorrow morning, you be on the phone to them You may have to keep calling until they return your calls. Stay after them. You shouldn't have to live like this." he said.

The next morning I was on the phone before some even got to their jobs, much less had their first cup of coffee. After a dozen or so calls, I realized I was not going to get a return phone call. So, I bounced down to the police station and waited to see these guys face to face.

"You aren't going to dodge your job?" I asked one.

"Oh no ma'am," he replied.

"Good. Then since you are too busy to return my phone call I figure a face to face visit would be better. Let's talk."

I sat down with the nice Leuitinant . I was armed with dates/times of calls to the police department. I had photos of the "ho-s" who worked my streets, of the "Johns", names, car license plates..I was armed for bear. I was assured that action would be taken to assist in cleaning up this neighborhood.

Two weeks past. I began to harrass the police department again. "Sir, I'm not here to harrass you, but would you like for me to drive some of these girls to your street and let them work over there for a while?" I asked.

"Uhm no I wouldn't" he said.

"Then why is my neighborhood so special that we can't get them gone?"

After another few phone calls and a few interviews with the local television stations about our neighborhood plight, we began seeing results. Sting operations went into effect. My house was used as a surveillance point. I had cops in the attic staring out at the streets. When sitting out on the front porch, I had cops driving up and down the streets giving me signals that things were okay.

For some reason, after a while, I just knew that things were going to get better. But, I also knew we had a long row ahead of us to hoe and even with this much support coming through, I knew I couldn't just sit down. I wasn't going to be happy until it was all said and done adn folks could walk our streets again.

I had been watching Good Morning America . They had a legal advisor talking about a new law that was going into effect. They covered something about a landowner being aware that his property was being used to sell or harbor illegal drugs or acts that the property could be confiscated under a new federal law and some State laws.

Whoa! There was a new avenue! I figured it was about time to do something else. The police department was doing it job and just maybe with a little encouragement from yours truly, we could hit the landowner from the backside - his wallet. Perhaps that would expedite things.

I phoned Norris Batiste, U.S. Marshall for assistance - Norris would do what he could to help. I called the Texas Attorney General's office in Austin. Everyone wanted to ask me a hundred and one questions and all I wanted was one simple answer. After experiencing total frustration - I called the U.S. Attorney's office. There I was put in contact with a very intelligent and soft spoken female attorney named Mary Bradford. I told her what I was trying to do and why. She asked me to send her a copy of my letter that I was mailing to the landowner. She gave me her word she would follow up on the matter. I didn't trust a lot of folks, but for some reason, I trusted her.

I gathered information, names, addresses, dates and times of call outs by the police department. I began investigating. I could not type letters fast enough to Mr. Absentee Landlord, letting him know that if he didn't do something about the trash going on at his property, I planned to let the U.S. Attorney's office know about it. I quoted the law.

In all honesty, I knew nothing about the law nor how the sytem worked. I just knew I wanted this neighborhood cleaned up - and NOW.

I waited. I did not hear anything from him. I sent the letter on to Ms. Bradford. She would handle it.

Sitting at my sewing machine, working on a quilt, that bright sunny afternoon, I heard the unmistakable sound of gun fire. Then I heard a scream. I immediately grabbed the phone.

"What is your emergency?" dispatch asked. I had phoned so many times to dispatch that we were all on first name basis.

"Diane, this is LinMarie I just heard gunfire and a scream coming from the middle house on Pennsylvania and Royal."

"Did you see anything?"

"No ma'am, I was quilting. I just heard a gunshot and a scream."

Police were there within what seemed a seconds, followed by an ambulance. I knew something bad had happened that day in my neighborhood. And, I wondered if the landowner knew about it or would even care.

I walked over to the property line. I stood among the other street girls. A white girl in the midst of all the "girls". One was crying. I watched and waited. Yellow tape was put around the building. I knew there was a murder. Shortly a body bag was being hauled out of the house. This wasn't a good sign.

As one of the old timers in the neighborhood walked past, I hollered, "Joe what happened?"

"Some ole whore got shot and killed because she had called the jump out boys - he had her against the wall opened her mouth and put a 38 bullet in her head - brains is everywhere" he said.

For those of you who may not understand "jump out boys", those are men/women SWAT members who are rushed on to a scene, who jump out of a van, mostly masked, wearing black, heavy gun power, who kick in doors and do drug busts.

A cold chill went up my spine. She might have had her problems, but she never gave me any. She didn't deserve to be murdered. She had always waved and spoken to me each time she passed my house. What a difference one day to the other made.

She may have taken a bullet that belonged to me. I had called the jump out boys - many times. For a long time I wondered about Frankie, the bullet and f it were really meant for her.

Frankie's murderer turned himself in later that afternoon. There were two other girls in the house that witnessed it and knew the killer. There were articles in teh newspapers about her. Her family had put some writings in the paper about her.

