Parole

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my beautiful sister, Cindy

I received word from one of my Victim Advocates yesterday that a parole hearing is to be held next Tuesday for Rudi Apelt. Rudi is the brother of the man Cindy married who assisted him with her murder for life insurance. He is actually the person who wielded the knife in the desert on the night of December 23, 1988, stabbing her multiple times and slashing her throat. This was proven in court by his own expert Vincent DiMaio. You can read about that Perry Mason moment here.

Rudi was sentenced to death in 1990 for the first-degree murder, then a life WITH parole sentence for the conspiracy. Nineteen years later, his death sentence was commuted because one Judge , Silvia Arellano, decided to release him from Death Row under a mental retardation claim. Once the Federal Supreme Court ruled that we can’t execute the mentally retarded (a ruling I agree with), suddenly both of these scheming conmen became “mentally retarded” overnight according to their attorneys, and those championing against the death penalty, one murderer at a time.

Rudi’s sentence was commuted to life WITH parole which, thankfully, Arellano decided to run consecutively to the conspiracy Life WITH parole sentence vs the concurrent option they argued for.  Arellano, the biased Judge, had also ruled that nothing, not one thing, in their lives after the age of 18 could be considered in her decision–read: THE CRIMES FOR WHICH THEY WERE CONVICTED COULD NOT BE CONSIDERED IN THE DECISION FOR SENTENCE FOR THE CRIMES THEY COMMITTED.  It was a terrifying time as this monster could have gone from Death Row to up for parole in five short years after that commutation.

Yes, it seems like a moot point or a formality that he should be given these yearly parole hearings for the first sentence he is serving, as he’s eight years into the second 25 to Life sentence. He could be granted parole on the first one and still turn right around to his cell to continue the second one. BUT, I’ve become a bit educated on how prisoners become victims over the years, and how attorneys make big bucks championing murderers and I don’t trust any of it. So, yes, I wrote a letter to the parole board and I guess I will each year, to make sure no one ever considers releasing him from prison or giving him any leniency.

I suspect he will continue, along with his disgusting champions, to try and play the “mentally retarded” card and since I’ve been informed it’s a fairly new parole board who may not know the case, I decided to do a bit of educating on exactly who Rudi Apelt is.

Here is a copy of my letter that my advocate will be reading into the record next Tuesday.  I won’t be in AZ at that time and frankly, I never want to be in the same room with either of those sociopaths ever again so her reading my words to their faces is just fine with me.

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Here it is (apologies for it being dense to read–Wordpress is not letting me put paragraphs on this when I edited it):

 

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perspective

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Greetings from beautiful Sedona!  It’s so incredible waking up here with long expanses of days ahead of me, cool breezes and quiet.  I never for one minute forget how fortunate I am to have the opportunity to be here like this.

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Today my big goals are:  go for a hike by Cathedral rock, make homemade sauce with the ingredients I brought up with me, finish installing the surround sound stereo I brought up, finish the laundry I’ve started and continue tweaking the story I’m entering in a writing contest.  It has to be submitted by next Saturday so I hope to have it finished today.  The problem is I write so fast and furious and pay no nevermind usually to punctuation and other writerly imperatives that I’m not sure how to polish it up.  I may need to find an editor–if anyone out there is game to take a look at my completed story, please write to me!

Thank you!

I’ve also been popping in at Websleuths occasionally lately to see what people are saying about the Arias case which, of no surprise to me, has been delayed again.  I think it will be lucky to start anytime this year.  And when I say start, I mean get it over with.  Although I surely know the ambivalence that goes with a trial like this finally being over (of course with the Death penalty that never really happens should she receive that sentence).  That’s when the real hard part starts:  when the trial ends.  That’s when the family will need the most support and get the least.  I’m very aware of that cliff for the Alexanders and where my role may be most important for them.

