UPDATE: This post has now been edited...sort of. I hope it's easier to read, it's still a doozy though so if you're at work, save it for later. Don't blame me if your boss is standing right behind you, arms crossed and an irritated frown upon his mustachioed face. Don't worry though, there is kindness in his watery blue eyes, and deep down he has a heart of gold, and a bit a of soft spot for you. But still, I wouldn't risk it...
NOTE: my grammar is atrocious, my tense is all over the place, and I am sure there are misspellings from here to Tierra Del Fuego. Please overlook those as best you can because this was hard to remember, and harder to write.
NOTE: my grammar is atrocious, my tense is all over the place, and I am sure there are misspellings from here to Tierra Del Fuego. Please overlook those as best you can because this was hard to remember, and harder to write.
The First Duty of Society is Justice" -Alexander Hamilton (1775-1804)
*dramatic DUN DUN DUN!!! sound effects here*
I was no stranger to jury duty. I had served once before back in 2006ish, and it was a two week doozy of a case. You can read a little about it here. I don't want to go into details, because frankly my stomach still rolls, but this second time around I had a little judicial experience under my metaphorical belt and was slightly excited.
So, I informed my crew at work, arranged for the required coverage, dealt with a few employee emergencies, then come Tuesday morning I put on my Sunday best and off to the courthouse I went.
There were a LOT of people in my group, and it was the second day of jury selection for this particular case. That first day I was there was spent ruling out anyone who couldn't stay for a lengthy trial. (Ours was looking to last 60 business days), and filling out this "massive" questionnaire that started out stating the facts of the case. Questions about our views on the death penalty, our spiritual beliefs, our own run-ins with the law and what have you. There was one question that stumped me though. Something to do with mitigating factors. I honestly wrote that I had no idea what that word meant so I couldn't answer that question. If I had known then what I know now about the term "Mitigating", I would have seen a doctor and obtained a prescription for trazodone, or maybe some horse tranquilizers.
I went back a few days later, and we were all lined up according to our juror number then escorted into the courtroom. We were individually questioned by the defense team, and the state prosecutor. The defendant was there as well. The attorneys had all of our questionnaires from the previous day and started asking us to elaborate or clarify on our answers. The defense attorney went first.
I was surprised to be singled out, as not everyone was. (I later learned that other jurors actually had one on one interviews that lasted for an hour or more). I had made mention that I was Wiccan, and that while I believed in karma, the Law of Arma, etc, I still had a strong conviction that I could be a fair and impartial judge. He kept asking me about my karma, and how it would be affected if I condemned a man to die. I said it wouldn't be my karma that was affected, and that, if the decision was a guilty verdict or death, that it would not have been made with malicious intent towards the defendant. I wouldn't be doing it for personal gain or vindictive reasons. I would have been tasked with deciding the consequences of the defendant's actions. HIS actions, and HIS actions alone laid out his path. During the conversation the defense attorney's manner became condescending and repetitive. He kept asking the same questions over and over again. It offended me, it made me feel defensive. My body language became closed off, and at one point I angled my entire body away from him, (a point later brought to my attention from an interesting source). I may have gotten a little smart alec-y with my answers and at one point, caused the state prosecutor to giggle. The attorney asked me my thoughts on the death penalty, then asked if I COULD in fact be a fair and impartial judge. I said in a clear and serious voice that I absolutely could. I would want all the facts of the case so I could make the most informed choice possible. I also said that, I had a strong moral code*, and that I considered all life precious, and that care must be taken when one must consider taking that life. (okay okay, probably not as eloquent as all that, but I DID use my most formal speech, grown up voice, and cultured words. I was trying to be mature dammit!) I just remember him being very verbally aggressive to me that day. Since I have a tendency to fidget, stammer, stutter, and ramble on when nervous, I tried to keep my answers succinct. I also had to rely on military bearing, a skill which thankfully doesn't leave you once you depart from active service!
He looked at me and said "Does that statement exclude anyone in the courtroom?". I looked right at the defendant, and said "No, it doesn't".
Next was the State Prosecuting Attorney. She once again asked me questions about my spiritual beliefs. Her manner was professional and cordial. Although I was grateful, I didn't want it to seem like I was predisposed to like her better simply because she was much nicer than her defense counterpart, so I relied on as much military bearing as I could muster. I didn't smile. I didn't joke, and I answered as honestly as I could.
Short of perjuring myself I tried what I could to get out of being put on that jury. I mentioned the numerous family members affiliated with the department of corrections, my close friendship with a prosecuting attorney for Maricopa county etc. She finished with me and moved on to the next candidate. Eventually we were released for the day and were to come back in a week for one more meeting.
A lot of people asked me why I didn't lie, fake racism, prejudice, etc., to get dismissed, and I will straight out tell you why. Eighteen years ago, one year before I stood on the yellow footprints at Parris Island, South Carolina and put on a uniform, I stood in a little room somewhere in Downtown Phoenix. In front of an American flag I raised my right hand and swore to uphold the Constitution, and to defend it against its enemies, both foreign and domestic. For a seventeen year old girl, that moment was a milestone in my life. I may not have been the best Marine, and I am sure that there are people who will argue and say I wasn't even a good one, but I took those leadership traits and principles to heart. And I humbly beg your pardon for the upcoming floridity of my words, but Honor, Courage, and Commitment were seared into my very core. I WANTED to be that person that went out and did something good, and just. I WANTED to be thought of as honorable, trustworthy, and responsible. More importantly I WANTED to be honorable, trustworthy, and responsible. In short, I wanted to be the hero.
#Truth #Justice #TheAmericanWay
To knowingly slander my own name and say "Of course he's guilty, he's Mexican!" or "Kill 'em all, the only good convict is a dead one!" was reprehensible to me, and for what? So I wouldn't be selected for jury service? I would never see those people again, yeah I get that, and some people are probably muttering under their breath about they don't care what strangers think about them, but I do. I care about how I am perceived. I joked with my friends and said "I couldn't lie! There was an American flag present!", but deep down the answer, as hokey as it may seem was simply, I didn't want to lie about who I was.
I remember filing into the courtroom for that last time for jury selection. I was towards the end of the line, and steadily counting down as they called out juror numbers. They got to me, with only two more open juror spaces to go, and still quite a handful of candidates in line behind me. My heart was beating, my stomach was cramping, and I thought "there is no way they would have chosen me! look at all the people still behind me!"
When they called my juror number I was both horribly upset, and very excited. At this point the whole case was still an abstract thing. It was something so very interesting to be a part of, and the facts of the case were still cold and distant. The players and incidents involved merely words on paper. It wasn't personal to me yet.
There was a bit of kerfluffle before I made my way to the jury box. An older woman who had been chosen had tripped over something and fell hard on her knee. She got up, embarrassed, said she was fine and limped to her seat. She was dear, sweet thing, but by the third day her knee was so swollen she couldn't get out of bed and was eventually released from service.
The facts of the case are as follows. Brace yourselves, kids. This is going to be a long one. I'm not joking.
On August 3, 2011 shortly after 8pm, a man and woman were shot in the Baskin Robbins parking (right in front) located on the South East Corner of 75th Avenue and Indian School Rd. They were able to identify the shooter by name on the 911 call, and to police officers who arrived on site shortly after. They couple were both taken away via ambulance. The man later died. The woman survived after multiple surgeries and a week spent in ICU. You can see a short video of the original news report here.
What the video got wrong: There were not multiple cars riddled with bullet holes. Trust me on this. TRUST me. I have maps of the parking lot area, and photographs of the cars, buildings, trees, and water mills in question embossed on my visual cortex. DAYS AND DAYS of:
"Sir, is this the parking lot in front of the Baskin Robbins where the shooting took place?"
"Yes",
"And sir, is this the same parking lot but during the day?"
"Yes it is", and
"Sir, is this the same parking lot but from a different angle?"
So on and so forth. Days. DAYS!!! D.A.Y.S
We, all of us, would mentally groan when Madame Prosecuting Attorney would walk up to the judge with a sheaf of photographs numbering 1-126 to be moved into evidence and published to the jury. I thought that would be the most monotonous part of the case. Sadly, we were in for a much bigger, and more mind numbing experience in the form of The Sisters Zambada... but I am getting ahead of myself.
The man was not shot four times. It was later discovered during his autopsy that he had been shot a minimum of EIGHT times, and a maximum of eleven. He was shot in the face, (which lacerated the back of his tongue and was the most prolific bleeding site of all his wounds), his groin, his chest, his hand, and his legs. The woman was shot at least once, and suffered a collapsed lung among other injuries.
What the video didn't tell you: They were able to get out of their car. They were found by police and paramedics facing each other on the ground, holding hands. The male was trying to talk and comfort his girlfriend telling her it was going to be ok while he choked on his own blood and slowly bled out. Also of great interest was the fact that the male victim used to be good friends with the shooter, best friends at one point even. Edgar Sigala and his girlfriend walked into Baskin Robbins that night and stood in line. A second or two later they noticed that Jose was in front of them with two women. Jose turned around, saw them, and after a minute or so walked out and said in passing "I told you I never wanted to fucking see you again, fool".
See, a few years before, Jose was on trial for a criminal offense, and Edgar gave testimony against him that resulted in Jose doing 2.25 years in prison. (At the time we didn't know WHY he was convicted, if it was just for shots fired into the air *something that came out in court thanks to his parents* then WHY did get 2 years in a state prison for that? A lot of us thought this was fishy).
And So It Began...
Opening Arguments. I could go on and on about the emotionally charged words, the flowery dramatic statements, passionate declarations of both guilt and innocence, but really, this post is long enough as it is! It all boiled down to the following.
Prosecution: This is not a "Who Done It!" He Did This!
Defense: This IS a "Who Done It", He Did Not Do This!