I thought how, as a mother, no matter how much good or bad our children do, we worry over them, long for them to do the right things in life - and, we still love our kids.

I prayed for forgiveness that day. For some strange reason, inside of me, I felt responsible. Responsible, because I had started this clean-up effort. I had been the one making the calls and letting the cops stay in my house and do surveillance from my places. I just wanted a safe nice neighborhood.

About four years after this incident happened, through my cousin's wife, Pam, I was introduced to Pam Jardeen. Pam was Frankie's sister. She never had the chance to say good-bye to Frankie. She asked what I knew about that fateful afternoon. I told her everything and cried when I admitted that I thought Frankie might have taken the bullet meant for me.

Pam got up from my dining room table, hugged me and said, "It wasn't your fault."

At that moment I found the forgiveness I had been seeking and needed. I had since purchased the property that Frankie was killed in. I handed the keys to Pam. I told her to keep tham as long as she needed. Pam needed time in that house - to grieve - to cry - and to let go.

I think that day God opened eyes on all of us. He showed us that color doesn't matter, we all have feelings. He also blessed us that day. He took away the guilt and the grief from both of us. And, most importantly, He gave me a new friend, Pam, through such a travesty.

The Diaper Bandit

It was a young spring afternoon when I came home from work sick with the flu. I think that every bone in my body ached and I was running a very high fever. I had called my cousin, who was a nurse, to bring me some medicine. I was too sick to go to the doctor. I did not want to have to get back up, so I unlocked the burglar bar door that were on the outside of the door so that she could just come on inside once she got here.

I laid down and must have dozed off to sleep because I was awakened by a knock on the door. "Oh well," I thought. "She'll realize the door is open and come on in." I never got up. I laid there with my eyes closed. I heard the door open and felt the presence of someone in my room. I looked up and there stood a young black man looking at me. I noticed that he was very jittery. I stood up to walk toward him. My knees were shaking from the weakness that I felt from the flu and for some reason, I froze in place.

My first thought was, "Well LinMarie here you go. If God doesn't have your heart by now, this ole' boy is fixing to take it." I asked God to give me peace and strength to do what I needed to do. Still frozen in my tracks, I immediately felt coolness come over me that began at the top of my head. It went down my neck into my torso and arms and into my legs. It felt as if someone had poured cold water all over me. My movement came back and I came to my senses.

"What are you doing in here?" I asked in a surprisingly calm manner. The unwanted visitor threw his arms wildly about him. When he did, my eyes were drawn to the screwdriver in his right hand. A long screwdriver - not something that a woman would have in her tool box - at least an 18" screwdriver.

He said, "Look, lady, I got to have $450 for diapers. My kid needs diaper money."

"No problem," I softly said, "Just let me go to my room and I can help you out."

From deep inside me, I somehow knew I had to walk past this guy. Through my calmness, he seemed to begin to calm down as well. I walked past him as if he were an old friend. My gut was churning. I was almost nauseated. The bedroom was down the hall about 20 feet. He didn't follow me. I didn't hear him stirring about. I knew if I could just get to the bedroom I could use the phone and get my pistol.

I made it. I was safe, to an extent, in my own room.

I called 9-1-1.

"9-1-1 what is your emergency?" the operator asked.

"This is LinMarie. I have an intruder and I have him at gun point" I gave her my address then laid the phone down on the bed, keeping the line open. I was afraid to keep him waiting in the utility room for too long, for fear he would start to get angry and radical again. I slipped the handgun into my robe pocket. I put my hand in the pocket over the gun.

I walked slowly back to the utility room.

"Look, Bud, I would love to help you out, but I came home from work today sick and I guess that I left my purse in the car. If you'll follow me out I promise I will be happy to accommodate this situation."

"Please, " I kept thinking, "go outside and don't try to harm me."

I knew in my heart that I would kill him. Fear had engulfed me. I was running on pure adrenaline. What if the police didn't get here in a timely fashion? Stupid thoughts crept into play. What if I kill this man? What will my sons think? Don't shoot him in the house. You just got through painting the walls and refurbishing the utility room. Has this guy hurt someone in the past? Is he going to rape me? Does he have family? Is he on drugs? What if help doesn't arrive? Can you really kill someone? Can you live with yourself if you do? Would the police understand if he threatened me or tried to hurt me and I had to protect myself? What kind of ramifications could I face with the law? Thousands of other questions rolled through my mind as if I was watching a film flick of this scene or as if I were at a movie show and my life was racing in front of me.

As we walked towards outside, passing through the doorway, me leading the way, I kept thinking, "Just keep in control; don't let him know you are nervous too; keep him talking."

I had made it out the door, to the bottom of the stairs. He was behind me. He was out of my house. I heard a noise. I turned, to see him flop his buns down on the top step.

