You take your victims where you find them.
“Our victims are not always what we’d like,” Deputy DA Shannon Cox informed Judge Ann Moorman last week at the end of a particularly ugly preliminary hearing. “That’s because these people are involved in the drug trade and as we all know, they are not on the best footing with law enforcement to begin with — which is why they’re so easily victimized.”
When it comes to implausible victims some truly benthonic specimens have been dredged up over the years, but last week a couple named James Anson and Kristy Richardson took benthonic several fathoms deeper.
These two have more than a merely nodding acquaintance with law enforcement, and the two accused of victimizing them are no strangers at the jail, either. That would be Billy Rickman and Chris Bayard. By the time the hearing was over, however, the cast of characters had switched roles.
DDA Cox’s star witness was Ms. Richardson, and it was clear that she’d been coached; in fact Cox made no secret of the fact. She asked the attractive Ms. Richardson point blank if she hadn’t indeed come in early for a little conference with DDA Cox herself and DA Investigator Kevin Bailey
“Yes,” Ms. Richardson said.
“But getting back to the night of the incident, Ms. Richardson, can you tell us what happened?”
“Wull, there was a man at the door and Billy told me to go to the door and get rid of him.”
“Did you do that?”
“Of course — he had a gun on me?”
“Who had a gun trained on you?”
“Did you shut the door?”
“Billy did. Billy was the one; Billy closed the door.”
“Billy directed me back towards the bed.”
“Then Billy started saying ‘the cops the cops the cops’, like that.”
“Could you see what Chris Bayard was doing?”
“Then what did they [Billy Rickman and Chris Bayard] do?”
“They like left, like immediately.”
“Had they taken anything from you or James?”
That was odd, since Rickman and Bayard were accused of robbery, burglary and terrorist threats, along with special arming allegations, like a gun for Rickman, and a knife for Bayard. This array of charges would put these two men away for the rest of their days, which Ms. Cox was visibly itching to do.
“What did you and James do?”
“Wull, I got a washcloth from the bathroom and washed the blood from his mouth.”
“I dunno, I just did.”
“Did either you or James contact law enforcement?”
“You both used methamphetamine?”
“Yes. Big drug transactions.”
“So you were nervous about the police arriving?”
“What did you do?”
“I lied on the bed ‘cause I didn’t want to answer the door.”
“Did you ever answer the door?”
“Yes. After Officer Schapmire went to the office and got a key.”
“You made a statement to law enforcement and you left something out, didn’t you?”
“Yes, but you talked to myself and Kevin Bailey this morning, didn’t you?”
“And this time you told the truth, didn’t you?”
Apparently, DDA Shannon Cox and the People’s witness had a real soul-searcher of a chat, maybe replete with a good cry, hugs and high fives all around. And this is presumably where Ms. Richardson learned a few words of Legalese, such as the sterile phrase “give us your valuables” in place of the more pedestrian “stand and deliver” which even gave the judge pause, who, after all lives some distance from the lives lived in Tweekerville.
“So, Ms. Richardson, what were these guys, Billy Rickman with his gun in your face, and Chris Bayard with a knife at your boyfriend’s throat — what were they saying?”
“They were saying ‘give us your valuables, give us your valuables, give us your valuables!”
Give us your valuables?
This was not the diction of a Ukiah tweek holdup.
“Did you meet with investigators later that week?
“And you picked Billy Rickman and Chris Bayard out of a photo line up?”
“Billy, yes; Chris, I wasn’t that confident of.”
“But you were confident of defendant Bayard’s identity today when you met with investigators, weren’t you?”
“Oh, yes, very confident.”
Of course she was. She’d gone on-line and looked Bayard’s mugshot up in the booking log, probably at the instigation of the investigators and deputy DA. Goes on all the time, this witness-prep.
Mr. Bayard’s lawyer was Keith Faulder, and Faulder went at cross-exam with his usual articulate finesse.
“Now, Ms. Richardson. You said this incident happened on November 11th?”
“No. It was November 12th.”
“November 12th, 2012?”
“And where were you?”
“At the Motel 6 in Ukiah.”
“And isn’t it true you claimed to be a victim at a Travelodge Motel on December 2nd, 2012?”
“Not the Travelodge; it was the Discovery Inn.”
“Yes, Ms. Richardson, but that was on January 25th, where again you claimed to be a victim of a robbery. And again you claimed the purported perpetrator had a gun, isn’t that correct?”