We later learned that Edgar tried to go back into the Baskin Robbins for help, but the door was locked and the lights shut off by the frightened teenage workers there that night. We also learned how a good Samaritan from a neighboring shop was one of the few to try and actively help stop the bleeding before police showed up, and took over the 911 call when the original caller became too emotionally over set.
I also realized that some 911 operators are dicks. This was one of the few instances where I had to fight my natural inclination to cry. My eyes teared up, and I made the mistake of looking over to the victim's family members as the entire courtroom listened to the tape. That was a shit morning my friends.
The State's first witness was a high school friend of the accused. She walked in, and you could almost hear the appreciative thoughts of the men in the courtroom. She was petite, pretty, and as we later discovered, had the mouth of Marine straight out of boot camp. I should know. She dropped F-Bombs left and right, and I became aware of something. Every time she cursed, which she did, frequently and with great fervor, there would be a frisson of something tense in the room. When either attorney would quote her there would be a noticeable moment of discomfort, or a stutter in their speech. There we were, in a courtroom, trying a man for murder, and the most uncomfortable part thus far had been the effusive use of the word "Fuck".
Her part in this case? She drove the getaway car.
Sandra Puerta had known Jose Alejandro "Cream aka Cash Rules Everything Around Me" Acuna since high school. They had been friends, and Jose had even dated her best friend, Jasmine, for 4-5 years. The night of the shooting they ran into each other in the parking lot of that strip mall. Jose started out calm, but as the minutes ticked by he became more agitated. He was angry. Sandra, who also knew the male victim, and knew of the female victim had seen them walk into the Baskin Robbins shortly before Jose walked out. Jose eventually said to her "I did time for that fool" or something to that effect. Minuted later Jose was joined by his, and I quote "obviously pregnant girlfriend", her cousin, and possibly a small child. Jose left the ice cream shop after giving his wallet to one of the women to pay before he ran into Sandra outside and they got to talking. A lot of shit talking took place, a lot of "Girl, I got your back" and what have you. Then, they parted company with Sandra getting in one car, and Jose and his family in the other. Before leaving the parking lot Jose flashed his brights at to get Sandra to stop. He jumped out of his car and into hers said something about catching a ride with her, and his girlfriend said, "girl, whatever happens, just drive fast". Jose directed Sandra to drive across the street (75th Ave) and to park facing the Baskin Robbins. They talked about his ex, Jasmine, and stuff for about 15 min while he looked on. Sandra said she started getting a little nervous and kept trying to get Jose to go somewhere else, to just leave the area with her.
She said she finally asked her to drive back across the street, near the taco bell. So, she did, but she turned back into the strip mall to soon and was right in front of the Baskin Robbins. Sandra then said that Jose got out of the car, while it was still moving, and jogged at a crouch towards the couple who had just gotten into their car. Sandra said as soon as she heard gunshots she floored it. She tried to turn right on Indian School road, but hit a For Lease sign. She was waiting for traffic when she said Jose appeared at her side, got in the back seat and told her drive.
She was freaking out, and Jose was telling her "You don't know me, you never fucking saw me". She finally dropped him off somewhere his girlfriend was on her to pick him up from. (Which The State was able to prove Jose called his girlfriend "frantically" in those few minutes he was back in Sandra's car). Sandra then stated she went home, went across the street speak with her friend for a minute, then packed her up her kids, and had her husband drop her off at the Maryvale police station while he drove the car to his parents to drop off the kids. the very same car that was just used in a shooting.
Sandra was eventually taken downtown by detectives to give her story. While there she saw Jose brought in.
After cross examination from the defense which included the question "Would you say your area has a high Mexican population?" A question which caused a few of us jurors to gasp in affront. My first thought was, this mofo better not be trying to lay groundwork for an "It couldn't have been my client, all Mexicans look alike and the witnesses were just probably confused" defense tactic. His attitude became even MORE condescending. He tried to make Sandra come across as an ignorant ghetto tattooed Mexican hood rat. For the record, she was Latina. She was a married mother of three. She had beautiful tattooed sleeves, and he tried to use the fact that because she had multiple tattoos on her arms, liked to use the word "fuck" a lot, and was pretty that she wasn't a credible witness. I was offended. A feeling that stayed with me during my time as a juror and I had to work very hard every time I entered that courtroom to ground any negative energy/feelings I was having towards the defense.
Eventually she had given all the testimony she could, and was dismissed.
Next on the Stand was Perla, the surviving victim. I'm not going to go into as much detail about Perla. That woman, well, she has been through a lot. It just seems kind of intrusive to me now, so I will just give the bare bones of her testimony.
Perla was heard on the 911 tape identifying her shooter by name. Her breathing was labored, she said she was having trouble with it. My first thought was "punctured lung". That was later proved correct. Perla recounted that entire day. She gave details of that evening, of the hours that entering the Baskin Robbins. She told us where she shopped, what she brought, what Edgar's room looked like, conversations with his mother, what they eventually ordered that night, the time of the day, and the weather. Her level of recall, her attention to detail...that played a major part in deliberations.
It was hard to listen to, kids. I'm not going to lie. Yeah, we watch a lot of sad movies in our daily lives with gratuitous violence. You'd think we'd become numb to it. But listening to someone asking for help because they are shot, and the person they love is bleeding out on the sidewalk...well...let's just say that it was a close one. I didn't cry but I think a few others may have become teary eyed, I don't blame them or think less of them one jot. We are only human after all.
The defense had a go at Perla and then she was released. She would come back to the courtroom later on and was there consistently as the trial came to a close. She remained a poised and well spoken witness no matter what tactic the defense tried.
We heard from witness for the state: detectives, coroner's office, crime lab technicians, police officers, investigators, ice cream shop workers, and random bystanders who were there that night. We looked at autopsy pictures, bullet strike trajectories, bullet casings, shells, lead slugs, clothes, parking lot diagrams, and the aforementioned pictures of the crime scene and surrounding parking from every available angle and time of day. We looked at pictures of vehicles, inside and out, pictures of "apparent blood spatter", and god forbid it ever be called just "blood spatter". We listened as the defense repeated his "Mexican population" question a few times before dropping that line of attack all together. We listened as his obviously Latino defendant was white-washed and called "Alex". A name very few people in life, both close and causal, called him by. We heard stories of how the Jose's mother tracked down at least 3 witness from that night, two of them being the 16 yr old girls working in Baskin Robbins the night of the shooting, and went to their homes and/or places of work to ask them questions. Something I later found out she did during his OTHER court cases and run-ins with law as well.
The prosecution was all politeness and comfort. The defense was all douchebaggery and well...defense. A couple of the Latina witnesses (I'm not Mexican, I prefer the term Latina) got a little "zesty" when defense would try to lay "traps" (?) about their neighborhood and subsequent Latino/Hispanic population. Sometimes it was a little irritating. They would have made a better impression had they just stuck to answering the question as swiftly and honestly as they could. When dealing with lawyers it's better to say too little than too much, and ANYTHING can and will be used against you in a court of law.
We listened, and we watched, and we all took notes. So. Many. Notes. We were not allowed to discuss the case at all, not with each other, and of course not outside the court.
#RememberTheAdmonition
We would sit in that jury stand and do our duty, then we would all go home. Several of us would confess the next day that we had cried, had imbibed more than a couple of glasses of wine or beer, or that we had a raging headache. It was hard. As time marched on, that happy go lucky "well isn't this fascinating" attitude began to dwindle as the gravitas of the situation sank in. This wasn't just a random court case. This was someones life on the line. Someone else had DIED. We were given all this heavy information to process and there was no way for us get it off our chest until after the trial. That definitely took its toll on every single one of us.
Finally. FINALLY the prosecution rested. Now it was the defense attorneys' time to shine! To be honest, I don't remember who the first witness was. I don't remember who was last. I know there was a cop or two, that helpful man from the other shop who tried to help, and maybe a crime lab person. My memory was burned out by the vibrant, technicolor clusterfuck that were The Zambada Sisters.
The Z-Sisters took the stand (individually of course).
Let me explain...no, there is too much. Let me sum up. Their combined testimony had more holes than Swiss cheese. First there was one gunman, then there were two. The shooters were sitting on the same side of the car in the same seat. They had tattoos, only one had tattoos. They were not too short, not too tall, not too fat, not too thin, not too dark, not too light. They couldn't remember time of day, if the sun was up, setting, or down. Their time lines didn't even match each other's. Their stories didn't jive about the altercation in the Baskin Robbins between the handsome man (Jose, the defendant), and the angry man...
"Objection your honor!*
who was looking for a fight...
"Objection! Judge may we approach?!"
"No".
They claimed to have witnessed the shooting, but could only give vague details about the location, the clothing worn by "both" shooters, how when the police got there they were told to go away but they got mixed up over who was driving, who was in the passenger seat, who was reading a magazine while eating their ice cream, who went outside to watch the handsome man, who carried the ice cream out, etc.
Then on their way to an appointment to look at a rental house when they were pulled over by at least seven cop cars, and there was even a helicopter flying overhead. They don't know why they were pulled over. The cops let them go despite having no valid license, or no identification period. And when they were asked questions to recall a particular matter, or narrow down time lines, or any question that required any thought at all, their answer was "I don't recall/I don't remember". I think I still mumble "no recuerdo" in my sleep from time to time.
They eventually made it to the rental house and more superfluous details were hurled at us. To be honest, I had stopped taking notes by this point. I was done. Their testimony was crap. Utter and complete crap.
Now picture if you will this examination. Each sister took 2 days on the stand. Go back up and reread about them. Are you imagining it? Good. Now imagine it like this:
Attorney: *Asks question*
Courtroom Translator: *whispers question in Spanish for gallery*
Witness Translator: *Asks question in Spanish*
Witness: *Answers question in Spanish* (except when they knew enough English to answer it before it was properly translated thereby forcing the attorney repeatedly to tell them to wait for the official translation for judicial reasons)
Witness Translator: *Translates question into English*
Courtroom Translator: *Whispers English translation back into Spanish for gallery*
I. Wanted. To. Stab. Out. My. Eyeballs. And also perforate my eardrums.
Eventually, the defense rested, and the townspeople cheered. HUZZAH!