As I turned toward him, he shouted, "Look LADY," while raising his shirt over his head to show me, "I ain't got no weapon, no knife, no nothing. But you are gonna give me $450 for diapers." He started to lunge toward me.

I didn't even whence. I pulled my gun out, clicked a shell into the chamber and said, "You might not have one but I damn sure do and if you move one inch, I'm going to blow your balls off!"

"You're crazy," he screamed. "You're a crazy white m....f....you just plumb ass crazy, crazy white bitch." He went ballistic. I knew that I now would have to hold my ground. If he did decide to come toward me, I knew I would have to back up my words.

He sat there for a while. Stiff. Sweat pouring from his brow. I kept thinking, "Where is the law?" I turned my head for just an instant beause I saw two people coming out of the funeral home across the street. I hollered, "Call the law. Please help me. Call the law. He broke into my house." They shook their heads "no" and went back into the funeral home.

When I turned around he was rising, he was lunging at me. No - he was running, he was running away. I put a dead aim on him. Then I realized that a stray bullet could hit someone next door if I wasn't on target.

He was running down the street. He was gone.

I ran back into my house, down the hall, to the bedroom and picked up the phone. The dispatcher was still there. "This is LinMarie. He just took off running toward Pennsylvania heading east. He is wearing a striped Polo type shirt and maroon sweat pants," I said through heavy panting.

"The police have him LinMarie. They are there. Go outside and meet the police and identify him," she said. I hung up the phone.

As I walked down the hallway to go outside, I laid my gun on top of the dryer in the utility room. I walked down the sidewalk to the gate of the fence that surrounds my property and saw an officer bringing him back toward the house. I could see three police cars in the back at the end of the street where they picked him up from, two police cars were in front and one on the side. I later found out that the time for the police arrival on that call was two minutes and 17 seconds. It seemed a life time.

Relief welled up in me and I was ready to cry. "No tears, LinMarie" I kept telling myself. I had stayed calm during the ordeal so far, yet, now, I was ready to bawl.

"That crazy white bitch gots a gun. She's a crazy m...f...." he was yelling to the officer. The officer stopped. My hands were still in my robe pockets.

"Do you have a gun?" the officer asked as he moved, who would later be referred to as The Diaper Bandit, in front of him as if to shield himself from any unexpected gun battle.

"Yes I own a gun. It is in the house on the dryer."

The officer ordered me to "put my hands on the fence."

All of a sudden my emotions turned to pure anger. How DARE this cop order me to put my hands on the fence when it was me who was the victim? I pulled my hands out of the robe, but did not put them on the fence. I reiterated to the officer that when I went back in to the house to talk with the dispatcher, I had left my gun on the dryer. That seemed to put the officer more at ease with the situation, and he moved more toward me with Diaper Bandit still being used as a shield in front of him.

During this time, The Diaper Bandit is hollering, "She a crazy white m....f.... bitch...she be real crazy.." His sounds became muffled as he was put into the back seat of a patrol car, after identifying the creep that had come into my house without permission and telling the officer what had happened. The scene was over. I was safe. Diaper Bandit was spitting at me from inside the patrol car. He was banging his head on the window, as if to break it out, to at least one more time tell me what he thought of me. I didn't care.

Relieved, I went back inside my home. My home. Not an intruder's home. My home.

A sergeant later came to the door and asked me to tell him again what had happened and everything that the guy had said to me. After I finished my story, the sergeant told me that this was the same motive that had been used on the lady three days earlier that had been raped in our neighborhood. My blood rushed. My cheeks got flushed. I felt sweat forming on my brow.
Reality set in. It could have been me, too. All I could say was, "Thank you, Sweet Jesus, for watching over me."

After going downtown, giving my statement to the detective division, I followed the saga of the Diaper Bandit through accounts published in the local newspaper. The other victim identified him as being the person who had raped her. There was also a lengthy rap sheet on the guy. He was out of jail on probation for drugs.

The smartest thing that he probably had ever done in his life was to plead guilt to it all. He won't have to worry about diaper money any more. He is now serving 258 years to run consecutively. After reading the articles, written in the newspaper, I wondered about his family, his mama, how I would feel if he were a child of mine. My oldest son is the same age as the Diaper Bandit.

It is a shame that kids throw away their lives, especially with drugs. The young twenty year old man's life was shot - and he could've easily been physically shot the afternoon he broke into my house. If he did happen to have a son, what future does the child have?

My own son came to see me the following weekend. I hugged him and could not stop wanting to touch him, hold his hand, touch the softness of his cheeks, pat him on the arm. He held my hand. I was grateful for life - for both my son's and mine. I was grateful that my son was and is the man he is today.

I hoped and prayed that my son would never be faced with the lifestyle of the Diaper Bandit.

I have also prayed for the family of the Diaper Bandit wherever and whoever they are. I realize that no matter what our children do wrong to us or in life, or how badly they may hurt us, they are still our children and we love them unconditionally.

