Friday, September 25, 2009
Feed Widow OF Marine Suing Feds and D.A.
On Thursday, Sommer filed a multimillion-dollar suit in federal district court in San Diego, California alleging fraud, false imprisonment, violation of her civil rights and other tortious conduct on the part of the federal and state agencies and individuals involved.
She is seeking $20,000,000 in damages and other relief including a court order that murder charges can never be refiled against her.
Sommer was arrested in November 2005 and charged with poisoning her husband, Todd, 23, an active duty Marine who died at their home on the Miramar base nearly four years earlier. Sommer was tried and convicted in San Diego in January 2007. The district attorney presented evidence at trial that tissues recovered from Todd Sommer at autopsy showed high levels of arsenic in his liver and kidneys.
The trial judge threw out the murder conviction and ordered a new trial in late 2007 after finding that her attorney, Robert Udell, committed tactical errors which deprived her of a fair trial.
Sommer continues to claim that the tissues tested were contaminated in the government lab. While awaiting a new trial, her new attorney, Allen Bloom, requested that the state search for more tissues that may have been recovered from Todd Sommer and never tested for the presence of arsenic. In early 2008, the government did, indeed, find some tissues preserved in paraffin and sent them to an independent lab for testing. When the results came back negative for the presence of arsenic, Sommer was immediately released from the San Diego County jail where she had spent about a two and a half years.
The district attorney dismissed the first-degree murder charge for the time being but wants the right to bring charges in the future should new incriminating evidence arise. The current dismissal is “without prejudice.” Sommer wants the district attorney to dismiss “with prejudice” which means she could never be charged again. Another hearing on that issue is scheduled for this Friday in San Diego state court.
Since April 2008, Sommer has been re-establishing herself. She is now enrolled in college, has custody of her four children, and plans to work with the Innocence Project. Her youngest child, Christian, is the son of Todd Sommer. Christian, now 9 years old, was not quite two when his father died.
Sommer is suing the United States of America, three NCIS Special Agents Rob Terwilliger, Rick Rendon, and Mark Ridley, the Naval Medical Center in San Diego County, the Medical Examiner’s Office of San Diego County, Glenn N. Wagner (chief medical examiner in San Diego), the San Diego District Attorney’s Office, District Attorney Bonnie Dumanis and Deputy District Attorney Laura Gunn who handled the trial in 2007.
Thursday, September 24, 2009
Five Dead and Town Warned to Lock Its Doors
5 bikini baristas at Everett stand charged with prostitution
EVERETT, Wash. -- Five baristas of a local bikini coffee stand are accused of engaging in prostitution while on the clock.
Police spokesman Robert Goetz said the five employees of Grab-N-Go Espresso were charged with prostitution and violating the city's adult entertainment ordinance following a two-month undercover investigation
Goetz said no sex was involved; however, the women, ages 18 to 24, engaged in groping and other sexual acts - including exposing their breasts and privates and licking whipped cream off of each other - in exchange for money.
Police launched the investigation after receiving dozens of complaints regarding bikini baristas' allegedly lewd behavior.
The women are expected to be arraigned in municipal court in the upcoming weeks.
On Thursday morning, the stand's owner said the charges are false.
Because the charges are misdemeanors, the women have not been taken into custody and the coffee stand remains open.
Meantime, the Everett City Council is considering a tougher lewd behavior ordinance. Talks began after the city received some 50 complaints in the past six months about some local bikini baristas
"They'll flash you for extra money or they'll let you stick money on their underpants," said resident Kay Gourley.
Mayor Ray Stephanson said the new ordinance will address such lewd behavior.
A Murderer on the Loose?
On Edge After Family Murdered
Raymond and Ruth Gee and 3 Children Killed, Police Tell People to Lock Their Doors
Saturday, September 19, 2009
Room with a dead good view
Five of family die in ‘haunted house
Thursday, September 17, 2009
Miri’s Hunger
Miranda — or Miri, as she’s called — suffers from pica, a disorder that compels her to eat foreign objects. “She crammed chalk into her mouth,” her brother explains. “She hid the packaging at the bottom of her bag and threw it away when we got to school. But then there’d be cramps that twisted her body, pushed her off her seat and lay her on the floor, helplessly pedaling her legs.” The novel was published in Britain as “Pie-kah” (the pronunciation of Miri’s affliction), a less sensational title that grounds the narrative in the girl’s sad psychic state rather than in its supernatural elements.