The State then got to call rebuttal witnesses. So, we heard from a helicopter pilot who flew that night, we heard about the weather, flying conditions. I think we heard from a couple more detectives, and we heard from Perla again who was brought in to clarify some matters the defense witnesses mentioned. This lasted a couple of days or so, and then the state rested.
The defense gave their closing arguments, one of which was, (and I'm paraphrasing here), yeah, the Zambada sisters weren't the sharpest tools in the shed, but...". I about lost my shit. Did he just throw his own witnesses under the bus? Are you freaking kidding me? Practically his ENTIRE defense was that this case "WAS a whodunnit!" It was a tragedy that two people were shot, and one died. It was a horrible thing. He wasn't going to deny it, but the shooter was not his client, and yet he just threw his weakest, but most important witnesses under the bus. He brought up Sandra Puerta, and her penchant for tattoos, her fidgeting on the stand, her removal of jacket, her putting up her hair and taking it down, etc. He brought up the supposed lack of care and attention to detail by the crime lab, by the detectives, by the police officers.
Defense: why didn't you test the gun casings for DNA?
Crime Tech: because DNA on a gun casing would more than likely be the victims. we pulled the slugs of his body.
Defense: but you will never know for certain if you don't test!!! Laziness! my client was wronged!
Dude, I could go on and on about this alone!). They waxed poetic on the shortcomings of the Phoenix Police Department and how they didn't even try because his client had already been arrested.
Let me be frank for a minute. The defense team (and there were two of them, one seemingly more personable than the other), did a crap job. Their arguments were weak, their choice of witnesses poor, the attempts to confuse and misdirect obvious, and their people skills non-existent. I was ANGRY at them. They were failing their client. We were told before the start of the case that the State had the burden of proof. The defense DIDN'T have to put their client on the stand, and they DIDN'T have to provide evidence, or witnesses, or anything. So what little attempt they made was piss poor in quality.
The State Prosecutor gave her closing arguments as well, and while she wasn't as grating on the nerves as her counterpart, she was still a fount of passionate drama, and used buzzwords like "Murderer"
"Objection! Judge, may we approach?"
"No"
It was an impassioned plea for a guilty verdict.
#Truth #Justice #TheAmericanWay
It was almost amusing. Almost. I dislike manipulation of any sort, especially possible emotional manipulation. I get what they were trying to do. I really do. They want us to make a logical decision, but they want to influence that decision with emotional thinking. I would have been a LOT happier had they both skipped the dramatics and just gave me the facts. Quite of a few of my fellow jurors felt the same.
Once both sides had their say we began jury deliberations on guilt or innocence.
We sat in that jury room for at least 20 minutes just word vomiting our feelings about the Zambada sisters. FINALLY! We were able to talk about them! Then we got down the nitty gritty. A few of looked at a couple documents we had questions about. Then we all took turns stating our views without saying one way or another where stood. Then, we took a vote. 11-1 Guilty. After minor incident of hurt feelings, we all took a step back and began to calmly discuss the matter again. The one person said there were just a couple of matters she was unclear on and was more than happy to discuss and was open to changing her mind. So, we talked some more, and something someone said made sense to her so we re-voted. 12-0 Guilty. This took less than an hour. We broke for lunch to think about our decision. When we came back we alerted the Bailiff.
Within 30 minutes we were back in the courtroom. Jose's family had either left for the day, or were not able to make it back in time to hear the verdict. Most of the victim's family were there. I was sick to my stomach. Don't get me wrong, I still stand by my decision to this day, but no one should hear that verdict without their loved ones present. I may be a bitch sometimes, but I'm not a monster.
When he was pronounced guilty, Jose stood up, and had come around to the front of the desk before the guard realized what was happening and went to stop him. There was an extra officer in the back who had started to rush forwards as well. Jose was stopped with a hand to his chest, but it was a few tense seconds before his attorneys and the officers convinced him to peacefully return to his seat. Understandably, quite a few of the jurors were upset, discombobulated, and just plain frightened.
We don't know what his motivation was. We don't know what he was thinking, but that little incident was an unwelcome juror experience that ended the first phase of the trial.
Immediately we were taken back into the courtroom to deliberate again. This time on whether or not there were aggravating factors of the case that warranted the death penalty. Let me be clear, we weren't sentencing him yet. Just decided on if the death penalty would be an option at the sentencing phase. This was an unpleasant surprise. I personally felt like I needed time to process what just happened in rendering the verdict, but time and tide wait for no man, and everyone is entitled to a speedy trial.
After much deliberation that still felt like mere seconds, and following the letter of the law, we found two aggravating factors. We returned to the courtroom and rendered our verdict. Thus ended the second phase of the trial.
The third phase, was the mitigating phase. This basically was that one side would show proof of any factors that would give the weight of a life sentence, while the other side would show proof of any factors that would give the weight of death.
That was it's own brand of fresh hell. First, we heard impact statements read by the deceased victim's family. We were shown pictures of his family, of him smiling and happy, of he and his girlfriend. They stood before us, with their typed letters, and told us of Edgar. Of how well he was loved, and how much he was missed. His parents, who had been in the courtroom every day, did not get up to read, but instead had their son read their statements. It was heartbreaking. His mother spoke of her loss of the will to live, and you could see it. In the pictures she was a large woman, smiling and happy surrounded by her children and grandchildren. In the courtroom she was a shell, an empty husk. She had no expression except sadness. She was thin and frail. Her letter spoke of how every day is a struggle, and how, if she could, she would take her life, but that her faith doesn't permit and that her family needs her. Three years have passed since her son's murder and it still feels as if it had happened yesterday. Out of the 12 juror's only four of us did not openly sob in that box that day. It was close. I felt I couldn't, and still remain fair and impartial. I wanted to though. I wanted to cry and tell them that I was sorry for their loss. As a human being I wanted to comfort. As Juror #16 I just sat there, steely eyed, and with clenched jaw, rapidly blinking away any trace of wetness. *I don't intend this as a slight to my other juror's. They were fantastic, and it was a testament to how much they cared about human life that they were crying*.
Next came the defendant's family. We heard from aunts, uncles, mother and father, grandparents (most of it tediously painful and all in Spanish and requiring translators. See above scenario regarding translation and Zambada sisters) about how Jose was a good boy, hardworking, loved school, played little league, sold chorizo door to door as a child, grew into a fine young man, took care of his girlfriend and her mom, gave money to the church etc. We heard from his brothers who told of how he taught them to read, do math, speak English, gave their basketball team money, bought everyone new shoes, worked non-stop, got good grades.
The Grades. Holy Mother of God, let me tell you about his grades.
We spent, and I kid you not, nearly A WEEK, going over his school grades. We heard report card comments from his teachers, we heard grades by semester. His entire school history was printed out and put in a binder for us to review. HUGE deals were made about his semester of perfect attendance, and his semester of honor roll. Why? Because they were trying to minimize the damage from the fact that he was in trouble with law from a young age, had been expelled from the Phoenix High School School District (Trevor Brown) for having a gun on campus. (A fact his mother wouldn't admit for days until finally she relented). He was then sent to West Phoenix where had graduated from. That incident was adjudicated in juvie court and life went on for his family without the more distant relations knowing any details about anything negative that occurred.
The worst part of all this? This was done from with witness stand. The defense attorneys asked questions. This meant that the prosecution could cross examine them. We began to see patterns emerging. Of course the witnesses were going to paint glowing pictures of the defendant. His life was literally on the line, and he was genuinely loved by his family. Slowly, and bit by bit we began to see holes. Dates didn't match up with certain alleged facts. There were a couple of times where the story told just seemed completely implausible. When questioned by prosecution the standard refrain became "I don't know" or "I don't remember". They were avoidant and a couple of times were called out by the judge for being non-responsive. It was all horrible.
#NoRecuerdo
We heard from his best female friend, whom said she spent all the time when he wasn't at school, or working with him. They were best friends, never anything more. She knew OF his girlfriend, but they never hung out.
We heard from his girlfriend at the time, who said she spent all the time he wasn't working or in school with him. They were together 24/7. When asked if she knew about his female best friend and what she had stated, you could see her face fall. She said she didn't know of her. We heard how it took them nearly a year to get her to come in and prepare her testimony. She missed scheduled interviews, went on vacation to California, was a single parent, was always working, she "had a new life now".
When his parents were on the stand, sometimes they wouldn't answer the question asked, they would blurt out what they wanted us to hear, like how the 2007 shooting was only shots fired into the air. That's how we heard about the fact that his previous criminal case. There were objections to that and the judge even got a little perturbed with them. That 2007 conviction is what took away Jose's right to own, possess, touch, look at, think about, or even smell a firearm taken away. Yup, he was a prohibited possessor at the time of the murder.
We were given a list of 16 items, or mitigating factors, to take into consideration. Obviously I can't remember them all, but some of them were: He worked hard from a young age, he bought his girlfriend everything she needed, and even paid rent for her mom once or twice or five or six times, he loaned his friend, Edgar Sigala 1200 to buy a car, he was an active member of his church, and donated money frequently, he once surprised his mom by hiring a mariachi band for her birthday, gave his stepdaughter a fairytale princess birthday party complete with cake and bouncy house, was a patron for multiple quinceaneras, and he reacted like a 22 year old man full of pride and anger.
Excuse me? Let me say again.
He. Reacted. Like. A. 22. Year. Old. Man.
Did you just essentially tell me that "boys will be boys"?