Phil

Phil (name change) is your typical college young man, from a nice home, nice family, good upbringing. He, like most all college guys, likes to be with his friends, play his music, have a little party.

Christmas, 2009, almost changed his life permanently.

One of his friends, Drake (name changed) was having a Christmas party. There were a lot of friends from high school there who had come home from college to enjoy the Holidays with family and friends.

Among the usual crowd or "groopies" (as someone referred to this group of ladies) was Missy (name changed). Missy and several of her girlfriends like to party. They are young. Don't hold their liquor well and don't know when to say "No." - to anything.

"Missy and her friends are younger than we are, but they come to all the parties just to hang on to the older guys - guys that are my age or a little older." said Kathy (name changed)

Another guy, Matt, says, "they just come around to get laid. And, it's not like you gotta ask for it - they are like all over you."

Phil was about to leave the party when the girlfriend of the host came out to tell him that Missy really liked him and wanted him to stay.

Missy had been drinking 151 and chasing it with beer. Missy is a ,petite, thin build young lady.

Witnesses stated that Missy was all over Phil like "a dog in heat". She groped Phil in front of several. She planted a lip locking kiss on him that would send any normal young man into a tetesterone rise in the Levis.

Missy led Phil into an empty bedroom. According to Phil, she never said "no" she asked for more. Their little escapade was interupted when the owner of the bedroom started banging on the door.

Peggy wasn't just banging she was shouting! Peggy called Missy every vulgar name that was possibly written for having brought some man into her bedroom without asking to have sex with him! Peggy paid the rent on that room. It was her bed, her sheets, her clothes that Missy ended up wearing.

Missy went out the back door to the yard area - she was crying - Peggy was still screaming profanities.

Phil left.

Missy had no clue how she got home that night. The next morning she awoke with someone else's clothes on (Peggy's) and the cell phone she had didn't belong to her. Where were her clothes? her phone? "Oh my GOD, what have I done now?"she asked herself.

Missy phoned a friend, who's number was listed in the cell phone that she had by mistake. Denise answered on the other end. "What happened to my clothes?" Missy asked.

"You don't remember?" asked Denise

"No, where are my clothes?" a frantic and crying Missy asked.

"Girl, you messed up last night. You got caught with Phil in Peggy's room and she was about to beat the heck out of you." Denise answered.

Missy showered and went back to where the party was. She asked Drake to get her clothes and cell phone for her. He did.

Later that morning, Missy was driving her sister, Susie, to work. Missy began to cry and shared with Susie what happened or what she had been told about the night before.

"We've got to tell Mom" Susie said.

Mom was told. Mom immediately takes Missy to the hospital where a rape kit was done on her. Yes, she had had sex. Was it willing? "I don't remember, I think, yes, maybe. I was drunk." Missy admits. Law enforcement was called.

Phil receives a phone call from a Sheriff's detective. He is smart enough to tell his dad what is going on.

The dad phones an attorney friend who attends church with them. The attorney, Mike, ends up calling me.

I phoned, and recorded at least ten witnesses - all stated pretty much the same thing -
"she's a whore", "she's a drunk", "she's a trouble maker", "she came on to him", "we don't really like her at our parties but she shows up anyway" "she came on to him" "she was all over him" "she grabbed his nuts and was squeezing them"

When I inquired what type of guy Phil was - not one person had anything negative to say about Phil. "he's a stand up guy" "he won't lie to you" "he's a great musician".

Missy later came to the law office and signed an affidavit stating she did not want to press charges nor pursue legal action against Phil.

This case had the potential of ruining a young man's life. Many times those accused of sexual assault, even falsely accused, will try to talk to law enforcement and 'fix it" or "tell their side of the story". They never have the forethought to hire an attorney to protect them of their constitutional rights.

Girls like Missy are everywhere - looking for a good lay, a good time, a free ride. They drink to be equal or to appear grown. They are only asking for problems for themselves later down the road.

I admonished Phil rather severely about having sex outside a marriage. I know most of my admonishments may have fallen on deaf ears. But, I do believe that he and his friends may have learned some very valuable lessons - especially how easily it is for a minor girl to get them in trouble with the law to where they would be looking at 2-20 in prison.

I also believe that they learned to choose their friends more wisely.

As for Missy, I told her to keep my phone number - just in case she ever found herself drunk somewhere and needed a way to get home. Most kids don't want to call a parent when they've messed up - so just in case she ever needed help - I asked her to call me.

Phil and Missy are no different than most college kids feeling their wild oats from my day in college. However, the laws are so much more stringent, harsh, and can easily ruin a young person's life.

