We Heard The Screams . . .

Jayna Murray is dead.

Brittany Norwood, Murray’s coworker at the Lululemon Athletica store in Bethesda, MD has been sentenced to life in prison, without parole, for bludgeoning her to death.

Although the preponderance of evidence in the savage and gruesome beating Norwood inflicted on Murray is overwhelming, there are three other individuals, who share a modicum of culpability in the 30-year-old woman’s death.

Three managerial blunders, if none had been made, perhaps Murray would be alive today.

Prosecutors intimated that this horrific crime was the result of Murray being asked by her manager, Rachel Oertli, to check Norwood’s personal bag.

Why a manager would have an associate confront another on the suspicion of theft is hard to fathom, especially when the two of them are the only ones in the building?

Worse, how could Apple Store Manager, Ricardo Rios, who testified that he heard panting noises at the wall that connects the two stores, did not call police or alert security guards to investigate, borders on sheer ineptness.

Medical examiners stated that the vicious assault Murray suffered at the hands of Norwood lasted about 16 minutes.

Jana Svrzo, another manager of the Apple Store, testified that she and two other employees heard screams, and someone yelling, “God help me. Please help me.”

Forensic experts testified that Murray was savagely beaten in a myriad of positions. They further stated that out of the 332 wounds she suffered, 105 of them were of a defensive nature, meaning that she put up a futile attempt to flee her attacker.

So obvious was the action of any sane person upon hearing the pleas of mercy uttered by Murray, that neither the prosecutor nor defense attorney asked the Apple Managers why they did not summon police.

Apple declined to comment on this tragic event.

Perhaps it is best that they do not. Any statement the company could make would just add injury to insult, and give credence that both of their managers, by their inaction, cannot be counted on to do the right thing.

9 minutes of Murray screaming, yelping, pleading for Norwood to stop, did not move Apple’s employees to do anything that would have saved her life.

One simple phone call is all it would have taken . . .

Lululemon is far from reproach through all of this. A former employee claims that Norwood should have been fired for theft at one of their Georgetown location, but due to her good salesmanship was sent to the company store in Bethesda.

Three months after the brutal slaying, Lululemon reopened the now infamous store with a stained pane glass etched with the word, love, but as I looked upon it, I couldn’t help but think . . . it was paid for by Jayna T. Murray’s blood.

Bradley Booth/Freelance Commercial Writer/Author

At Last . . .

At last, Etta James, the iconic R&B and Blues singer, pain, and suffering is finally gone.

Ms. James, a venerable singer, whose fiery and soul stirring voice, enthralled audiences for over 55 years has succumbed to complications from leukemia.

Now finally . . . her soul is at peace.

Her rendition of “At Last” epitomizes, what one has been seeking, has finally been found.

Most people have characterized blues, as being very depressing. Songs of lost love, lost opportunity, and the turmoil’s of life are often depicted.

James was no stranger to any of these events. She battled a heroin addiction for over two decades. Her weight at one point had ballooned to over 400 pounds. This led to arthritic knees that forced her to perform sitting down.

She was arrested for in 1972 along with her husband Artis Mills for heroin possession. He assumed full responsibility and was sentenced to ten years.

James was entangled in legal trouble again in 1982 for heroin possession, drug addiction, forgery, and accusations that she cashed back checks. She escaped being incarcerated and instead was sent to the Tarzana Rehabilitation Center, in Los Angeles, California.

Up to the time of her death, James’ husband and their two sons were embroiled in a bitter dispute over her estate. The judge finally ruling in Mill’s favor to remain conservator of her million-dollar estate.

“A lot of people think that singing the blues is depressing,” she said in an interview for the Los Angeles Times in 1992, but that’s is not the blues I’m singing. When I’m singing blues, I’m singing life.”

Given the trials and tribulation she endured throughout her life, perhaps she was.

Bradley Booth/Freelance Commercial Writer/Author

The True Essence of Beauty . . .

I have written countless of articles, but nothing saddens me more than this one.

My prayers and condolences go out to the family of, Eva Ekvall. In the hopes that similar to me, the pain, and anguish of losing one so young, will one day be replaced by thoughts of happiness, for the precious moments that were spent together.

Ekvall, the former Miss Venezuela died on December 17, losing a two-year battle with breast cancer.

Her death, in some ways parallels the story of the young woman I lost at the tender age of 22, after a two-year battle with leukemia.

