Case of Attempted Murder

Something happened to me in May, 2006. It was so horrible, that even today, I am bothered by it. Someone tried to kill me.

It was the Friday before Mother's Day, May 12, 2006. Our house had been for sale, but my husband had let the sales agreement lapse. He was living there rent free, as he continues to do today. I had contacted a real estate agent to list the house. She was going out of town for a period of time, and as a result, I asked if she could view the house that Friday before she left. She agreed to meet me there late in the afternoon. She called my husband to make the appointment. In an effort to make the situation an easy one, I also called him to try to relieve the tensions between us. He was curt, and as usual, hung up on me.

It had been one of those hot muggy days we get here in the south. When I arrived at the house fifteen minutes early, the skies opened up and a deluge began. The thunder was directly overhead, and the lightening was striking the ground all around me. After a few minutes, instead of risking the lightening, I decided to go inside.

I entered through the garage as I had always done. I knocked on the door that goes into the laundry room, and from there, to the family room and kitchen. From the laundry, you can see part of the kitchen, but because the laundry is carved out of a corner of the family room, you cannot see into that room.

My husband answered the door. At first there was a big grin on his face, but that changed the minute he saw me. He asked what I was doing there and I informed him that I was there for the appointment. I assumed that he knew I was coming, as we both had to sign the contracts as the house is in both our names and this was something I wanted accomplished that night before the agent left town.

By this time, I was standing in the laundry room. He grabbed me and tried to push me out the door, but suddenly released me and screamed for our son who was only standing a few feet away to "Grab her. If I touch her, I'll go to jail". My husband had been found guilty of attacking me and threatening to kill me in June of the previous year, but the records of that attack had been sealed by the judge, Jeff Fairbanks.

When I had entered the laundry room, I could smell something that was sickeningly sweet. I thought it was incense. My husband had loved to smoke pot in his youth, and my son had been smoking it for the past year or two that I knew of. He was high when he came for visits. I knew that something was not right. I could hear movement from the family room, but because there is a wall between the family and laundry rooms, I could not see who it was. I figured it was my husband's girlfriend. I asked why he wouldn't let me into my own house. That's when things became surreal.

By this time, my son had me by my arms and had pinned me to the door. He was six feet one and two hundred eighty pounds. From around the corner and in back of me came a figure. My mother-in-law appeared. She screamed for me to "Get out of OUR house." I told her the house was not hers, it was half mine. That's when she lunged at me and tried to choke me while my son held me.

I could feel my airway closing as her grip tightened on my throat. I could hear myself gasping and trying to plead for my life. I was able to plead with her to stop. When she released her grip on me, I ran for the phone which was only a few feet away, but my husband beat me to it. He yanked the cord from the wall. My mother-in-law was still yelling that it was their house and for me to get out. I remember her having referred to me as "the whore" so many times in the past. To her, that is the worst thing you can call a woman. That was the word I emitted to her in my panic.

I ran outside and got my cell phone from the car and dialed 911. For some reason, it seemed to take the police a long time to arrive. Through the open window, I could hear them talking. I think they were talking with someone on the phone. Then I heard my son yell that, because I was holding my throat, I was trying to choke myself.

By the time the police arrived, the storm had passed. First to arrive was a shortish black policeman. I never knew his name. Instead of checking to see if I was alright, he brushed past me, treating me as the perpetrator, not the victim. I don't remember if the real estate agent was already there or not. I think she was. He went into the house leaving me standing outside, not even stopping to check if I was alright. A few minutes later, another police car arrived.

It was the same police officer who had shown up at all the previous violence calls. Two of those times, when my husband had physically hurt me, he refused to take photographs. This time was no different. I always kept a disposable camera in my car in case I saw something of interest while driving. I had the real estate agent take pictures at the scene. Those pictures clearly show the hand print on my neck. One of them even shows the officer in the background.

I asked that an ambulance be called. When it arrived, the young man that was the attendant said that he could see the hand print on my throat. The officer had claimed he couldn't. Stupidly, I let the officer dissuade me from going to the emergency room. Instead, I got in my car and drove myself to the local store front doctor.

It is just about 10 miles from the house to downtown Williamsburg, VA. As I was driving along Route 60, the rain began to fall again and my hand kept going to my throat. I hurt both physically and mentally. I couldn't understand why I was being treated this way. Why didn't the police help me?
I arrived at the doctor's office sometime around 6 or 6:30, filled out the forms and sat and waited. I guess because of the rain, there weren't many people there, but the time passed slowly. I was finally called into the exam room.