I hope that everyone concerning this learned something - perhaps - not to prank around with just anyone, perhaps to know who you are screwing and why, perhaps not to drink when you know you can't hold your liquor, perhaps to keep your mouth shut and get a lawyer. I would hope that the girls' learned to keep their legs crossed and not just sleep with anyone and everyone. As it is, Missy precarious reputation is forever engraved in the minds of those 20-30 people at that party.

I turned in my reports, my cassette tapes and other information to Mike - and at the close of the day - I felt good. I had helped save a young man from having his life ruined by a girl who had played the wrong song. She went to the dance, but the music ended long before she knew it.

Jason

I am not into baby killing cases. They break my heart. Anyone who hurts a baby should be castrated or have a slow death...

I received a call from Mike, "Can you come in I have a new case?" Jason and his family had hired Mike to handle an accusation and later indictment in the death of Marie, his girlfriend's 2 year old daughter.

I was left in a room to myself to review autopsy photos. To be alone to look at this small, blonde haired child being fileted as if she were a catfish freshly caught was enough to make my gut wrench. Looking at the photos of them cutting the skin around her skull, pulling her hair over her face so that the brain could be examined was equally as chilling. Looking at the blood clots around her brain where a bruise went subduro made me want to hit something Her torso, according to the photos, was cut in all directions. Poor baby. Hurt in life and cut up afterwards.

I wanted to know the truth. I wanted to know if Jason had hurt this baby. I took the case.

This was a long drawn out case. One that will forever be implanted in my mind.

For Jason's safety, due to threats made by the biological father, he was not bonded out. I truly believe that had Jason had his feet on the ground, that he would be a dead man walking.

We needed a time frame. We needed to compare the time frame with the autopsy findings. Conclusions of time was, in our opinion, our way to win this case.

Jason was adamant that he did not hurt Marie( name change). His parents brought photos of Jason and Marie loving and playing together. By all appearances, Jason loved Marie as if she were his own child. He would cry when he talked about her.

Rhonda, the mother, had two daughters. Both from previous marriages. She had lost custody through CPS of her oldest daughter, Maxine (name changed), but had regained custody. Maxine had lived with her maternal grandmother. Maxine and Marie had little, to no relationship with their biological fathers, which I believe, in part, was because of Rhonda.

Rhonda was and is a pretty lady. She would catch the eye of many men. She was a party girl. She always had a man in her life. She couldn't survive without a man in her life. She had no job stability. She was a prolific liar. Men said she could "drink me under the table." She took pills that weren't prescribed for her. She swore, cursed, and would "fight like a man."

Jason F was the biological father of Marie. He was a tall thin country man. He was a drinker. He has had several run-ins with the law - mainly dope problems. Illegal drugs, mainly marijuana, evading arrest are on his record. He didn't have much contact with Marie. He worked for his father, who owns an air conditioning business, under a psuedo name, so that he didn't have to pay child support on her.

Jason B suffers from seizures and back problems. He was given medication that he eventually got hooked on. He couldn't hold a job. He lied a lot. He drank. He smoked cigarrettes. He was in love with Rhonda. He loved her children. He wasn't a bad guy, just one who had gone astray of the teachings of his parents who are devout Christians.

Rhonda ran into Jason's mother the weekend before the Texas Sales Tax reprieve. In Texas there is one weekend prior to school opening that the State doesn't charge a sales tax on clothing and other items. It was arranged that Rhonda, Marie and Maxine would meet at Grandma F's house and along with the great grandmother, they would all go to the mall.

Rhonda never told Jason B where she was going that Saturday morning. Not that he would have minded... but it was her secret. They exchanged texts throughout the day.

At the mall, they had lunch at Casa Ole around 1:30pm. Jason F had shown up, I'm sure after a phone call from his mother that she had the girls at the mall. After eating beans, rice, and chips, Marie went with her daddy to the play area.

At some point, she fell and collided with another child who was there. No blood, no outward bruises were shown.

Shopping was done. Jason F carried Marie to his truck, which was parked on the west side of the mall and drove around to where his mother's car was parked on the East side of the mall transferring Marie in her car seat as she was already asleep.

All the ladies, Grandma, great grandma, Rhonda, Marie and Maxine drove back to Grandma's house, where Rhonda had left her car. Marie was once again transferred in her car seat to Rhonda's car. Rhonda stopped on her way home to get a package of cigarrettes, leaving both girls in the car alone. Time now is approximately 10:30pm.

She arrives back to the apartment that she and Jason shared approximately 10:45pm. Jason wasn't on the lease of the apartment. Rhonda's aunt or cousin was the manager and Rhonda was getting subsidized housing. The manager knew that Jason was living there and allowed it. Rhonda took Marie straight to the bedroom, never undressed her from the clothes she had on all day, never changed her diaper, without turning on a light - Rhonda just put her to bed.

Jason was sitting on the patio when they got home. He was drinking a beer. After putting on a movie for Maxine to watch in her room, Rhonda joined him. A neighbor, Justin (name changed) passed and invited them over to his apartment across the breezeway for a party.