Similar to Ekvall, she was an aspiring model, who was robbed of her opportunity to grace the world with her beauty. To this day, although her doctor assured me, the two were not connected; I still harbor doubt if her desire to give me a child did not in some way trigger her cancer.

What brought these suppressed memories to the forefront were the pictures of Ekvall with no hair, and the fact that she discovered the lump in her breast during pregnancy.

I can recall seeing my fiancée fighting back the tears as she looked at herself in the mirror. The ravages of chemotherapy can be most unflattering, and she swore and put forth her most valiant effort, as she tried to hide her tears from me, that she would be victorious against leukemia.

Gone was the long flowing hair, the voluptuous physique, the bewitching eyes, and the melodious voice of innocence, and in spite of it all, it was then that the true essence of her beauty was revealed.

“As I reminisce,

The way I often do,

Trying to find the words,

To capture the essence of you,

The way you smile at me,

The way you make me feel,

I still can’t believe,

That this love is real.

You’re beautiful,

In every way,

You’re beautiful,

What more can I say . . .?”

Unlike Ekvall, who had the opportunity to be an advocate and a crusader for breast cancer awareness around the world, for my fiancée, there was only me.

It would take me nearly a decade to find a way to keep my promise of making her death stand for something.

My thoughts are shrouded in what others characterized as an emotional, and compelling novel entitled . . .

“I Apologize”

Graphic pictures from Ekvall’s book, Fuera de Foco (Out of Focus), which chronicled her fight against breast cancer, took me back into my fiancée’s hospital room.

The machinery is the same, the pic line similar, and the effects from the chemotherapy the same, but the one thing that is different, there are no pictures of my fiancée’s battle for the world to see.

Her pictures though, are alive within me . . . the ebullient smile, the vivacious personality, her youthful playfulness, and the last time I saw her, are a vivid part of my memory.

“Pushing the doctor aside, I went into her room. Nothing was wrong, I told myself. I’ll wake her. Take her home. She wouldn’t have given up on us. I don’t care what they said. She would never have left me.

Never!

If one of us had to go, it was supposed to be me. Not you, never one as young as you.

Wake up. Please wake up. Do it for me. Open your eyes. Please open your eyes. Falling on top of her, I cried until no more tears came.

I don’t know how long I stayed. A nurse finally came in. Putting her arms around me, she led me out of the room.”

Bradley Booth/Freelance Commercial Writer/Author

A Matter of Inconvenience . . .

I have a precocious seven-year-old daughter and a one-year-old Papillon. There were a lot of things on my agenda for this Saturday. I had planned on writing a few articles, writing a couple chapters for the novel I am working on, and promote the other one that was already published.

Needless to say my morning was devoted entirely to the things I wanted to get done. My wife on the other hand made plans unbeknownst to me that was completely different from mine.

My daughter had Taekwondo classes, which began at 10:30 a.m. and the puppy had an obedient class, which started promptly at eleven.

No doubt you could sense my frustration, since I felt my wife could have done both of these tasks. I thought of a myriad of excuses I could use, and how much of an inconvenience it would be to have my plans disrupted.

I often teased my wife that writing is not a spectator sport, and that is best done in the solitude of my den. This line of reasoning never sways her to see my point of view, and experience had taught me the futility of trying again.

I was still a bit perturbed when I arrived at my daughter’s class. I had a few minutes to spare and watched as an assistant put the children through their warm up exercises. My mood quickly improved as I noticed the fluidity in my daughter’s movements.

I wish I could have stayed and watched her some more, but I had to get to the puppy’s obedient class. While waiting for that class to commence, I took out my iPad to catch up on the latest news.

What I read had such a profound effect on me, it completely changed the way I will look at minor family annoyances and inconveniences going forward.

Julianne McCrery, 42, of Irving Texas, felt that her six-year-old son was unfit to be raised by anyone else. Although she characterized her son, Camden Hughes, as brilliant and beautiful, McCreary thought the child was a bit of an inconvenience.

Rather than give her son up for adoption, or perhaps another family member, McCreary suffocated him in a New Hampshire motel and left his body covered in a green blanket alongside a dirt road in Maine.

McCrery was sentenced on January 13, to 45 years in prison.

“I am sorry to have caused the intense pain and suffering to my precious son, Camden” McCrery said. “He did nothing whatsoever to deserve that by my hand, and he was not an inconvenience to me.”