After the usual pre-exam by the nurse, the doctor came in to see me. On the chart, he noted the hand print on my throat. He was outraged that the police did not take pictures. He left the exam room and went to the common area of the interior office. I followed.

I stood as he made the call to the police to ask why there had been no pictures taken. His demeanor changed as he listened to the person on the other end. He never again looked at me. He hung up the phone and informed me that if I wanted to, I would have to file charges with the Magistrate. He told me they would take pictures. He handed the chart to the nurse to type up the follow-up instructions and went into an exam room. That was the last I saw of him that night.

By now, it was dark and the deluge was once again upon Williamsburg. The Magistrate's Office is located in the Virginia Peninsula Regional Jail several miles across town. I headed there.

When I got there, it seemed like an eternity. The Magistrate took a long time to answer the bell. I told him why I was there and filled out the forms, but when I went to hand them to him, he said that I needed a copy of the doctor's report. By now, it was after 8 o'clock. I didn't know if I could make it back to the office in time. But I vowed to try. Before I left, he told me that if my mother-in-law left town, they would not go after her, no matter the circumstances. I remember calling my husband and leaving a message on his machine informing him what I had been told in regards to her leaving town.

Somehow that night, fighting the rain, wind and the pain, I was able to return to the doctor's office and the Magistrate's Office. I was, on the second visit, allowed to file an assault charge, nothing more. I was not told who I should subpoena. The only person I thought of was the real estate agent.

The next morning, there was blood in my sputum and marks on my arm from where my son had held me. I returned to the doctor. I got the curt treatment and a brush off in regards to the blood. He told me it was "normal".

That Sunday was Mother's Day. My husband would not allow my son to visit me. On Monday, he bought him a $300 IPod, saying it was for his birthday. His birthday was not until July, this was mid-May. There was a pre-trial hearing, but I was never informed of it.

The Trial was about a month after the incident. My mother-in law, who had been living in the house had left town right after the hearing, but returned for the trial.

The day before the trial, a phone call was logged onto my answering machine. It was placed from a cell phone. The Assistant Commonwealth's Attorney left a message that he had called, nothing more. By the time I got home from work, I could not reach him. I was able to finally get him to pick-up the phone the next morning at 11:00 AM. He informed me that I could not use the medical evidence because I did not subpoena the doctor to vouch for the validity of it. I asked him to request a continuance. He refused telling me that "You are supposed to know who you are to subpoena."

The trial was scheduled for 2 PM. I went to the doctor's office to request that he appear. The receptionist said it was not possible.

The courtroom was packed. The cases involving the appearance of lawyers were called first. It is a courtesy as they often have to appear in more than one courtroom during any given time frame. Then the cases without lawyers were called. One by one, they were called and dispensed with. The entire time, my husband and his mother, along with their attorney, the ex-Commonwealth's Attorney for James City County where the incident happened, sat waiting on the other side of the courtroom. The attorney never handled any other cases that afternoon.

Finally, about 4 PM, with the courtroom devoid of spectators, my case was called. I took the stand first. My mother-in-law was dressed in an oversized dress with a large flower print covered by a sweater that was obviously 10 sizes too big. The combination visibly reduced her actual size and made her look older than her years. She is eighty, but like my husband, exercises every day. She can drive across country at the drop of a hat. In fact, she just fell and broke her hip. Unlike most people her age, according to my husband and son, she was up and about in a couple of days. The short of it is her family lives to about 100. She and I are about the same size. A friend from Eastern State Hospital told me that he could see her attacking me. It happens all the time at the hospital.

I was called to the stand first. The DA only asked me to give my side of the story. He asked no other questions. When I mentioned that my son had held me son while my mother-in-law attacked me, her attorney objected saying that he was not there to testify because he would incriminate himself (?). I was never shown what evidence was being presented, even though the DA had copies of the photographs and the doctor's reports. Her attorney cross examined me, being belligerent. The DA never objected. After I testified, I was escorted from the courtroom by Laura French, an employee of the DA's office.

Next on the stand was the real estate agent. Judging from the amount of time between I left the courtroom and she exited, she either did not testify, or was not asked any questions. When she left, she came up to me and apologized for what had happened in the courtroom. I did not understand that statement until after the verdict.

I never saw the police officer leave. He probably exited through the holding cells. My husband was last on the stand to leave the courtroom before the verdict.

When we were called back in only a few minutes later, I was stunned by the verdict. The judge announced "Not guilty for lack of evidence."

I had heard of the Williamsburg Railroad, the way women are treated by the courts and the police when they file for divorce on the grounds of abuse. It was that day that I discovered the railroad exists.

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