Rhonda was ready to party. Jason was not. However, he coceded and went with her. Rhonda left the apartment door unlocked and gave her cell phone to Maxine "just in case Maxine needed them". After an hour or so Jason said he needed to go check on the girls. Rhonda was partying. Jason came back to Justin's apartment and told Rhonda, "we need to go home, you need your rest."

What no one at the party knew was, that on Friday, Rhonda had had an abortion. From medical records obtained, this was not her first abortion. She was pregnant, with what Jason thought was his baby. They weren't yet married. Jason nor she were working. The decision to abort was both of their decisions. Rhonda had no complications during nor after the abortion. She was instructed to "rest and take it easy for a few days". She was given pain pill prescription, which she immediately filled.

Rhonda told the folks at the party that she wanted to leave Jason. She wanted him out of her life. Jason didn't know this.

After Rhonda said she didn't want to go home - she "wasn't ready to leave the party" - Jason went back to their apartment. After another thirty to forty-five minutes, Justin walked over the Rhonda's apartment - he entered an opened unlocked door. He saw Jason in Marie's room. Jason was patting Marie on the back.

"Is everything Okay?" Justin asked.

"Yea she was just whining." Jason responded.

Justin was looking at getting a three bedroom apartment like what Rhonda had - so Jason showed him around, before they went back over to Justin's apartment.

When they got back to Justin's apartment, Jason told Rhonda it was time to go home, that Marie was whining and needed her mother. Jason swooped down to scoop Rhonda up in his arms, when she started screaming. She broke lose and ran to the bathroom, locking herself inside. Meanwhile, Raul (name changed) and Jason got into a fight and punches were thrown. Jason kicks in the bathroom door and makes Rhonda go home.

Cops were called. Jason later tells me, "I thought, screw this she isn't worth it. We'd had a fight about three weeks prior to this and I said if we ever fought like this again I would leave for good. She begged me not to leave her the first time. This time I was gone."

As Jason drove out the back gate, he passed the cops coming into the gate and apartment complex.

Raul stayed the night with Rhonda. Maxine gave a statement that said, "I got up and looked in my mama's bedroom and that boy was in bed with her and I didn't like it." Maxine said she went back to her room and got up later that morning to find her mom, "that boy" (Raul) having tea and coffee on the patio.

Crime scene photos show a coffee cup which was later revealed to be tea with milk in it. Maxine and Rhonda made pigs in the blanket, (biscuits wrapped around small sausages) , when Maxine went to wake "sleepy head Marie up".

Maxine came running to her mother and Raul on the porch, "Marie won't wake up and she is stiff!"

Rhonda ran from the patio, jerked the covers off of Marie who had already gone into regormortis. 9-1-1 was called. Neighbors hear the screams of Rhonda and Maxine and come runing. Emergency crews were there within ten minutes - responding "two year old unresponsive" The operator is guiding the neighbor from upstairs, Rosie (name changed), over the phone how to give CPR to a child, until help arrives. Upon the arrival of EMS, Marie is declared deceased.

The neighbor upstairs has her niece take Maxine away from the area - "a child doesn't need to see these things."

Jason's parents, his friend in Huffman, Rhonda's mother have all been called. Jason arrives home during all the commotion.

Rhonda is placed in one police car, Jason another.

Jason told investigators that he had gone to the San Jacinto river bridge and slept the rest of the night away there. He lied. He had gone to his drug supplier's house in Huffman. He was there when the call came in about Marie.

At the apartment, Jason's concho belt was placed into evidence, as was a bloody wash cloth and other items. A lot of crime scene photos were taken.

This was now classified as a homicide.

On my first review of the pictures of Marie during the autopsy - there appears to be a bruise which has two sides to it. The outer edges of the bruise appear to be more dominant than the others. I surmised from the very beginning this bruised was caused by a hair brush which would be solid on the edges and concave - considering there was no bruising in the center part.

Police were speculating that the bruise was cause by Jason's belt with conchos on it. The conchos were octave - meaning they protruded outward. If Marie had been hit on the head with the concho belt, the bruising would've been more dominant in the center of the area rather than on the outer area.

The funeral for Marie was "stressful" according to the funeral home folks. They were having to keep Lindy away from her mother, as CPS had already removed Maxine from Rhonda. There was tension with the biological father, Jason F and Rhonda. Jason was asked not to come to the funeral. His family attended. They were stared down. They loved Marie as if she were their own.

Jason was later arrested and charged with capital murder of a child under the age of six, which in Texas carries the death penalty.

Our investigation revealed the time of death occurred prior to Rhonda coming back to the apartment. We held tight with our summation that the death occurred out of Jason's presence.