After his wife, who works as a photo journalist, is killed on assignment in Haiti, Miri’s father takes sole control of the family’s ancestral home in the southeastern coastal town of Dover, which the couple have converted into a bed-and-breakfast. But the house — which has its own spirited personality — has other ideas. It frightens off the hired help and even insists on narrating some of the story. (“One evening she pattered around inside me . . . and she dragged all my windows open, putting her glass down to struggle with the stiffer latches. I cried and cried for an hour or so.”) Another spectral presence, known as Goodlady, may be a figment of Miri’s active imagination.
Everything changes when a new housekeeper, a Yoruba woman named Sade who has “tribal marks” scarred on her face and practices juju in the kitchen, isn’t scared off. In fact, she stays even when Miri goes away to college and her brother takes up an internship in South Africa. At Cambridge, Miri befriends an African adoptee named Ore, and at that point the novel begins to lose focus.
For a while, Ore’s story takes center stage. Subplots abound (including attacks against Kosovan refugees and violent happenings at an Immigration Removal Center), but they rarely advance the main plot or refer back to Miri’s life in any meaningful way. Throughout, however, the theme of displacement, both cultural and personal, recurs. Miri’s illness — the “pie-kah” of the British title — provides a clue as to how the apparently disparate story elements relate. Could it be that England, as a body, is systematically rejecting its foreign population? Perhaps a statement is being made about English xenophobia. What’s more likely is that Oyeyemi’s story is suffering ever so slightly under the weight of a political agenda.
As in Toni Morrison’s “Beloved” or Chris Abani’s “Song for Night,” the super natural elements of “White Is for Witching” serve to remind the characters — and Oyeyemi’s readers — of horrifying historical circumstances. Although she may rely on some too familiar narrative ploys, Oyeyemi clearly appreciates that some crimes (like slavery or genocide or, in this case, institutional racism) are so heinous that the conventions of realist fiction seem woefully inadequate to describe them. She makes us glad to suspend disbelief.
Andrew Ervin’s first book, “Extraordinary Renditions: 3 Novellas,” will be published next year.
WIFE MURDER
The information regarding the triple murder was given to police by the couple’s only son, Amin Gulgee, who lives in an adjoining portion of the house.
“Maidservant Aasia’s son had been coming for the past five days, asking why his mother had not returned home, but was being given unsatisfactory answers by the security guards. On Wednesday, Amin came to know that the man had been asking about his mother,” Niaz Khosa, a senior police official, told Dawn.
Amin entered his parents’ house from his portion of the premises and saw that a television in the living room was switched on. Then he broke the glass pane and saw his father’s body, Niaz Khosa added.
Before that, Amin had called a DSP, a friend of his, who advised him that this being his parents’ house, he could break the lock and get inside.
After finding his father’s body, Amin informed the SHO of the Boat Basin police station.
Amin told police that he had been wondering for the past five days why the gate of his parents’ house was locked and their car was not parked inside. He said he then pacified himself with the thought that they were away from home.
However, another police official quoted Amin Gulgee as saying that he had not gone to the parents’ place because of a tiff with them.
The body of Gulgee was found in the living room, that of his wife in the kitchen and the body of their servant was found in a small room adjacent to the kitchen, DIG Investigation Manzoor Ahmed Mughal told Dawn.
He said not a single valuable was missing from the house. “All valuables, including cash, jewelry and all of his paintings, are inside the house.”
The DIG ruled out an armed break-in. Recalling the scene, Mr Mughal said brushes and paints were found scattered all over the place.
The DIG pointed out that instead of rope, the “murderer used a cloth to strangulate the victims”. He said the bodies had decomposed and were sending out an unbearable stench.
Standing on the street outside, this reporter also felt the stench.
Capital City Police Chief Azhar Ali Farooqui told journalists waiting outside the house that three servants were unaccounted for and a car belonging to the couple was missing.
In reply to a question whether the police were treating the couple’s son Amin Gulgee as a suspect, the CCPO replied that at this stage he could make no comment.