Prosecutor’s said that they had evidence to repudiate McCrery’s claims that she had intended to commit a murder/suicide. They asserted that she planned to live her life after she killed her son.

Hughes’ body was found last May, and set off a nationwide attempt to identify him. While the search was underway, McCrery called her son’s school daily and claimed he was absent due to appendicitis.

McCrery told investigators that she knelt on top her son as he laid face-down on the hotel room floor and covered his mouth as he struggled to get free.

“It’s taken a while for my grief to fully unfold,” McCrery said, “but now it is excruciating.”

How could a mother do this to her own son?

I wondered how McCrery family members, especially her other son, on leave from the Navy, felt at the sentencing.

She simply had to reach out to one of them, and this tragic and senseless killing could have been avoided.

As for me, at the conclusion of my puppy’s obedient training, I drove to pick up my daughter from her Taekwondo class.

The way she rushed into my arms to greet me, I knew that I would never consider taking her to class or the little disturbances as she knocked on the door of my den, to be an inconvenience again.

Bradley Booth/Freelance Commercial Writer/Author

Heed This Warning . . .

Men, who frivolously shower women with outpouring words of affection, adoration, and endearment, should desist from such a deceptive practice.

Since women, who are hoodwinked into believing that the pleasing verbiage will lead to commitment and connubial bliss, have resorted to nothing short of murder, when the truth was finally discovered.

Such may have been the case that led to 30-year-old motivational speaker, and entrepreneur, Travis Alexander, being found lying in a pool of blood with his throat slit from ear to ear.

Telltale signs of his relationship with Jodi Arias becoming toxic were in plain sight to see, but infatuated with the beguiling 28-year-old blonde enchantress, Alexander heeded none of them.

Alexander met Arias, an aspiring photographer at a Pre-Paid Legal sales conference in Las Vegas. Although 400 miles separated them, a long distance relationship began to blossom.

They bridged the gap between them via phone calls, text messages, emails, and romantic rendezvous at the home of one of Travis’s closest friends, Chris Hughes and his wife Sky.

Exploratory trips to the Grand Canyon, Sedona, and New Mexico may have strengthened the young woman’s resolve to marry Alexander. This was clearly evident by the inordinate amount of pictures she took of him and of the two of them together.

From what I have been able to glean after carefully studying the photographs of the two of them, the broad smile that overspread Arias’s face, and the contrite expression on his, paint an unmistakable picture that she cared for Alexander more than he did for her.

In fact the only picture where he showed any real emotion, is when he stood next to the statue of Jesus near Amarillo, Texas.

The camera does not lie. It merely reveals what the naked eye is too prejudiced to see.

Perhaps enamored with the thought of being married to an up and coming, and one day famous motivational speaker, blinded Arias into believing that Alexander felt for her, what she obviously felt for him.

A lie cannot stand when the light of truth is shone upon it, nor will deception prevail.

Alexander was searching for something. What the elusive thing was, he may or may not have known, but through his actions, one thing was becoming abundantly clear, Arias was not it.

She suspected and validated through eavesdropping on his private conversations, going through his text messages that he was dating other women throughout their relationship.

Arias knew of his desire to become a Mormon and marry in the temple. So to save her world from being torn apart, she joined Alexander’s church and was baptized.

These attempts proved futile as Alexander kept seeing other women, and eventually the relationship between him and Arias ended.

“Heaven has no rage like love to hatred turned,

Nor hell a fury like a woman scorned.”

Perhaps if Alexander had kept up the façade, he would be alive today.

His jilted lover, who his closest friends admitted was overly possessive, became psychotic and seemed hell-bent on making sure if she couldn’t have him, no one else would.

Arias determined that no distance would separate her from Alexander. Shortly after their breakup, she shocked family and friends by packing all she owned and moving to Mesa, Arizona, just miles from Alexander’s neighborhood.

Such close proximity allowed her to not only spy on Alexander, but to stalk him as well.

Taylor Searle, another close friend, recounts a story in which, he was told by Alexander that he found all four of his tires slashed, as he was spending the night with a new girl he was serious about. The next day he fixed them and hid his car in a more secluded location, only to find that all four had been slashed again.

Was Alexander growing paranoid or did Arias break into his house and steal his journals. He swore she did.

The young lady that Alexander became fond of received cryptic emails, warning that if she slept in the same bed with him or allow him to sleep under the same roof, she was a shameful example to God.

