I hate it when I get like this. It's nothing I can define outside of "uninspired." Even that isn't entirely true. The best word is "blank." I am 100% blank right now. It's one of those times where just about nothing sounds like fun and all my normal distractions (movies, books, poker, music, etc) lose their luster way too quickly.

If I were to write right now, it would be about the following things.

Sixty seconds away from my brother's house in the tony community of Kirkwood, Missouri, a guy walked in to a city council meeting and started killing peoople. Before he was done, he had shot seven people, killing two police officers, as well as some city council members and other members of city government. A reporter and the mayor of the city were also shot. At the very same time this was happening, a sugar refinery not too far from here in Savannah, Georgia blew up. At the time, the casualty numbers seemed astounding. I started flipping between every major cable news network. Here's a rundown of what they were showing:

FOX News: Britney Spears coverage
CNN: Britney Spears coverage
MSNBC: A pre-packaged hour-long bio on Hillary Clinton (funny enough, the DirecTV guide showed the program listing as "The Mind of Manson.")

I mean...come on.

I'm not a big Phish disciple, but I found this article absolutely fascinating. Probably something about being an aging husband and father with a wild and crazy history. Via Coventry.

My friend E asked me to write a guest post for her professional blog. She's a political reporter out of Austin who is getting ready to see the onslaught of national media and candidates in Texas. She asked for some advice she can pass along to her colleagues. My only regret is the censors cut out the only really funny thing I put in there. It involved the word genitalia. Regardless, you can find it HERE

Finally...the other day, I was perusing plastic surgery websites in preparation for a rant about the industry. I came across a doctor who specialized in...wait for it...vaginal reconstruction. I suppose I should've assumed there would be such an area of expertise. I didn't realize, however, how popular a surgery it is. Among the specialities within the specialties is labiaplasty. I'll admit, I looked at pictures, because...well, really, who doesn't want to see before and after images? Let me warn you. This is absolutely Not Safe For Work. Do not open this link if anyone else is around. I feel a little weird linking it at all. However, science is involved and I think we can all stand a little enlightenment. NSFW.

Yeah...let that carry you through the weekend.

Labels: Crime, Health, Music, TV News

It's been nearly three months since Greenville County's top lawman said what most people already suspected:

"Amanda Smith is responsible for the death of her son."

With those words, Sheriff Steve Loftis prepared the community for what is sure to be an exceptionally long and drawn-out legal battle. The process begins this week.

Wednesday, Solicitor Bob Ariail and his team of prosecutors will go before Greenville County's top magistrate, Diane Cagle, and lay out the evidence against Amanda Smith. Or, in reality, Ariail will lay out just enough evidence to convince Cagle to bind the case over for trial.

It is, in short, more ceremony than battle. I have watched more preliminary hearings than I can even remember, a majority of them in front of Cagle. Never has there ever been a question whether a case of this magnitude would go to trial. It's just gotta be done.

The reality of this week's proceedings is that the public will get its first taste of Amanda Smith, defendant. We will also get a chance to hear the basic outline of Ariail's case.

I always loved prelims because they were usually short, but chocked full of information. I had been looking forward to this one for two months. Alas, this hearing is happening on a day I'm going to be on the road. I cannot cancel this trip and will have to rely on the good folks at Greenville Online to get my fix.

Ariail, to the best of my knowledge, has yet to announce whether he intends to seek the death penalty against Smith. I would still bet he does not, but Ariail has surprised me before. Regardless, the trial itself is probably still a good year away.

I remain disappointed I can't be in court on Wednesday. If any of you good e-mail buddies hear anything before I do, shoot me a note.

Previous Coverage:

Reading between the lines of Devon Epps' death
Devon Epps, Amanda Smith and the difficulties of reporting crime news
Devon Epps: Scene of the Crime?
Rapid Eye Reality coverage of Epps case makes it to print
Devon Epps: Waiting
Devon Epps: Pictures
The Missing Memorial Page
On Being Devon Epps' Mom
Amanda Smith arrested in death of son Devon Epps

Labels: Amanda Smith, Crime, Devon Epps

The arrest of Gary Michael Hilton for the alleged murder of Georgia hiker Meredith Emerson should not have brought back any memories for me. However, now that investigators are connecting Hilton to the murder of North Carolina hiker Irene Bryant and the disappearance of her husband John, people are starting to use words "serial killer." The talk only gets more pointed when investigators continue to list Hilton as the primary suspect in the death of Cheryl Dunlap in Florida.

If you draw a line from northeast Georgia where Emerson died to Transylvania County, NC where the Irene Bryant died, you are going to cross a place called Table Rock in Pickens County, South Carolina. Though it's not yet being reported in the national press, investigators in Pickens County are doing preliminary work to see if Hilton might have had any role in the disappearance of Jason Knapp in 1998.

Knapp, at the time a student at Clemson University, was a model student and member of the Air Force ROTC. He disappeared in April 1998. Investigators found Knapp's car, a Chevy Beretta, at Table Rock State Park. Table Rock is a popular hiking and outdoor area in Upstate South Carolina. It has a number of interconnected trails, a couple of which reach to the top of Table Rock.

Despite massive search parties and an exhaustive investigation, no one ever found Knapp or his remains. Everyone has been left to assume he either fell off one of a bluff or, worse, ran into a drifter the likes of Gary Hilton. It's impossible to say. From the perspective of a clumsy writer who has hiked the Table Rock summit, it would be very easy to fall. If one were alone, there would be no calling for help, especially in 1998 when cell phones were a little less common.

Still, because of Knapp's disappearance and several unsolved murders and disappearances around the same time, investigators in Pickens and Oconee Counties (the two counties on either side of Clemson University) have never let go of the idea that Knapp might have been the victim of a killer. To wit:

In 1992, Norsaadah Husain was stabbed in a Cleamson-area laundry, kidnapped, killed, and later dumped in a forest within a half-hour's drive of Table Rock. No one ever found in the killer.

Brooke Holsonback was found murdered in Lake Hartwell near Clemson University in February 1997. Though the case has focused largely on two of her male schoolmates, the case remains unsolved.

Sheila Carver disappeared in June 1998 from the same area and was never found.

Add to that Knapp's disappearance in April 1998 and you have...what? Well, you have a bunch of cases in a two-county area that remain cold 10-15 years later. Because each of the cases is so dissimilar, investigators long ago gave up on the idea they are connected by anything other that geographic area. These same stories and memories pop up every time there is a high-profile case in the area, like when Tiffany Souers was murdered in her Clemson-area apartment in the summer of 2006.

This year will be the ten-year anniversary of Jason Knapp's disappearance and presumed death. I know this because I spent many a year thinking about the case and dealing with its primary investigators. What's more, I spent more than a little time with Knapp's mother, Deborah Boogher.

Deborah was a mother in much the same way I suspect mine would be if I fell off the face of the planet. Though she lived hundreds of miles away, Knapp's mother made regular trips to South Carolina to check in on the investigation and conduct a few of her own. One cold March morning, I joined her and a psychic on a trip to Table Rock State Park. My late partner and friend Chris, a photographer, and I spent the better part of a day on the trails around Table Rock. Never much of a supernatural guy myself, I had a hard time getting into the spirit of things. Still, I couldn't help but be touched by how desperate Deborah had become. She was willing to try anything if it meant finding her son.

