Very shortly after Patrick Bradford's Petition for Post-Conviction Relief was denied, the Indiana Court of Appeals reversed the conviction of one Kristine Bunch in an arson case with several very similar issues. The Court found that new, reliable scientific findings and methods should qualify as newly discovered evidence where older, debunked methods had contributed to a conviction.
Although it sounds like common sense, this was a groundbreaking decision in Indiana, where similar arguments have routinely been rejected, as Judge Carl Heldt demonstrated just a week earlier in Patrick's case. And so there was reason for hope, because the Bunch case set a valuable precedent for Patrick's appeal.
However, precisely because the new decision was groundbreaking, that hope was tempered with a strong likelihood that it would be reversed by the Indiana Supreme Court. But that high Court, with a new Chief Justice, has chosen to let the precedent stand, refusing even to hear the State Attorney General's argument against it (Petition for Transfer: Denied).
Patrick's appeal brief will be filed by September 12, 2012, after which the State will file its answer, and Patrick will be allowed a Response. There is no way to know how long a final decision will take.
Thursday, August 30, 2012
Friday, August 3, 2012
Petition
Sign this petition in support.
http://www.thepetitionsite.com/984/394/830/vindicate-patrick-bradford-of-wrongful-conviction/
http://www.thepetitionsite.com/984/394/830/vindicate-patrick-bradford-of-wrongful-conviction/
Thursday, August 2, 2012
A Sad Day in History
In light of today's date--August 2, 2012-- I feel that an original post is necessary.
20 years ago today, a bright young woman (not much younger than myself), had every dream and opportunity ripped from her by force. It is so undeniably tragic that the world was denied her presence. Her family and friends have suffered, and countless others have been victimized as a result of her murder.
Some may be confused by the statement "others have been victimized by her murder". The truth is, whether you want to acknowledge it or not, the wrong man was prosecuted and convicted for this crime. It is uncomfortable to think that we may have been wrong. It is much easier to believe the media's distorted version. I mean, no one wants to be wrong...especially about something so pressing. Because of the wrongful conviction of Patrick Bradford for the murder of Tammy Lohr, a long list of people have been victimized. Tammy's family, who was exploited and led to believe that those entrusted to seek justice for their beloved were actually taking the responsibility seriously...They have been denied justice, blindly at that! Patrick's family endured (and still do on occasion) public humiliation. They watched as a beloved son, husband, father, brother, uncle, friend was wrenched from them, defamed, and thrust into a living hell for a crime he did not commit; a crime the facts prove him innocent of. Last but not least, the public is a victim. We naturally rely on investigators and other elected officials to pursue justice honestly and responsibly. Yet, those who handled this particular case abused our trust. They lied to us and manipulated us by means of the media...playing us for fools, all for the sake of bolstering their careers. It is nothing short of shameful.
It astounds me how many people think they KNOW something about this particular case. After scanning comments posted on Courier & Press articles I've had the privilege of seeing just how ignorant--and I mean that in the least offensive way possible--the public is about the real meat and potatoes of this case. They are convinced that there was "overwhelming evidence" against Patrick Bradford. If you've spent even 2 minutes reading the case files you can see there is actually no evidence. At all. No blood spatter, fingerprint, eye witness, confession, motive, hair, fiber, gasoline trace..nothing. So, to clear the record I've decided to post exactly what the State alleged, in all of its absurdity. I've also included highlights of Patrick Bradford's defense and some closing arguments. Happy reading. May you be enlightened and hopefully as enraged as those of us who have had the pleasure of knowing the ugly truth all along.
20 years ago today, a bright young woman (not much younger than myself), had every dream and opportunity ripped from her by force. It is so undeniably tragic that the world was denied her presence. Her family and friends have suffered, and countless others have been victimized as a result of her murder.
Some may be confused by the statement "others have been victimized by her murder". The truth is, whether you want to acknowledge it or not, the wrong man was prosecuted and convicted for this crime. It is uncomfortable to think that we may have been wrong. It is much easier to believe the media's distorted version. I mean, no one wants to be wrong...especially about something so pressing. Because of the wrongful conviction of Patrick Bradford for the murder of Tammy Lohr, a long list of people have been victimized. Tammy's family, who was exploited and led to believe that those entrusted to seek justice for their beloved were actually taking the responsibility seriously...They have been denied justice, blindly at that! Patrick's family endured (and still do on occasion) public humiliation. They watched as a beloved son, husband, father, brother, uncle, friend was wrenched from them, defamed, and thrust into a living hell for a crime he did not commit; a crime the facts prove him innocent of. Last but not least, the public is a victim. We naturally rely on investigators and other elected officials to pursue justice honestly and responsibly. Yet, those who handled this particular case abused our trust. They lied to us and manipulated us by means of the media...playing us for fools, all for the sake of bolstering their careers. It is nothing short of shameful.
It astounds me how many people think they KNOW something about this particular case. After scanning comments posted on Courier & Press articles I've had the privilege of seeing just how ignorant--and I mean that in the least offensive way possible--the public is about the real meat and potatoes of this case. They are convinced that there was "overwhelming evidence" against Patrick Bradford. If you've spent even 2 minutes reading the case files you can see there is actually no evidence. At all. No blood spatter, fingerprint, eye witness, confession, motive, hair, fiber, gasoline trace..nothing. So, to clear the record I've decided to post exactly what the State alleged, in all of its absurdity. I've also included highlights of Patrick Bradford's defense and some closing arguments. Happy reading. May you be enlightened and hopefully as enraged as those of us who have had the pleasure of knowing the ugly truth all along.