“Now, getting back to the current case, you couldn’t positively identify Chris Bayard in the photo line up so you went on the police log and saw Chris had been arrested?”
“Could you repeat your question, dude?”
“Sure," the dude said. Mr. Faulder esq. is indeed an agreeable sort of dude.
"You had a case at CPS, and your child had been taken because of the exposure to drugs and domestic violence. And you and James have had multiple arrests for domestic violence. In fact, you were under orders from CPS that if you had another violent incident of spousal abuse, you would lose any chance of getting your child back, isn’t that true?”
“Yeah, but there was no domestic violence between us.”
“Then why did James tell you to say Billy Rickman slapped you?”
“Is it your testimony today that you lied to Officer Schapmire?”
“I withheld some information… is that a lie?”
“Yes, and you didn’t tell Sergeant Waddlich the truth, either, did you?
“Because the truth would prevent you from getting your child back from CPS.”
“No! No … no.”
“But back to the incident-- you’d never met Chris Bayard, correct?”
“Like, yeah, dude.”
Seems to me the judge oughta crack down on dude-speak, the verbal equivalent of coming in to court in a wife-beater or bikini bottoms.
“And did you tell everything to Ms. Cox and Mr. Bailey this morning?”
“Did you tell them that the reason you were at the Motel 6 is because you were going to be in court the next day?”
“Yes, and for my classes; my parenting classes.”
“So after this incident, did you get your two felonies resolved?”
“I don’t remember.”
“You don’t remember!”
“I was under the influence, dude.”
“You were under the influence when the judge took your plea?”
“And it got reduced, and you were allowed to go to treatment and take these classes?” Faulder seemed genuinely astounded. What has the system come to? This?
“Were you under the influence when you went to your classes?”
The enormity of the hopeless failure represented here pays these lawyers and judges handsomely, but it indicates a society in free-fall.
“And you were getting money from the county to pay for the room and the classes”—
“Objection, you honor,” Ms. Cox hissed. "That is totally irrelevant.”
“Sustained,” Judge Moorman agreed.
“But when you came back, you smelled smoke in the room and knew that James had been getting high while you were gone.”
“And that infuriated you, didn’t it?”
“And didn’t James have a stay away order, to keep away from you?”
“No. I had asked for a protective order, but the Willits police had never served it on him.”
“Now, as far as you know there was no problems between James and Billy Rickman, correct?”
“So when you heard a knock on the door, what time was that?”
“I read in the reports that it was 5am.”
“So it was still dark?”
“And when the light went on you saw Billy and Chris — did you read a description of Chris in the report”
“What was Chris wearing?”
“I don’t recall.”
“You testified that you saw Chris hitting James, and you can’t remember what he was wearing?”
“You said you saw Chris pull a pocket knife out of his pocket — which pocket did he pull it out of?”
“I do not recall, dude.”
“You said Billy put his hand over your mouth because you were screaming”—
“I was not screaming, dude. I was yelling."
“I’m not aware of the distinction, but you told Officer Schapmire that Billy slapped you because James wanted you to lie, didn’t you?”
“So you talked it over before Schapmire’s arrival?”
“No! I told you I was asleep when they [law enforcement] came in.”
When law enforcement knocks only the dead sleep through it. I was wakened from an alcoholic coma at the Lamplighter Inn when the Sheriff knocked on a door upstairs and six rooms down from mine.
“You talked about what you were going to say while Officer Schapmire went to get the key; that Billy slapped you because if CPS found out James slapped you and you hit James back cutting his lip, you would never get your child back.”
“Isn’t it true that when law enforcement arrived you wouldn’t open the door?”
“You didn’t want the police involved, I know. But earlier when someone knocked at the door and asked if everything was okay, James called the clerk and said it was just a disturbance and not to call the police?”
“Now, you’re saying Billy and Chris were in the room, yelling ‘give us your valuables’ and, let me see, here,” Faulder looked through some notes on a legal pad. “You had over $100 in your purse, a laptop computer, and they didn’t take either of these things?”
“You said they were there for about 15 minutes. Did they touch anything, open any drawers, toss the place, looking for these ‘valuables’ you claim they were demanding?”
“I don’t know; I don’t recall.”
“So when Officer Schapmire came back with the key, you finally opened the deadbolt and let him in?”
“Wull, yeah. He said he was going to break it down if we didn’t.”