At the time, I wrote:

Boogher stood in the middle of the parking lot waiting for the psychic to begin. "I know people think it is crazy but I've been to other psychics over the years," she explained, "They've all basically told me that Jason has died, but they've also told me they can't find him because they are not what they call an investigative psychic."

Cheri Mancuso, a short woman with a shock of dyed-red hair, bills herself as an investigative psychic. "We don't know what to call me. There aren't too many people that really do what I do," Mancuso said.

The psychic stood quietly for a moment, her eyes closed, hands wrapped around a picture of Jason Knapp. She explained that if she started to move, the group should follow. Mancuso explained that she had a vision about Knapp a full year before she met Boogher. She said she saw the letters J and A and prophesied that she would soon learn of a missing college student. She later interpreted the J and A to be the first two letters of Jason's name. Mancuso said she had more visions later. She said she saw Jason's car parked next to an old, red pickup truck. She said she saw two girls driving a convertible around in the Table Rock parking lot.

She said she believed someone was hunting Knapp and that Knapp was scared. "I saw him huffing and puffing and he was out of breath," she told the group. "I felt him just running and running and running and finally I just felt him collapse. Somewhere, Jason lies on a trail."

It was a desperate day that ended and resulted with no resolution. The Gary Hilton case will likely result in the same, because, if everyone is being honest with himself, the connection is tenuous at best. There exists an almost ten-year span between the recent deaths and Knapp's disappearance. All of Hilton's alleged victims or suspected victims have either been women or, in the case of John Bryant, in the company of a woman. Furthermore, the trails at Table Rock are rather self contained and not a vital part of a larger trail system.

Still, when hope and time are all investigators and a mother have, Hilton is the closest thing anyone has had to a suspect in years.

And it never hurts to look.

*Hilton photo courtesy CNN

Labels: Crime

I look at most stories and think, "Well, if it had a little something extra, it would be really interesting." This story, however, needs nothing else. If I were sitting around coming up with my dream story for a Monday, this would be it.

A Greenville man was arrested Sunday night after police say he and his pregnant live-in girlfriend were scuffling naked in the street, with a plastic sword and an unleashed pit bull nearby. [Full story]

As it is the perfect story, I have nothing to add...except to say, this wasn't my wife and me.

She's not pregnant, anyway.

Labels: Crime

The last time Amanda Smith had a birthday party, it was an affair celebrated with three close close friends and a trash can full of booze and fruit. The girls all dressed up, posed for pictures, and acted like silly young women as they drank their "PJ" and celebrated the anniversary of their births. The summer of 2006 was on the wane and, if the pre-party pictures were any indication, life was pretty good.

At the time, as Smith celebrated her 26th birthday, no one said anything about the pictures or said anything about how the lifestyle might have affected her child. Many of us can look back on our lives at that age and recall similar times. In a neighborhood of glass houses, the first order of landscaping is cleaning up the stones. The more forgiving among us believe, as long as Smith provided for her child, she could not be blamed her for the occasional indiscretion.

Even today, one of Smith's close friends (name withheld on request) doesn't see Smith's occasional partying as any indication that Smith was a bad parent. "We had parties on occasion and she drank occasionally on the weekends," the friend told me, "but never in Devon's presence. By no means would I label her as an alcoholic or a drunk."

When a fire nearly killed Epps in May, those friends stood by Smith's side. Her MySpace page was packed with messages of sympathy. Friends from all over offered anything Smith needed to cope with the near-tragedy.

Today, it couldn't be more different.

This week, Amanda Smith celebrated her 27th birthday and the circumstances of the day couldn't be more different. Today, every detail of Smith's life is under scrutiny. Friday night, prosecutor-turned-television-vigilante Nancy Grace piggybacked on the release of an Associated Press article on Epps and dedicated half her show to the death of the seven-year-old boy. Lines like "This story stinks worse than 10-day-old flounder, OK? There's a million things wrong with it" were peppered throughout the half hour.

What was once the subject of local news, crime forums, and this blog had just turned into a national story. If Smith had developed any comfort in the level of coverage, it had to change Thursday night when the AP article hit the wire and Friday night when Grace brought in crime pundits from around the country to ruminate on the story. Smith, now a fresh 27 years old--guilty or innocent--was quickly becoming a national pariah, compared to the infamous Susan Smith.

In this environment, a lot of people would fall back on old friends. Instead, Smith has fallen off just about every familiar radar screen. The last time she surfaced publicly, she was sandwiched into the back of a truck in nearby Spartanburg County. The wreck was cause for even more questions about where Smith had been that night, not to mention what she was supposed to be doing the next day. Not injured badly enough to require hospitalization, Smith faded back into the shadows.

Even a one-time close friend who praised Smith's parenting skills has not shared a phone call with Epps' mother.

"Honestly, I haven't talked to her since she had her wreck, which has been a couple of weeks now," the friend said. "She hasn't contacted me and I haven't contacted her. It's been really hard on [her friends] because of everything that's being said."

Smith's disappearance from her friends' lives (and rumors about what she is doing now) are a strain on many people who know her. The only comments those people can summon with any ease involve Devon Epps himself. Said one friend, "He was the most outgoing, Southern-accented little boy I had ever met. He was kind of mean, but what seven-year-old isn't? He loved sports. He loved his Clemson Tigers. He also loved motorcycles."

But, on the subject of Smith's story--the one that tells of a knife-wielding carjacker in the most unlikely of places and with the most unlikely of motives--even the people to whom the young woman was once the closest can't bring themselves to sign off on it.

When I asked a Smith friend about whether Smith's story was believable, the friend simply responded, "In ways yes. In ways no."

That is as close as Smith's old friends are getting to making a public statement in defense of the now 27-year-old woman.

We have no way of knowing what Smith is doing tonight or if she has a friend by her side. There is no way of knowing whether the mother sat down in front of the TV and cried as she was nationally trashed on Nancy Grace. Until this week, the media had been relatively kind to Amanda Smith. Now, the AP is making connections to Susan Smith and Nancy Grace is on the warpath.

In the face of near-accusations that she killed her son, Amanda Smith is silent.

Tonight, I find myself wanting to tell Smith's story, wanting to know how she's spent the past five weeks, and wanting to know how many friends she has left. No matter how many news stories run and how many pundits talk, Smith's story is the only one that matters tonight.

If only she would tell it.

Previous Coverage:

Reading between the lines of Devon Epps' death

Devon Epps, Amanda Smith and the difficulties of reporting crime news

Devon Epps: Scene of the Crime?

Rapid Eye Reality coverage of Epps case makes it to print

Devon Epps: Waiting

Devon Epps: Pictures

The Missing Memorial Page

Labels: Crime, Devon Epps

I've been out of town for a week. Upon my arrival back in Greenville, I discovered that I haven't missed much in the on-going investigation into the death of Devon Epps. The Greenville News has run a couple of stories, but they're basically saying what we already know.

I've been getting a lot of e-mails from readers regarding this case. Thanks for continuing to check in. One reader sent me something I've been trying to find for the past several weeks.

In the hours after Epps' death, his mother's MySpace page switched from a rundown of the kind of drinks Amanda Smith liked to enjoy to a memorial site for her son. A few days later, the entire site was taken down. Some industrious cyber sleuth was able to track down a cache of the page. A reader e-mailed it to me this evening.