THE TRIAL
The
murder/arson trial of Patrick Bradford in 1993 lasted about 3 weeks. The
evidence against him was 100% circumstantial: no eye witness to the crimes and
no physical evidence linking Patrick to the crimes.
Prosecutor
Stan Levco presented a case based almost entirely on perjured and incompetent
testimony.
The
theory of the State’s case was that Patrick began his patrol shift behaving
normally, gassed up at approximately 11:00 PM, arrived at Tammy Lohr’s (victim)
house halfway across town at virtually the same time, became enraged over some
unknown thing, stabbed her to death (21 wounds), performed elaborate impromptu
crime scene staging (disabling outside telephone lines, rifling and ransacking,
cutting out a window screen, propping open the window and placing a ladder
underneath), as well as removing all traces of blood, all within about 20
minutes. He then allegedly made a false local wanted check on the radio at
11:27, was seen patrolling across town at 11:45, and behaved normally and
performed exemplary throughout a busy night shift.
The
theory further entailed that Patrick returned to the scene at 6:35 AM, walked
casually into the house, went out the back to retrieve a gas can, relocked and
latched the back doors, went down into the basement to find and switch off the
power breaker specific to the bedroom, came back upstairs and caught and killed
Tammy’s dog, doused the body, bed, and floor with gasoline without leaving a
trace on his clothes, ignited the gas and closed the bedroom door and emerged
from the house with a huge column of smoke already visible from blocks away,
all within 20-30 seconds before calling for help on his radio.
Thereafter
and without exception his behavior was appropriate to the circumstances in the
opinions of many civilian and law enforcement witnesses.
THE STATE’S CASE
The
features of the prosecution most relevant to the crimes alleged were:
The
State led with technical data, radio logs, and supporting witnesses,
establishing beyond any doubt—down to seconds—the times at issue:
Patrick
went on his shift shortly before 11:00 PM and went to fuel his car. He called
for a local wanted check on a subject at 11:27. His first dispatched run was at
12:11 AM. After his shift ended, he arrived at Tammy’s house just before 6:35,
and almost immediately reported the fire on his radio.
Several
witnesses testified that they did not see smoke in the area before Patrick’s
arrival. Several police officers testified to their observations as they
arrived to assist; their accounts were consistent with Patrick’s, and their
descriptions of his demeanor were consistent with innocence.
Some
of the officers reported that Patrick had told them that Tammy was inside the
burning house.
Crime
scene technicians (aided by the FBI) could find no physical link between
Patrick and the crimes (hair, fingerprint, DNA, blood, fiber, gasoline), but
they also offered the opinion that they cut screen, open window, and disabled
phone lines were staged. This was supported only by Cpl. Stan Ford’s
demonstration, standing the inside of a mocked-up window, following the
existing cut line with an imaginary knife—he admitted upon cross examination
that the same could have been done from the outside.
A
forensic pathologist testified that Tammy could have died as much as 24 hours
before the crime was discovered--despite the time he listed on her death certificate which placed her death at 5 hours but more likely 2 hours before discovery (based on the fresh appearance of the pancreas and other organs).
Two
fire investigators opined that the fire must have begun approximately at the
time of Patrick’s arrival.
A
fireman swore that, upon entering, he found the door closed and no flames
discernible, contrary to Patrick’s statement that he could see flames in the
bedroom (See “Perjury”, Capt. Baugh).
Several
witnesses described seeing police cars in Tammy’s driveway at widely different
times and on different shifts--which actually indicates that she was involved with other police officers. Strangely, they were never identified.
Another
witness reported a recovered memory (after three days of media reports) of
seeing a police car in Tammy’s driveway at 11:00 PM on the night before the
discovery of the crime (See “Perjury”: Elizabeth Spradley).
A
local thug denied having been out where Patrick claimed to have seen him at
11:27, when he called dispatch for a local wanted check (see “Perjury”: George
Russell).
Two
officers swore that Patrick arrived late, and with smoking brakes, to his first
run at 12:11 AM, suggesting that he had left from the crime scene across town
(See “Perjury”: Donald Erk, Jr. and Robert Hahn).
The
lead detective described a timing test which, he claimed, revealed a 20 second
window of unaccounted-for time after Patrick’s arrival at the scene at 6:35 AM.
The
State also called the most likely suspect—Finis Vincent—to clear himself. An
avowed enemy of Tammy’s, on whom she had filed a police report for stalking,
swore that he had been at home all night until after 7:00 AM. His wife
corroborated this, although their stories were contradictory.
THE DEFENSE
The
Defense case consisted primarily of reactions the allegations of the
State. A long list of witnesses
established Patrick’s alibi from 12:40 AM through the end of his shift, which
forced the State to its 20 minute window for the murder and 20 second window
for the arson.