The final straw came, according to a police report, when he found Arias hacking into his Facebook account. He demanded that she stay out of his life forever.

Just as a siren lulls unsuspecting mariners to their doom, Arias through a deception of her own convinced Alexander that she would leave Arizona.

Deceived that this nightmare was finally behind him, Alexander prepared to make 2008 his best year, evident by the affirmations posted on his blog.

What is most perplexing through this entire ordeal is how Arias, who Alexander steadfastly believed:

1. Slit all four of his tires on two separate occasions
2. Broke into his home and stole his journals
3. Hacked into his Facebook Account
4. Broke into the girl’s house, he was now seeing, when both had fallen asleep on an oversized bean bag
5. Sent cryptic emails to his girlfriend, trying to dissuade her from seeing him

How did she ever regain entry into his house, let alone his bed?

The deleted pictures leading up to his death that were recovered by forensic experts, from the camera that Arias tried to wash in the washing machine, showed the two of them in provocative sexual poses.

The last three photographs, taken minutes after the sexual explicit ones, according to police report, depicted a horrific death. A young male was in the shower on his back, in a pool of blood around his neck and shoulder area.

Alexander had been shot in the face. His throat slit from ear to ear. He was also stabbed 27 times.

The coroner findings was that the stab wound to Alexander’s heart proved to be the cause of death.

What was the real motive behind this senseless and gruesome murder?

Did Arias plan a murder suicide?

Was she so insanely jealous that she seduced Alexander, and then took pictures of them together to show to his new girlfriend?

Is her self-defense claim true?

Will the defense try to plant doubt in the jurors’ mind by stating that Alexander was hurting Arias as he tried to retrieve the pictures that would depict him as an adulterer?

The truth may never be known.

Nevertheless this case set to commence on October 17 will garner national attention. Even now the media is stirring up interest in a case that is more than three years old.

Some are unequivocal in Arias’ guilt, while others are inclined and want to believe that someone else did it.

They can’t bring themselves to believe that an ethereal young blonde bombshell, with such an ebullient smile, and who seemingly could have her pick up the pieces of her broken heart, and have any man of her choosing, could easily have slit the throat of the man she loved.

I alluded to why a woman would do such a thing in “I Apologize”, and it is uncanny how life has imitated art.

Another tragic story of love gone awry . . .

“Jodi, you’re my hero.”

“I’m a little bit Jealous of Carruthers”

“You look beautiful in Sepia.”

“Those branches make you look like a hot Medusa.”

“I’d like to take pictures of you in the forest.”

When will men learn the errors of their deceitful ways?

As long as there are young, gullible women, who are taken in by such superfluous flattery, like the ones listed above . . .

Probably never.

Bradley Booth/Freelance Commercial Writer/Author

A Hero Lost, But Not Forgotten . . .

$770, and a cheap wristwatch have deprived Peter Figoski’s four daughters from being with him on Christmas and New Year’s Eve.

The decorated police officer, and devoted father wanted nothing more than to celebrate the coming new year with his daughters. A dream that will go unrealized, and unfilled, largely in part because of the actions of five individuals, and their bungled attempt to rob a marijuana dealer.

Figoski and his partner Glenn Estrada were backing up two other officers responding to a 2 a.m. robbery call at a home located on Pine St., in Cypress Hills, Brooklyn. As the first arriving officers were questioning the pistol-whipped drug dealer, and the two suspects, who had duped them into thinking that they were neighbors trying to help; Lamont Pride, 27, and Kevin Santos, 30, hid in a storage room at the front of the basement.

The officers however became suspicious as Nelson Morales, 27, the purported ringleader and nephew of the landlord, and Ariel Tejada, 22, gave very descriptive details about the weapons used in the assault.

As the officers continued to question the trio, Pride and Santos attempted to flee and ran into in Figoski and Estrada. A deadly scuffle ensued, resulting in Pride shooting Officer Figoski in the face.

Officer Estrada hearing the shot broke off his skirmish with Santos, and chased Pride for two blocks, finally subduing and restraining him with Figoski’s handcuffs. Estrada must be commended for showing extraordinary restraint since it would have been easy to exact vengeance for his wounded partner.

Figoski was taken to Jamaica Medical Center, but died shortly thereafter at 7:17 a.m.