**Cached version of Devon Epps Memorial Page**

It begins (note: any spelling and grammar mistakes were not corrected):

Dedicated to DEVON CHAD EPPS... July 12, 2000 to August 13, 2007. You will never be forgotten Son. You left me here alone... but soon I'll with you. Save me a spot! Rest in eternal peace baby boy and look down on us everyday. Keep us safe in this cold, dark world and give us strength on every pathway. Send us angels when we need them most, And be our light from coast to coast.

It continues:

To My Angel: August 14, 2007 My precious baby boy, we mourn you today. We sit here devastated, no words to say. Such an unthinkable act happened to you. So many unanswered questions are still ringing through. With shattered hearts and broken spirits, we try to maintain. Grieving you so deeply, no words to express this crushing pain. We ask God “why?” and “what is you master plan?” He whispers to us “I have you in the palm of my hand”. And so, we try to make it through another day without you. Waiting to see your sweet face again in heaven beyond the blue. You were our love, our life, our very heart that beat. Your smile was so beautiful, you brought joy to everyone you would meet. Your eyes were the window to the pure excitement you were thinking. Your endless energy fueled your spirit, your heavenly little being. Please watch over us in this day to day life we are left to live. Be by our side and in our heart, and strength we pray you give. We know you are waiting to welcome us to the other side, We long for the day we hold you again, and in your presence always abide. Devon, you are my angel. I love you so much and my world is empty without you. You were the driving force in my life and I can’t imagine going on with my life without you in it. The memories you have left me with are so dear to me and I will cherish everyone. I can’t wait to hold you again. I love you my only son and I miss you so very much.

Previous Coverage:

Reading between the lines of Devon Epps' death

Devon Epps, Amanda Smith and the difficulties of reporting crime news

Devon Epps: Scene of the Crime?

Rapid Eye Reality coverage of Epps case makes it to print

Devon Epps: Waiting

Devon Epps: Pictures

Labels: Crime, Devon Epps

While I've never put this little corner of the Internet out as a crime blog, news source, or vigilante-inspiring screed, I do have a background in comprehensiveness...sometimes to a fault.

It occurred to me, though, that one thing has been missing in my ruminations (some would say unhealthy interest) on the death of Devon Epps. While I've gone to great lengths to describe just about anything I know about the case, for whatever reason, I've left out the most important thing.

Most of you don't know what Devon Epps looks like.

I don't think it was a conscious decision at the time, so much as it didn't feel right. Now, it does. So, I spent a little time delving into the recesses of social networking sites and scraped a few pictures of Devon Epps off a MySpace memorial slide show. Despite being messed up by a truly horrible Flash program, the photos give you an idea of what the little boy looked like.





Next week will mark the one-month mark since Devon Epps died. The incoming information has slowed down a bit. The only thing of real importance I've heard in the past week involves the time immediately before and what was supposed to happen the day of Amanda Smith's car wreck. However, as that information comes third hand, it's best I don't start posting rumors.

Here's to a peaceful weekend for those who deserve it.

Previous Coverage:

Reading between the lines of Devon Epps' death

Devon Epps, Amanda Smith and the difficulties of reporting crime news

Devon Epps: Scene of the Crime?

Rapid Eye Reality coverage of Epps case makes it to print

Devon Epps: Waiting

Labels: Crime, Devon Epps

"Taking a different way?" my wife asked as I slipped onto a different back road and drove through an old residential area.

We'd been out for ice cream. On the way home, I pulled over the railroad tracks and past an area where victim Francisco Velazquez had been found dead a few weeks before. It was walking distance from our house and a cut-through we used a couple of years ago. It's a product of the no-zoning South, where rough industrial areas rub up against family neighborhoods like a stranger on the subway. Maybe because I am more conscious of crime than I used to be, I recognize the dividing lines better than when I was a kid. Now, for better or worse, I know which intersection marks the point where the wife and kid should turn around and head back the other way on their a pied trips around the neighborhood.

Though Velazquez had been killed so close to my home, my diversion had nothing to do with his death. Earlier in the day, I'd been doing some routine background checks on Amanda Smith and realized that she, too, lived fairly close to me and within walking distance of a friend's house. This was a week ago and there was a sense among all the people following this case that the case was about to move...to do something--anything--to comfort the countless people who have become obsessed with Devon Epps' death.

Smith's residence (apparently on the same property as her grandparents', though I have no independent verification of that) sits on a cut-through street a few miles outside of town It's a road that barely exists and seems only to function as a place to have built a few houses in the past. As I idled down the road, I caught sight of the tell-tale dark blue car. The Greenville County Sheriff's Office cruiser sat parked in a ditch. No one sat inside it. It became pretty clear that Smith's neighbor was a cop, off-duty and not parked across the street from the Smith residence for any reason other than he lived there.

Up Smith's gravel driveway, a work crew wandered around the half-burned portion of one of the home's on the property, presumably the same portion that at one time house Devon Epps' bedroom--the same place he almost died last Spring during a fire of somewhat suspicious origin. There was no sign of Amanda Smith.

I learned later there was a good reason for Smith to not be there. She'd been in a wreck that morning, having slammed her grandparents' Kia into the back of a truck in a neighboring--but not close--county. She survived. The car didn't. She picked up a couple of traffic charges, was released from the hospital, and again faded back into relative obscurity.

My visit to her house last week coincided with the last public mention of the Devon Epps case in the news. Since then, the Greenville News has published one letter to the editor about the case and nothing else. The local crime beat reporters have been forced to move on to the other big cases of the past couple weeks, chiefly the officer-involved shooting of female ex-con Sabrina Parker.

While the traditional news outlets have moved on, the Internet as not. I started noticing a lot of referrals here from the local paper's discussion forum and discovered a ton of people who were participating in 100-page-long forum discussions about the case. Everybody from friends of the Epps family to amateur sleuths were debating the case and its merits. With no real news coming out, my e-mail box started filling up with questions from readers about the case. Just this morning I got an eight-point e-mail detailing some good questions about the case--all things that we might eventually learn when the investigation is complete. There are people Googling all over the country about this case, despite the fact that no national news outlet has bothered to touch it.

No one has asked for my opinion, but I figure I should make an admission. I figured we would've seen an arrest by now. The evidence, or lack thereof, however, seems to be dictating a more patient approach to the case. As has been stated before, there is only one known witness to Epps' death. At this point, Amanda Smith is the only one who can offer information about what happened. Beyond what she says, investigators must rely on the evidence. There are only a couple of kinds of available evidence that will make this case cut-and-dry and I would assume those brands of evidence are unavailable. Hence, making an arrest in a case that will be largely built on circumstantial evidence is a lot more difficult. While I have no direct knowledge of what's happened up to this point, I would bet there have been more than a few discussions with people in Solicitor Bob Arial's office, if not Ariail himself. I've only once seen Ariail go to trial without the goods, and that case was the high-profile death of a Greenville County Deputy. Ariail doesn't talk much publicly, and when he does, it is for good reason. He's not a prosecutor that steps too far out on a limb without a big net of evidence below him. If the Epps case currently rests on no more than common sense and circumstantial evidence, Ariail almost certainly isn't ready to bite.