The
many alibi witnesses confirmed both that Patrick was where he had claimed to be
and also that his demeanor was normal and his duty performance was admirable
throughout the night. A neighbor reported that Tammy’s bedroom light was on at
12:30 AM, proving both that somebody was alive in the house after the State alleges Tammy was
killed, within Patrick’s established alibi, and that a trip to the basement
breaker box must be figured into the 20 second arson window in the State’s
theory.
A
traffic engineer calculated that Patrick had almost certainly encountered a red
light just before reaching Tammy’s house in the morning, eliminating altogether
the already fantastic 20 second opportunity for arson.
A
newspaper carrier testified that he had smelled smoke just outside Tammy’s
bedroom window several minutes before Patrick’s arrival.
A
private fire expert testified quite inexpertly that the fire must have been
burning well before Patrick’s arrival. (See “Science: Junk Science” Barker Davie).
Several
witnesses who had passed by the house between 11:00 and 11:30 PM testified that
they did not see a police car in the driveway.
There
was a day and a half of testimony and cross examination of Patrick Bradford,
which revealed little beyond his prior statements and no significant
irregularities.
CLOSING ARGUMENTS
The
closing arguments were telling: Prosecutor Stan Levco maintained that the
State’s theory had been proven, despite the admitted unlikelihood,
self-contradicted key witnesses, and virtually impossible windows of
opportunity. At least ten times during his summation, he used phrases like “I’m
not saying I can prove this, but…”.
For
the Defense, attorney Terry Noffsinger concentrated primarily on the extreme
unlikelihood (reasonable doubt) of the timing aspects of the State’s theory and
the fact that all of the State’s key witnesses had given directly contradictory
prior statements.
The
Jury deliberated for three days before delivering a verdict of guilty.
Wednesday, July 25, 2012
In His Own Words: A Posthumous Life
***A letter to the public, written by Patrick Bradford. Obtained from his Innocence Page (Seek Justice) on Facebook***
Falsely accused, maliciously betrayed, wrongly imprisoned; these are bad things! A man can get plenty of psychological mileage out of them. I got my fair share: anger, hatred, frustration, despair, vengefulness, obsession....But I have lived this experience as a journey, not an event, and the bitterness of its beginning is only that, a beginning.
To an extent, the widespread popular perception of cops as a tight-knit fraternity is accurate, but not in the way that it is generally understood. Brotherhoods will form among saints and cutthroats alike. They are inherently neither fine nor sublime.
I begin with this, because, on one hand, it was the false image of an honorable brotherhood that provided the mask behind which the antagonists of this story hid their criminal intent: "He must be guilty, because we would never do this to one of our own if we weren't completely sure." On the other hand, I myself had been taken in by the idealized concept, and I had to learn the truth the hard way.
As soon as suspicion had fallen on me (not without some justification, initially) I began to see my brothers in arms as one would a great herd of wildebeest: when one is found vulnerable by a single slim cheetah, the only conceivable response of ten or twenty tons of bovine sinew and hoof is to flee in mad terror to a safe distance to stare, twitching and wild-eyed, as the unfortunate one is devoured. And I was the unfortunate one.
For the most part, I was avoided as though my condition were contagious. My fellow heroes, along-side whom I had fought and bled, whose lives I had protected with mine, whose families I had guarded, whose asses I had covered both in the streets and under legal scrutiny; these same men could not maintain eye contact.
The few exceptions came like Nicodemus, at night: "I don't believe any of it...Most of the others don't either...The bastards have themselves a scapegoat...If you don't see me again..." And then I didn't.
And so it happened to me alone--as it had to be, in any event. I was wrenched from hearth and home, thrust out of my identity and my world and cast into an antithetical identity and a polar opposite world. I crossed over in an instant, in the sinister stroke of some disinterested pen, from decorated cop to degraded convict; from society's arm of enforcement to society's whipping boy; tough break! But it was only the beginning.
Damned Fool:
I remained foolish and naiive for much longer than the wiser people around me (family, and a colorful assortment of jailmates). I still held pitifully to the ridiculous ideal that what had happened was a terrible mistake. There was simply no place in my narrow reality for true cops knowingly bringing a false charge of murder against one of their own. But I was not allowing myself to see the obvious: these were not "true cops," and I (a fact of which I remain proud) was definitely not one of their own.
And so I had to be forcibly, though incrementally, extricated from my naivete. My first hard lesson came in form of a police report sent to me by my lawyer. The report, detailing the verification of the observations of a reliable witness, set forth undeniable proof that the fire--the fire that I stood accused of setting--was burning before my arrival.
The facts contained in this one report were more than adequate to have cleared me, had it not been suppressed. Instead, some judge had obliviously signed a warrant based upon the speculations of a fireman from the black box of his "experience," in direct contradiction to known facts! Thus, my fool's world quickly began to dissolve around me, and I was left to face the cold, stark reality: the crocodile tears shed by the Chief of Police, the exaggerated chagrin of the lead detective...
Now the diabolical truth was crushing in on me as I read one report after another that contradicted the charging affidavit. The time of death determined in the autopsy excluded me; the "witness" who reported a police car in the driveway was a mental patient, known to me, who reported the sighting as a recovered memory after the relevant information was printed in the newspaper the same day; the claim that I could not have observed the fire as I reported was utterly refuted by the first fireman into the house. I became physically ill.