We saw over 100 pictures of his life as a child, and everyone talked about how he always gave presents at birthdays, and holidays, how he loved his girlfriend's daughter as if she were his own, how he loved his own daughter. That, despite, his trouble with the gun at school, and subsequent prison sentence, he was surrounded by a large, loving, close family, who had always managed to give their children what was needed, and even a few extras now and then (organized sports etc). They talked about his behavior in prison and how he sought out (the first time he was there) classes on anger management and conflict resolution. How he took similar correspondence courses when he got out because he wanted to change.
Mitigating testimony was finished, and we had actually hit the date when the trial was supposed to be over, but weren't done yet due to other factors. (The "other factors" being that the defense attorney Tom Glow had a 2 week vacation scheduled). The court was recessed for three weeks. We would come back, hear closing arguments, and then do our final deliberation.
When we came back to court, a small group of jurors started to have issues with family members of the defendant approaching them, or yelling abuse at them from across/down the street. We started to have armed escorts when we left the jury room, and even had police escorts while on the bus to the juror garage. One family member (an aunt, maybe?) was kicked out of the jury room for yelling something in Spanish the day we recessed. She was not seen back. (Coincidentally: She and I took the same light rail to the same station one day. She didn't interact with me in any way, but I later found out, that she had with other jurors who were walking in a group). I later found out that there were undercover officers stationed around us, as well as the uniformed deputies. The security officers down in the front lobby were put on alert as well. Apparently, The State Prosecutor had trouble with the defendant's family members before and she had lobbied throughout the case for more protection for the jury.
Our first day back we heard from a couple more witnesses, closing arguments from the defense, and then closing arguments from the state. It was more impassioned words, and gestures (prosecution) and reading of the grades (defense).
That's it. That was basically their closing arguments. The elementary and high school grades of a 26 year old convicted killer. They hoped that his grades and his obvious love for and by his family were enough to grant "leniency" and give him life in prison with possibility of parole.
During the state's turn, it got rowdy. The defense team was seemingly objecting to every other word, throwing out phrases like "Proctorial Misconduct" and showing more emotion than I had ever seen them show. I'm pretty sure they said something about an insult to the constitution at one point. The judge, who's ability to stifle his eye-roll is almost as good as mine (which is to say, yeah, he's not that good at not rolling his eyes), FINALLY told him that A) it was not misconduct, B) the objection was overruled and C) only one attorney can make the objections, not both of you so decide who it is and shut the hell up
After the defense gave that lackluster speech, and the state gave their rousing call to arms, the defense got to get back up there one more time and plead for the life of their client. He said how since this was his last chance to talk to us, he was going to use up the rest of the day and then finish up tomorrow. He said that he was sorry, but he was going to take his time. The judge interrupted him and said, "no, you will finish today"
#TheTownspeopleCheeredMentally
The defense attorney was less than pleased, but managed to get out everything he wanted to say by around 5pm. Finally, he rest. rested. The townspeople were too heartsick over their burden to cheer.
We solemnly walked back into the jury deliberation room, and started out with a vote to see where we all stood.
8-4 in favor of death.
Next we all went round and for 5 min spoke about our views on the case. No interruptions. We spoke about his crime, his ability for rehabilitation, the need for mercy and compassion. We spoke about a lot of things. We gave insights from our own lives, the quality of the mitigating circumstances vs. the aggravating factors. we spoke for 3-4 hours. Some cried. Some still left that day undecided. We recessed for a long weekend, for everyone to think about the case, their views, and to do what they felt best, what they felt was just. There was no pressure to vote either way (and the whole thing was done with sensitivity and caring. Personal Note: those are some of the best damn people I have had the honor to meet).
That night, I went home, and was sick. My stomach was a mess.
The next time we met, we started off with a few brief minutes of talking about the case. One juror was already in tears and just wanted to get on with voting, and I didn't (and still don't) blame her.
So we did.
When we had the verdict, we alerted the bailiff, who alerted the judge. We then had about 2.5 hours to wait while they informed the family, the attorney's, etc and waited for everyone to get there.
We were brought in and sat down. Only then did they allow the victim's family to enter, followed by the defendant's family,and lastly followed by about 4-5 extra armed deputies.
The judge reminded the courtroom that their best behavior was expected and required no matter the outcome of the verdict, and drew their attention to the officers in the back.
The verdict was read.
The were was a gasp from the families and to be honest I don't know which side it was on, or if it was both. The judge immediately had us escorted out of the courtroom, after polling us on by one (Juror #16 is this your vote: Yes) despite the defense attorney trying to get his attention so we would stay.
The judge came in a few minutes later and spoke with us about the case, before thanking us and letting us go.
We had armed deputies waiting to escort us down, and were taken out through a side way and made to wait in a secured hallway until the juror bus arrived. When it did, other juror's who were waiting outside, we told to make a hole and stand by. Only then were escorted and immediately put on that bus. As I was getting on, and ignoring the pointed comments from other juror groups (wow, some people are special #snark), I saw a large gathering the defendant's family outside the front of the doors we normally come out of, and watched as they made their way towards the steps that lead down to the juror garage bus stop area...where we were. They didn't come much closer though. A few minutes later we left, and I started to shake.
Normally I would have taken the light rail home, but one of the juror's who was going my way, gave me a lift to the Mesa station where my bestie was going to meet me. Just to be on the safe side.
I spoke with a friend of mine, the same said prosecuting attorney I informed the court about at the start of the juror process, and finally got to talk to her about the case. She told me that shortly after informing the court about her, she received a call from the Prosecuting Attorney for my case. After verifying that it was ok to speak with her about the whole thing, my friend was asked questions about my spirituality, was told about the case in general, how I impressed the attorney with my answers, and how if the defense would have have been paying attention they wouldn't have chosen me. My friend said that one point when questioned I briskly angled my body away from the defense attorney. This was noticed by the prosecutor. My entire body apparently screamed "Get away douche bag". My friend said to the state prosecutor that I was sensitive to people's energy and probably reacted instinctively. The state prosecutor also mentioned that she did some research on my spirituality so she could understand it better and basically thought I was awesome, and was really hoping I got put on the jury. Wow. ok. They've spoken with each other several times during the course of the trial, and my friend was made to promise that she would bring me buy to speak with the prosecutor and grab some lunch.
This case...this case has been a roller coaster from the very start. It was as exciting as I assumed it would be, and I hope to whatever deity you believe in that I never have to sit through anything like that again.
My heart broke for the family of the victims. Not for just the obvious loss of life, but for the potential OF that life. My heart broke for the survivors, for his father, for his mother, and for his girlfriend. I know the grief of losing a loved one "before their time".
But you know what? My heart broke for the family of the defendant as well. He was a son, a father, a brother, an uncle, a grandson. He was an adorable toddler. He was a typical kid. He is so loved by lots of people has been his whole life. He was given a good education, always food on the table and money in his pocket, and a mother who would do anything for him come hell or high water, even if it was borderline illegal/creepy.
That last part, may have been his downfall because along with all that other stuff, he also never had any accountability for his actions. Every instance of misconduct or law breaking was brushed aside or buried, or kept from other family members. He was covered for, lied for, and protected. Two years in prison didn't help or teach him the error of his ways.
Jose Alejandro Acuna was convicted on four counts: First Degree Premeditated Murder, First Degree Premeditated Attempted Murder, Shots Fired at a Structure, and Being a Prohibited Possessor.
He was sentenced to death for the murder of Edgar Sigala.
I stand by my decision. I feel that I followed the letter of the law. A decision was asked of me, and justice was served, but don't think for one minuted I came out of that courtroom unchanged. Something the defense said DID make an impact on me. In his opening statements he said "For most of your, barring combat service, this will be the closest you ever get to taking a life". They day the verdict was read, I went home, looked into my bathroom mirror and said out loud "Today I helped kill a man".
I cried. Then I wiped my face, blew my nose, and went out to celebrate my daughter's 16th birthday because my children come first. I had to tell myself that even though I made that decision to end his life, I did not put Jose on the path that led him to that courtroom. I may have signed his death warrant, but he pulled the trigger.
**UPDATE*** 10-26-24
Just when you thought this monstrosity of a post was over, here are a few more links for your edification.
This Just Affected Me
Updated List of Arizona Inmates on Death Row
Appeal for 2007 Felony Conviction Filed in 2009
I went back a few days later, and we were all lined up according to our juror number then escorted into the courtroom. We were individually questioned by the defense team, and the state prosecutor. The defendant was there as well. The attorneys had all of our questionnaires from the previous day and started asking us to elaborate or clarify on our answers. The defense attorney went first.
I was surprised to be singled out, as not everyone was. (I later learned that other jurors actually had one on one interviews that lasted for an hour or more). I had made mention that I was Wiccan, and that while I believed in karma, the Law of Arma, etc, I still had a strong conviction that I could be a fair and impartial judge. He kept asking me about my karma, and how it would be affected if I condemned a man to die. I said it wouldn't be my karma that was affected, and that, if the decision was a guilty verdict or death, that it would not have been made with malicious intent towards the defendant. I wouldn't be doing it for personal gain or vindictive reasons. I would have been tasked with deciding the consequences of the defendant's actions. HIS actions, and HIS actions alone laid out his path. During the conversation the defense attorney's manner became condescending and repetitive. He kept asking the same questions over and over again. It offended me, it made me feel defensive. My body language became closed off, and at one point I angled my entire body away from him, (a point later brought to my attention from an interesting source). I may have gotten a little smart alec-y with my answers and at one point, caused the state prosecutor to giggle. The attorney asked me my thoughts on the death penalty, then asked if I COULD in fact be a fair and impartial judge. I said in a clear and serious voice that I absolutely could. I would want all the facts of the case so I could make the most informed choice possible. I also said that, I had a strong moral code*, and that I considered all life precious, and that care must be taken when one must consider taking that life. (okay okay, probably not as eloquent as all that, but I DID use my most formal speech, grown up voice, and cultured words. I was trying to be mature dammit!) I just remember him being very verbally aggressive to me that day. Since I have a tendency to fidget, stammer, stutter, and ramble on when nervous, I tried to keep my answers succinct. I also had to rely on military bearing, a skill which thankfully doesn't leave you once you depart from active service!