I hesitate to say it, but it almost feels like this is a case we might have to wait on for a while. There's a lot that the cops know that few other people do, and until the investigators have enough to convince Ariail they have a winnable case, we won't see an arrest. It's the frustrating thing about crime news. This is not CSI. This is not Law & Order. It could be many more weeks before anything else about this case is mentioned publicly. One thing I've found over the years, though, is that quiet can be a good thing. When the cops and prosecutors don't have to spend their time fording the P.R. river, they have time to get work done.

I hope that's what's happening now.

Previous Coverage:

Reading between the lines of Devon Epps' death

Devon Epps, Amanda Smith and the difficulties of reporting crime news

Devon Epps: Scene of the Crime?

Rapid Eye Reality coverage of Epps case makes it to print

Labels: Crime, Devon Epps

I awoke this morning to find that the local alternative weekly, The Beat, has decided to reprise some of the Devon Epps coverage from the ethereal pages of this blog. The editor of the paper and I actually go back many years and have covered many of the same stories. I get the sense he's as conflicted about this particular case as I am.

If you'd like to take a look at the online version, you can find it here:

SHANNON’S LAW: Yet Another American Tragedy


Previous Coverage:

Reading between the lines of Devon Epps' death

Devon Epps, Amanda Smith and the difficulties of reporting crime news

Devon Epps: Scene of the Crime?

Labels: Crime, Devon Epps

This lonely place is so close to the interstate, it's not even an afterthought of a county planner's pen. It's like that space in your yard you forgot to landscape, shaded and covered in leaves, grassless, and out of the way of your attention. No one ever looks at it and no one would go looking for it. It's a place where nothing would ever happen, and if it did, it would be something bad.

The place where Amanda Smith says she was jumped by a maniacal knife-wielding murderer is an illustration of nowhere. If you're there, it's only because you're lost or going somewhere else. Seconds off Interstate 85, to get there takes a turn at the Whitehorse Road McDonalds and rounding a curve on the unimaginatively named Frontage Road. The intersection with Jacobs Road gives a driver two choices. If you turn left, it looks like it might take you somewhere worth going. If you turn right, it's pretty obvious you're going nowhere. It's a dead end and even the most respectful minds can't help but consider the bad pun.

I decided to go and I'm still not sure why. Going there is not on the way to anywhere for me. Going there serves no purpose. In the past, it would've been my job. Now, I figure most people would label it as sick curiosity. I know that it's neither of the two, but I'm still not sure what it is. A local writer with whom I'm friends e-mailed me while I was out of town and said he, too, felt some sort of compulsion to write about the ongoing case of Devon Epps' death. For me, since I can't get the case out of my head, writing about it is somewhat cathartic. Writing is what I can do when I can't make sense of things. I'd hoped that the two posts I'd written up to this point would do something, anything to make me feel better about this. I've covered and studied some of the most heinous crimes, but for the first time since Tiffany Souers was strangled in her Central, SC apartment, I find myself caring an inordinate amount about a crime in my adopted hometown.

I don't know why I went, but I did.

When I rounded the corner on Frontage Road, my first instinct was to slam on my brakes. A marked Greenville County Sheriff's cruiser sat in the middle of the road about 150 yards from the intersection with Jacobs Road. My wife was riding with me and quietly said, "Mmmm hmmm." I looked to the side at the uniformed deputy as I drove by. He didn't look at me.

Because I had no reason to be there, I almost felt guilty when I pulled up to the intersection. My instinct was to turn left, but when my wife spotted Epps' memorial on the right, I swerved and made the turn. Again, it was something that looked more than a little suspicious. Again, the deputy did nothing.

And, so there we sat, in front of the little memorial. A framed tribute sat among balloons, boxed toys, flowers, and burned candles. It all sat at the dusty roadside on the edge of what could barely be called a grove of trees. Up a worn out path about twenty feet stood a giant tree wrapped in a red ribbon. Tacked to both of them were the composite sketch put together by deputies based on Amanda Epps' reported recollection of the man she says killed her seven-year-old son.

Again, I don't know what I was looking for. This is a place that has been picked over by deputies, mourned over by family and friends, and visited by amateur sleuths from all over the area. It is a nothing place and the saddest of places to find the memorial to a child. Less than 300 yards down the road--a distance that could be run by even a heavy person in less than two minutes--is civilization. A few trees may block the actual building, but at night the Waffle House sign would almost be impossible to miss. The place Amanda Smith says her son died is a shadow. Shadows, I've found, are rarely home to happy times.

There was no reason to stay more than a couple of minutes. I turned around in the parking lot of what looked like a trucking company and headed back out the way I came. As I drove by again, the deputy was on his cell phone and didn't seem to pay me much mind. I didn't bother to wave. His presence there was not surveillance in the traditional sense. If the cops were really staking out the scene, it seems pretty obvious they wouldn't be sitting in plain view in a marked car. The deputy spending his time there is more than likely a signal to the community that the Sheriff's Office is still diligently working on the crime (a fact in which I still have the utmost faith) and a signal to anyone who might wander by the scene that they are being watched. As I was not driving a white town car, small civic, or look like the man Smith says killed her son, I was mercifully ignored. I'm not sure exactly what I would've said if the deputy had actually asked.

I've never really known how to feel about the concept of The First 48. I think a lot of cops--especially the dedicated ones--will tell you that the clock isn't nearly as important as the evidence and even if they don't make their arrest in the first 48 hours, they will still maintain a decent confidence they can nail their criminal. Around these parts, the cases that remain cold for too long tend to remain that way. I have entire files on cases that plagued the local cops for way too long. When the Blue Ridge Bank triple murders happened, I heard a lot of quiet talk among the investigators about who they believed was responsible. When Dale Fetner was stabbed outside his apartment, I heard a lot of the same talk. Both of those cases remain open. The Devon Epps death, though, is not like those cases. Though there is quite a bit of hand wringing about the lack of an arrest, this one doesn't at all feel like a case that will go cold. No, this case feels familiar for an entirely different reason. So familiar, in fact, that it goes without saying.

Tonight, as I try to figure out why I keep writing about this case instead of my normal silliness, I wonder. Did I visit the scene of the crime tonight? Or did I visit the place where the county coroner found him dead? Because there may be a difference and, if there is, the answer will make a lot of difference in how this story ends.

Previously:

Reading between the lines of Devon Epps' death

Devon Epps, Amanda Smith and the difficulties of reporting crime news

Labels: Crime, Devon Epps

The pillow. The cops are testing the pillow.

The Greenville News' Paul Alongi greeted readers this morning with news that the Greenville County Sheriffs Office is testing the pillow that Amanda Smith says a carjacker used to smother her son Devon Epps.

At first blush, especially for the hundreds--if not thousands--of people who are spending their days searching for any new piece of news on the case, Alongi's revelation may elicit a "Well, duh." Of course, the cops are testing the pillow. My guess is there isn't a piece of paper or lint that's not being scrutinized. However, Alongi cannot be criticized for the one little tidbit of information used to lead his story today. Why? Because Alongi is keeping the story alive and that's harder than it may seem.

If you missed the last post here, Reading Between the Lines of Devon Epps' Death, here's a brief rundown of the story: Mother, Amanda Smith (no relation to Susan), tells cops she stopped at an intersection near a Greenville interstate. She says a guy who looked like the Unabomber (or some would say the Geico Caveman or her ex-husband), jumped into her car and smothered her son with a pillow before running off into the woods. Incredulous doesn't begin to describe the community reaction. People are looking for information everywhere, including the cached version of Amanda Smith's web page. Here's some of what they're seeing on her old page. [Edit: Some pictures removed at request of uninvolved parties.]