Body temperature at the time Marie was found that morning, food still visible and distinguishable in her stomach during the autopsy, a bowel movement prior to being put to bed (which was never changed by Rhonda), the air temperature - all moved the time period of death prior to 11pm. Jason was no where around during that time. Cause of death - bleed out from the spleen. Marie had been hit, or had hurt herself when she fell and bled out.

Medical books state that bleed out from the spleen on a child this age and size would occur within 10-15 minutes.

Rhonda at some point, prior to Marie's murder, had started calling IRS and other agencies regarding Jason F. She was reporting that he wasn't paying his child support, that he was working and that his dad was either paying him under the table of through a pseudo name. Her phone records should many calls to the agencies. She was determined to "get her money".

We believe that Jason F knew of Rhonda's reporting. Both Jason F and Rhonda were fiesty and quick tempered.

Shortly after Marie's death, approximately 3 months at the most, Rhonda went to a Halloween party in costume, at a club in Onalaska where she placed - I think third place - in the costume contest. She already had another man that she was living with somewhere near Livingston.

Mike made every request for production of records possible. By happenstance Mike learned that the Assistant District Attorney, (who is now a judge) and others had ex parte meetings with Maxine which were not tape recorded nor revealed to him. Mike had the entire district attorney's office recused for manufacturing evidence.

A special prosecutor, Garcia was appointed. Garcia held a "mock trial" He had the witnesses present (many who refused to talk to the defense) to testify. Afterwards, after our plea out, we learn of this mock trial and that some jurors believed Jason was not guilty. The issue of the time of death played a huge part in the findings of fact.

The pathologist couldn't give a time of death. The same pathologist who's record involving the death of childrens has been in question many times. Several cases have been reversed and remanded for new trials or the defendant was exonerated because of her lack of or poor findings of facts.

The original punishment was death, it went down to life, offers for a plea went down to 45 years, then to 40, then to 35, then to 25 then to 20 years.

It was Jason's decision to take the deal or go to trial. Trial was to begin on Monday Jason, maintained his innocence, but for fear of not knowing what twelve jurors would do to him, he took the deal. Our defense team was ready for trial.

The night before Jason made the decision, he asked me what I thought of the deal. I told him I couldn't tell him what to do, but for the first time in his life, that he would have to make a hard decision - but whatever he did - for the first time in his adult life - "think smart". He asked me what I meant by "think smart" - and I explained, "way all your odds - pro, con and indifferent - and do not be influenced by anyone - this is your life - you will have to live it and you will have to do the time - no one else - and only you can make the choice."

Jason was given a bullet proof vest prior to being taken into the courtroom. SWAT was everywhere - on the roof - in the hall - - in the courtroom - everywhere there were SWAT - even stairwells and elevators were closed off.

Our client was given the twenty years in Texas' prison. The paternal grandmother gave an impact statement. She asked if she could send birthday cards for Marie to him on the date of Marie's birthday each year to remind him of what they had lost. She wanted to taunt him. She couldn't forgive him. Jason was hauled off immediately after sentencing and the impact statement was made.

I have not seen nor heard from Jason since the night prior to his plea out. I have thought of him many times - and will probably go to my death saying and believing that this man did not kill Marie. Who do I believe did it? I can't say - though I would surely like to. Do I have my thoughts as to who did it? You bet I do, without reservation or doubt. Can I prove it? No. I do hope that her/his guilty conscience and the face of Marie in her/his mind will haunt them until the day they die.

I do believe there are many men and women , who are incarcerated, have taken pleas just to keep from going before a jury, who may be sympathetic to a child and give him/her a long sentence. With the time that Jason had already spent in County jail and good behavior in TDCJ, hopefully he will be released for parole when his time is 10 years (or about 50% of his sentence).

When Jason is released, I hope he finds his way in life. I hope he finds peace. I hope he will someday have the family that he so strongly hoped for with Rhonda and the girls. And, somewhere along the way - I hope his family finds peace as well.

David on the Row

David..was on death row. He was one of my first clients to ever take me to "the row" at Polunsky. I had been to the Ellis Unit where Texas' death row used to be. The atmosphere at Ellis was atypical of any other older unit - damp, cold, musty smelling - where trustees mopped and shined and cleaned everything that a rag could touch - just to pass the time of day.

Polunsky was different. It was new. No tarnishes. It was more secure. There were more check points to get inside to see the client. People were reserved.

The waiting room where you visit the inmates was filled with children and loved ones pressing close to the glass that separated the inmate and the visitor. Spiritual advisors were there visiting inmates who had no one to visit them. Children played around parent(s) as if it were a play ground. One mother sobbed profusely when her time was up - and she had to leave. A daughter clung to the phone as she hung her head and sobbed when she had to leave. One group laughed aloud at a joke they were telling their brother over the phone.

Emotions ran high on the row. Sadness. What smiles there were - were planted - making things appear easy - happy. There is no happiness on the row.