A fifth suspect, Michael Velez, 21, perhaps trying to plant the seeds for his own defense, claimed ignorance in the botched burglary attempt. In a jailhouse interview, Velez, stated he was only doing a favor for a friend, and was surprised and shocked when Pride brandished the 9-mm. Ruger.

He further expressed remorse for slain Officer Figoski, and his family. A somewhat dubious sentiment when Velez, for all intents and purposes was in a position to stop the subsequent events by flagging down a police officer or calling 911 as the other four perpetrators proceeded with the home invasion.

What Velez, did however when the Gold Nissan Maxima he occupied  was blocked by an arriving squad car, slipped unseen from the vehicle and walked casually to a nearby bar. He then phoned for a livery cab and asked to be driven to Queens. Police used surveillance video and tracked down Velez, who was found hiding out at his cousin’s house.

Figoski’s daughters: Christine, 20; Caitlyn, 18; Caroline, 16; Corinne, 14; whom he hoped to shield from the depraved world he worked in, can take solace in the fact their father’s killers were caught and will be brought to justice.

A very small consolation for a death that perhaps could have been avoided if, Judge Evelyn Laporte, had not denied a bail request of $2,500 for Lamont Pride, on an earlier drug bust.

Ironically, the gun that killed Detective Figoski (awarded posthumously) was purchased from Dance’s Sporting Goods, in Colonial Heights, Virginia. 21-years-ago, a stray bullet from a gun purchased from the same store, struck and killed 9-month-old Rayvon Jamison while in his walker.

Overwhelming public support and outpouring affection will enable Figoski’s dream that all of his daughters get  a college education, to reach fruition, through the Peter Figoski’s Scholarship Fund, which has amassed $662,000 to date.

A throng of 20,000 misty-eyed officers, relatives, and friends on 12/19/2011 came to pay their respects for a fallen hero.

In a touching a moment, Figoski’s youngest daughters rested their hands on their father’s casket one last time.

Perhaps summoning strength from their father, who was being hailed and saluted as a hero, and wanting nothing more than to trade the accolades for the chance to spend Christmas and New Year’s Eve with him again.

Bradley Booth/Freelance Commercial Writer/Author

Same Formula . . . Different Outcome.

Although I wrote about this formula before, its destructive power never ceases to amaze me. It does not discriminate. It spins such an intricate web of deceit that it traps not only its victim, but the perpetrator as well.

Once in the tentacles of its malevolent clutches, most fall into an abyss where seemingly, there is no escape. Individuals from all walks of life, economic prowess, upstanding citizens with impeccable reputations, have all fallen victim to this formula’s unceasing calamitous power.

There is nothing new about this formula, D + A = Murder, only the victims it ensnares:

Scott Peterson failed miserably against it. His carnal lust drove him to murder his wife and unborn child.

Sgt. Edgar Patino was engulfed by it. Fear of exposure pushed him to kill, pregnant Spc. Megan Lynn Touma, and leave her decomposing body in a motel bathtub in North Carolina.

What makes the following incident so unique from the others I’ve mentioned is that this time, the deceiver winded up being the victim as well.

Deception:

Steve McNair, often frequented the Dave & Buster on Opry Mills Drive, in Nashville, and authorities believe that is where he might have met Sahel Kazemi, who worked there as a server.

According to Dave & Buster employees, McNair often dined with family and friends whenever he visited the restaurant. Kazemi as described by her general manager, Tony Farahini, was a solid worker, a workaholic with high energy.

Did this attractive, naïve, twenty-year-old woman, imbued with an unbridled spirit capture the attention of McNair?

Based on the events that followed it would appear so.

Adultery:

Kazemi’s neighbors, who knew her as Jenni, said that she had moved in six months ago, and within a couple days of her moving in, McNair showed up.

One neighbor said that McNair was seen so often at Kazemi’s place that he thought the former Tennessee Titans’ quarterback had moved in.

Another said, it was obvious that Kazemi and McNair were dating, and neither was trying to hide it.

Pictures have surfaced over the web showing the two vacationing together.

Murder:

What went wrong to make this high spirited, fun loving young woman, commit the heinous act of shooting McNair as he slept, and then turning the gun on herself?

The week leading up to these shocking events provides at glimpse into Kazemi’s state of mind:

• Kazemi was pulled over for DUI on Thursday, July 2, between 1-1:30 AM. McNair and Vent Gordon (a chef at McNair’s restaurant) was allowed to leave the scene via a taxi.
  Kazemi refused to take a breathalyzer test and claimed she was high not drunk.
• McNair posted her bail later that day.
• Kazemi purchased a semi automatic pistol late Thursday night.
• McNair and Kazemi meet at his condo on Saturday morning.
• Later that afternoon, Kazemi shoots McNair as he slept on the couch before committing suicide.

