I Was Strangled and Beaten by a Stranger. I'm Injured. I'm Angry.
- Thread starter Bears Discover Fire
- Start date
Movin' right along...
Love it, I call shotgun!
A
Amaris
Guest
Love it, I call shotgun!
Since I'm driving, that's cool.
J.
Given that J.'s driving, that would be perfect!
We're coming in this:
J.
Love it, I call shotgun!
Since I'm driving, that's cool.
J.
Count me in. I got my ass kicking boots out and they are in need of a good polish.
(Is Janice coming too? Like for sure...)And BDF after reading through all of this I am struggling to find anything meaningful to say that hasn't already been said. It's times like this I wish I was wiser. But what I will say is this: You are amazing and we are better to have known you. You keep on kicking ass and taking names. We have your back.
I've made some HUGE inroads today.
I was supposed to return to work today, but I called my boss to let her know I was going to make another trip to the precinct, this time to get some real answers and straighten out the erroneous police report, file charges, and provide as much evidence as possible.
It was a very long wait. I spent most of my day sitting in the precinct, waiting for the detective assigned to my case to come back from her very, very long lunch. The receptionist kept paging her, to no avail.
Finally, she came out into the lobby with a stack of paperwork pertaining to my incident. She asked what the problem was, and I told her. Everything. How the police report was wrong (I even pointed out the inconsistencies in the time noted by the officers). How no one took pictures of my injuries. How no one had contacted me about the case. How only one misdemeanor charge had been filed on behalf of the other victim, but nothing for me. How I wanted to file charges on my own behalf and submit a more accurate report.
She started flipping through the paperwork while I was talking and her eyes got big. "Oh, that's wrong." "Oh my god, they messed this up." "This isn't right!" "Are you *sure* you went to the hospital directly from the crime scene?" "Why the hell didn't they take pictures?" "Where's your statement? It's not in here." "They assigned it to the wrong attorney! The wrong detective!"
"Oh shit, they let him go. Someone messed up all the paperwork and they've let him go. Oh shit. Oh shit."
She asked why I didn't come to the precinct sooner, and I got to tell her all about my other trips to the police precinct, my convalescence an hour away and the endless phone calls that were never returned.
I told her I had the photos I took of my injuries, and my ripped shirt. She had me sit down again and I waited another hour. Finally, a 30-something male detective came out and ushered me into a holding room. He had me tell him exactly what happened the night I was attacked. I explained the entire story to him, complete with stick men, arrows and diagrams of my apartment building layout to give visual clarity to my play-by-play recounting. I gave him my medical records from Good Samaritan Hospital and the orthopedic doctor who treated me later in the day. I gave him a disc with all the pictures I took of my injuries, plus the name and phone number of a friend who took additional photos. I gave him the police report and a copy of my thirty day notice.
He gave me a card with the mug shots of various men who looked like the suspect. I was not able to pick him out. I do not believe his shot was on the card, and told them so. That is a valid answer, because they say the card may or may not have the suspect they arrested in my case. That was anxiety-inducing. I've never been good with faces, especially faces I've only seen mostly blurs of as the body attached to it was ripping off my clothes and strangling me.
As a result, I now have my own detective assigned to the case, and the suspect has at least one count of FELONY battery against him. It looks like I am going to have my own case against the attacker, separate from the other victim. I will know tonight if/when he is back in custody, and the detective promised to keep me fully informed of any developments in the case.
WIN.
I was supposed to return to work today, but I called my boss to let her know I was going to make another trip to the precinct, this time to get some real answers and straighten out the erroneous police report, file charges, and provide as much evidence as possible.
It was a very long wait. I spent most of my day sitting in the precinct, waiting for the detective assigned to my case to come back from her very, very long lunch. The receptionist kept paging her, to no avail.
Finally, she came out into the lobby with a stack of paperwork pertaining to my incident. She asked what the problem was, and I told her. Everything. How the police report was wrong (I even pointed out the inconsistencies in the time noted by the officers). How no one took pictures of my injuries. How no one had contacted me about the case. How only one misdemeanor charge had been filed on behalf of the other victim, but nothing for me. How I wanted to file charges on my own behalf and submit a more accurate report.