While it's been ten days since the death, the amount of official information coming out has been pretty sparse. This is the time when uncreative reporters start using the phrase "tight-lipped" and looking elsewhere for news.

How does it work? Well, my perspective comes from a TV newsroom. Every morning (say around 9:00-9:30am), the newsroom gets together to figure out what they are going to cover for the day. After some brief announcements from the bosses, each reporter in the room is given a chance to offer ideas for the daily coverage. Eventually, the crime beat reporter (who, if he or she is doing his or her job, has already been on the phone with no less than four different investigative agencies) gives a rundown of the overnight crimes and follow-ups on on-going investigations. The chances of whether a story shows up on TV that night begin with that reporter. The "pitch" includes what the reporter can do with the story and whether he/she can fill a two-minute hole in the newscast. That means, the reporter will have to find one or two people to interview, not to mention to find b-roll video to cover all his/her voice track. What's more, the story has to be interesting. If the pitch is good, the bosses (producers, assignment editors, and news directors) discuss it in a post-meeting meeting and the reporter then ends up with an assignment. The problem is, at least when it comes to TV news, that the cops don't want to do interviews every day. The reporters have either exhausted their sources or run out of energy chasing new people. Eventually (like, around day 4 or 5), the story starts turning into a 30-second VO (voice-over) or falling out of the newscasts entirely.

The Greenville News' Paul Alongi is doing his best to keep the story alive. He's finding a new lead nearly every day and doing his best to keep the story in the public eye. If he has to lead with the fact the cops are testing a piece of evidence, then so be it. At least he's trying.

I don't envy the reporters' positions. They have precious little to work with. There are few pictures and little video of the scene of the crime. The investigators are being as forthcoming as they can without hurting their case. I can only assume all the reporters have tracked down the family and friends of the the mom and victim (because, to be fair, they're pretty easy people to find) and can't nail down an interview. What's more, Amanda Smith isn't giving them much to work with. Sure, her old MySpace page shows she is a one-time party animal, but that's not news per se. If she had any bad criminal record, that would be news, too. However, records show that she's not committed any felonies in her 26 years in this area. Her worst crime for which she's been arrested is passing a bed check to Wal-Mart a couple of years ago. Beyond that, she's simply a traffic scofflaw.

Amanda Smith's Record

October 1996 --Speeding

May 1999 -- Failure to show proof of insurance
June 1999 -- Speeding (Failed to show for court)
August 1999 -- Failure to wear seatbelt

September 2001 -- Speeding
December 2001 --Failure to yield right of way

February 2002 --Speeding
August 2002 -- Speeding
December 2002 -- Negligent driving

March 2003 -- Speeding
August 2003 -- Speeding

June 2004 -- Speeding

November 2005 --Speeding
November 2005 -- Fraudulent check to WalMart

September 2006 --Operating vehicle on highway without registration and license due to delinquency

January 2007--Use of license plate other than for vehicle which issued
June 2007 -- Speeding (Failed to show for court)

Perhaps the biggest difficulty of all, though, is the presumption of innocence. If we believe in our legal system, we must believe until proven otherwise that Amanda Smith is innocent. As I said before, it is my hope that the hundreds of people calling her a murderer are wrong. I don't want to believe someone can kill their child, and neither do you.

It makes me, wonder, though, where Amanda has been. I'm sure she has a good attorney wisely advising her to keep her mouth shut until things cool off. However, I ask myself what I would do as a parent if my child had been killed by a maniacal and mysterious stranger and nobody could find him. You know what I would do even if you believed I was to blame? I would be on TV every damned day holding the sketch of the man I saw. I would be telling my story to whomever would listen and holding the investigators to task for not searching for the child killer. I would be giving interviews to every news outlet I could find and I would make sure the man who killed my kid was caught.

For now, the mother in this case is not doing that and I have to wonder why. Amanda, e-mail me. Set me straight. Set everybody straight.

For now, I'm going to be content with Paul Alongi's hard work. Paul has been around here for a while and knows this beat pretty well. I don't doubt he'll be on top of this story when it finally breaks.

Until then, I'm going to hug my kid and his beautiful mother and be happy my family is all in one piece.

Some people just aren't as fortunate.

Previously:

Reading between the lines of Devon Epps' death

Other coverage:

Devon Epps: Scene of the crime?

Labels: Crime, Devon Epps

It's late, or at least late enough for a seven-year-old boy to be in bed. You've got a pillow in the car, so maybe you're on the road somewhere. Regardless, it's late and you're on a dark road near a major interstate. You love your son and you know you should be getting him in bed soon, but maybe circumstances don't quite allow it right now. Who knows where you're going, as long as you get there safely.

Your son is sitting in the front seat when you pull up to a traffic light. Maybe you're naive or distracted, but your doors are unlocked. Really, the city you're in isn't one splitting at the seams with crime, so you might be forgiven this indiscretion. Still, you're a young woman by yourself with a young boy who can't defend himself.

You can't even remember which direction you were looking when the passenger door opens and a man with a bushy beard jumps in with a knife. Later, to people reading the story, it must seem all a blur, because before reason can take over, you're outside of the car, the doors are locked, and the man is on top of your son. He's got that pillow over his face and he's smothering him. People reading later will wonder why the injury on your arm doesn't look that bad. Mothers all over the area will speculate about whether the man with the knife could've forced them out of the car and what they would've done if they'd seen the man holding the pillow over their son's face. More often than not, they talk about breaking the window with anything they could find.

By the time the cops arrive, your son is dead. Your car is still there, but your son is dead. The man you say killed him inexplicably ran off into the woods, leaving your car and all your possessions behind. By all appearances, it looks like bushy-bearded killer was on a mission to kill and nothing more.

***

If you're a parent, pet-owner, or even particularly fond of your car, this story just won't fit in your head. If true, it's the most confounding and terrifying story you could conceive. Random man jumps into your car at a traffic light with seemingly no other motive but to asphyxiate your son? On the list of Things That Don't Make Sense, this story sits at the top of the list.

Devon Epps' mother faces a serious burden tonight because that's her story. What you read above is the nuts and bolts of her story. She even went as far as to give the cops a great description of the killer. She sat down with enough information to put together a composite sketch.

I spent a long time looking at the picture, wondering where I had seen the guy before.



Devon Epps' mother has a second burden. It took me two days but I finally figured it out. The man she described to county deputies is Ted Kaczynski, aka The Unabomber. I don't mean to be glib, but Mother Epps has described the man who is sitting in Colorado in one of the highest security lockups in the world. The chances he sprang from the woods and randomly killed a young boy are relative small, not to mention being completely against his MO. Okay, that does sounds a little glib, if completely true.

The final burden is a tough one. A decade ago, in a town less than an hour away, Susan Smith killed her two sons and told local cops she had been carjacked by a man who stole her kids with the vehicle. It was a story that cut a gash in the heart of a nation--a gash stitched up with vengeance when we learned Smith actually killed her own children. It taught us as a country that we have boundless sympathy when a mother is hurting and ruthless vengeance when a mother hurts.