A classic case of . . . D + A = Murder.

It’s the same old story, boy meets girl, marries girl, and when another catches his eye, tells one of two lies. Either that he’s not married, but as it would appear in the case of McNair,  he duped the unsuspecting woman into believing that he was filing for divorce and would soon be free to marry her.

From all accounts of this incident, Kazemi was in a relationship in which she was not only over head, but lacking the maturity to deal with the prospect that she had been deceived, made irrational decisions, which drove her to commit murder.

Two weeks prior to the murder-suicide, a Decatur resident claimed that Kazemi confided in her about the adulterous affair she was having with McNair.

According to Vera Buckley Mosley, Kazemi shared all the sordid details of how she and McNair met, and how her life was spiraling out of control. Kazemi had also confided to friends that her life wasn’t worth living and she should end it.

Family and friends knew she was dating a married man, but did nothing to dissuade her. Those who claimed to have loved Kazemi should have counseled her, letting her know that the odds were not in her favor that McNair would leave his wife and 4 children for a simple waitress.

McNair, known for his greatness on the football field, and charitable contributions, should have allowed his character and reputation to guide him in staying away from the flirtatious, high spirited young woman.

His legacy is tarnished forever. Some will try to only remember his heroics on the football field. Others for his philanthropic activities. While the rest will only remember him as man who succumbed to the overwhelming deceptive force that eventually cost him his life.

Kazemi wanted nothing more than to be McNair’s wife. Perhaps finally realizing that they wouldn’t be together in life, she planned that they would at least be together in death. According to ballistic evidence, Kazemi shot McNair in the head, twice in the chest and then once again in the head.

It is believed that Kazemi then staged McNair’s body so that she would fall into his lap after she shot herself. Even in death her desire to be with McNair wasn’t fulfilled. Judging by the evidence from the crime scene, it appears that she slid off McNair’s lap and landed at his feet.

How will McNair be remembered by his wife Mechelle?

To get through these harrowing events, Mechelle indicates that she will put her trust in the God.

And what of McNair’s children?

You can use most any measure when you’re speaking of success.

You can measure it in the fancy cars, expensive homes, or dress.

But the measure of your real success,

Is one you cannot spend,

It’s the way your child describes you,

When talking to a friend.

Bradley Booth/Freelance Commercial Writer/Author

 

Why You Should Dig Two Graves Before Embarking On A Quest For Revenge . . .

Enraged with the judge’s decision to award temporary custody of their 4-year-old daughter to her husband, Mazoltuv Borukhova decided to take matters into her own hands.

Daniel Malakov, 34, was gunned down at a playground in Forest Hills, Queens as he took his daughter, Michelle, to meet his estranged wife. Dr. Malakov had won custody of Michelle in a bitter court dispute with his wife, and this was supposed to have been a supervised visit.

Dr. Borukhova, 35, an internist, had done everything possible to poison Michelle against her husband, but the child still seemed happier with him. This coupled with her lack of faith in the court system, may have led her, to have him murdered.

Mikhail Mallayev, 51, (Borukhova’s distant relative), pumped three bullets, at close range, into Malakov as the dentist’s horrified daughter looked on.

The price to settle the caustic custody battle between her and her estranged husband, $20,000. Both Borukhova and her hired gunman have denied any involvement in the October 2007 killing. Yet police didn’t have far to look in determining a motive for Malakov’s murder.

Three days before the shooting, Borukhova had lost custody of Michelle during a court-ordered transfer. Distraught over losing her daughter, Borukhova threatened members of Malakov’s family. When her husband’s uncle, Erza Malakov’s, stated that he would help, and that his nephew, would allow her to see Michelle as part of the visitation agreement.

“I don’t need any help anymore. His days are numbered,” the uncle testified, Borukhova shouted. Everything is decided about him.”

Borukhova’s staunch denial about Malakov’s death began to unravel as she was being questioned by police. Detectives were shocked that although her husband was killed 10-15 feet from her, Borukhova claimed not to have heard the shots or seen the killer.

The EMT who had tried to save Dr. Malakov’s life painted an entirely different picture.

A Reunion for Murder!