“And he was there doing a welfare check because of a report of a disturbance. So why were you pretending to be asleep?”
“I was scared crapless.”
“Because they were doing a welfare check and here was James with a bloody lip. You knew of yours and his record of domestic violence, so you came up with this story of how Rickman and Bayard had done this to you. But the redness from the slap had gone away so you changed your story that Billy just put his hand over your mouth because you were screaming?”
“I wasn’t screaming, dude. I just raised my voice. And I did not have to come up with the story because it did happen. ”
“You never told law enforcement that a neighbor came and asked if everything was okay?”
“Everything was okay.”
“But you never told the police?”
“It was never brought up?”
“Can you draw a diagram of the latch on the door?”
The witness made some vague scribbles on a big pad of scratch paper.
“Are you under the influence this morning, Ms. Richardson?”
“Nope. I’m clean!”
“Thank you. That’s all I have.”
Atty. Jan Cole-Wilson who was with the Alternate Public Defenders office over twenty years ago, but has been in private practice since then. She was defending Billy Rickman, a Boonville guy and old friend of my boss. Cole-Wilson took her turn at the witness.
“How old are you Ms. Richardson?”
“And you have a child with Mr. Anson?”
“Yes, a little boy.”
“And how old is this child?”
“And how long have you been taking drugs?”
“Since my son was detained on December 1st.”
“Now, you said it was alright for Mr. Anson to be with you, are you sure he didn’t have a protective order?”
“No, it was dropped. The Willits PD didn’t serve him.”
“Can you draw a diagram of the motel room?”
“Okay, that will have to do. Now, did Chris come in first?”
“And where did Billy go with the gun?”
“Over here, but I ended up in the middle, right here.”
Ms. Richardson was marking her diagram with a set of colored Sharpie pens. It looked like a prelim sketch for a Jackson Pollock painting.
“Were you facing Billy?”
“Yes. I was in the middle, on my knees.”
“How far was he from you?”
“I was here — in the middle. I can’t estimate distance.”
“And the gun was to your head?”
“Yes, my head, the side of my head.”
“You said he was holding you down?”
“Eventually. It didn’t happen right off. And the blankets were in my face.”
“But you could feel the gun, touching your head?”
“Not right at that moment.”
“And so James and Chris were struggling on the floor and James was being hit — which hand did Chris hit him with?”
“I couldn’t see which hand.”
“And this went on for 15 minutes?”
“It seemed so, yes.”
“And there was a lot of commotion and noise?”
“Do you remember using the word, 'screaming'?”
“No! I was raising my voice — I can’t understand why you question me — I wasn’t screaming!”
“The officer wrote in his report that you said ‘screaming’ that you were screaming. You recall yelling, but not screaming?”
“I was directed by James not to say anything.”
“I don’t recall.”
“And you can’t remember what the gun looked like?”
“It was black.”
“You said in the report it was silver.”
“I don’t recall what I said in the report.”
“You don’t recall telling the officer it was silver?”
“I don’t recall that.”
“Why did James tell you to say Billy slapped you?”
“I don’t know.”
“You didn’t come in and smell the meth and have a fight, then make up and decide to say Billy slapped you?”
“But James told you to say Billy slapped you?”
“For some odd reason, yes.”
“I see. Now, you say they asked for your ‘valuables’ but didn’t take anything. And they didn’t rummage through your things, open any drawers, anything like that?”
“So if James told the police that they did rummage through things, that would be a lie?”
“Yes, if that’s what he told them, then that would be considered a lie.”
“Did James have any meth in the room?”
“Not to my knowledge.”
“But you told Kevin Bailey this morning that Chris and Billy wanted to come in the room and smoke meth. And that you told them they couldn’t.”
“Yes, that’s correct.”
“So you thought they were upset with you?”
“I did not want to be involved with them.”
“Now, as for the incident at the Discovery Inn — were you able to describe that gun?”
“Yes. It was small and silver.”
“Was it a .22”
“I would not know the difference between sizes of guns.”
Ms. Cole-Wilson went back to the diagram and pointed to a splotch of color. She said, “So Billy stayed in this area except when he went to the door to get rid of the neighbor?”
“Yes. Then they left.”
“What did you and James do?”
“I went to get the washcloth and that’s when James called to say there had been a disturbance.”
The judge called a recess for lunch, after which a convicted murderer, Glenn Hughes, was sentenced.