You might wonder why I chose to write about this subject, other than the fact that it's happening in my adopted hometown. The reason is simple. You probably haven't heard about it yet. There is a disconnect here, obviously. I don't care where it happens--if a maniacal killer randomly kills a seven year old boy and then goes on the run, it's going to be national news. The networks would descend on our idyllic little community and set-up UnaSmotherer Watch. That's not happening.

Normally, I would blame the networks' absence on a fairly well-documented regional bias against the South. In this case, though, the networks' decision to not cover this story is justified. As a casual news consumer, you might not see why. However, as a guy who worked in news for a decade and covered the cop shop for more than half of that time, I can tell you why.

There is not a person in the Greenville County Sheriff's Office or any of the local news outlets that believes the mother's story. Speculation has run in just about every direction, but most of the time it circles back around to the mom (left).

If there was even a 40% chance this mother was telling the truth, here's what Greenville, South Carolina would look like right now: The Greenville County Sheriff's Office would have a command post running 24/7. Other agencies from the state and neighboring counties would be helping conduct the manhunt under Sheriff Steve Loftis' direction. Every news outlet would be leading with the story in every newscast. The composite photo would be on the door of every business in the area. Finally, based on the Sheriff's Office's reputation, I'd venture to say the killer would have been caught by now. There are a couple of homicide investigators within the department who I have the utmost respect for (Paul Silvaggio being the best, in my opinion) and, if I were still working the beat, I suspect these guys would be telling me off the record that they think...

Well, what do you figure they think? Indeed, it's pretty clear that if you read between the lines, you'll see that the cops and, by extension, media, believe the mom killed her own kid then made up an elaborate story in a sad effort to cover her madness. Right now, the cops and media are going through the motions of reporting the nuts and bolts of the story and making it appear as though they are giving the mother's story some credit. However, every single step they take makes it clear to the trained eye that they are ready to arrest her today.

I was fortunate in my career. While I covered more child deaths and murders than I would've liked, I never had to see a dead kid's body. Since that time, I've become a parent and the idea of hurting a child turns my stomach. The idea that a parent could actually kill their child is so foreign to me that I can barely conceive of it. So, tonight I'm hoping that my intuition and the gut feeling of every cop and reporter in town are wrong. I am actually hoping a madman killed Devon Epps.

Otherwise, Devon Epps' mother will face an even greater burden than those mentioned above. She will have to face the fact she murdered her child.

Other resources:

Cached version of Devon Epps' mother's MySpace page can be found here.

Revised version of Devon Epp's mother's MySpace page can be found here (since set to private).

Other coverage

Amanda Smith, Devon Epps, and the difficulties of reporting crime news

Devon Epps: Scene of the crime?

Labels: Crime, Devon Epps

Kevin Geddings was largely responsible for taking my belief in the political process and slowly cutting off its air supply. He was the red-haired, big-eyed political consultant and one-time Chief of Staff to former South Carolina Governor Jim Hodges. Geddings' phone calls came at odd hours. His voice always started with a friendly tone, but quickly went the other way. He didn't like me and I certainly didn't like him.

At the time of Hodges' run for second term, I was a pest--a reporter on a mission to point out that 40-50% of what Geddings and Hodges said was a lie. While my mission was broader than that (I was actually pointing out lies and half-truths across the political spectrum), Geddings didn't see it that way. He saw himself as a politico who could both topple giants and turn nobodies into kings. His success made him millions. His shakedown skills were the stuff of a Carl Hiaasen novel. Hell, Geddings was portrait of half the people Hiassen writes about. And he didn't much like me.

In the end, I thought that the process (and my small part in it) seemed to win out. Geddings' man got sent back into private life and Geddings ability to slay giants was no longer the stuff of legend. I won a big national award and subsequently gave up on it all (due largely to a lack of dedication by my employer's senior management...and, well, yeah, money). Geddings took off to neighboring North Carolina to see if he could repeat his success.

What went unreported during most of Geddings' time here was that, beyond making millions in the political consulting business, he was also peddling influence and access like a kind veggie burrito at a Dead Show. It's only recently been revealed that he was once charging people in line for government contracts $30,000 for a dinner date with Governor Hodges. Apparently, Geddings had that kind of money dropped into a little shell corp he ran and subsequently paid out to...well, him and his wife. [For more, check out John Monk's excellent piece in Sunday's The State]

What it now appears was that Geddings may have been the king of the shakedown, but he was woefully inept at figuring out how many times he could shear a sheep. He went to the well too many times with a company called Scientific Games (they are the people who print up many of those scratch-off lottery tickets you see in convenience stores). Apparently the people at SG finally got tired to of the Geddings shakedown and gave him up. Last October, a North Carolina jury convicted Geddings of fraud. By this point, Geddings had worked his way back up to a seat on the North Carolina lottery commission.

Monday, a federal judge in North Carolina will tell Geddings whether he will go to federal prison for his crimes in the Tarheel state. While I hate to see any family lose their breadwinner and father figure to prison, I'm not going to shed a tear if Geddings ends up spending some time in the pen. His face is the one I see when I think of the day I figured out my vote doesn't really count.


Kevin Geddings (photo from The State)

Take care, Kevin. And thanks for the memories.

Labels: Crime, Politics

I read with some bemusement Esquire's "60 Things Worth Shortening Your Life For." It's clever and, in some places, informative and inspiring. Still, it's the type of thing you get when you read Esquire. I swore if I saw anything about a Cuban cigar or didn't see anything about a Lucky Dog, I'd have to write my own list. I don't pretend to be clever or one all that familiar with the derring-do. Nonetheless, Esquire is targeted at the tragically hip or those who want to be. Me, only hip I know is the one that leads me to bed at night. With that, here's my list, also known as...

Life Crisco


New Orleans

1. Eat a Lucky Dog at 5am -- Wait until the streets are almost empty, the amateurs are passed out in the gutter, and the boobies have gone back in their shirt. Sidle up to the greasy-looking dude on the corner of Bourbon and Toulouse and order a Lucky Dog. Find someone to sell you a beer. Kick aside the empty cups, bras, and broken beads, and sit down on a curb. Ignore the smell of stale booze and eat the Lucky Dog in four bites.



2. Find Checkpoint Charlies...late -- It's the kind of place that is close enough to the French Quarter that you can walk to it, but not so close that it is overrun by the tourists. Go after hours. Bonus points if you go by yourself.

3. Get broke in the French Quarter -- Find a girl in a beret and spend every penny you have buying her Hand Grenades at the original Tropical Isle. Do this without knowing where your buddies are or how you're going to get home. Now, figure out what to do.

4. Hand Grenades? -- Yeah, Hand Grenades. If you haven't pounded back six or seven of these while listening to "Late As Usual" playing bar tunes, you haven't lived...or worked very hard on your inevitable death. I would recommend drinking them at the bar on Toulouse.

5. Eat 20 bignets -- Cafe du Monde sits on the edge of the French Quarter. The serving staff will be cranky, especially if you're there during a high-tourist season. Still, make a lot of noise, drink some great coffee, and eat 20 bignets like you will never taste them again.

6. Order extras debris at Mother's -- If ever in New Orleans, find Mother's. It's become a bit touristy, but still maintains its old school roots. Fight for your seat--threaten an old lady if you have to--and order a poboy with EXTRA DEBRIS. This is best done when exceptionally hungover.