He looked at me and said "Does that statement exclude anyone in the courtroom?". I looked right at the defendant, and said "No, it doesn't".
Fun fact: the phrase "Strong moral compass/moral code" made repeat appearances uttered by both defense and prosecution (mostly defense), and I had to stop myself from inappropriate giggling when it was used. Why would I giggle? Because I literally had just read that phrase in a slash Sherlock fanfic the previous day and felt it applied to my view of myself.
Short of perjuring myself I tried what I could to get out of being put on that jury. I mentioned the numerous family members affiliated with the department of corrections, my close friendship with a prosecuting attorney for Maricopa county etc. She finished with me and moved on to the next candidate. Eventually we were released for the day and were to come back in a week for one more meeting.
A lot of people asked me why I didn't lie, fake racism, prejudice, etc., to get dismissed, and I will straight out tell you why. Eighteen years ago, one year before I stood on the yellow footprints at Parris Island, South Carolina and put on a uniform, I stood in a little room somewhere in Downtown Phoenix. In front of an American flag I raised my right hand and swore to uphold the Constitution, and to defend it against its enemies, both foreign and domestic. For a seventeen year old girl, that moment was a milestone in my life. I may not have been the best Marine, and I am sure that there are people who will argue and say I wasn't even a good one, but I took those leadership traits and principles to heart. And I humbly beg your pardon for the upcoming floridity of my words, but Honor, Courage, and Commitment were seared into my very core. I WANTED to be that person that went out and did something good, and just. I WANTED to be thought of as honorable, trustworthy, and responsible. More importantly I WANTED to be honorable, trustworthy, and responsible. In short, I wanted to be the hero.
#Truth #Justice #TheAmericanWay
To knowingly slander my own name and say "Of course he's guilty, he's Mexican!" or "Kill 'em all, the only good convict is a dead one!" was reprehensible to me, and for what? So I wouldn't be selected for jury service? I would never see those people again, yeah I get that, and some people are probably muttering under their breath about they don't care what strangers think about them, but I do. I care about how I am perceived. I joked with my friends and said "I couldn't lie! There was an American flag present!", but deep down the answer, as hokey as it may seem was simply, I didn't want to lie about who I was.
I remember filing into the courtroom for that last time for jury selection. I was towards the end of the line, and steadily counting down as they called out juror numbers. They got to me, with only two more open juror spaces to go, and still quite a handful of candidates in line behind me. My heart was beating, my stomach was cramping, and I thought "there is no way they would have chosen me! look at all the people still behind me!"
When they called my juror number I was both horribly upset, and very excited. At this point the whole case was still an abstract thing. It was something so very interesting to be a part of, and the facts of the case were still cold and distant. The players and incidents involved merely words on paper. It wasn't personal to me yet.
There was a bit of kerfluffle before I made my way to the jury box. An older woman who had been chosen had tripped over something and fell hard on her knee. She got up, embarrassed, said she was fine and limped to her seat. She was dear, sweet thing, but by the third day her knee was so swollen she couldn't get out of bed and was eventually released from service.
The facts of the case are as follows. Brace yourselves, kids. This is going to be a long one. I'm not joking.
On August 3, 2011 shortly after 8pm, a man and woman were shot in the Baskin Robbins parking (right in front) located on the South East Corner of 75th Avenue and Indian School Rd. They were able to identify the shooter by name on the 911 call, and to police officers who arrived on site shortly after. They couple were both taken away via ambulance. The man later died. The woman survived after multiple surgeries and a week spent in ICU. You can see a short video of the original news report here.
Interesting fact: I am actually familiar with that strip mall. My recruiting office used to be located on the NWC of that intersection. I used to live on Indian School and 83rd Ave (down the road a ways). There is a roller skating rink within a stones throw across the street that I used to skate at. There used to be a pizza place located there that I used to shoot pool at as a teenager. I've ordered food from that Church's Chicken and have driven past there more times than I can shake a stick at (Although why I would be shaking sticks in the first place is weird. I blame the 90s.).
What the video got wrong: There were not multiple cars riddled with bullet holes. Trust me on this. TRUST me. I have maps of the parking lot area, and photographs of the cars, buildings, trees, and water mills in question embossed on my visual cortex. DAYS AND DAYS of:
"Sir, is this the parking lot in front of the Baskin Robbins where the shooting took place?"
"Yes",
"And sir, is this the same parking lot but during the day?"
"Yes it is", and
"Sir, is this the same parking lot but from a different angle?"
So on and so forth. Days. DAYS!!! D.A.Y.S
We, all of us, would mentally groan when Madame Prosecuting Attorney would walk up to the judge with a sheaf of photographs numbering 1-126 to be moved into evidence and published to the jury. I thought that would be the most monotonous part of the case. Sadly, we were in for a much bigger, and more mind numbing experience in the form of The Sisters Zambada... but I am getting ahead of myself.
The man was not shot four times. It was later discovered during his autopsy that he had been shot a minimum of EIGHT times, and a maximum of eleven. He was shot in the face, (which lacerated the back of his tongue and was the most prolific bleeding site of all his wounds), his groin, his chest, his hand, and his legs. The woman was shot at least once, and suffered a collapsed lung among other injuries.
What the video didn't tell you: They were able to get out of their car. They were found by police and paramedics facing each other on the ground, holding hands. The male was trying to talk and comfort his girlfriend telling her it was going to be ok while he choked on his own blood and slowly bled out. Also of great interest was the fact that the male victim used to be good friends with the shooter, best friends at one point even. Edgar Sigala and his girlfriend walked into Baskin Robbins that night and stood in line. A second or two later they noticed that Jose was in front of them with two women. Jose turned around, saw them, and after a minute or so walked out and said in passing "I told you I never wanted to fucking see you again, fool".
See, a few years before, Jose was on trial for a criminal offense, and Edgar gave testimony against him that resulted in Jose doing 2.25 years in prison. (At the time we didn't know WHY he was convicted, if it was just for shots fired into the air *something that came out in court thanks to his parents* then WHY did get 2 years in a state prison for that? A lot of us thought this was fishy).
And So It Began...
Opening Arguments. I could go on and on about the emotionally charged words, the flowery dramatic statements, passionate declarations of both guilt and innocence, but really, this post is long enough as it is! It all boiled down to the following.
Prosecution: This is not a "Who Done It!" He Did This!
Defense: This IS a "Who Done It", He Did Not Do This!
We later learned that Edgar tried to go back into the Baskin Robbins for help, but the door was locked and the lights shut off by the frightened teenage workers there that night. We also learned how a good Samaritan from a neighboring shop was one of the few to try and actively help stop the bleeding before police showed up, and took over the 911 call when the original caller became too emotionally over set.
I also realized that some 911 operators are dicks. This was one of the few instances where I had to fight my natural inclination to cry. My eyes teared up, and I made the mistake of looking over to the victim's family members as the entire courtroom listened to the tape. That was a shit morning my friends.
The State's first witness was a high school friend of the accused. She walked in, and you could almost hear the appreciative thoughts of the men in the courtroom. She was petite, pretty, and as we later discovered, had the mouth of Marine straight out of boot camp. I should know. She dropped F-Bombs left and right, and I became aware of something. Every time she cursed, which she did, frequently and with great fervor, there would be a frisson of something tense in the room. When either attorney would quote her there would be a noticeable moment of discomfort, or a stutter in their speech. There we were, in a courtroom, trying a man for murder, and the most uncomfortable part thus far had been the effusive use of the word "Fuck".
Her part in this case? She drove the getaway car.
Sandra Puerta had known Jose Alejandro "Cream aka Cash Rules Everything Around Me" Acuna since high school. They had been friends, and Jose had even dated her best friend, Jasmine, for 4-5 years. The night of the shooting they ran into each other in the parking lot of that strip mall. Jose started out calm, but as the minutes ticked by he became more agitated. He was angry. Sandra, who also knew the male victim, and knew of the female victim had seen them walk into the Baskin Robbins shortly before Jose walked out. Jose eventually said to her "I did time for that fool" or something to that effect. Minuted later Jose was joined by his, and I quote "obviously pregnant girlfriend", her cousin, and possibly a small child. Jose left the ice cream shop after giving his wallet to one of the women to pay before he ran into Sandra outside and they got to talking. A lot of shit talking took place, a lot of "Girl, I got your back" and what have you. Then, they parted company with Sandra getting in one car, and Jose and his family in the other. Before leaving the parking lot Jose flashed his brights at to get Sandra to stop. He jumped out of his car and into hers said something about catching a ride with her, and his girlfriend said, "girl, whatever happens, just drive fast". Jose directed Sandra to drive across the street (75th Ave) and to park facing the Baskin Robbins. They talked about his ex, Jasmine, and stuff for about 15 min while he looked on. Sandra said she started getting a little nervous and kept trying to get Jose to go somewhere else, to just leave the area with her.
She said she finally asked her to drive back across the street, near the taco bell. So, she did, but she turned back into the strip mall to soon and was right in front of the Baskin Robbins. Sandra then said that Jose got out of the car, while it was still moving, and jogged at a crouch towards the couple who had just gotten into their car. Sandra said as soon as she heard gunshots she floored it. She tried to turn right on Indian School road, but hit a For Lease sign. She was waiting for traffic when she said Jose appeared at her side, got in the back seat and told her drive.
