On August 28, 2013, I was swindled by a crooked system into being found guilty of a crime that I did not commit. I was ultimately sentenced to 130 years. That’s death by incarceration.
On the above mentioned date, at the Atlantic County Criminal Complex, in Mays Landing, NJ (pic), in front of the Honorable Judge Delury in courtroom number 5 (pic). I was in a fight for my freedom, against the state the Judge. My paid attorney was their hireling.
It was the thick of the rumble. (Jury deliberations) I wait in angst for the verdict, in a holding cell in the back of the courtroom.
I’m praying to the lord up above to have mercy on my soul, and release me from this devil’s clutches.
At 12:15 PM, the jury sends a note marked as C-19.
The note read: ” believes that one of the people on the jury came in with a decision made that all non-police witnesses are not credible, only the police department is credible” Juror number 9 wrote the note.
The Court, the Prosecutor, and my attorney had a sidebar conversation. I listened in through HEADPHONES.
The conversation ultimately led to the Court allowing the jury to deliberate undisturbed.
I was returned to the holding cell to await my fate.
“Please lord don’t let me get found guilty tonight” was my prayer.
I wondered how should I feel about the note? Good or bad? I didn’t know. I paced the cell worried, but strong, uncertain, but content with my Lord’s plan.
UP’S ANOTHER NOTE!
I smile at my family behind me, as the court Reads the note onto the record.
The forewoman wrote “Juror number 4 is not impartial to the witnesses and refuses to accept circumstantial evidence. We cannot move on at this point with 11-1”
At this point, I believed that this numerical split meant a hung jury, and I would have to be retried.
I was wrong!!!
The looks that were on the faces of my family members was painful. I smiled, even though my heart was being ripped from my chest.
The devil wanted a nigga, but I’ll never show weakness in the face of my enemies.
An elusive answer was lurking within the thick tension inside courtroom number 5.
AN ANSWER TO THE QUESTION: IN WHOSE FAVOR WAS THE JURY???
I was hoping that the world would never know, cause I had a feeling that all these white old people, that made up a jury of my peers, was not letting a nigga go.
The court called the jury into the courtroom. Twelve angry white people; ready to lynch a nigga.
“O Lord, show the devil that he’s a lie” I pray.
The Court asked the jury “will further deliberations help you to reach a verdict?” The forelady replied with a curt ” NO!”
After admonishing the jury with an instruction, the Court sent the jury back to deliberate.
“Whew!” This shit is getting thick, and it look like they on some bullshit, and my peoples is feeling the same way. Judge agreeing with the prosecutor, and my lawyer just mumbling shit.
I’m keeping my composure, remaining firm for my family, and after all they were 11-1. That elusive answer still remained:
IN WHOSE FAVOR WAS THE JURY?
They could still be in my favor. Maybe.
Instantly, after allowing the JURY TO DELIBERATE, THE COURT WAS BACK ON RECORD ” UNDER UNUSUAL CIRCUMSTANCES, I CALLED JURY NUMBER 9 INTO MY CHAMBER’S TO DISCUSS THE NOTE SHE SENT.”
The fix, the bullshit, or whatever you want to call it was in. My back was against the ropes, the ref was throwing low blows, and the contender was throwing haymakers. What’s a nigga to do? I pray.
(O Lord, bring hell upon my enemies in this courtroom. Have mercy on my families soul)
The court knew what was supposed to be the secrecy of deliberations. He knew in whose favor the jury was.
Now, he would work it.
My scumbag, weasel ass, trial attorney leaned over and whispered in my ear “the judge wasn’t supposed to do that”
“Do what?” I ask.
I did not know that it was improper, for a judge to speak with a deliberating juror, Without either trial counsel or the prosecutors presence.
After the Court did some more unusual shit, he put the pressure on the dissenting jury to conform. Juror number 4 conformed.
I was found guilty. Ultimately, I was sentenced to 130 years.
Strapped with the memory of MY TRIAL, a lot of research on ex parte communications between a judge and a deliberating juror, and my family. I was ready for the appellate division.
I get the transcripts to MY TRIAL, and somehow, the transcripts were not reflecting the unusual event between the Court and juror number 9.
“Hold the fuck up!” I say to myself “this can’t be right”
I write to my appellate attorney. Explaining that, something was missing from the transcripts, and we needed the SOUND RECORDING.
A week later, I get a letter from my attorney. she wrote: that she spoke with the stenographer ADELE TALASNIK, and the stenographer does not have this event happening in her stenographer notes, and my trial was NOT SOUND RECORDED.
I wonder if I’m bugging, and if, my memory was playing tricks on me?
I KNOW WHAT TOOK PLACE DURING MY TRIAL!
I read the letter several times. The stenographers name sticks out. ADELE TALASNIK. The name sounds familiar. Oh, her name was signed on the back of the transcripts.
But, still that name sounds familiar.
I ask my self why was my trial not sound recorded, in this day and age, is this even true?
I dig in, doing my research on trial recordings and a stenographer’s duty. One day while going through some paper work. Guess what I come across? MURRAY TALASNIK.SMH He was the prosecutor that took my case to the grand jury.
Wow! If this ain’t no bullshit. These two are married!! (WOW)
It all added the fuck up they doctored the transcripts on a nigga.
My research is leading me through jungles and mazes, which led me to write letters, and make calls, submit certifications, motions and briefs. Attesting to the truth of MY TRIAL. All to no avail. They telling me I DON’T KNOW WHAT TOOK PLACE DURING MY TRIAL… A nigga’s word don’t count for nothing!