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I wrote something about the legal system and how far it’s gone in protecting/supporting our worst of the worst now and the heinous way it’s turned toward villifying true victims.  I remember when I was testifying and one of Cindy’s killers attorneys tried to insinuate some preposterous theory about her being involved in a drug cartel or some such nonsense.  Or maybe it’s the way they tried to describe her as a slut therefore deserving to be viciously slaughtered in the desert for money.  It was very very subtle in comparison to what we’ve seen with Travis Alexander’s reputation also slaughtered in the courtroom, but it was enough.  Enough for me to flash a look at that defense attorney like “oh you will not even go there with me” and he backed off.  I think just the question itself disgusted the jury.  But times were different then.  Now it’s become commonplace to attack the reputation of victims in court fabricated out of thin air by the mind of a sociopath.  Entire defenses are spun on these about face assaults to the innocent. “Experts” participate in these lies and are well paid.  And we, as a society, seem to think this is ok.

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Anyway, I’ll just copy and paste what I wrote on Websleuths this morning so I can be done with this line of thinking and get in to something that would actually match the memories that are true of my sister and Travis (as I understand him to have been)–like cooking,hiking, writing a funny story.

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Sometimes you also just have to tell the truth about things and put it out there, so here it is:

I think this illustrates what is so incredibly beyond frustrating and maddening about how our justice system has (d)evolved when it comes to murderers like Arias. The system promotes them continuing to abuse and debase their victims in public, falsifying completely fictional stories that villify their victims out of thin air while staining their memory to anyone who even hears it even if they don’t believe it. This has been accepted as a completely commonplace line of defense now with no one setting boundaries on it’s preposterousness.

“Expert” witnesses come out of the woodwork to support these fictional stories and testify to their “veracity” although their only source is the killer themself. Entire tales are spun creating the completely innocent victim as an unrecognizable character in their own life. Meetings are held to strategize how to spin the Truth in to something that turns the entire sordid event on it’s ear pointing to the vicious killer as “victim”. Intelligent, highly paid, educated professionals conspire in this dark dance.

And the legal system supports and condones it. All the way up to the day the vicious killer likely dies in prison of natural causes as these fights continue for decades selling fiction as fact, tarnishing someone’s innocent child/sibling/friend/parent who never had a chance to fully live their life; all in the name of winning.

Or in some cases, such as Alyce La Violette, in the name of money. Thank God the scales of Karma didn’t support her in that endeavor. But she has taken her tale of victimhood, erasing the man who’s breath was taken in his own home, on to herself now. In the name of murderer Jodi Arias.

It’s a level of insanity I feel sure our forefathers never anticipated. I don’t think they knew this level of sophisticated evil back in those simpler times either. Nature or nurture we have a new breed of venom that walks the Earth now. And we protect them like precious jewels.

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john

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I couldn’t go one more post in this blog without introducing you to my dear sweet brother John.  He of course is the third “innocent” in our family.

When I was trying to think of a name for the blog, I kept going back to the picture I have posted of Cindy and I as toddlers.  She took this photo on I believe my 25th birthday and had it blown up to 8 X 10 and gave it to me framed, signed on the back. She used to laugh at this photo all the time and called it “The Innocents”.  Our vibe together was primarily laughing and energetic so this photo tells a very different sentiment.  I believe it was taken right around the time our mother was getting diagnosed with cancer.  I think you see that all over us in this photo although Cindy and I never discussed that. We just thought it was a funny photo.

I turned to a wordsmith friend of mine to help me figure out a name for the blog and shared about this photo with him and he replied “How about Two Innocents which also sounds like a cheer “To Innocence!”” I immediately got chills and a  lump in my throat and that was that.

Of course though, we can’t move forward without including our dear brother who was an infant at the time of this photo.  He was just 3 when we lost our mother.

John was always unique.  He was slow to walk and talk and used to speak we said in “Lebanese” as he had his own made up language before he actually used words.  He describes himself as with “learning disabilities” and had some time in remedial classes growing up.  We loved him all the same but to tell the absolute truth, I was so deeply and inpenetrably bonded with my sister that I spent much of my childhood thinking he was someone we had to accomodate.  It’s hard to admit that now but it’s the truth.  Cindy was much more patient and loving toward John than I ever was.  She was a surrogate mother to both of us  from ages 3 and 5 and I’m sure I just didn’t want to share her.