She was freaking out, and Jose was telling her "You don't know me, you never fucking saw me". She finally dropped him off somewhere his girlfriend was on her to pick him up from. (Which The State was able to prove Jose called his girlfriend "frantically" in those few minutes he was back in Sandra's car). Sandra then stated she went home, went across the street speak with her friend for a minute, then packed her up her kids, and had her husband drop her off at the Maryvale police station while he drove the car to his parents to drop off the kids. the very same car that was just used in a shooting.
Fun Fact: Did you know that forensics has this handy dandy machine that extracts call information and texts from your phone? Even if it's dead? Fascinating.
Sandra was eventually taken downtown by detectives to give her story. While there she saw Jose brought in.
After cross examination from the defense which included the question "Would you say your area has a high Mexican population?" A question which caused a few of us jurors to gasp in affront. My first thought was, this mofo better not be trying to lay groundwork for an "It couldn't have been my client, all Mexicans look alike and the witnesses were just probably confused" defense tactic. His attitude became even MORE condescending. He tried to make Sandra come across as an ignorant ghetto tattooed Mexican hood rat. For the record, she was Latina. She was a married mother of three. She had beautiful tattooed sleeves, and he tried to use the fact that because she had multiple tattoos on her arms, liked to use the word "fuck" a lot, and was pretty that she wasn't a credible witness. I was offended. A feeling that stayed with me during my time as a juror and I had to work very hard every time I entered that courtroom to ground any negative energy/feelings I was having towards the defense.
Eventually she had given all the testimony she could, and was dismissed.
Next on the Stand was Perla, the surviving victim. I'm not going to go into as much detail about Perla. That woman, well, she has been through a lot. It just seems kind of intrusive to me now, so I will just give the bare bones of her testimony.
Perla was heard on the 911 tape identifying her shooter by name. Her breathing was labored, she said she was having trouble with it. My first thought was "punctured lung". That was later proved correct. Perla recounted that entire day. She gave details of that evening, of the hours that entering the Baskin Robbins. She told us where she shopped, what she brought, what Edgar's room looked like, conversations with his mother, what they eventually ordered that night, the time of the day, and the weather. Her level of recall, her attention to detail...that played a major part in deliberations.
Note: we were told MANY times to pay attention to that kind of stuff, to use the markers for truth telling that are used in our daily lives. WE had the power to chose what testimony had merit and what didn't, and there were witnesses from BOTH sides that we disregarded part, and in two cases, the MAJORITY of their testimony.
The defense had a go at Perla and then she was released. She would come back to the courtroom later on and was there consistently as the trial came to a close. She remained a poised and well spoken witness no matter what tactic the defense tried.
We heard from witness for the state: detectives, coroner's office, crime lab technicians, police officers, investigators, ice cream shop workers, and random bystanders who were there that night. We looked at autopsy pictures, bullet strike trajectories, bullet casings, shells, lead slugs, clothes, parking lot diagrams, and the aforementioned pictures of the crime scene and surrounding parking from every available angle and time of day. We looked at pictures of vehicles, inside and out, pictures of "apparent blood spatter", and god forbid it ever be called just "blood spatter". We listened as the defense repeated his "Mexican population" question a few times before dropping that line of attack all together. We listened as his obviously Latino defendant was white-washed and called "Alex". A name very few people in life, both close and causal, called him by. We heard stories of how the Jose's mother tracked down at least 3 witness from that night, two of them being the 16 yr old girls working in Baskin Robbins the night of the shooting, and went to their homes and/or places of work to ask them questions. Something I later found out she did during his OTHER court cases and run-ins with law as well.
The prosecution was all politeness and comfort. The defense was all douchebaggery and well...defense. A couple of the Latina witnesses (I'm not Mexican, I prefer the term Latina) got a little "zesty" when defense would try to lay "traps" (?) about their neighborhood and subsequent Latino/Hispanic population. Sometimes it was a little irritating. They would have made a better impression had they just stuck to answering the question as swiftly and honestly as they could. When dealing with lawyers it's better to say too little than too much, and ANYTHING can and will be used against you in a court of law.
We listened, and we watched, and we all took notes. So. Many. Notes. We were not allowed to discuss the case at all, not with each other, and of course not outside the court.
#RememberTheAdmonition
We would sit in that jury stand and do our duty, then we would all go home. Several of us would confess the next day that we had cried, had imbibed more than a couple of glasses of wine or beer, or that we had a raging headache. It was hard. As time marched on, that happy go lucky "well isn't this fascinating" attitude began to dwindle as the gravitas of the situation sank in. This wasn't just a random court case. This was someones life on the line. Someone else had DIED. We were given all this heavy information to process and there was no way for us get it off our chest until after the trial. That definitely took its toll on every single one of us.
Finally. FINALLY the prosecution rested. Now it was the defense attorneys' time to shine! To be honest, I don't remember who the first witness was. I don't remember who was last. I know there was a cop or two, that helpful man from the other shop who tried to help, and maybe a crime lab person. My memory was burned out by the vibrant, technicolor clusterfuck that were The Zambada Sisters.
It was a dark and stormy night, but not too dark, or not too stormy...you know...normal
-The Zambada Sisters (probably, I wouldn't put it past them)
The Z-Sisters took the stand (individually of course).
Let me explain...no, there is too much. Let me sum up. Their combined testimony had more holes than Swiss cheese. First there was one gunman, then there were two. The shooters were sitting on the same side of the car in the same seat. They had tattoos, only one had tattoos. They were not too short, not too tall, not too fat, not too thin, not too dark, not too light. They couldn't remember time of day, if the sun was up, setting, or down. Their time lines didn't even match each other's. Their stories didn't jive about the altercation in the Baskin Robbins between the handsome man (Jose, the defendant), and the angry man...
"Objection your honor!*
who was looking for a fight...
"Objection! Judge may we approach?!"
"No".
They claimed to have witnessed the shooting, but could only give vague details about the location, the clothing worn by "both" shooters, how when the police got there they were told to go away but they got mixed up over who was driving, who was in the passenger seat, who was reading a magazine while eating their ice cream, who went outside to watch the handsome man, who carried the ice cream out, etc.
Then on their way to an appointment to look at a rental house when they were pulled over by at least seven cop cars, and there was even a helicopter flying overhead. They don't know why they were pulled over. The cops let them go despite having no valid license, or no identification period. And when they were asked questions to recall a particular matter, or narrow down time lines, or any question that required any thought at all, their answer was "I don't recall/I don't remember". I think I still mumble "no recuerdo" in my sleep from time to time.
They eventually made it to the rental house and more superfluous details were hurled at us. To be honest, I had stopped taking notes by this point. I was done. Their testimony was crap. Utter and complete crap.
Now picture if you will this examination. Each sister took 2 days on the stand. Go back up and reread about them. Are you imagining it? Good. Now imagine it like this:
Attorney: *Asks question*
Courtroom Translator: *whispers question in Spanish for gallery*
Witness Translator: *Asks question in Spanish*
Witness: *Answers question in Spanish* (except when they knew enough English to answer it before it was properly translated thereby forcing the attorney repeatedly to tell them to wait for the official translation for judicial reasons)
Witness Translator: *Translates question into English*
Courtroom Translator: *Whispers English translation back into Spanish for gallery*
I. Wanted. To. Stab. Out. My. Eyeballs. And also perforate my eardrums.
Note of interest: the Zambada sisters eventually moved into that rental house, and one of them befriended the lady who lived next door to them with her husband, three sons (one of which had been arrested for murder recently), and one of the son's pregnant girlfriend...
Eventually, the defense rested, and the townspeople cheered. HUZZAH!
The State then got to call rebuttal witnesses. So, we heard from a helicopter pilot who flew that night, we heard about the weather, flying conditions. I think we heard from a couple more detectives, and we heard from Perla again who was brought in to clarify some matters the defense witnesses mentioned. This lasted a couple of days or so, and then the state rested.
The defense gave their closing arguments, one of which was, (and I'm paraphrasing here), yeah, the Zambada sisters weren't the sharpest tools in the shed, but...". I about lost my shit. Did he just throw his own witnesses under the bus? Are you freaking kidding me? Practically his ENTIRE defense was that this case "WAS a whodunnit!" It was a tragedy that two people were shot, and one died. It was a horrible thing. He wasn't going to deny it, but the shooter was not his client, and yet he just threw his weakest, but most important witnesses under the bus. He brought up Sandra Puerta, and her penchant for tattoos, her fidgeting on the stand, her removal of jacket, her putting up her hair and taking it down, etc. He brought up the supposed lack of care and attention to detail by the crime lab, by the detectives, by the police officers.
Defense: why didn't you test the gun casings for DNA?
Crime Tech: because DNA on a gun casing would more than likely be the victims. we pulled the slugs of his body.
Defense: but you will never know for certain if you don't test!!! Laziness! my client was wronged!
Dude, I could go on and on about this alone!). They waxed poetic on the shortcomings of the Phoenix Police Department and how they didn't even try because his client had already been arrested.
Let me be frank for a minute. The defense team (and there were two of them, one seemingly more personable than the other), did a crap job. Their arguments were weak, their choice of witnesses poor, the attempts to confuse and misdirect obvious, and their people skills non-existent. I was ANGRY at them. They were failing their client. We were told before the start of the case that the State had the burden of proof. The defense DIDN'T have to put their client on the stand, and they DIDN'T have to provide evidence, or witnesses, or anything. So what little attempt they made was piss poor in quality.
The State Prosecutor gave her closing arguments as well, and while she wasn't as grating on the nerves as her counterpart, she was still a fount of passionate drama, and used buzzwords like "Murderer"
"Objection! Judge, may we approach?"
"No"
It was an impassioned plea for a guilty verdict.
#Truth #Justice #TheAmericanWay
It was almost amusing. Almost. I dislike manipulation of any sort, especially possible emotional manipulation. I get what they were trying to do. I really do. They want us to make a logical decision, but they want to influence that decision with emotional thinking. I would have been a LOT happier had they both skipped the dramatics and just gave me the facts. Quite of a few of my fellow jurors felt the same.