For College Students

7. Steal a stripper's panties -- You should have a reason for it (like making them a gift for a husband-to-be), but even if you don't, the rush from doing it and then being confronted by the 6'5" bouncer is worth it.

8. Don't back down from a fight instigated by a shirtless redneck -- Most fights should be avoided, but once in your life, when a shirtless redneck tells you to take one more step forward, do it. It'll hurt (and likely hurt your friends more), but it's worth it...just once.

9. Put a carbonated drink in a campfire -- It is entertainment for the stupid, but you haven't lived until you have seen a 12-ounce can explode and blow a Yule log ten feet out of a campfire.

10. Eat a double Stretch -- Every college town has a diner with the specialty after-hours dish complete with eggs, onions, chili, and cheese. The Broadway Diner in Columbia, Missouri has the best in the United States. Order a double Stretch and decrease your life expectancy by a couple more months.

11. Tailgate with the Antlers -- Membership in The Antlers is almost impossible to achieve unless you know or are related to the right person. Regardless, get invited to one of their tailgate parties and drink from the Paint Can. Tell them NightTrain sent you.

Las Vegas

12. Rage solo In Las Vegas -- I once defined Raging Solo for my buddy Al. It's actually a phrase I borrowed from an old friend named "G." Essentially, it means hitting a town by yourself with no real plan. There is no better city for it than Las Vegas.

13. Have a Steak at Hugo's Cellar -- Located in the lowest level of the Four Queens in Las Vegas, it's the perfect place to ask for the private back room and order a t-bone. To counteract the Life Crisco, order a salad from the salad cart. It's worth it just to suffer the preparer's barrage of questions about what you want.

14. Let Absinthe pick your dinner spot -- My friend Ryan (aka Absinthe) knows good food and he is not afraid of decadence. Let him decide where you're eating. The food itself is enough to shorten your life expectancy. Worse, after you eat one of these meals, you're bound to refuse other food in the future, thus starving yourself. Michael Mina and Nob Hill are two good bets.

15. Get steak and eggs -- Getting a free breakfast in Las Vegas isn't necessarily hard, but it can be pricey. Huh? Just gamble irresponsibly and make sure the pit boss knows you're doing it. If he refuses to pay attention, celebrate your wins by screaming, "Steak and Eggs!" It is so worth it.

For Adults Only

16. Play poker in an underground card room -- The risks are many, but the people you'll meet make it more than worth it. Even if you don't play poker, it's worth going just once to people watch. Recent examples can be found at The Last Poker Game and The Sweetest Criminal. Bonus points if you can find a game in the back of a gentleman's club.

17. Attend a party hosted by Al Can't Hang -- There are professionals and then there are Professionals. Al made Malvern, PA famous with his infamous Bash at the Boathouse. That party may now be defunct, but Al still rages. Look for his next party invitation. If you don't feel up to that, you might try Bradoween.

18. Go bar hopping with Paul McGuire -- Known worldwide as Dr. Pauly, this native New Yorker can show you NYC like few others. It's a both a tour and a life experience. If you need a preview, Pauly treated me to this New York Bar Tour.

19. Commit an act of civil disobedience -- You gotta stand for something, right? Well, prove it. I'd suggest a B&E of some place owned by The Man. Don't steal anything, but make it known you were there.

20. Converse with a murderer -- Killing is wrong and the people who do it are sick. If you have a chance to talk to a killer, do it.

So, there's a list of 20 Life Crisoes that should get you started. As you have likely guessed, those are all things I've done. Maybe someday soon I'll give you a list of things I haven't done yet, but want to.

Labels: Crime, Drinking, Fine Dining, Food, Life Crisco, Mizzou

The appeal bond is one of the greatest tricks of white collar crime trade. Generally, because the white collar crooks are not violent, they are allowed to stay out of jail and/or prison while they appeal their case. As most folks know, appeals take forever--years, even--and if crook is out on bond pending the appeal decision, had can enjoy another 3-5 years of freedom when he should be serving his sentence.

Ronnie Sheppard will not have that luxury. Today, Judge Jim Johnson told Sheppard he will have to stay within the friendly confines of the South Carolina Department of Corrections while waiting to appeal his case.

While I personally lost no money as a result of Sheppard's malfeasance, I can't help but feel a little joy in the fact that he will be spending most of the next decade working for as little as thirty-five cents an hour.

I know this means very little to the folks who read around the country, but in this little corner of the world, this kind of justice just makes for a good day.

Have a good time in the pen, Ronnie.

Previously:

Ronnie Sheppard: The Fall of a Sleazeball

Labels: Carolina Investors, Crime, Ronnie Sheppard

I was in a hurry. I'd left the family in the car while I ran in to the store to get zinc cough drops, a collection of medicines, some herbal tea, and some other sundries. As I stood in the check-out line, I noticed the guy behind me had a newspaper. On the front page was a picture that I've looked at more times than I can count.

Today is the tenth anniversary of the day Clemson University student Brooke Holsonback was found floating in Lake Hartwell.

There has been so much written about the subject that I can't offer much more than I have in the past.

The story, The Murder of Brooke Holsonback, was one of the first stories I really cared about when I moved to this community.

Back over the summer, during the Tiffany Souers murder at Clemsn, I spent a lot of time thinking about Brooke, her family, and the one investigator who spent a good chunk of his career beating his head against the wall over this case. That investigator and I had a long off-the-record conversation one afternoon in his little office.

By the time I ended up writing the story, it had been--as we always called it-- lawyered to death. The key paragraphs in the story read like this:

"Both Bryant and Jeff were drinking heavily. Brooke actually drove them to the mud bog," Oconee County Investigator Sgt. Greg Reed recalls.

The trio’s trip ended in a muddy field just a couple of miles from the dorms. No one except Gallup and Dubnansky can confirm any detail from that point forward.

"All we have is what Jeff and Bryant can give us," Reed said.

The two men told investigators the mud was thick that night and their black 1996 Jeep Cherokee got stuck. The situation started a fight.

Jeff Dubnansky and Bryant Gallup said that when they stopped fighting Brooke was gone.

The men said that they looked for Brooke but couldn’t find her. Dubnansky walked back to the dorms, picked up some friends and went back to retrieve the Jeep.

The men told investigators that they went back to the dorms and fell asleep. When they woke up the next day around noon, they saw a news report about a body being found in Lake Hartwell.

A few weeks later, Dubnansky and Gallup dropped out of Clemson and hired lawyers.

Ten years ago today, somebody killed Brooke Holsonback. And to this day, that person is living a life of freedom.

I wonder what that person is thinking about today.

Labels: Brooke Holsonback, Crime

Television news is not a glamorous business. It's cheap, it's tiring, and it makes you old before you're supposed to be. It's not what you see in movies. It's not romantic, dangerous, and sexy.

Except for when it is.

There was a two-year period of my TV news career that I spent fielding anonymous phone calls, meeting Deep Throat sources in dark offices, chasing paper trails, nailing the big interviews, and watching people go to prison.

The Carolina Investors saga began after I was already established as a reporter here in town. Twenty-four hours into the story, I was assigned as the lead reporter, a role I would both relish and hate for the rest of my TV news career. How many stories did I file? I don't even know. Although this page will give you some idea.

Re-telling the whole story would take way too much time. I do remember the first few months, though, when I realized the whole thing started well before I was born with the death of a child.