POST-MORTEM: The bodies were shifted to the Jinnah Postgraduate Medical Centre for post-mortem.
Dr Abdul Razzak Shaikh, a medico-legal officer, said he had seen signs of two wounds probably inflicted with a blunt weapon. However, he said, the wounds were not such as could have caused death. He said Gulgee’s tongue was sandwiched between the teeth, suggesting that he might have been strangulated.
However, instead of a rope, a cloth had been used, the doctor said. He estimated that the bodies were three to five days old.
The post-mortem of Zareen Gulgee and Aasia, the maidservant, were carried out by Dr Nasreen, another medico-legal officer.
Dr Nasreen said her conclusion was that the two women had been struck in the back of their head at least thrice in each case. However, she added, as the bodies were in a bad shape, the medico-legal report had been held back.
Fahmi, Gulgee’s sister, reached the house after learning about the incident. She said that three days ago, Gulgee had taken her out for a dinner. But since then he had not been attending phone calls.
The perturbed sister, in her 70s, was at a loss for words when asked as to who might have been behind the murder.
Yacoobali G. Zamindar, a close friend of Gulgee, told Dawn he had been with the artist and his wife last week at a fund-raising dinner.
“The couple also danced on the occasion,” recalled Mr Zamindar. He said his acquaintance with the Gulgees went back 30 years.
“The couple were very devoted to welfare work. Mrs Gulgee was a member of the SOS children’s village of Sindh.”
Apart from Amin, the couple had a daughter settled in London.
Relatives and friends visiting Gulgee’s Clifton residence had a difficult time in getting through the police guards posted at the entrance.
Among visitors to the house was a man cradling his little daughter in his arms. Tayyab, son of the slain servant Aasia, said that he had been coming to the place since Friday in search of his mother.
Witnesses to barbarism
Yasmeen Sikander Khan is 12 years old. She said: “At times I feel that my mother is calling me. I see the burnt house and I am reminded that it is the house where my mother was burnt. They did not spare my mother. Along with others they burnt her, too. This camp has also been attacked several times by them. Almost every day there is a bomb blast outside the camp. Also, the police fire at the camp.”
Raishma Bano is an 11-year-old girl now living in the Shah Alam Relief Camp. She says that her mohalla was first raided by the police, who arrested all the male members of the locality. Next morning, the rioters, armed with swords and knives came on trucks. Then she narrated how a 16-year-old girl was raped by 10 rioters. “We saved ourselves by fleeing. Even now I feel terrified. I am afraid that they will attack this camp, too. I don’t talk to any man here. Perhaps they are here in the guise of guards. Who knows?”
Shahid Khan, who is 14 years old, is staying in the Darya Khan Relief Camp. He claims to be an eyewitness to the murder of distinguished Muslim leader, an ex-MLA, Ahsan Jafri. “We lived next to him. He was a well-known leader. A large number of people had taken refuge in his house, considering it as safe. I was peeping from a window of my house. “Kill me,” he was saying to the crowd, “but let these people go.” The crowd asked him to chant Jai Siya Ram. But he did not respond to it. Thereupon, they took a burning tyre and put it around his neck. One rioter drove his sword into his belly. I shuddered and dared not see more.” Then he added. “I just can’t sleep.” Then he felt angry. “They have looted our house. Now, I feel that I should go there and kill them all.”
The magazine includes an article by Majid Husain, who is the son-in-law of Mr Jafri. He tells us that the police commissioner, Mr Panday, had assured Jafri that a guard would be provided to him for safety. But he did not keep his promise. Even Sonia Gandhi’s phone call to him went unheeded. The police did reach there, but only after Jafri and 150 others, mostly women and children who had taken refuge in his house, had been killed.
Lalita Panikar has, in her article, expressed her concern and grief at the active participation of Hindu women in the Gujarat bloodshed. She has traced this female activity to the times of the Babri Masjid’s demolition when Uma Bharati had gone there in the guise of a man. Lalita says that on the basis of this action, the lady won for her a place in Sangh Parivar.
Lalita has expressed her horror on the assertion of a female Karya Sewak, Chandrawati, who declared on the occasion of her arrival in Ayodhya: “We have come her to shed blood. By erecting the temple, we mean that the mullahs will be hanged.”