Mr. Hughes got 15 to life for beating his friend Jose Madrid to death for because Madrid had made Hughes walk home from a bar in Fort Bragg. It was a walk of almost two miles, so considering that most people nowadays consider walking the utmost form of humiliation and hardship we can understand Hughes' pique.
Judge Moorman wanted what, if anything Hughes had to say, but he refused to speak. He hissed something derisive at me on his way out, however, but I missed it in the commotion of a file of prisoners doing the shackle shuffle and the guards shouting to make way, make way for the condemned. I know it was derisive, though, because a fat woman seated nearby heard it and sniggered at me. Maybe Hughes will write a nice letter to the editor so the readership can enjoy his witty comment, too.
Judge Moorman was meanwhile putting the estimable Ms. Kristy Richardson back on the stand, reminding her — somewhat absurdly, in light of what had gone before -- that she was still under oath. She was too leaky as vessel to put much faith in, but on re-direct DDA Shannon Cox went about plugging the holes and caulking the cracks like a dedicated professional.
“Now, during the time you were using meth, did you feel you were addicted?”
“No, I was just using it because CPS had my son.”
“And are you currently in a drug rehab program?”
Ms. Cox beamed brightly at this thin evidence of redemption as she ticked off an item on her good going list.
“Now, going back to the night of the incident, did more than one police officer come to your room at Motel 6?”
“Yes, I recall only two.”
“Did any violence occur between you and James?”
“Did you hit him?”
“How did he get injured?”
“He was hit in the face.”
Cox checked off another item on her list, the not so good going list.
Now, you testified about an emergency protective order against James; can you explain that?”
“Yes. I filed for the extension, but it was not served.”
“Did anyone ever tell you that there was a protective order in place?”
“Not that I recall.”
“Were any threats made to you by Billy and Chris?”
“Other than the gun pointed at me there was no verbal threat.”
“Is your testimony today based on the reports you read this morning, or on your memory of the events?”
“On my memory.”
This was a problem for Cox, because count three was the ubiquitous “terrorist threats,” and now she’d be obliged to drop it.
Mr. Faulder on re-cross said, "I want to take you back to the time when Mr. Bayard and Mr. Rickman entered the room. You said it was dark?”
“It was semi-dark; getting light.”
“But you testified earlier that you couldn’t see until the light was turned on! Was that the first time you saw Mr. Bayard?”
“Yeah, that’s right.”
“Ah, but you told Ms. Cole-Wilson that you saw Chris come in first; then Billy came in with the gun. But the light wasn’t on, correct?”
“Yeah, it’s very confusing.
Ms. Cole-Wilson said, “Your son was not taken for drug use?”
“No. It was for failure to protect him from domestic violence in the home.”
“Did the domestic violence occur when James used meth.”
“I was under the impression he was, yes.”
“So when he was lying to you about using, you would get angry?”
“Yes, extremely angry with him.”
“So with the frustration, you started using meth too?”
“And when you came down, you’d get angry again?”
“And on this morning you were both coming down?”
“I don’t know about him, but I was.”
Officer Otto Schapmire was called to the stand. He said he’d been called to the Motel 6 on the early morning of December 12th — not November 12th, as the previous witness had insisted so punctiliously — Russell Roberts, the occupant of the adjacent room (211), said he’d heard a disturbance in room 210.
“Did you make contact with the occupants of room 210?”
“I tried to but they wouldn’t open the door, so I went to the office and spoke to the clerk who provided me with a key. When I came back, the door to room 207 was wide open and there was nobody in the room. The occupants of room 210 had the deadbolt in place, so I told them if they did not open up, I would force the door, and they finally complied.”
“Who were the occupants?”
“James Anson and Kristy Richardson. Mr. Anson said he didn’t want any police involvement. He had visible injuries to his face and arms and was bleeding from his mouth due to a small cut on his upper lip.”
“Did you ask what had occurred?”
“He said he was assaulted, and that they were held at gunpoint and a knife to his throat.”
“Did they tell you why they were in Ukiah?”
“They said they were there because they had court matters, and while they were there they ran into Billy Rickman, who was associated with room 207.”
“Did you know Chris Bayard?”
“No, but I’d heard of him.”
“Did you ask Mr. Anson if he’d been using meth?”
“Yes. He said he’d been clean for a month.”
“Did he appear to be under the influence?”
“No. I didn’t perform an evaluation, but he didn’t appear to be.”