I thought I was being cured of my sanguine worldview, but I remained a fool. Somehow I still believed that the clear, documented truth would prevail. I imagined--I blush inwardly to confess this--a sea of blue in the courtroom, if not in open support, then come to see for themselves if the allegations against this "one of their own" were true.
But this was not to be; a couple of cops showed up--one of them my relation. One by one, the State's witnesses whose original statements were exculpatory, blatantly changed their stories. Nobody was there to care that the entire case was founded on perjury. The judge allowed it, the jury uncritically accepted it, and the media effectively ignored it. My defense was like shouting for help in a blizzard: my voice muted to impotent silence. And that was the end of me; yet still the beginning.
Enemy Within:
An offense can be a powerful intoxicant. Even small ones will often cloud one's judgement to the extent that accurate self-evaluation becomes impossible. The sheer magnitude of the offense I nursed might have been sufficient to leave me permanently thus besotted. But prison can be a very sobering experience, offering a cruel internal light to pierce the fog of self-pity.
It came late at night, like Dickens' spirit triad. Much like the popular accounts of near-death, my life played out before my unwilling mind like a movie. But not my whole life; only the wrongs done, the mistakes made, the regrets earned, the dreams forfeited. It all returned, no matter how long forgotten, no matter how seemingly inconsequential; and the shame of the smallest sleight was equal to that of the most heartless betrayal.
My first reaction was to object that this was not really me; at least not in this purely negative presentation. I had done much good in my life. But the moral onslaught was relentless, and each event so vividly represented that there came to be no ground left for denial to the merciless string of charges paraded before my raw conscience.
What I had managed to compartmentalize in the hectic careen of liberal existence, I was bound to see holistically in my new contemplative vocation. As it happens, character cannot be compartmentalized. A man who treats his wife kindly and gently when present yet defrauds her of unconditional honor when absent in a bad husband--an abuser. The same man, though he lavish love and tenderness on his children, is not a good father.
All of this had to be conjugated in the first person, and that had been my problem all along: seeing myself accurately. In short, my self had been the problem: selfishness, self-indulgence, and now, (God help me!) self-pity. Accepting this--saying this--was the necessary stroke to complete my demise and allow me to begin a posthumous existence, rather than to persist indefinitely in a living death.
None of this should be taken as mitigating, in the least degree, the guilt of those who have made themselves murderers along with the psychotic demon(s?) who committed the very act. By this I mean the suborners of perjury, obscurers of truth, robbers of children, exploiters of grieving parents, the liars, the cowards, the silent, and the willingly deceived. Above all, those who orchestrated and presided over the gang-rape of justice by one perjurer after another. Their guilt will deliver them either to destruction or redemption. But I can no longer decify myself as to determine which.
Reclamation:
Nobody likes prison...or do they? Whenever somebody released from prison comes back for some new crime, we say tongue in cheek, "He must like it here." The truth is, obviously, they don't like prison, but no other state holds a realistic place in their pitifully narrow worldview.
Victor Hugo wrote, roughly, that to open a school is to close a prison. Like Hugo, I believe one of the primary causes of serial incarceration is a certain intellectual narrowness which attends lack of education. I first saw the correlation in the awakening of curiosity and wonder I witnessed in a couple of illiterate men I was teaching to read. Just a hint of a new perspective on the world had them thinking in a universe of possibility outside the confines of their intellectual prisons.
I saw an exponential flowering of this in the eyes of those whom I later would tutor in pursuit of college education. In almost every case, the student was looking to become the first in the history of his family to earn a college degree. (Ironically, my own degrees, earned in prison, make me the last of my family to so achieve). Without exception, these unlikely scholars begin to envision a state of affairs in which crime makes little sense.
Some criminals are irredeemable for societal purposes; and I am happy they are in prison, though some be my friends. But the majority--the vast majority--can benefit from the reforming power of intellectual expansion. I find that I am particularly effective at teaching, tutoring, and mentoring them.
Simply put, I am a crime fighter. It would appear that it remains my calling in the underworld, as it was in life.
As Is:
As to my crime fighting career in its former iteration, I have no need of a defense. The record is clear, and I in no way aggrandize myself in maintaining that I distinguished myself according to a fine tradition. My record stands on its own against the effete coward who, in a shameless political play, from his artificial moral height, would accuse me of betraying the public trust.
Having thus purged, however, I observe that, from an ideal perspective, it would always be in a community's better interest if the breasts upon which it would pin its medals were to beat only with pure hearts. But I know cops, and so I am sure that the caveat will always be "as is".
Patrick Bradford
1/1/2012
Falsely accused, maliciously betrayed, wrongly imprisoned; these are bad things! A man can get plenty of psychological mileage out of them. I got my fair share: anger, hatred, frustration, despair, vengefulness, obsession....But I have lived this experience as a journey, not an event, and the bitterness of its beginning is only that, a beginning.
To an extent, the widespread popular perception of cops as a tight-knit fraternity is accurate, but not in the way that it is generally understood. Brotherhoods will form among saints and cutthroats alike. They are inherently neither fine nor sublime.