Syed Mohammad Mehdi, writing on Wali Deccani, has referred to the declaration made by the standard-bearers of the Ram Mandir that there will be a final round between the Hindus and Muslims. He has quoted a doha from Tulsi Das, saying that every thug, thakur and thief chants Ram Ram. But the favour of Ram can only be won by those who believe in love. And Mehdi retorts: “Of course, there will be a final round, but not between Hindus and Muslims. It will be between two other forces. On the one side will be thugs, thakurs and thieves chanting Ram Ram. On the other side will be those believing in love and enjoying the favour of Ram. And that will be the day when the mazar of Wali will be rebuilt.
Shamim Hanafi has talked of a big gathering of writers in Urdu, Hindi, Punjabi and other languages, including Ashok Bajpai, Rajaendra Singh Yadav, Geetanjali and Sudhir Chandra, along with a number of journalists, intellectuals and social workers. They gathered in the Ghalib Academy to protest against Muslims’ killings in Gujarat. Nukkar Natak staged a protest play on the occasion. Then, with candles in their hands, they went to Ghalib’s mazar and paid homage to the poet.
It was all very good. But, asks Shamim Hanafi, which mazar is the next target of Sangh Pariwar? Ghalib’s or Amir Khusrau’s.
And then we see George Fernandes delivering his infamous speech in the parliament: “Why are they referring repeatedly to the ripping of the bellies of pregnant women? Is it something new?” he asks and says, “it has happened so many times in the past.” And Syed Shahnawaz Husain, a minister sitting by him, is smiling.
One more glimpse was presented by Shamim Gopal Menon’s documentary, Genocide in the Land of Gandhi, sub-titled, Hai Ram.
A correspondent from the BBC asks a viewer, “What is your reaction?”
“It was a free play of death. Who can give his reaction to his own death?”
The viewers with ashen faces stand up and get out silently one by one.
The honour girl
She was not very beautiful, but her mediocre beauty was refined by her fine facial features, wheatish complexion with a tinge of whiteness, big black eyes, long hair that she always covered with a white duppatta.
As she entered, she greeted everyone with Assalam-o-Alaikum in a soft low tone, placed the books in a corner, gracefully walked up to the counter, picked up a savings deposit slip, confidently filled in all the details, submitted it to the cashier, waited quietly and patiently for the return of the counter foil which she placed in her note-book folder and left, bowing her head and muttering Allah Hafiz almost inaudibly.
There was something unusual about her that we all noticed. Like other students, she was neither accompanied by a friend nor by any elderly lady. She never came in with a group of classmates. Though alone, she was not hesitant to approach any male staff if the three female officers were too busy with other clients. Her queries were simple and official. She would ask for the balance in her account or the profit paid by the bank; would the bank remain open if the college was closed? Could she deposit her money on bank holidays? Once, she quite innocently asked if the bank published examination results and, if so, could she get a copy? Though we were amused at what we considered a silly question, yet her serious innocence evoked a simple nod with a meek “No.”
It was for over a year now that she had been coming to the bank. As the conduct of her account was only deposit and withdrawal for payment of college fees, it was just a matter of ordinary book-keeping procedure. However, the cashier had one complaint: she never deposited the amount in round figures and though it was never more than four digits in rupees, yet it was always with some paisas, at times even in odd figures such as Rs1,246.50. As a commercial bank in the private sector dedicated to service, we could not ask her to round up the amount to an even figure for the convenience of our computation.
Everything, of course, was computerized,. Still, the possibility of an error in posting could not be ruled out, and this irked the cashier. Once, he requested her to round up the figure. All she did was add 50 paisas more to make it Rs1,247. The cashier accepted the amount but remained uneasy. After continuing for sometime, he approached me with the problem of this particular account. I asked him to send her to me the next time she came.
Though she came only twice a month, her timings were uncertain. I prayed that she came on a lean day and on one such day, the cashier brought her to me with the cash pay-in slip. She greeted me with Assalam-o-Alaikum. I replied with a nod. As I was busy on the phone, I asked her to take a seat with a wave of my hand. I looked at her while attending the phone and was simply disarmed by the animated but sober innocent look in her eyes, her confident yet humble appearance and her respectful posture with arms folded over her duppatta that she had wrapped around her. When I had finished with the call, I addressed her.
