A Case Of Attempted Murder, Part I

Something happened to me almost a year and a half ago. 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 skis 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.

Part II to follow

Center for Virginia Justice

I am announcing the formation of The Center For Virginia Justice.

This is a non-profit group formed to collect information on the Family and Civil Courts in the Commonwealth. It should be viewed as a tool to document corruption or possible corruption. We are not legal experts, therefore we can not offer any legal advice, nor will we recommend any lawyers, as we have yet to find any that do not contribute to the corruption of the court system.

Please leave your stories in the comment section. Be as specific as possible with the information. Dates, case numbers, lawyers for both sides, names of judges and other city/county employees involved in the case are all important to your story.

Please leave an anonymous way I can contact you.

Virginia is one of the most corrupt places in America. Together we can clean it up.

A Mother's Plea

My son started with huffing. Inhaling glues, white out, spray cans, etc. Money was missing from my purse. He was lying and turned from being a good student to failing.

The following narrative is true. I am willing to take any type of test they want to administer to prove it. And there are emails and records that exist to prove what I am saying. And my son is not the only child to go through this in James City County, Virginia, nor will he be the last. We, the mothers, cannot get anyone to investigate.

When he was 5, my husband abandoned our bed to sleep with our son. This continued for years. At age 13, he started huffing because my husband was confiding things to him that no young boy should have to shoulder the responsibility of knowing. He wanted out of the marriage because the only way he could inherit his mother's money was (in her own words) "if the situation changes." By 2004, he was fired from his job for anger. At 64, he could not get another. He needed his mother's money. He had cut off contact with her when she changed her will, leaving her money to charity.

I educated myself (although I had not heard the term huffing, I knew about inhalants). My husband turned his back on it. He denied our son was doing anything. I think he really knew, but was using our son as an excuse. If I said anything about it, I was picking on our son. Than, when my son was high, my husband used his venerability to enlist his help in abusing me.

I finally left the abusive situation, but had no way of supporting myself. I had to leave my son, than 15 with his father. I couldn't ask him to live with me, because I was not even capable of taking care of myself after the two years of intensive abuse I had gone through. I failed my son. I left him in the enabling situation.

Two weeks after I left, my husband allowed him to go to an all night un-chaperoned party with older kids and known drug abusers. There was both booze and drugs present (according to Officer White, the officer of record). Our son committed a felony breaking and entering. He took video games, while other boys took booze. When his father found out, our son told him he broke in to sleep there. To this day, his father believes him. I filed for custody.

Than the pills started. Huffing wasn't enough. I kept finding things, like tightly rolled-up dollar bills. And our son took to carrying knives, even to school. His father was not allowing me to see our son at that time. At the most, I could only see him for 1 and 1/2 hours every three weeks. Our son was always angry. He would call me names and continued to steal from me. He physically abused me, as his father had done. I am very hard of hearing because his father would put his mouth to my ear and scream as loud as he could. It caused pain, but no physical marks to prove the abuse was taking place. Our son began using this form of physical abuse, too. And my husband was withholding food from me. I was on the South Beach Diet, but he was withholding the foods I was allowed to have. He said at a $1, "cauliflower costs too much" and "you don't need to buy enough meat for three people, 2 pieces will do."

One day, in mid 2006, 9 months after I left, I found 6 Limictal pills on my son. I called the police. He downed the pills and had to be rushed to the hospital. He tested positive for cocaine and heroin. I later found out that he had had a sandwich type baggy full of the pills the night before. The boy who saw him with them said that if he told the police, his parole officer (the boy cleaned himself up from drugs, worked a study job and went to school) would have him arrested. When I talked to the other kids, I found out that my husband regularly dropped our son off at the apartment complex where I lived with bottles of beer and vodka. These were not the times my son came to visit me.

The morning I found the pills, I first tried to call my husband several times, but he had the answering machine come on and automatically disconnect me. I finally drove to the house. When there, I recorded our conversation. He said he had had our son tested for drugs once, and was not going to pay for it again. While we were in the emergency room, my son admitted to using pot every night. I wish I had had the tape recorder on me at the time. His father told him that he would get him diet pills and anti-depressants if he wanted them.

Than the drug counselor from Bacon Street showed up. I was still in my night cloths. (It is stated in the hospital records that I left to change.) I was only able to introduce myself to her and tell her that I needed to go home to change as I had an appointment after our son was due to be released. In her report, she states that she spoke to me and determined that I am an abuser. We had no conversation.

