A SHOCKING 1989 QUADRUPLE FAMILY MURDER AND THE LITTLE GIRL LEFT BEHIND TO TELL THE STORY.
As a child, I was known as "Jessica Pelley." When I was nine, I went to a sleepover at a friend's house for the weekend. While I was away, my entire family was murdered. I would spend the next 30 years fighting, crawling, and clawing my way through the darkness. This wasn't just a national news headline, a cold case, or a true crime show. It was my family. And my life. I was the broken little girl left behind to tell this story. I am now "Jessi," in the pages of this unapologetic memoir, set free.
"ALMOST A MURDER" is a nonfiction novel of literary realism.
It is a starkly honest portrayal of a cub lawyer accepting a case no one else will touch in an attempt to cope with his recent grief and entrenched reflex of inferiority. He is up against powerful financial, social and political pressures in this epic legal battle.
Tension builds during the three trials that comprise this case: police procedures, crime scene investigations, legal jostling, and the defendant's relationship with the victim. "ALMOST A MURDER" is fraught with emotion and unflinching in its portrayal of abuse of power, human frailty and depicting the hypocrisy of "civilized" society turning away from the unincorporated because they do not warrant notice.
No doubt the authors can construct a compelling story, but it is the flesh-and-blood characters, the dead-on dialects, and the searing honesty that brings this story to life.
Cynthia Albrecht, the executive chef of the Penske-Marlboro racing team and darling of the IndyCar circuit, went missing on October 25, 1992-the night before her divorce from Michael Albrecht became final.
Drivers and racing crews from across the country converged on "The Brickyard," site of the Indianapolis 500, to help search for her.
As the head mechanic for the Dick Simon racing team, known as “Crabby” across the race circuit, Michael had a reputation for bullying and abuse. He'd immediately become a suspect in Cynthia's disappearance. But with a strong alibi, there was nothing authorities could do when he decided to take a vacation to Florida and skip a scheduled polygraph test and the search for his estranged wife.
In July 1976, a twenty-four-year-old white woman, Margo Olson, was found in a shallow grave in Stamford, Connecticut, with an arrow piercing through her heart. A few weeks later, Howie Carter, her black boyfriend, was killed by the police. Howie and Margo’s interracial relationship held a distorted mirror to the author’s own, with Howie’s best friend, Joe. Joe’s theory was that the police didn’t have any evidence to arrest Howie; operating on the assumption that the black man is always guilty, they killed him instead. Margo’s murder was never solved.
Just when the world thought Oscar Pistorius' meteoric rise to Olympic glory and international celebrity had terminated abysmally in prison, Brent Willock's scientific perspective reopens this gripping narrative for an astonishing re-view.
Olympian Oscar Pistorius' spectacular assent to fame ground to a screeching halt in the wee hours of Valentine's Day, 2013. Hearing a sound emanating from his bathroom, he grabbed his pistol and he stumbled to the washroom, screaming at the intruders to leave. Fearing someone was about to emerge to harm him and his girlfriend, Reeva, he fired four bullets into the bathroom. Soon he realized he had killed his lover. Horrified, he summoned the authorities. The investigating detective believed this was yet another case of an escalating argument where a man murdered his partner. World opinion is split. Some believe Oscar. Others are convinced he committed a despicable crime of passion.
It began on August 12, 1983, when a disturbed woman’s bizarre accusation ignited hysteria across the small Southern California community of Manhattan Beach. Driven by over-zealous investigators and a sensational news media, the legend of The McMartin Preschool became the “case of the century”—the longest, most expensive criminal trial in United States history. Four years later, in the spring of 1988, in the midst of the ongoing frenzy, authors Matthew LeRoy and Deric Haddad, students at San Diego State University, left school to follow the case, a path that led them to Manhattan Beach, an upscale community where a vortex of suspicion left most residents leery of outsiders. In this instance, however, where the inquisitors were two unassuming college students, many opened their doors . . . and they had so much to say.