In what would seem almost incomprehensible to fathom, a man drove from Garden City, LI to Towson, MA, with his wife and 11-year-old daughter, to visit their 19-year-old, to commit murder.

Police are baffled and neighbors aghast as to what would have led the NY lawyer to kill himself and his entire family.

William and Betty Parente were your typical affluent suburbanite family.  He was a tax and estate planning attorney, and she a stay-at-home-mom, raising two lovely daughters. Stephanie  the eldest, a sophomore at Loyola College in Baltimore, while Catherine was a six-grader at Garden City Middle School.

Police officials hypothesized based on the evidence in the family’s hotel room that it was a murder-suicide. They have been evasive however as to which parent was the perpetrator, only supplying the media with information that none of the apparent victims were shot or stabbed.

What they know so far is that Stephanie had breakfast with her family at the hotel on Sunday morning, return to her dorm room, where she was seen by friends and never returned. Her friends became worried when Stephanie did not return to study for an important exam on Monday, and called the family’s hotel when they couldn’t reach her by cell phone.

Perhaps the only chance to save her and prevent the father from carrying out this dreadful deed was lost, when Parente indicated to the concerned friends that Stephanie was staying with the family.

What went through Parente’s mind as he drove to reunite the family for death?

Family, friends, neighbors, and police officials are left with puzzling questions and seemingly no answers.

As the community of Garden City, LI and the students of Baltimore’s Loyola College try to cope with this senseless tragedy, they would like the answer to only one question . . .why?

Bradley Booth/Freelance Commercial Writer/Author

Is There a Cover-Up in the Death of Khan?

11-year-old Shanno Khan has died, after allegedly being made to stand in the hot sun for more than two hours with a brick on each shoulder.

Although there are conflicting versions as to what led to the corporal punishment of Khan, at the ND Primary School in Narela, North Delhi, one thing is abundantly clear . . . the world’s outrage over this inhumane and barbaric form of discipline and the Delhi Government reluctance to act.

The alleged incident occurred on April 16, when Shanno failed to recite the English alphabet in class. The irate teacher allegedly slammed Shanno’s head against a table and made her stand in the sun for over two hours. She eventually fainted and was found unconscious by her younger sister, who attends the same school.

After being told of the incident by their younger daughter, Khan’s parents rushed Shanno to Maharshi Valmiki Hospital. Shanno’s condition started deteriorating on Thursday afternoon, and she was transferred to the Pediatric ICU of the Lok Nayak Hospital.

Although Renuka Chowdhury, the Union Minister for Women and Child Welfare promised justice would be done, the response of the Delhi Police has been anything but swift. They claimed that they have not received Khan’s autopsy report.

Atul Katiyar, (Outer Delhi) Deputy Police Commissioner stated that police still have not received the report, although senior doctors at Maulana Azad Medical College are emphatic that they conducted the postmortem examination and submitted the report to police on Sunday.

What was the real cause of Khan’s death?

Khan’s parents and New Delhi officials differed on what cause the 11-year-old girl’s death.

The postmortem examination suggest that Khan, who had a history of respiratory illness, developed complications after she was allegedly forced to “sit like a hen” with two bricks atop her shoulders in the hot sun.

The report also intimates that the delay caused by her mother’s attempt, to first ward off evil spirits, which leads senior police officials to believe that may have contributed to Khan’s death.

Khan’s parents however are enraged that no charges have been brought against the teacher, who punished their daughter by having her stand out in the sun.

Why no one intervened as the child’s nose bled, when she vomited, and finally lost consciousness under the weight of bricks on each shoulder in the sweltering heat, is what Khan’s parents would like to know.

Who are we to believe?

“The child was admitted in with severe seizure and her condition further deteriorated before she slipped into a coma. She was shifted in critical condition,” said Dr. KK Deuri, medical superintendent of Maharshi Valmiki Hospital.

Although doctors stated that the cause of death was due to an epileptic attack, which was triggered by the corporal punishment inflicted on Khan by her teacher, no official charges have been brought against Manju (26).

As the events surrounding her death unfold . . . has Shanno Khan’s fate already been decided by New Delhi officials, who would rather let this incident slip quietly out of the public’s consciousness as opposed to excavating the truth, and risks exposing for the world to see, that the barbaric and inhumane tactics used by teachers to discipline their students, is just part of a normal school day.

Bradley Booth/Freelance Commercial Writer/Author