In June 2005, my husband was arrested and found guilty of abuse. The system in James City County, Virginia, is set up to protect the abuser. He went to anger management, but not the first set of classes, he waited for a set that was led by Lauren Council. He was also told to attend substance abuse for his drinking. He went to one meeting. He was declared cured after only that one session. I believe that the session was with Ann Tramer. His files were sealed.

At this point, I have to admit, when we were together, I drank too. I was drowning the hurt. I stopped drinking 2 weeks after leaving the house. In court, my husband admits to still drinking nightly.

Before I left the situation, my husband attempted to replace the mother figure in our son's life. One of those women was a person who's son was a known drug user. Her older son had dropped out of school and drifted through life. She would buy our son cigarettes. My husband would not do anything about it. He refused to admit that she was not a person our son should hold as a role model. She was using pain killers. The night that led to his arrest, he sent our son to her house. I now think that it was his plan to kill me that night. He said he was going to when he attacked me.

For eleven months we were locked in the custody battle. The whole time, our son was also on probation for the breaking and entering. And than the break-ins of my home began. All were reported to the police, but they did nothing. The only things missing were evidence against my husband. In order to do the break-ins, he had to enlist my son's help. Someone drove the car while he did the actual crime. There is a police report stating that an eyewitness saw him enter my property while his car sped away. And I found a set of his car keys in my front yard. I have a receipt for them. He was making our son an accessory to a crime. If our son admitted it, being on probation, he would go to jail. Our son sank deeper into drugs.

During the custody hearings, my husband continually said in court that our son did not have a drug problem. The Guardian ad Litem never once admitted that he had one. During the custody hearing, we were ordered to enter family counseling. My husband refused to attend.

Enter Ann Tramer. I went to Colonial Health. Our son was supposed to go to Bacon Street. Instead, Ann Tramer took his case personally. Before that first session, my husband and I sat in the waiting room as he whispered hurtful things to me. It upset me and my son. I went into her office and was present while she "tested" his drug knowledge. She pulled out a magazine that had pictures of spray cans and glues and such. They were all clearly labeled. She asked him if he recognized any of the objects. That was his test. The verdict, positive, and I was the cause.

During her sessions with him, she would not say "How do you feel about your mother?" but things like "You hate your mother, don't you?" During that time, she would only administer tests for pot, not a full drug strip. He tested positive for pot on three occasions, the maximum number of positive tests allowed by the courts.

During the court hearings, the GAL, George B. Pearson, told the judge that because I wanted our son off drugs, I was militaristic. Because I had never been in trouble with the law (my husband is a 2 time felon) I was overly law abiding, because I go to church 2 or 3 times a year, I am a religious fanatic, because I wanted to stop my son to stop lying and stealing and return to doing his homework, I was an abuser. And my son kept sinking into the drugs.

During this time, he was not only seeing Ann Tramer, but began seeing Lauren Council as well. Mr. Council was supposed to report to the courts, but never did. Ann Tramer did, however. She perjured herself. The proof exists. I also have a tape of her saying that it was unethical for her to continue to see our son for 8 weeks after he started seeing Lauren.

Suddenly, in November, my husband got "religion". He admitted in court that our son had a drug problem. I lost the battle. I was not allowed to have my son for more than a few hours, and than not when I could take him to a mental health provider.

On New Year's Eve, 2006, I saw my husband smoking pot. He does not smoke cigarettes, but he was smoking and holding the article in a manner that was indicative of pot.

The next day, on New Year's Day, 2007, my son was shot with his father only feet away. It was kept from me. The shooter was the older son of the woman my husband tried to replace me with in our son's life. According to my son, my husband knew the loaded gun was in the house. He was giving refuge to the 21 year old as his step- father had kicked him out. Thank whomever, the bullet passed cleanly through my son's leg.

Now, the reader would be asking, why relate this story? It shows how the system down here uses the children. The lawyers and the courts use the children to help the person with the deepest pockets win in a divorce case. Drugs are a blessing to them. They can use it to point the finger away from the truth. The only way we can possibly get an investigation into the system, is to publish our stories wherever we can, in hopes that enough of the public voices cry out for an investigation and forces it to happen. I am not the only one. Tulane University, the ACLU and scores of other well-respected institutions admit that it is happening, but none have the resources to investigate. Our children are not disposable.

As Ann Tramer said to me, "He will remember the truth one day." I will not be around to pick up the pieces. He will continue the abuse he has learned. He will either turn to drugs again, or worse. Either way, he will kill himself.