I begin with this, because, on one hand, it was the false image of an honorable brotherhood that provided the mask behind which the antagonists of this story hid their criminal intent: "He must be guilty, because we would never do this to one of our own if we weren't completely sure." On the other hand, I myself had been taken in by the idealized concept, and I had to learn the truth the hard way.
As soon as suspicion had fallen on me (not without some justification, initially) I began to see my brothers in arms as one would a great herd of wildebeest: when one is found vulnerable by a single slim cheetah, the only conceivable response of ten or twenty tons of bovine sinew and hoof is to flee in mad terror to a safe distance to stare, twitching and wild-eyed, as the unfortunate one is devoured. And I was the unfortunate one.
For the most part, I was avoided as though my condition were contagious. My fellow heroes, along-side whom I had fought and bled, whose lives I had protected with mine, whose families I had guarded, whose asses I had covered both in the streets and under legal scrutiny; these same men could not maintain eye contact.
The few exceptions came like Nicodemus, at night: "I don't believe any of it...Most of the others don't either...The bastards have themselves a scapegoat...If you don't see me again..." And then I didn't.
And so it happened to me alone--as it had to be, in any event. I was wrenched from hearth and home, thrust out of my identity and my world and cast into an antithetical identity and a polar opposite world. I crossed over in an instant, in the sinister stroke of some disinterested pen, from decorated cop to degraded convict; from society's arm of enforcement to society's whipping boy; tough break! But it was only the beginning.
Damned Fool:
I remained foolish and naiive for much longer than the wiser people around me (family, and a colorful assortment of jailmates). I still held pitifully to the ridiculous ideal that what had happened was a terrible mistake. There was simply no place in my narrow reality for true cops knowingly bringing a false charge of murder against one of their own. But I was not allowing myself to see the obvious: these were not "true cops," and I (a fact of which I remain proud) was definitely not one of their own.
And so I had to be forcibly, though incrementally, extricated from my naivete. My first hard lesson came in form of a police report sent to me by my lawyer. The report, detailing the verification of the observations of a reliable witness, set forth undeniable proof that the fire--the fire that I stood accused of setting--was burning before my arrival.
The facts contained in this one report were more than adequate to have cleared me, had it not been suppressed. Instead, some judge had obliviously signed a warrant based upon the speculations of a fireman from the black box of his "experience," in direct contradiction to known facts! Thus, my fool's world quickly began to dissolve around me, and I was left to face the cold, stark reality: the crocodile tears shed by the Chief of Police, the exaggerated chagrin of the lead detective...
Now the diabolical truth was crushing in on me as I read one report after another that contradicted the charging affidavit. The time of death determined in the autopsy excluded me; the "witness" who reported a police car in the driveway was a mental patient, known to me, who reported the sighting as a recovered memory after the relevant information was printed in the newspaper the same day; the claim that I could not have observed the fire as I reported was utterly refuted by the first fireman into the house. I became physically ill.
I thought I was being cured of my sanguine worldview, but I remained a fool. Somehow I still believed that the clear, documented truth would prevail. I imagined--I blush inwardly to confess this--a sea of blue in the courtroom, if not in open support, then come to see for themselves if the allegations against this "one of their own" were true.
But this was not to be; a couple of cops showed up--one of them my relation. One by one, the State's witnesses whose original statements were exculpatory, blatantly changed their stories. Nobody was there to care that the entire case was founded on perjury. The judge allowed it, the jury uncritically accepted it, and the media effectively ignored it. My defense was like shouting for help in a blizzard: my voice muted to impotent silence. And that was the end of me; yet still the beginning.
Enemy Within:
An offense can be a powerful intoxicant. Even small ones will often cloud one's judgement to the extent that accurate self-evaluation becomes impossible. The sheer magnitude of the offense I nursed might have been sufficient to leave me permanently thus besotted. But prison can be a very sobering experience, offering a cruel internal light to pierce the fog of self-pity.
It came late at night, like Dickens' spirit triad. Much like the popular accounts of near-death, my life played out before my unwilling mind like a movie. But not my whole life; only the wrongs done, the mistakes made, the regrets earned, the dreams forfeited. It all returned, no matter how long forgotten, no matter how seemingly inconsequential; and the shame of the smallest sleight was equal to that of the most heartless betrayal.
My first reaction was to object that this was not really me; at least not in this purely negative presentation. I had done much good in my life. But the moral onslaught was relentless, and each event so vividly represented that there came to be no ground left for denial to the merciless string of charges paraded before my raw conscience.
What I had managed to compartmentalize in the hectic careen of liberal existence, I was bound to see holistically in my new contemplative vocation. As it happens, character cannot be compartmentalized. A man who treats his wife kindly and gently when present yet defrauds her of unconditional honor when absent in a bad husband--an abuser. The same man, though he lavish love and tenderness on his children, is not a good father.
All of this had to be conjugated in the first person, and that had been my problem all along: seeing myself accurately. In short, my self had been the problem: selfishness, self-indulgence, and now, (God help me!) self-pity. Accepting this--saying this--was the necessary stroke to complete my demise and allow me to begin a posthumous existence, rather than to persist indefinitely in a living death.