Even though John had some awkwardness socially and learning wise, he grew up to obtain a Bachelor’s degree in Marketing having followed Cindy to the University where she got her Master’s degree.  I lived in Arizona at the time finishing my Bachelor’s in Nursing.

John also followed Cindy to Minneapolis after college when she got a great job there heading up a Wellness program at a large corporation and he worked various jobs, always close to Cindy. They worked out together, dined together. She always provided a place of “home” for my brother.  I can say I never offered that to him through his life until just the last year.

John was always vulnerable though.  A sensitive and really fragile person.  But with the sweetest, purest heart and soul you could ever meet.  He has had to navigate a world of awkwardness and bullying and not quite fitting in his whole life.  But he has managed to maintain a fighting spirit, a distinct optimism, an appreciation for every small thing in his life, a long term memory I’ve never seen in anyone else and just a sweetness you rarely see in an adult.  I’ve often referred to him like “Forest Gump” in that innocence kind of way.  He was truly the most innocent of us all.

As utterly devastating Cindy’s murder was on all of our family, especially me, I think it hurt John the worst.  He was teetering on the edge of mental illness for some time unbeknownst to all of us.  I remember Cindy once telling me she’d gone to the manager at the gym where they worked out to complain that other men were making fun of him in the locker room.  Now of course I know that was his paranoia peeking through.  Cindy went to her grave never knowing John would “break” in to paranoid schizophrenia.  Her death took him right over that edge.  It was the worst casualty in our family I’m certain.

John got his nickname “Alfonse” one evening while we were visiting our Grandma on summer break.  Cindy and I, teenagers, had prepared some kind of Italian meal for all of us and she decided, in one of her “let’s make everything in to a game” moments, that we would turn my Grandma’s tiny condo in to a fine dining restaurant.  We tagged John our waiter for the evening, put a little towel over his arm and decided his name was “Alfonse” and that he would serve us all evening.  We all had a blast with it, as we always did, and the nickname Alfonse was born.  In case you’ve ever wondered, my nickname “katiecoolady’ was what my sister called me for years.  But she spelled it, for some reason “KT Coolady”.  When I went online, I resurrected that name as poignant as it was.  I wanted to be that again.

John didn’t come to the trials for Cindy’s murder except for one day.  It was just this past week that I learned that on that ONE day, he was exposed to one crime scene photo of my sister.  My father didn’t attend that day knowing that crime scene photos would be shown by the medical examiner.  I chose to work that day as we were warned this was not a good day to attend.  Inexplicably, our stepmother, decided to stay in there with John and moved themselves to the back row because she wanted to hear what happened in court that day.  She generally was more detached in things like this so could handle them.  I was both livid and devastated to hear that John had seen a glimpse of that photo from the back row.  It’s an image you can’t bleach from your brain.  I once ran in to a similar photo online in some German publication as someone had told me I was on the cover of it claiming “Sister wants them to live!”.  In looking at that online I saw a very very fast glimpse of that photo and I started screaming uncontrollably.  It just breaks my heart knowing my Alfonse EVER saw a photo like that.

Especially knowing what came later.  His poor mind just broke.  He fell in to deep psychosis off and on for years.  Full blown paranoid schizophrenia rose it’s ugly head in to a mind that was already filled with cracks, held together with fragile mortar by the love and support he got from our oldest sister.  When she was taken, it all just dissolved. He spent years and years in and out of psychiatric hospitals and programs and it has just been heartbreaking, frustrating, devastating on our family.

There is a silver lining to this story and an update as Alfonse is living two minutes away from me now and doing very very well and is the biggest light of MY life these days.  I will write and fill in the blanks of how we got from Point Nowhere to this amazing miracle life we are living in right now.  But, for now, this is getting long and I’m crying too hard and it’s just not the moment for it.  There is fallout from a murder.  As positive as I am and as much as I do my best to find meaning and purpose in life, the murder of my sister broke my dear brother in half, plain and simple. And I’m not gonna white wash it.  And that went on for years and years.

But love and faith and miracles have brought him back. And brought us back together.

I’ve thought recently that  when I’m on my death bed and reflecting on the most important things I ever did in this life, throwing my brother a life raft this last year and pulling him on to my boat will be so far up there, nothing else will ever compare.