“What about Ms. Richardson?”
“Did you evaluate her?”
The story Richardson and Anson gave Schapmire was that Bayard came to the door wanting to use the phone. He then punched Anson, knocked him down and held a knife to his throat while Rickman trained his pistol on Richardson. Then the ‘give us your valuables’ litany was sung for 15 minutes. It only took Schapmire five minutes or so to go get the key, so they didn’t have too much time to perfect the story.
“Did they tell you how this encounter ended?”
“Ms. Richardson said Billy saw some person and yelled ‘police’ and they ran out without taking anything. They both said they did not wish to press charges.”
On cross, Faulder asked, “You never saw Chris Bayard or Billy Rickman leaving the Motel 6, did you?”
“And Russell Roberts, did he ever see them?”
“No. He only heard voices, never saw anyone.”
“And Matty Ford, the clerk, a woman, she said Anson only told her he’d been punched — never mentioned anything about a gun or knife, correct?”
“You said the door to room 207 was open when you returned from the clerk’s office?”
“Yes, it looked to me like someone had left in a hurry.”
“But you were not alone were you?”
“No. Officer Baarts was with me.”
“And Officer Baarts stayed there by the room while you went to get the key?”
“So Officer Baarts could have opened the door and left it like that?”
Objection — calls for speculation.
“Did you threaten to force the door to room 210?”
“Yes. That’s when they opened up.”
“Where was Ms. Richardson?”
“She was in the bed appearing to be asleep?”
“Was she in fact asleep?”
“There was no way she could have been asleep — that’s my impression, anyway.”
“Did the room appear to be in disarray — tossed — like it had been searched or there had been a scuffle?”
“I didn’t notice that.”
“Did you search the room?”
“I did not.”
“Did you get permission to search the room?”
“I don’t recall asking.”
“Did you ask Mr. Anson why he didn’t let you in?”
“He said he didn’t hear me.”
Mr. Faulder, in his infectious way, giggled merrily at this bullpucky.
“After you found out that Mr. Anson had lied, did you ask what really happened in the room?”
“Yes, he said that at some point Mr. Bayard had held a pocket knife to his neck.”
“In your report it says he was running frantically around the room saying, ‘Give me your valuables, give me your valuables, give me your valuables --?”
“Yes, sir. That’s what he told me.”
“Did you find any fingerprints for either Chris Bayard or Billy Rickman?”
“We didn’t check for latent prints.”
“Did it come to your attention that Ms. Richardson had over $100 in her purse and a laptop computer was in the room?”
“I can’t recall.”
“And Mr. Anson told you they left without taking anything?”
“And Anson said he didn’t want to press charges?”
“That’s all I have, thank you Officer Schapmire.”
Cole-Wilson took over and established the time it took Schapmire to get to room 210, go get the key, come back and finally get the door opened so he could do his welfare check. It added up to five or six minutes. “And when you finally got in, was Ms. Richardson crying?”
“She was trying to appear as though she was sleeping.”
“Do you remember what she was wearing?”
“I don’t recall.”
“Well, was she wearing a nightgown, or pajamas?”
“I don’t recall.”
But the time it took you to get the door open would have given them time to discuss what they wanted to say to you?”
“You knew Mr. Roberts from…?”
“They were not drug related.”
“But you knew Mr. Anson from previous drug-related arrests, didn’t you?”
“And he denied any drug activity on this occasion?”
“He denied that, yes, ma’am.”
“And Mr. Anson had a search clause as a condition of his probation, did he not?”
“Well, did you search him? Or the room?”
“No, ma’am. Not at all.”
“So you don’t know whether they had any meth, or contraband, or weapons, or anything at all, do you?”
“No, ma’am, I can’t say for sure, no.”
“Who was the room 207 registered to?”
“A female named Nicole Cunningham and Christopher Bayard.”
Ms. Cole-Wilson called in Deputy Eric Riboli who testified at length about an incident at the Travelodge in Ukiah on December 2nd involving Mr. Anson and Ms. Richardson. It was suspiciously similar to the one under discussion. These two seem to be magnetized for guns and knives. The incident at the Travelodge was apparently even less convincing than the current guns and knives saga, since it never resulted in charges being filed.
Before closing arguments began, DDA Cox said the People would be dropping count three, terrorist threats. Then Faulder began to sum up.