None of this should be taken as mitigating, in the least degree, the guilt of those who have made themselves murderers along with the psychotic demon(s?) who committed the very act. By this I mean the suborners of perjury, obscurers of truth, robbers of children, exploiters of grieving parents, the liars, the cowards, the silent, and the willingly deceived. Above all, those who orchestrated and presided over the gang-rape of justice by one perjurer after another. Their guilt will deliver them either to destruction or redemption. But I can no longer decify myself as to determine which.
Reclamation:
Nobody likes prison...or do they? Whenever somebody released from prison comes back for some new crime, we say tongue in cheek, "He must like it here." The truth is, obviously, they don't like prison, but no other state holds a realistic place in their pitifully narrow worldview.
Victor Hugo wrote, roughly, that to open a school is to close a prison. Like Hugo, I believe one of the primary causes of serial incarceration is a certain intellectual narrowness which attends lack of education. I first saw the correlation in the awakening of curiosity and wonder I witnessed in a couple of illiterate men I was teaching to read. Just a hint of a new perspective on the world had them thinking in a universe of possibility outside the confines of their intellectual prisons.
I saw an exponential flowering of this in the eyes of those whom I later would tutor in pursuit of college education. In almost every case, the student was looking to become the first in the history of his family to earn a college degree. (Ironically, my own degrees, earned in prison, make me the last of my family to so achieve). Without exception, these unlikely scholars begin to envision a state of affairs in which crime makes little sense.
Some criminals are irredeemable for societal purposes; and I am happy they are in prison, though some be my friends. But the majority--the vast majority--can benefit from the reforming power of intellectual expansion. I find that I am particularly effective at teaching, tutoring, and mentoring them.
Simply put, I am a crime fighter. It would appear that it remains my calling in the underworld, as it was in life.
As Is:
As to my crime fighting career in its former iteration, I have no need of a defense. The record is clear, and I in no way aggrandize myself in maintaining that I distinguished myself according to a fine tradition. My record stands on its own against the effete coward who, in a shameless political play, from his artificial moral height, would accuse me of betraying the public trust.
Having thus purged, however, I observe that, from an ideal perspective, it would always be in a community's better interest if the breasts upon which it would pin its medals were to beat only with pure hearts. But I know cops, and so I am sure that the caveat will always be "as is".
Patrick Bradford
1/1/2012
Jailhouse Religion
It may come as a surprise that a hot-shot street cop, mostly known for a marital fidelity problem, wrongfully convicted and imprisoned, would be found in prison as a devout Christian believer.
Patrick is fond of referring to his faith (tongue in cheek) as "jailhouse religion". The fact is, nobody hits absolute bottom in their life journey (such as going to prison) without either accepting or rejecting a moral/spiritual reality superintended by a God of like nature. Patrick simply accepted.
To Patrick, it has been a "no-brainer" to trust and serve a God who has continually guided and protected him in the midst of the most extraordinarily deadly circumstances. This God has faithfully cared for Patrick's two children, bringing them to healthy adulthood despite the tremendous potential for psychological damage in the way that they lost their father. And who could fail to see a divine hand in raising Patrick up to be a well-respected and highly fruitful agent of reformation and practical rehabilitation?
Patrick is very touched and honored by those kind friends and fellow ministers who testify so glowingly of his Christian character and service. But he believes his miraculous success is merely the fruit of a normal Christian life. It's pretty confusing for those who haven't been with God themselves.
The Bible says, by the pen of a prisoner, "To live is Christ, and to die is gain." In that spirit, Patrick is content that, whether in prison or out, whether vindicated or not, whether he lives or dies, he simply can't lose.
Patrick is fond of referring to his faith (tongue in cheek) as "jailhouse religion". The fact is, nobody hits absolute bottom in their life journey (such as going to prison) without either accepting or rejecting a moral/spiritual reality superintended by a God of like nature. Patrick simply accepted.
To Patrick, it has been a "no-brainer" to trust and serve a God who has continually guided and protected him in the midst of the most extraordinarily deadly circumstances. This God has faithfully cared for Patrick's two children, bringing them to healthy adulthood despite the tremendous potential for psychological damage in the way that they lost their father. And who could fail to see a divine hand in raising Patrick up to be a well-respected and highly fruitful agent of reformation and practical rehabilitation?
Patrick is very touched and honored by those kind friends and fellow ministers who testify so glowingly of his Christian character and service. But he believes his miraculous success is merely the fruit of a normal Christian life. It's pretty confusing for those who haven't been with God themselves.
The Bible says, by the pen of a prisoner, "To live is Christ, and to die is gain." In that spirit, Patrick is content that, whether in prison or out, whether vindicated or not, whether he lives or dies, he simply can't lose.
Nicholas Hermann=Stan Levco
Stan Levco, former Vanderburgh County prosecutor, is a criminal. As shocking as it sounds, this is a reasonable conclusion if you consider it a crime to knowingly present perjury in a criminal trial. In the last election, the voters chose the upstart Nicholas Hermann over Levco, the entrenched political power, suggesting that they expected some kind of change.
But did we get any kind of change? Or, is one prosecutor about the same as another? Is Stan Levco really gone?
Nicholas Hermann had an excellent opportunity to differentiate himself from his corrupt predecessor when Patrick Bradford's Petition for Post-Conviction Relief came before the Court on Oct. 11-12, 2011. The trial record in that case is replete with undeniable, documented perjuries, all knowingly presented by Stan Levco. No honest person would want to be associated with such a crime. But Mr. Hermann chose to defend it. In so doing, he has made himself equally guilty.