Once both sides had their say we began jury deliberations on guilt or innocence.
We sat in that jury room for at least 20 minutes just word vomiting our feelings about the Zambada sisters. FINALLY! We were able to talk about them! Then we got down the nitty gritty. A few of looked at a couple documents we had questions about. Then we all took turns stating our views without saying one way or another where stood. Then, we took a vote. 11-1 Guilty. After minor incident of hurt feelings, we all took a step back and began to calmly discuss the matter again. The one person said there were just a couple of matters she was unclear on and was more than happy to discuss and was open to changing her mind. So, we talked some more, and something someone said made sense to her so we re-voted. 12-0 Guilty. This took less than an hour. We broke for lunch to think about our decision. When we came back we alerted the Bailiff.
Within 30 minutes we were back in the courtroom. Jose's family had either left for the day, or were not able to make it back in time to hear the verdict. Most of the victim's family were there. I was sick to my stomach. Don't get me wrong, I still stand by my decision to this day, but no one should hear that verdict without their loved ones present. I may be a bitch sometimes, but I'm not a monster.
When he was pronounced guilty, Jose stood up, and had come around to the front of the desk before the guard realized what was happening and went to stop him. There was an extra officer in the back who had started to rush forwards as well. Jose was stopped with a hand to his chest, but it was a few tense seconds before his attorneys and the officers convinced him to peacefully return to his seat. Understandably, quite a few of the jurors were upset, discombobulated, and just plain frightened.
We don't know what his motivation was. We don't know what he was thinking, but that little incident was an unwelcome juror experience that ended the first phase of the trial.
Immediately we were taken back into the courtroom to deliberate again. This time on whether or not there were aggravating factors of the case that warranted the death penalty. Let me be clear, we weren't sentencing him yet. Just decided on if the death penalty would be an option at the sentencing phase. This was an unpleasant surprise. I personally felt like I needed time to process what just happened in rendering the verdict, but time and tide wait for no man, and everyone is entitled to a speedy trial.
After much deliberation that still felt like mere seconds, and following the letter of the law, we found two aggravating factors. We returned to the courtroom and rendered our verdict. Thus ended the second phase of the trial.
The third phase, was the mitigating phase. This basically was that one side would show proof of any factors that would give the weight of a life sentence, while the other side would show proof of any factors that would give the weight of death.
That was it's own brand of fresh hell. First, we heard impact statements read by the deceased victim's family. We were shown pictures of his family, of him smiling and happy, of he and his girlfriend. They stood before us, with their typed letters, and told us of Edgar. Of how well he was loved, and how much he was missed. His parents, who had been in the courtroom every day, did not get up to read, but instead had their son read their statements. It was heartbreaking. His mother spoke of her loss of the will to live, and you could see it. In the pictures she was a large woman, smiling and happy surrounded by her children and grandchildren. In the courtroom she was a shell, an empty husk. She had no expression except sadness. She was thin and frail. Her letter spoke of how every day is a struggle, and how, if she could, she would take her life, but that her faith doesn't permit and that her family needs her. Three years have passed since her son's murder and it still feels as if it had happened yesterday. Out of the 12 juror's only four of us did not openly sob in that box that day. It was close. I felt I couldn't, and still remain fair and impartial. I wanted to though. I wanted to cry and tell them that I was sorry for their loss. As a human being I wanted to comfort. As Juror #16 I just sat there, steely eyed, and with clenched jaw, rapidly blinking away any trace of wetness. *I don't intend this as a slight to my other juror's. They were fantastic, and it was a testament to how much they cared about human life that they were crying*.
Next came the defendant's family. We heard from aunts, uncles, mother and father, grandparents (most of it tediously painful and all in Spanish and requiring translators. See above scenario regarding translation and Zambada sisters) about how Jose was a good boy, hardworking, loved school, played little league, sold chorizo door to door as a child, grew into a fine young man, took care of his girlfriend and her mom, gave money to the church etc. We heard from his brothers who told of how he taught them to read, do math, speak English, gave their basketball team money, bought everyone new shoes, worked non-stop, got good grades.
The Grades. Holy Mother of God, let me tell you about his grades.
We spent, and I kid you not, nearly A WEEK, going over his school grades. We heard report card comments from his teachers, we heard grades by semester. His entire school history was printed out and put in a binder for us to review. HUGE deals were made about his semester of perfect attendance, and his semester of honor roll. Why? Because they were trying to minimize the damage from the fact that he was in trouble with law from a young age, had been expelled from the Phoenix High School School District (Trevor Brown) for having a gun on campus. (A fact his mother wouldn't admit for days until finally she relented). He was then sent to West Phoenix where had graduated from. That incident was adjudicated in juvie court and life went on for his family without the more distant relations knowing any details about anything negative that occurred.
The worst part of all this? This was done from with witness stand. The defense attorneys asked questions. This meant that the prosecution could cross examine them. We began to see patterns emerging. Of course the witnesses were going to paint glowing pictures of the defendant. His life was literally on the line, and he was genuinely loved by his family. Slowly, and bit by bit we began to see holes. Dates didn't match up with certain alleged facts. There were a couple of times where the story told just seemed completely implausible. When questioned by prosecution the standard refrain became "I don't know" or "I don't remember". They were avoidant and a couple of times were called out by the judge for being non-responsive. It was all horrible.
#NoRecuerdo
We heard from his best female friend, whom said she spent all the time when he wasn't at school, or working with him. They were best friends, never anything more. She knew OF his girlfriend, but they never hung out.
We heard from his girlfriend at the time, who said she spent all the time he wasn't working or in school with him. They were together 24/7. When asked if she knew about his female best friend and what she had stated, you could see her face fall. She said she didn't know of her. We heard how it took them nearly a year to get her to come in and prepare her testimony. She missed scheduled interviews, went on vacation to California, was a single parent, was always working, she "had a new life now".
When his parents were on the stand, sometimes they wouldn't answer the question asked, they would blurt out what they wanted us to hear, like how the 2007 shooting was only shots fired into the air. That's how we heard about the fact that his previous criminal case. There were objections to that and the judge even got a little perturbed with them. That 2007 conviction is what took away Jose's right to own, possess, touch, look at, think about, or even smell a firearm taken away. Yup, he was a prohibited possessor at the time of the murder.
We were given a list of 16 items, or mitigating factors, to take into consideration. Obviously I can't remember them all, but some of them were: He worked hard from a young age, he bought his girlfriend everything she needed, and even paid rent for her mom once or twice or five or six times, he loaned his friend, Edgar Sigala 1200 to buy a car, he was an active member of his church, and donated money frequently, he once surprised his mom by hiring a mariachi band for her birthday, gave his stepdaughter a fairytale princess birthday party complete with cake and bouncy house, was a patron for multiple quinceaneras, and he reacted like a 22 year old man full of pride and anger.
Excuse me? Let me say again.
He. Reacted. Like. A. 22. Year. Old. Man.
Did you just essentially tell me that "boys will be boys"?
We saw over 100 pictures of his life as a child, and everyone talked about how he always gave presents at birthdays, and holidays, how he loved his girlfriend's daughter as if she were his own, how he loved his own daughter. That, despite, his trouble with the gun at school, and subsequent prison sentence, he was surrounded by a large, loving, close family, who had always managed to give their children what was needed, and even a few extras now and then (organized sports etc). They talked about his behavior in prison and how he sought out (the first time he was there) classes on anger management and conflict resolution. How he took similar correspondence courses when he got out because he wanted to change.
FYI: We read the DOC documents. Those were a condition of his release. Not a choice he made of his own free will.
Mitigating testimony was finished, and we had actually hit the date when the trial was supposed to be over, but weren't done yet due to other factors. (The "other factors" being that the defense attorney Tom Glow had a 2 week vacation scheduled). The court was recessed for three weeks. We would come back, hear closing arguments, and then do our final deliberation.
When we came back to court, a small group of jurors started to have issues with family members of the defendant approaching them, or yelling abuse at them from across/down the street. We started to have armed escorts when we left the jury room, and even had police escorts while on the bus to the juror garage. One family member (an aunt, maybe?) was kicked out of the jury room for yelling something in Spanish the day we recessed. She was not seen back. (Coincidentally: She and I took the same light rail to the same station one day. She didn't interact with me in any way, but I later found out, that she had with other jurors who were walking in a group). I later found out that there were undercover officers stationed around us, as well as the uniformed deputies. The security officers down in the front lobby were put on alert as well. Apparently, The State Prosecutor had trouble with the defendant's family members before and she had lobbied throughout the case for more protection for the jury.
Our first day back we heard from a couple more witnesses, closing arguments from the defense, and then closing arguments from the state. It was more impassioned words, and gestures (prosecution) and reading of the grades (defense).
That's it. That was basically their closing arguments. The elementary and high school grades of a 26 year old convicted killer. They hoped that his grades and his obvious love for and by his family were enough to grant "leniency" and give him life in prison with possibility of parole.
During the state's turn, it got rowdy. The defense team was seemingly objecting to every other word, throwing out phrases like "Proctorial Misconduct" and showing more emotion than I had ever seen them show. I'm pretty sure they said something about an insult to the constitution at one point. The judge, who's ability to stifle his eye-roll is almost as good as mine (which is to say, yeah, he's not that good at not rolling his eyes), FINALLY told him that A) it was not misconduct, B) the objection was overruled and C) only one attorney can make the objections, not both of you so decide who it is and shut the hell up
*note, that last bit was what I inferred*
After the defense gave that lackluster speech, and the state gave their rousing call to arms, the defense got to get back up there one more time and plead for the life of their client. He said how since this was his last chance to talk to us, he was going to use up the rest of the day and then finish up tomorrow. He said that he was sorry, but he was going to take his time. The judge interrupted him and said, "no, you will finish today"
#TheTownspeopleCheeredMentally
The defense attorney was less than pleased, but managed to get out everything he wanted to say by around 5pm. Finally, he rest. rested. The townspeople were too heartsick over their burden to cheer.