“Beti, for over a year, you have been depositing the amount in odd figures. Can’t you make it, say, like Rs1,250 or Rs1,200?”
She shook her head in negation without uttering a word.
“Can you explain?” I asked in a beseeching tone.
“Uncle,” she said, looking straight at me, “I cannot take out even a single rupee from the amount I put in the account. I can only add a few paisas I save.”
“You are like my daughter. If there is a problem I can help,” I said.
“Thank you, uncle. But we’ve vowed to do it on our own,” she said with a feeling of honour.
“It won’t be any obligation,” I insisted. “I’ll just add a few rupees and even paisas to make it even so that we avoid a posting error.”
“It’s very kind of you, uncle; but myself and no one of our family would like it because it will be charity. My father works hard day and night, and would be hurt and feel degraded. He works hard and saves one-fourth from his daily earnings and without taking a rupee out if it, gives me all of it. He says he wants me to be a doctor.”
“That’s quite noble of him. He is a great man. What does he do?” I asked.
Without hesitation or a second thought, and with an air of praise and pride, she instantly said, “He is a rickshaw driver.”
Stunned by her boldness, I stood up and bowed my head respectfully, without looking into her eyes as she said, “Allah Hafiz,” and confidently walked away.
MAN-EATERS OF INDIA
Habitual killers:
The naming of Corbett National Park:
Cutting nose of Ex-wife
The chief minister took a suo motu notice on a newspaper report stating that an elderly man, Muhammad Husain, had chopped off the nose of his former wife, Fatima, after failure to force her into prostitution.
The chief justice summoned Assistant Advocate-General Fawad Malik and directed him to submit the report on the action taken against the man and medical treatment given to the victim on April 10. The Pakpattan district police officer was also directed to appear in person on April 10.
Woman’s nose, ear chopped off over ‘honour’
The victim, (L), wife of Nazir Ahmed, complained to police that Kalay Khan, husband of her sister, along with his accomplice Allah Yar, chopped off her nose and an ear and escaped.
According to initial police investigations, the accused suspected that (L), mother of five, had developed relations with a man of the area.
The accused had a quarrel with (L) over the issue a couple of days back.
The injured was admitted to the Services Hospital.
Police have arrested Allah Yar and were looking for the main accused.
Wife, Daughter and Niece Killed By A Man In Karachi
September 14, 2009
Child bride gets divorced after rape, beatings
Wednesday, September 9, 2009
I know a fear of flying is irrational. I know that flying is a far safer mode of travel than driving. I know I can save a lot of time by flying rather than driving.
Again, my fear is irrational.
I also don’t like flying, and not because I’m scared of it. I don’t like the recycled air. I’ve yet to get off a plane and not come down with some gross cold a few days later. I don’t like to hear the young children scream when the pressure gets to their ears. I certainly don’t like the little brat behind me that feels the need to kick the back of my seat every thirty seconds for three hours. I don’t like being crammed into a small seat (and I’m thin) like cattle and being unable to move around and stretch my legs.
However, interestingly enough, none of these reasons are behind my airline horror story.
No, my horror story takes us back to April 1987. I was on Spring Break during my freshman year of college. I had just spent the week in Aspen skiing up a storm. This trip was also the first time I broke my nose (landed wrong) skiing. It certainly wasn’t the last.
For those of you that don’t know about Aspen, it is famous for a few things. First of all, it is one of the nation’s premier ski areas. Second of all, it is one of the snootiest places on the planet. This is where money talks and everything else walks. I was lucky, I had cousins that invited me to spend the week skiing and were generous enough to pick up the tab.
Anyhow, it started snowing on my last day in Aspen. I had to get back to school, because the end of the quarter was approaching (the University of Denver is on a quarter system) and I had term papers and finals coming up very shortly. I got to Pitkin Airport, which is just outside of Aspen, and my cousins began their long trek home.
If you’ve never been to Pitkin Airport, think back to the NBC sitcom called “Wings.” Pitkin Airport consists of a small room and two gates. Why? There were only two airlines that flew out of Pitkin back then – Rocky Mountain Airways (Continental) and Aspen Airways (United). All the flights for Aspen Airways had left for the night, and I was waiting for my flight on Rocky Mountain Airways.