No doubt Hermann made his choice for the sake of political expediency (or gain). But it was not just political calculation; it was a moral choice. Now we know all we need to about Nicholas Hermann. Now we know exactly what kind of prosecutor we have: the same as the one we had before.
Stan Levco has not yet left the building.
But did we get any kind of change? Or, is one prosecutor about the same as another? Is Stan Levco really gone?
Nicholas Hermann had an excellent opportunity to differentiate himself from his corrupt predecessor when Patrick Bradford's Petition for Post-Conviction Relief came before the Court on Oct. 11-12, 2011. The trial record in that case is replete with undeniable, documented perjuries, all knowingly presented by Stan Levco. No honest person would want to be associated with such a crime. But Mr. Hermann chose to defend it. In so doing, he has made himself equally guilty.
No doubt Hermann made his choice for the sake of political expediency (or gain). But it was not just political calculation; it was a moral choice. Now we know all we need to about Nicholas Hermann. Now we know exactly what kind of prosecutor we have: the same as the one we had before.
Stan Levco has not yet left the building.
Art Gann: Chief of Fools
There were many instances of perjury in the 1993 murder and arson trial of Patrick Bradford. Most of these appear strongly to have been suborned (induced) by prosecutor Stan Levco and his detective accomplices. For example, medical examiner Dr. John Heidingsfelder changed the time of death at the request of detective Guy Minnis, because the time listed in the official Autopsy Report excluded Patrick as a viable suspect.
However, there is one example that appears to be unique, with no evidence of having been directly solicited. The key word here is "directly", because what led to this blatant perjury is every bit as astonishing as the suborning of the other ones.
On August 2, 1992, the morning of the discovery of the murder, Elizabeth Spradley, a drug addict with a history of mental illness and a long criminal record of deception and theft happened to come to the scene where the crime was being investigated. At this point she knew few details of the crime, other than the exact location (1809-10, 1835-38, 1841-42).
Spradley volunteered to officers there that she had heard loud voices in the early morning hours coming from the direction of the crime scene over a period of a half hour (1819-21). Over the next few days she learned much more specific information about the crime, most importantly that an on duty police officer, somebody she actually knew, was being sensationalized in the press as the primary suspect (1854).
In the meantime, detectives were working hard seeking out witnesses to establish where Patrick was throughout the night. What they learned would be absolutely critical in determining whether or not he could have been involved in the crime. Naturally, the early stage was highly sensitive. Information to the public had to be tightly controlled so that witness accounts could be reliable. Detectives were doing a fair job of holding the important cards close to the vest.
Enter Police Chief Art Gann, Evansville's top law enforcement officer began indiscriminately releasing sensitive information to satisfy a clamoring press. Gann and Inspector Marvin Guest revealed in an August 5th article in the Evansville Press (then the evening paper) that radio dispatch records show Patrick was busy on calls all night except for "65 minutes between 11:07 p.m and 12:11 a.m".
As any competent police officer (let alone a top official) would know, the reason for keeping information tightly controlled during an investigation is that any nut-case in the community might use what they find out to become a false witness. This is especially true in very sensational cases. If a witness knows critical information that was kept secret, this enhances their credibility. On the other hand, if a witness reports information after it was released in the press, they might just as easily be a crank.
Re-enter Elizabeth Spradley. Just a few hours after Art Gann's media fiasco was circulated on Aug. 5, this crank recovered a memory of having seen a police car at the scene of the crime at around 11:00 p.m. Spradley again showed up at the scene to volunteer information, but first she engaged a clueless officer Brian Hildebrant in a conversation about details of the crime, and specifically confirming that Patrick had been alone that night (1923-26, 1854). It was at this point in the conversation that the epiphany supposedly struck her, and a highly detailed account of seeing the police car materialized (1824-25).
The most likely- most obvious- explanation is that Spradley, by whatever pathology that compels her to serial deception and crimes of dishonesty, was drawn to that horrible scene like a moth to a flame. She first invented her story of loud voices based on the only information she knew at the time: the location. In the two days of media frenzy that followed, she learned the irresistibly lurid details of the crime and possibly developed some kind of fixation base upon her past acquaintance with the media's suspect of choice.
Chief Gann's and Inspector Guest's incompetence in the evening news gave Spradley the information she lacked to insinuate herself as a key figure in the sensational case. That same evening she appeared again at the scene. Before committing herself, she fished for more details about the crime and Patrick from the overly talkative officer on guard duty. More confident then, she feigned the recovered memory on the spot.
Although there were many instances in which originally favorable witnesses reversed their stories to become incriminating, Elizabeth Spradley appears to be an exception. It is highly unlikely, and there is no evidence to suggest, that Levco or some detective suborned her perjury. The timing of the release of information in the paper leaves little doubt that Spradley was operating on her own, motivated by a sick mind, a penchant for lies, and possibly the hope of some consideration in her present and future criminal cases.