We solemnly walked back into the jury deliberation room, and started out with a vote to see where we all stood.
8-4 in favor of death.
Next we all went round and for 5 min spoke about our views on the case. No interruptions. We spoke about his crime, his ability for rehabilitation, the need for mercy and compassion. We spoke about a lot of things. We gave insights from our own lives, the quality of the mitigating circumstances vs. the aggravating factors. we spoke for 3-4 hours. Some cried. Some still left that day undecided. We recessed for a long weekend, for everyone to think about the case, their views, and to do what they felt best, what they felt was just. There was no pressure to vote either way (and the whole thing was done with sensitivity and caring. Personal Note: those are some of the best damn people I have had the honor to meet).
That night, I went home, and was sick. My stomach was a mess.
The next time we met, we started off with a few brief minutes of talking about the case. One juror was already in tears and just wanted to get on with voting, and I didn't (and still don't) blame her.
So we did.
When we had the verdict, we alerted the bailiff, who alerted the judge. We then had about 2.5 hours to wait while they informed the family, the attorney's, etc and waited for everyone to get there.
We were brought in and sat down. Only then did they allow the victim's family to enter, followed by the defendant's family,and lastly followed by about 4-5 extra armed deputies.
The judge reminded the courtroom that their best behavior was expected and required no matter the outcome of the verdict, and drew their attention to the officers in the back.
The verdict was read.
The were was a gasp from the families and to be honest I don't know which side it was on, or if it was both. The judge immediately had us escorted out of the courtroom, after polling us on by one (Juror #16 is this your vote: Yes) despite the defense attorney trying to get his attention so we would stay.
The judge came in a few minutes later and spoke with us about the case, before thanking us and letting us go.
We had armed deputies waiting to escort us down, and were taken out through a side way and made to wait in a secured hallway until the juror bus arrived. When it did, other juror's who were waiting outside, we told to make a hole and stand by. Only then were escorted and immediately put on that bus. As I was getting on, and ignoring the pointed comments from other juror groups (wow, some people are special #snark), I saw a large gathering the defendant's family outside the front of the doors we normally come out of, and watched as they made their way towards the steps that lead down to the juror garage bus stop area...where we were. They didn't come much closer though. A few minutes later we left, and I started to shake.
Normally I would have taken the light rail home, but one of the juror's who was going my way, gave me a lift to the Mesa station where my bestie was going to meet me. Just to be on the safe side.
I spoke with a friend of mine, the same said prosecuting attorney I informed the court about at the start of the juror process, and finally got to talk to her about the case. She told me that shortly after informing the court about her, she received a call from the Prosecuting Attorney for my case. After verifying that it was ok to speak with her about the whole thing, my friend was asked questions about my spirituality, was told about the case in general, how I impressed the attorney with my answers, and how if the defense would have have been paying attention they wouldn't have chosen me. My friend said that one point when questioned I briskly angled my body away from the defense attorney. This was noticed by the prosecutor. My entire body apparently screamed "Get away douche bag". My friend said to the state prosecutor that I was sensitive to people's energy and probably reacted instinctively. The state prosecutor also mentioned that she did some research on my spirituality so she could understand it better and basically thought I was awesome, and was really hoping I got put on the jury. Wow. ok. They've spoken with each other several times during the course of the trial, and my friend was made to promise that she would bring me buy to speak with the prosecutor and grab some lunch.
10/26/14: Update: I did indeed meet with Ms. Larish over a couple of beers and got to hear some interesting facts about the case, as well as some other stuff she has worked on in the past. It was very illuminating.
My heart broke for the family of the victims. Not for just the obvious loss of life, but for the potential OF that life. My heart broke for the survivors, for his father, for his mother, and for his girlfriend. I know the grief of losing a loved one "before their time".
But you know what? My heart broke for the family of the defendant as well. He was a son, a father, a brother, an uncle, a grandson. He was an adorable toddler. He was a typical kid. He is so loved by lots of people has been his whole life. He was given a good education, always food on the table and money in his pocket, and a mother who would do anything for him come hell or high water, even if it was borderline illegal/creepy.
That last part, may have been his downfall because along with all that other stuff, he also never had any accountability for his actions. Every instance of misconduct or law breaking was brushed aside or buried, or kept from other family members. He was covered for, lied for, and protected. Two years in prison didn't help or teach him the error of his ways.
Jose Alejandro Acuna was convicted on four counts: First Degree Premeditated Murder, First Degree Premeditated Attempted Murder, Shots Fired at a Structure, and Being a Prohibited Possessor.
He was sentenced to death for the murder of Edgar Sigala.
"Every life is precious, and one must take care when making the decision to take that life."
-Me
I stand by my decision. I feel that I followed the letter of the law. A decision was asked of me, and justice was served, but don't think for one minuted I came out of that courtroom unchanged. Something the defense said DID make an impact on me. In his opening statements he said "For most of your, barring combat service, this will be the closest you ever get to taking a life". They day the verdict was read, I went home, looked into my bathroom mirror and said out loud "Today I helped kill a man".
I cried. Then I wiped my face, blew my nose, and went out to celebrate my daughter's 16th birthday because my children come first. I had to tell myself that even though I made that decision to end his life, I did not put Jose on the path that led him to that courtroom. I may have signed his death warrant, but he pulled the trigger.
**UPDATE*** 10-26-24
Just when you thought this monstrosity of a post was over, here are a few more links for your edification.
This Just Affected Me
Updated List of Arizona Inmates on Death Row
Appeal for 2007 Felony Conviction Filed in 2009
Wow, that was intense, and I understand much better now why you have been battling sickness and migraines. But I will say this: if someone I knew was a victim or perpetrator in a serious trial, I would welcome you on the jury. Good job, Erica.someone had do to it, and you performed honestly.
ReplyDeleteThank you sandy. This was definitely an experience and none of us left it without being changed in some small way
DeleteWoah. I stumbled across this and it's incredible. What an absurd thing to have to take part in. Thank you for your jury service and for chronicling it in this fashion.
ReplyDeleteOn behalf of our family. THANK YOU and everyone else in helping to bring justice for my brother, Its sad to see how much this has affected everyone involved and not only family. Once again thank you!
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ReplyDeleteSo I don't understand taking a life for another life is right ? Will it bring Edgar back? Will it help edgars family piece back together their heart ...I know how it feels to lose a loved one by murder I know what it feels like to feel empty I've lost a brother ... I believe it's pure selfishness and evil for one's family to want the others family to live with such emptiness and hopelessness it's spiteful this acunas family doesnt deserve that..no one does ...if Jose really did this to Edgar then giving him life atleast would seem to be fine he's the one who would have to live everyday of his life locked away he has to live with what he allegedly did to Edgar and his family...I feel strong being a long time friend with brother Edgar and Jose I am stuck in my mind both of their smiles and how loving Edgar was and how loving Jose is...still i feel the wrong decision was made ...I don't need two childhood friends gone ! Touchy subject but what makes it right to murder Jose? When it was wrong to murder Edgar? System makes no sence and their is no justice in this in my opinion!...how would it make anyone feel Better that Jose is dead? How is that okay
ReplyDeletehttps://en.m.wikipedia.org/wiki/Murder
ReplyDeleteMurder is the killing of another human being without justification or valid excuse, and it is especially the unlawful killing of another human being with malice aforethought.[1][2][3] This state of mind may, depending upon the jurisdiction, distinguish murder from other forms of unlawful homicide, such as manslaughter.
I'm assuming, Jessica, you meant to post that anonymously. You've used the word "murder" twice. You correctly used it once.
I understand this is a polarizing subject. People feel strongly about their loved ones. As they should.
But you were not in that jury. I don't even think you were in the courtroom for every minute testimony.
This was the hardest decision we ever had to make. Period. We didn't make it lightly.
letgetitright or other known as Denia Arzaga Santillanes, it is quite obvious that only a person like yourself would make such comment and try to remain unknown when you've continue to brag to people and on social media that you were "great friends" with both Jose and Edgar, yet to some people you tell Edgar was "like your brother" and to others you tell Jose was "your ex boyfriend", however were you ever present at the funeral or court? I didn't think so. You've not changed much since childhood, you only try to get some kind of attention or validation. Your argument is weak and contradicting as well as hypocritical, it's also not supported by the rest of your posts about seeking justice for "your loved ones" yet state that Edgar's family are being selfish and evil to seek what is their right of justice for taking Edgars life who was not doing anything wrong. Now you also state that the acunas family doesn't deserve that, and they don't, no family does on neither side, however if you are such good friends with both sides as you claim then I'll assume you know Jose's murder history as well as how everyone else does. Please enlighten me as to how Jose did not deserve what he seek for himself after he had many chances to change and yet he continued to make the same unlawful choices, how is he not deserving of punishment. To be clear you were not "close friends" of neither if not you were not even recognized on neither side out of the bunch, therefore you wouldn't know if the right or wrong decision was made if you are clearly not even aware of the details. Although, I'm sure Jose's family is suffering, Edgar's family is suffering as well and that doesn't make them evil. As a matter of fact, the only evil person in the story and quite obvious was Jose which is why he is where he is and which it also makes you evil for trying to excuse that murdering someone in a heinous and cruel way should be pardoned yet claiming to be "like a sister" of Edgar. System does make sense, you must pay for what you do, the system, Edgar's family, the jurors, nor the judge made this decision for Jose, Jose choose this for himself. Justice is Justice and Justice is served. I'm sure if someone murdered you child you would also seek justice, or you would seek justice when it's only convenient for you?
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