Read Online The Miskatonic Manuscript (Case Files of Matthew Hunter and Chantal Stevens Book 2) by Vin Suprynowicz - Free Book Online Page B
Authors: Vin Suprynowicz
Ads: Link
aside, again raising his hands over his head. He offered to let Thibodeau come into the house and retrieve the weapon.
He asked for permission to scratch his nose, and did it slowly, then raised his hands again. He asked to reach into his pocket for his phone; Thibodeau asked him not to, and he obeyed.
“He said ‘I know if I reach down or drop my hands I can get shot,’” Thibodeau had told detectives later. “I said, ‘Hey, nobody’s going to shoot you.…’”
But the subject Johnson pointed to one nearby officer in particular: Sgt. Phil Robichaux, who kept raising his pistol from the “ready” position (pointed at Johnson’s legs) to aim at Johnson’s chest.
“Please ask him not to point his gun at me,” the subject Johnson had begged Thibodeau the negotiator. Johnson even offered to come out and be handcuffed voluntarily if Robichaux and the patrolmen would agree to move “way back.”
Then he asked to scratch his nose again. The negotiator Thibodeau consented. Which is when Phil Robichaux shot him in the chest.
Johnson, grabbing his wound, screamed in pain and stepped back, slamming his door.
“And I’m like, who the fuck shot him?” Thibodeau told detectives later. “I kinda got a little pissed.”
But Sturm Wolfson saw no need to present that kind of detail to the coroner’s jury, nor the fact that Sgt. Phil Robichaux at that point had admitted firing the shot and blurted out to negotiator Thibodeau he’d had a fight over the phone with his wife just before arriving on the scene.
Thibodeau and the three other officers who’d been present told investigators the subject Johnson had never made any move toward his waist, nor toward any weapon. So did two civilian witnesses. But prosecutor Wolfson never brought any of that up; the coroner’s jury would never hear about that. Why confuse them? After all, prosecutors and cops were on the same team.
“And why did you discharge your service pistol, Sergeant Robichaux?”
“The subject Johnson made a furtive move toward his waistband, sir. We knew he was in possession of firearms, and he made a sudden move towards his waist.”
“You felt your life or the lives of the other officers at the scene were in danger?”
“Yes sir, absolutely.”
“You’re aware that the subject Johnson bled to death before a tactical team arrived to storm the house — before they broke in his door with their armored vehicle some hours later?”
“Yes, sir. I’m very sorry that was the outcome from his actions.”
“You’d never met the subject Johnson before, you had nothing against him?”
“No sir, absolutely not.”
And that was it. Judge Crustio reminded the coroner’s jurors that they’d sworn in advance to follow his instructions — anyone who’d refused to take such an oath would have been dismissed and replaced — and he then instructed them the only way they could find Sergeant Phil Robichaux at fault was if they believed he’d gone to the subject Johnson’s home that day “with the express purpose aforethought, that is to say with an express plan and wish,” to kill said negro gentleman.
With that as their only other option, the hand-picked jury of course unanimously ruled the shooting of local business owner Leroy Johnson on his own doorstep to have been fully justified, Judge Crustio thanked them for their service, and Sgt. Phil Robichaux automatically went back on active duty with full back pay and accrued benefits.
“Congratulations,” the union rep shook his hand.
“Fuckin’ waste of time,” Phil Robichaux responded.
“All in a day’s work, Phil. You got to go through the motions.”
“Yeah, yeah, yeah.”
“Second time for you, right?”
“Yeah. That a problem?”
“No, no. Just as long as it’s in the line of duty, Phil.”
“Always.”
Cops killed thousands of people in America every year — not in shootouts, but unarmed people walking down the sidewalk or standing in the doorways of their own
He asked for permission to scratch his nose, and did it slowly, then raised his hands again. He asked to reach into his pocket for his phone; Thibodeau asked him not to, and he obeyed.
“He said ‘I know if I reach down or drop my hands I can get shot,’” Thibodeau had told detectives later. “I said, ‘Hey, nobody’s going to shoot you.…’”
But the subject Johnson pointed to one nearby officer in particular: Sgt. Phil Robichaux, who kept raising his pistol from the “ready” position (pointed at Johnson’s legs) to aim at Johnson’s chest.
“Please ask him not to point his gun at me,” the subject Johnson had begged Thibodeau the negotiator. Johnson even offered to come out and be handcuffed voluntarily if Robichaux and the patrolmen would agree to move “way back.”
Then he asked to scratch his nose again. The negotiator Thibodeau consented. Which is when Phil Robichaux shot him in the chest.
Johnson, grabbing his wound, screamed in pain and stepped back, slamming his door.
“And I’m like, who the fuck shot him?” Thibodeau told detectives later. “I kinda got a little pissed.”
But Sturm Wolfson saw no need to present that kind of detail to the coroner’s jury, nor the fact that Sgt. Phil Robichaux at that point had admitted firing the shot and blurted out to negotiator Thibodeau he’d had a fight over the phone with his wife just before arriving on the scene.
Thibodeau and the three other officers who’d been present told investigators the subject Johnson had never made any move toward his waist, nor toward any weapon. So did two civilian witnesses. But prosecutor Wolfson never brought any of that up; the coroner’s jury would never hear about that. Why confuse them? After all, prosecutors and cops were on the same team.
“And why did you discharge your service pistol, Sergeant Robichaux?”
“The subject Johnson made a furtive move toward his waistband, sir. We knew he was in possession of firearms, and he made a sudden move towards his waist.”
“You felt your life or the lives of the other officers at the scene were in danger?”
“Yes sir, absolutely.”
“You’re aware that the subject Johnson bled to death before a tactical team arrived to storm the house — before they broke in his door with their armored vehicle some hours later?”
“Yes, sir. I’m very sorry that was the outcome from his actions.”
“You’d never met the subject Johnson before, you had nothing against him?”
“No sir, absolutely not.”
And that was it. Judge Crustio reminded the coroner’s jurors that they’d sworn in advance to follow his instructions — anyone who’d refused to take such an oath would have been dismissed and replaced — and he then instructed them the only way they could find Sergeant Phil Robichaux at fault was if they believed he’d gone to the subject Johnson’s home that day “with the express purpose aforethought, that is to say with an express plan and wish,” to kill said negro gentleman.
With that as their only other option, the hand-picked jury of course unanimously ruled the shooting of local business owner Leroy Johnson on his own doorstep to have been fully justified, Judge Crustio thanked them for their service, and Sgt. Phil Robichaux automatically went back on active duty with full back pay and accrued benefits.
“Congratulations,” the union rep shook his hand.
“Fuckin’ waste of time,” Phil Robichaux responded.
“All in a day’s work, Phil. You got to go through the motions.”
“Yeah, yeah, yeah.”
“Second time for you, right?”
“Yeah. That a problem?”
“No, no. Just as long as it’s in the line of duty, Phil.”
“Always.”
Cops killed thousands of people in America every year — not in shootouts, but unarmed people walking down the sidewalk or standing in the doorways of their own
Similar Books