But this barely reduces the culpability of police and the prosecutor. As soon as the Chief of Fools released the sensitive alibi information, any emerging witness was tainted. But detectives were obviously so eager to exploit that supposed gap in Patrick's alibi that they were willing to disregard the obvious problems with Spradley's aggressive volunteerism. Levco made a star witness out of the first nut that took the bait. He went to great lengths before the jury to turn Spradley into a credible witness, knowing all along that she was merely a product of Art Gann's incompetence.
Levco objected to a rather inept attempt by the defense counsel to produce the Aug. 5 article to the jury. Although there were plenty of other inconsistencies in Spradley's story, the jury never heard that her recovered memory emerged only a few hours after the vital information was made public.
As the Supreme Court of Indiana once decreed, the State's interest in a criminal prosecution "is not that it shall win a case, but that justice shall be done" (Berger v. United States. 295 U.S. 78, 88 (1935). Justice is a commodity that was in short supply in the Bradford trial.
However, there is one example that appears to be unique, with no evidence of having been directly solicited. The key word here is "directly", because what led to this blatant perjury is every bit as astonishing as the suborning of the other ones.
On August 2, 1992, the morning of the discovery of the murder, Elizabeth Spradley, a drug addict with a history of mental illness and a long criminal record of deception and theft happened to come to the scene where the crime was being investigated. At this point she knew few details of the crime, other than the exact location (1809-10, 1835-38, 1841-42).
Spradley volunteered to officers there that she had heard loud voices in the early morning hours coming from the direction of the crime scene over a period of a half hour (1819-21). Over the next few days she learned much more specific information about the crime, most importantly that an on duty police officer, somebody she actually knew, was being sensationalized in the press as the primary suspect (1854).
In the meantime, detectives were working hard seeking out witnesses to establish where Patrick was throughout the night. What they learned would be absolutely critical in determining whether or not he could have been involved in the crime. Naturally, the early stage was highly sensitive. Information to the public had to be tightly controlled so that witness accounts could be reliable. Detectives were doing a fair job of holding the important cards close to the vest.
Enter Police Chief Art Gann, Evansville's top law enforcement officer began indiscriminately releasing sensitive information to satisfy a clamoring press. Gann and Inspector Marvin Guest revealed in an August 5th article in the Evansville Press (then the evening paper) that radio dispatch records show Patrick was busy on calls all night except for "65 minutes between 11:07 p.m and 12:11 a.m".
As any competent police officer (let alone a top official) would know, the reason for keeping information tightly controlled during an investigation is that any nut-case in the community might use what they find out to become a false witness. This is especially true in very sensational cases. If a witness knows critical information that was kept secret, this enhances their credibility. On the other hand, if a witness reports information after it was released in the press, they might just as easily be a crank.
Re-enter Elizabeth Spradley. Just a few hours after Art Gann's media fiasco was circulated on Aug. 5, this crank recovered a memory of having seen a police car at the scene of the crime at around 11:00 p.m. Spradley again showed up at the scene to volunteer information, but first she engaged a clueless officer Brian Hildebrant in a conversation about details of the crime, and specifically confirming that Patrick had been alone that night (1923-26, 1854). It was at this point in the conversation that the epiphany supposedly struck her, and a highly detailed account of seeing the police car materialized (1824-25).
The most likely- most obvious- explanation is that Spradley, by whatever pathology that compels her to serial deception and crimes of dishonesty, was drawn to that horrible scene like a moth to a flame. She first invented her story of loud voices based on the only information she knew at the time: the location. In the two days of media frenzy that followed, she learned the irresistibly lurid details of the crime and possibly developed some kind of fixation base upon her past acquaintance with the media's suspect of choice.
Chief Gann's and Inspector Guest's incompetence in the evening news gave Spradley the information she lacked to insinuate herself as a key figure in the sensational case. That same evening she appeared again at the scene. Before committing herself, she fished for more details about the crime and Patrick from the overly talkative officer on guard duty. More confident then, she feigned the recovered memory on the spot.
Although there were many instances in which originally favorable witnesses reversed their stories to become incriminating, Elizabeth Spradley appears to be an exception. It is highly unlikely, and there is no evidence to suggest, that Levco or some detective suborned her perjury. The timing of the release of information in the paper leaves little doubt that Spradley was operating on her own, motivated by a sick mind, a penchant for lies, and possibly the hope of some consideration in her present and future criminal cases.
But this barely reduces the culpability of police and the prosecutor. As soon as the Chief of Fools released the sensitive alibi information, any emerging witness was tainted. But detectives were obviously so eager to exploit that supposed gap in Patrick's alibi that they were willing to disregard the obvious problems with Spradley's aggressive volunteerism. Levco made a star witness out of the first nut that took the bait. He went to great lengths before the jury to turn Spradley into a credible witness, knowing all along that she was merely a product of Art Gann's incompetence.
Levco objected to a rather inept attempt by the defense counsel to produce the Aug. 5 article to the jury. Although there were plenty of other inconsistencies in Spradley's story, the jury never heard that her recovered memory emerged only a few hours after the vital information was made public.
As the Supreme Court of Indiana once decreed, the State's interest in a criminal prosecution "is not that it shall win a case, but that justice shall be done" (Berger v. United States. 295 U.S. 78, 88 (1935). Justice is a commodity that was in short supply in the Bradford trial.
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