Suddenly, over the loudspeaker (why they have one in a terminal with two gates I’ll never understand) they announce my flight has been cancelled due to snow.
Due to snow?
I looked outside, and while it was snowing, the ground was just dusted. How could they be canceling my flight because of snow?
I went to the counter and inquired why the flight was being cancelled. I was told by the ticket agent/baggage clerk/security guard/floor sweeper that Rocky Mountain Airways’ planes are not equipped to fly in the snow, because they lack some sort of radar equipment to make that sort of flying safe.
And you are flying these planes, during snow skiing season, in Colorado, Wyoming, Montana and Utah? They’re not equipped to fly in the snow? Are they joking?
I went to the other counter and was met by the same ticket agent/baggage clerk/security guard/floor sweeper. All the sudden, what came out of this idiot’s mouth was straight out of a bad comedy flick.
“Yes sir, may I help you?”
I could feel my blood pressure rapidly approach the boiling point. I asked if there were any flights going out for Aspen Airways. This person said they would be going out tomorrow, but there were no other scheduled flight that evening.
OK fine. I decided I would just sleep in the terminal until morning and take the first flight out. I checked with the ticket agent/baggage clerk/security guard/floor sweeper and found there was indeed an opening on the 6:30am flight. I got myself booked on the flight. I found a corner and sat down and closed my eyes.
About thirty minutes later, the ticket agent/baggage clerk/security guard/floor sweeper woke me up and said I couldn’t sleep in the terminal. It is against county regulations for anyone to sleep in the terminal.
OK fine. I asked the ticket agent/baggage clerk/security guard/floor sweeper if Continental would be willing to put me up for the night, since it was due to their poor and outdated equipment that I was stuck in Aspen for the night. They said they would if they could, however, there were no openings at any of the local hotels due to it being Spring Break for most colleges.
You can imagine the little ditty I was in. I don’t live in the area. I can’t get to a hotel because they’re all booked. I can’t stay in the terminal because it violates county regulations. I have a suitcase, skis, and no one to call, and no place to go. On top of that, it was snowing outside. The only people I could call were probably still on the road.
I hired a cab back to town. My first attempt to find a warm place to sleep was fruitless. I met the single snootiest human being on the planet I have ever had the displeasure of meeting, I’m sure he was earning minimum wage as the night desk clerk in a hotel. However, walking down the road, I found a nice clerk at the next hotel down the street who took pity on me and allowed me to sleep on the couch in her lobby.
The clerk got off work at 5:00am and offered to drive me back to the airport. Naturally, I agreed and thanked her for her kindness.
I went back into the terminal and walked up to the ticket counter for Rocky Mountain Airways. I showed them my new ticket, handed them my luggage, and waiting for boarding on the plane. After all, I was an hour early, and figured the fiasco was coming to an end.
The flight back to Denver was uneventful. Actually, I didn’t run into any kids kicking the back of my seat. However, I attribute this to being one of about six passengers on the entire plane, and there was room for about 40 passengers.
I went to baggage claim at Stapleton Airport. I waited. I waited some more. Where’s my luggage?
I marched off for the ticket counter in what you could imagine was pure rage at this point. Just how on earth do you lose luggage on a 35 minute flight with six passengers on it that had no previous stops or further stops?
I get to the ticket counter, and have composed myself the best I can. I’m really ticked off, and cannot imagine being this stuck under Murphy’s Law.
I politely – as polite as one could be in my state at the time – asked where my luggage is. They check and see that it was never checked in from Pitkin Airport.
Well that was enough to set me off. I didn’t need any more buttons pushed, because there were no more buttons to push. I asked how on God’s green earth could my baggage not be on the flight? I reminded her that I checked in over an hour early, the flight had six people on it, and was a 35 minute flight.
Two days later, my skis and my luggage came. Apparently it had been sent to the wrong plane, and it took them that long to track down my missing bags.
I got the name and address of the president of Continental Airlines and wrote him a letter about a week later. I explained the situation, and how displeased I was with the whole experience. I was kind of hoping they would return the airfare for that leg of the trip.
Two weeks later, I received a letter from Continental thanking me for my comments and how they were looking forward to having me fly with them again