“Your honor, we have no forced entry here. And when law enforcement goes into the room, they see no evidence of a tussle, no disarray — no open drawers or anything that would indicate someone had been looking for something to steal. The charges are theft and robbery, and yet the only things of value are not touched or disturbed. The evidence is not consistent with the charges. The testimony is not consistent, either. When you put it all together, none of it makes any sense. Ms. Richardson hears a knock on the door and tells whoever it is to go away. Then the door gets thrown open and first Bayard, then Rickman comes in with a gun. Then Ms. Richardson changes that and says it was dark; that she couldn’t see what was going on. Then she says there was fighting on the floor with punches being thrown and a knife held at Mr. Anson’s throat. Then we have this statement that they were saying ‘Give me your valuables, give me your valuables, give me your valuables — not something, it strikes me, that a real person would say. It sounds contrived and rehearsed, but the ones it is addressed to are being held down and can’t give anything to anyone; and at the same time, these guys, Bayard and Rickman, are supposedly going frantically through the room… I think when the court looks at Ms. Richardson’s testimony, all the lies she has admitted to on the stand, we’ll see that the person who punched Mr. Anson is the person who has punched him so many times before — Ms. Richardson, herself. They’re covering for each other to keep the child out of CPS. They were deliberately ignoring law enforcement when Officer Schapmire came with the welfare check. Not only was nothing missing, but they didn’t want to press charges on the alleged assault, and I think that is easily explained by remorse. Your honor, the truth stays the same; a lie is hard to remember. I’m asking the court not to hold Mr. Bayard on these charges — it just doesn’t fit. The witness is not credible; the evidence is not credible.”
Ms. Cole-Wilson said: “I’m going to join in with what Mr. Faulder said and add that they made this story up. James told Kristy to tell the police that Billy slapped her because her face was red. Maybe James did slap her and she just hauled off and smacked him in the mouth.”
Given what we know of their romance, this was entirely possible.
“They’re supposed to be doing all these things to get the baby back but if they weren’t right back at it with the meth and abuse, then why did they call the manager — - not the cops — when they’d supposedly been robbed? Yes, they had created a disturbance, so now they had to concoct a story. They had plenty of time — a good five or six minutes while Officer Schapmire went to get the key. There had been a fight and they were the victims; they are always the victims; they never get arrested themselves — it’s always someone else’s fault. And they admit they lie all the time so how can we believe them now? I don’t believe we can.”
Ms. Cox shot to her feet, indignant and determined.
“Counsel’s right,” she said. “They lied about a lot of things. Mr. Anson is a drug dealer. Unfortunately, people who are involved in illegal activities are open to victimization. We see it all the time in Mendocino County, especially with the marijuana growers, and this is no different. But I think it is very brave of Ms. Richardson to finally tell the truth here today, and I’ll submit it on that.”
Judge Moorman summed it all up from her perspective as the final authority: “Between what Ms. Richardson admitted to lying about on the stand, and feigning to be asleep to somehow collect herself after having a gun pointed at her, looks like someone really concocting a story. Defense counsel says this is an elaborate story to cover up an incident of domestic violence, but based on the charges filed, I have to decide if Mr. Bayard and Mr. Rickman broke into the room and attempted a robbery. In terms of Ms. Richardson’s testimony, taken totally, I did not find her to be credible. She identified Mr. Bayard by looking at the police report, and through an aggressive cross-exam — which is as it should be — we all agree she has lied about many important things, and I have a lot of trouble in light of these fabrications… I’m going to think it over overnight and — wait, she’s in some sort of rehab?”
“Yes, you honor,” Ms. Cox said. “And I do think she’s being truthful on some of the major parts, the knife, the gun — the fact that they were there to steal…”
“Yes,” Moorman said, “but this phrase — as Mr. Faulder pointed out — ‘Gimme your valuables' — that isn’t a phrase that anyone but lawyers would use — I certainly wouldn’t expect it from lay people… Well, as indicated by the two remaining charges, robbery and burglary, the testimony was a collection of information associated with someone selling narcotics, and the statements were not truthful. The testimony was inconsistent with the charges — suffice to say there is insufficient evidence to hold the defendants on the charges.”
Rickman and Bayard nearly fell over their shackles and chains to reach over and high-five and shake hands. They were grinning from ear to ear.
Moorman said, “Are you going to re-file, Ms. Cox? Because I’m ordering them released, today.”
Nobody, it seemed, Her Honor included, could believe their ears. This kind of thing never, ever, happens.