She started flipping through the paperwork while I was talking and her eyes got big. "Oh, that's wrong." "Oh my god, they messed this up." "This isn't right!" "Are you *sure* you went to the hospital directly from the crime scene?" "Why the hell didn't they take pictures?" "Where's your statement? It's not in here." "They assigned it to the wrong attorney! The wrong detective!"
"Oh shit, they let him go. Someone messed up all the paperwork and they've let him go. Oh shit. Oh shit."
She asked why I didn't come to the precinct sooner, and I got to tell her all about my other trips to the police precinct, my convalescence an hour away and the endless phone calls that were never returned.
I told her I had the photos I took of my injuries, and my ripped shirt. She had me sit down again and I waited another hour. Finally, a 30-something male detective came out and ushered me into a holding room. He had me tell him exactly what happened the night I was attacked. I explained the entire story to him, complete with stick men, arrows and diagrams of my apartment building layout to give visual clarity to my play-by-play recounting. I gave him my medical records from Good Samaritan Hospital and the orthopedic doctor who treated me later in the day. I gave him a disc with all the pictures I took of my injuries, plus the name and phone number of a friend who took additional photos. I gave him the police report and a copy of my thirty day notice.
He gave me a card with the mug shots of various men who looked like the suspect. I was not able to pick him out. I do not believe his shot was on the card, and told them so. That is a valid answer, because they say the card may or may not have the suspect they arrested in my case. That was anxiety-inducing. I've never been good with faces, especially faces I've only seen mostly blurs of as the body attached to it was ripping off my clothes and strangling me.
As a result, I now have my own detective assigned to the case, and the suspect has at least one count of FELONY battery against him. It looks like I am going to have my own case against the attacker, separate from the other victim. I will know tonight if/when he is back in custody, and the detective promised to keep me fully informed of any developments in the case.
WIN.
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You'll blend right in here in LA. Seriously, there's a dude in my (now former) parking lot who's diesel Mercedes looks not unlike this fine contraption pictured above.
You can recruit more peeps for the posse if you pull over on Vermont Ave and sell ice cream sandwiches, homemade tacos, bulgogi combos and licorice whips out the side windows to commuters on their way to Downtown. You might even get a 5-star write up in LA Weekly's restaurant reviews.
A
Amaris
Guest
You'll blend right in here in LA. Seriously, there's a dude in my (now former) parking lot who's diesel Mercedes looks not unlike this fine contraption pictured above.
You can recruit more peeps for the posse if you pull over on Vermont Ave and sell ice cream sandwiches, homemade tacos, bulgogi combos and licorice whips out the side windows to commuters on their way to Downtown. You might even get a 5-star write up in LA Weekly's restaurant reviews.
I make a hell of a BLT sandwich!
Let's go!
J.
We're coming in this:
J.
You'll blend right in here in LA. Seriously, there's a dude in my (now former) parking lot who's diesel Mercedes looks not unlike this fine contraption pictured above.
You can recruit more peeps for the posse if you pull over on Vermont Ave and sell ice cream sandwiches, homemade tacos, bulgogi combos and licorice whips out the side windows to commuters on their way to Downtown. You might even get a 5-star write up in LA Weekly's restaurant reviews.
I make a hell of a BLT sandwich!
Let's go!
J.
Awesome choice, J.
Good idea BDF. Considering that he'll be driving from Ohio to Chicago, Portland, and Phoenix on the way that'll help pay the Exxon bill for the expedition. I'll even volunteer to be the cook if someone will give me a recipe for a bulgogi combination.
YES.
I'm really pleased you're finally making some progress towards some real justice, Bears - you've stuck to your guns and fimally it seems things will be happening for you.
I realise it may not be in your best interests to disucss the case more openly now that you have a detective working with you, but I wish you all the very best of luck with it.
I'm really pleased you're finally making some progress towards some real justice, Bears - you've stuck to your guns and fimally it seems things will be happening for you.
I realise it may not be in your best interests to disucss the case more openly now that you have a detective working with you, but I wish you all the very best of luck with it.Similar threads