David fell out of Tarrant County, Fort Worth, Texas. As most inmates on the row, he had pen pals who believed in his innocence They were supportive of him - financially, emotionally, in every way imaginable or possible.

I was asked to review his case..to see if there was anything that could be done to help him avoid execution.

Interstate 45 from Houston to Dallas then I-20 over to Fort Worth can be a long highway. It gives time for retrospect, time to think about how you will work your case. I rarely play the radio when I am driving. I like the quiet. The time is mine to think and pray.

My drive to Fort Worth gave me the time to work my plan over in my head. I had to find two people. They were important to this case. They were keys to this case.

I found the first person, Lila (name changed) without a problem. Lila still lived in the housing projects that she lived when the murder took place. Her humble abode was clean though the furniture was tattered and worn. Lila, a petite lady in her mid-40s was calm, cool and collected during our interview. She was warm and welcoming upon and during my visit.

We sat with the door open - no screen on it. Everyone who passed could look right inside.

Lila's testimony had now changed from when she originally testified at David's trial. At trial, according to Lila, she was coerced "by the district attorney because I had a case that they would make go away". She had sold her soul to the district attorney. Lila was now willing to give an affidavit that David was not the murderer, but Sam was. I think, Lila was trying to make amends in some manner - trying to get her own heart right with the wrong she had committed. I plugged my trusty lap top and began typing her statement. Printed, notarized, I was out of there.

Though Lila had been very forthcoming and accomodating, I felt eyes on me. I was the wrong color in the wrong place. I was watched from the time I got there, until the time I left.

I searched for 3 days, diligently, for Sam. I went to every smoke filled bar, whole in the wall, whore house, cafe, and other dives that had been suggested to me looking for Sam. I was so disappointed not to find him. To this day, I believe I talked with Sam at one of the bars.

Sam was supposedly the same size and color as David. They had similar facial features. The person in the bar to whom I spoke, could have easily been David - or Sam.

I phoned David's court appointed attorney to let him know what I had gotten from Lila and about the search for Sam. "Oh that's fine just fax it to my office." he said.

"But, his execution is next week what are you going to do with the affidavit?" I asked.

"Well, I don't know right now, I already had a vacation to Australia planned with me and my buddies during that time so I won't be here when he is executed." Cantu replied.

My heart raced and my stomach went upside down. He wasn't going to be here for the execution? What about last minute appeals and filings? Who was going to do that? I would later learn - no one. No one.

The group from Italy were now calling me - several times a day - wanting an update on David's case. I was becoming more and more aware of the stress of the upcoming execution - on all of us. I studied case law; I tried to find something - I phoned other attorneys to ask for help. They couldn't help because they weren't his attorney - there would be an ethics problem. I felt I hit a brick wall every which way I turned.

One of the attorneys whom I work with helped me write an affidavit as a Friend of the Court, asking that David's execution be postponed. In the affidavit I explained that I had recently been hired. I included the affidavit from Lila and my description of Sam. I faxed the affidavit to the Governor's office. I acted like I knew what I was talking about and was confident that something would happen for the good.

Execution day had arrived.

David called from the holding cell next to the death chamber. "Have you heard anything from the Governor?" he asked.

My simple whispered answer was, "No."

The phone buzzed. Caller ID said the call was from "State of Texas" - I had to take the call. My stomach wrenched to the point that it hurt. My writ/affidavit had been denied. The execution would proceed.

David called again. I felt helpless in answering his questions. Ironically, he was the strong one. He thanked me profusely for my work, for my caring. He said a prayer for me. He said he would make sure I got a copy of his book of poems. He said he loved me for all that I did. His final words to me were, "Keep your chin up, because I will see you on the other side."

Time was up. The phone went dead. Twelve minutes later, the chaplain phoned me. David had peacefully gone to the death chamber and had passed on to the other side.

I cried and cried and cried. I cursed the State of Texas. I was a nervous wreck. I was FURIOUS with Cantu for leaving his client to go to the death chamber without any last minute acts of legal work.

I feretted phone calls from Italy and Spain - pen pals of David's - and had to deliver the sad news that his execution was carried out.

The next day -without a return number - I received a fax stating "Sam is celebrating because David paid for his sin"

I was stunned. It was too late. The great and powerful State of Texas - probably executed an innocent man. And, years later, I would learn, there have been others.

I had always thought the death penalty to have it's fallacies. Now I had experienced them first handed. I had experienced holding a man's life in my hands in a small manner - and I was powerless. I cried for days after David's execution.

I never did get the copy of his poems. But, I received something even more important.. David's final gift to me was the hope of forgiveness, grace under fire, and standing firm in your beliefs. For that I will be forever indebted to him

The great and powerful State of Texas HAS executed innocent people. Granted, there are those who are so rotten to the core that they may deserve to die - but who are we to determine the date of some one's death......

I don't want that decision on my shoulders when I meet my maker and neither should anyone else.