Dwight Holder stood in the middle of the small plot of land and stared down at his first child's grave. Weeds grew up around the headstone. Holder looked up and surveyed the graves around him. In such a place, weeds are unwelcome.

Holder had returned from World War II and service on a PT boat.

The idea that would define the rest of his business life came as he stood in the middle of an overgrown graveyard in the middle of Pickens County.

Holder was a good man, as were the many men who ended up following in his footsteps. I wrote the first long piece on the Carolina Investors story in May of 2003. In a world where only blood, guts, and gas price stories made it to TV, it was a challenge to make a story about an investment scam interesting enough for people to watch.

The simple fact was, however, that what was once a venerable investment company had turned into South Carolina's version of Enron. The hard-working farmers and mill workers of this community lost a combined $280 million. One investor committed suicide. Other folks thought about it.

I got to know an old preacher during my time on the story. He was one of the investors.

The Rev. Joe Trotter stood in a northern Greenville County fish pond and guided a young boy's head under the water.

The ceremony was one of seven baptisms Trotter performed in his first year as a minister at a small mission church.

The boy would eventually grow up to be a minister himself. It was the beginning of Trotter's life's work.

While he worked for his Lord, Trotter also worked to live. The early days of his ministry did not provide enough to put food on his family's table.

"They would take up offerings sometimes and I'd get 50 cents," Trotter remembered decades later. "Sometimes I'd get nothing."

So, Trotter worked, sometimes in a mill's cloth room, sometimes as a carpenter.

"Jesus was a carpenter," he reminded an afternoon visitor as he discussed his various careers.

During his time as a mill worker, Trotter grossed about $32 a week.

Pennies went to Social Security. Trotter put as much as he could afford into savings. He saved for his retirement.

Over time, Trotter amassed a working man's fortune, the dollar amount of which his wife of more than 60 years begs him not to discuss.

He put almost all of it into a reputable investment company called Carolina Investors and felt it was safe there. Each month of his retirement, he received a check to complement a small Social Security benefit.

He bought his daughter a car, put a grandson through college, and paid private-school tuition for his great-grandchild. He did it all while spending 40 years preaching the gospel.

On a sunny April 2003 afternoon, Trotter struggled to explain how his life savings had disappeared.

"I've helped everybody and led so many to the Lord," he said. "Now everything's gone."

Watching an old man cry on his front porch helped me realize that, even if TV drained every bit of my spirit, I was at least telling stories that needed to be told.

While there was a lot of fault to go around in the story, it was clear after a few months of investigation that the chief villian in the saga was a 9th grade drop-out who had somehow become CEO of a mortgage company that bought out Carolina Investors. For several years, he cooked the books, got rich, and, essentially stole the life savings of people who had lived in this community their entire lives. While I've known this to be fact since late 2003, I was never able to really say it until now.

Nearly four years since Carolina Investors closed its doors, Ronnie Sheppard is in prison, sentenced to 20 years for a variety of securties fraud and conspiracy charges.

There are days I miss being a TV news reporter. This happens to be one of them.

Labels: Carolina Investors, Crime, Ronnie Sheppard, TV

By now, Jerry Buck Inman has had his first meal in the Pickens County Jail. He sits in a cell the size of a clothes closet. Magnetic strips on the outside of his jail cell door read "ESC" and "ASLT." Like anyone who knows anything about Inman, the folks in Pickens county know the short, skinny, bald, monster is an escape and assault risk.

The Chief Deputy of Jefferson County Tennessee has already been spreading the word that Inman confessed to not only Tiffany Souers murder, but also two sexual assaults in Alabama and Tennessee. The deputy reports Inman, when asked why he did it, said, "I'm an animal."

And that pretty much sums it up. Tiffany Souers' death is like a freak accident borne of humans developing too far into the wild. Sometimes, there isn't enough room for the animals, so they make their way into the city. This animal, Inman, had a wide stalking range. This time, we humans didn't build a condo in the middle of his forest. This time, he came down from the mountain. If only we'd been able to shoot him before he got hungry again, you know?

Society was smart to keep Inman in a cage for years following his first sex crimes. Once again, a parole board will be forced to ask itself whether it was right to let Inman out of jail a little early. And once again, the debate will be renewed about whether sex crimes should have longer sentences, mandatory minimums, etc. In the past, people have talked a lot and didn't act. I would like to think something would change this time, but I don't have a ton of faith.

We all should learn our lessons on this one, but we aren't the kind to learn quickly. Most of us, myself included, don't learn until it is too late. In the 36 hours since deputies arrested Jerry Buck Inman, I've did little more than work to catch up on a lot of my regular work. I now have more to do than time to do it. That means I need to stop coddling my crime reporter fantasies and get back to writing about gutshot straight draws and leather-assed poker players. There are animals in that world, too, but they'll only take your money.

Before I let it go, however, I'm going to list a few things I'd like to remember in the future (and, hopefully I can help others remember as well).

First, crime profiles can be not only unreliable, but also deceiving. I thought the cops were right to believe the were looking for a young, educated, middle-class, college student who had just committed his first murder. In the end, while we were all looking for a date rape gone wrong, Jerry Buck Inman was doing yard work in Tennessee and likely wondering which state he would visit next.

That brings me to DNA. I don't think everyone should have to give up their DNA for a database, but I think everyone who has been convicted of a violent and/or sexual crime should be subjected to DNA testing an database storage.

See, as I said before, had it not been for DNA in this case, we would never know Inman's name. We would've spent years harassing college students and shaking the bushes around Clemson. What's more, more women would've been killed. That is all a short way of saying, don't you think Inman was done. He wasn't.

As I spend a significant amount of time on the road, I'm now worried more about random crime and my family falling victim to it. I've never worried much about these things. In fact, I've ignored them to a fault. The other night, I was out and a guy game to my house at 9pm and, in essence, tried to get my wife to open the door for him. The cops picked the guy up later, but it was too late for me not to start the process of making sure my family is protected while I'm on the road. Note to potential attackers: First, the cops will know if you break in. A security system will take care of that. And frankly, you better hope the cops get here and arrest you before my wife knows you're in the house. Nuff said?

Finally, by way of explanation for the last few days of obsessive reporting, I can only say that I'm not fully sure what drove me to focus so much on the case. First, I have a history with cases like this and I'm still hurting for the families of victims in which the cases are unsolved. I didn't want this case to remain unsolved. And frankly, I think it was a coinflip. There was a damned good chance Inman could've walked on this one. I give a lot of credit to all of the Upstate and state cops who brought this case to an arrest.

Beyond that, though, I would be dishonest if I tried to say this case didn't make me want to be back on the street. In the final few days of the story, I honestly felt like I needed to be involved. I'd never claim to have been a big deal in TV, but if there was anything I did well, it was cover the huge, breaking stories. There was some good reporting and some bad reporting locally. I wanted to be in there, telling the stories, and asking the questions.

However, there is a reason I got out of the business in the first place, and a large part of my departure was a lack of dedication to good reporting of the news. And money, of course. Money is always an issue, yeah?

With that in mind, I'm going to leave this case in the hands of the reporting pros and I'm going to get back to making money. And hugging my family. And keeping the doors locked.

You know. Life.

Previous coverage

Tiffany Souers and College Murders
Tiffany Souers Suspect
Tiffany Souers: Suspect Still At Large
Manhunt for Jerry Buck Inman