Survival Of A Psychopath(With Borderline Tendencies…Sandra’s Credit Card Scam…Part Two.)

The police department did ask me to come in and speak to one of their detectives about this alleged credit card theft of Sandra’s.The lead detective began by first leaving me messages on my phone that sounded almost undecipherable. My daughter decided to attend with me as my witness and also, my interpreter.

I had decided that I didn’t need my attorney to attend since I knew I was innocent of all charges. I did, however, have one on retainer through this time period of their constant barrage of attacks on my home, my person and my reputation. At that time, since I was slowly learning to verbalize again, I needed an aide in helping to clarify my thoughts when speaking with someone else. My mind was clear and I could see the words but I had difficult pronouncing them and actually verbalizing them.

I was still walking at times with the aid of my walker, but if not needing the walker, always using my Canadian crutches. My body was still in physical healing mode from the horrific motor vehicle accident where Daniel had first tried to murder me and also, from his second attempt to murder me at home.

I went in voluntarily to the department along with my daughter. The detective was curt and asked why I had brought her with me. She explained and produced a doctor’s letter of verification about why her presence was needed at the interview. The detective threw the letter back at her and in a loud voice said, “Do you speak English? Then you don’t need an interpreter.” He then took me by the elbow (I was using Canadian crutches) and led me to the back of the station). I turned back to look at my daughter with anger in my eyes at this officer, knowing my rights were being violated. My daughter knew my strength and my determination. She told me she’d be there waiting for me.

When the officer had me back in his interrogation room, I noted that he was alone, without any other officer present. He began talking to me in a loud, abusive voice, more of a yelling tone. He began by making derogatory comments about my condition and telling me that I didn’t need the crutches. Then he continued about this story of Sandra being in the hospital and her credit cards being stolen by me. I wouldn’t talk to him and I wouldn’t say one word. I’m sure my face showed pure anger at this man.

Finally, after a barrage of insults from him, after him repeating the story again, after him asking me repeatedly when was the last time I escorted Sandra  to the hospital, I finally decided to talk. And this is what I said to this officer. “There’s something wrong here. You’re playing good cop-bad cop. Only there’s one of you here. So where’s the good one?”

This only infuriated him more. But I knew Sandra’s story of me stealing her credit cards was fabricated and he had absolutely no facts to back it up. I knew he wasn’t going to arrest me because I had done nothing wrong and he could not prove anything about Sandra’s story. Her story had simply been a lie to attempt to deflect the original officer from focusing on the damage to my home Daniel had created when he attempted to break in the day after the PFA had been issued, along with the fact that her son had been in violation of the PFA within 24 hours. She had created a story to try to make me look as bad as her son in the eyes of the law. It couldn’t work because there was no truth to it.

“Am I under arrest?” I asked. “Are you holding me?” This officer was getting more and more furious with me. I was not answering any questions of his. His questions to me were of no validity. “What was charged?” he was asking. “Where were the credit cards used?” All of the questions this man was asking really weren’t for me. I quickly realized when he turned the questioning to where and what the charges were that Sandra’s cards may have been used by someone else, but certainly not by me. Sandra, in her convoluted thinking again, was going to try to blame me for someone else using her credit cards.

The flaw in her plan was that I was still recuperating from my motor vehicle accident. I hardly drove my vehicle and if I did, it was only a few blocks to the local store. I was speculating that whomever used her cards used them somewhere at a distance that I could not have physically been. Now I decided to say a few more words to this arrogant police officer.

“I will tell you just a few more thoughts, and then I’m done. The last time I knew Sandra to be admitted to the hospital was on October 31st of 2004 when she feigned a heart attack at my home on Chelsea. All three of my children were at my home and can verify this story. A man named J was also there who is a paramedic and he gave her emergency treatment until the paramedics arrived on scene. She was taken to the hospital, where doctors there deemed her physical health perfectly normal but her psychiatric health to be of doubt. They wanted to admit her to the psychiatric ward. She left the hospital AMA(against medical advice) at approximately 4 a.m. when she called my home and took a cab to her home. It’s the same story I told the original officer when asked, it’s what I told you on the telephone when you first inquired, and the story hasn’t changed. There’s a reason for that. Because it’s the truth. I’m done talking to you.” There was a fire in my eyes, I remember. And I’m sure he saw it.

The man looked at me levelly, rather coldly. I just stared evenly back. I was tired, but disgusted with the Police Department’s Detective Division and their way of handling cases. This was getting ridiculous and my rights had been violated. I was innocent. But I knew at this point someone else was guilty of stealing her cards and using them. Sandra had the police convinced I had taken them. She was surreptitiously using the fact that there were charges on her cards not made by her and attempting to blame me for them when in reality, she knew who had used the cards.

All of a sudden, the officer began talking in a normal voice. “I knew you didn’t steal her cards. It was her son, Danny, all along. I always figured it had to be him. We had to check out her story, though. She blamed you and said you took the cards and made the charges. But we knew it was him that took her to the hospital in January of 2006, alone. You weren’t present. We knew from hospital records you weren’t present at her admission. He was the one that had access to her purse, her wallet, her cards. He was the one that stole the cards and used them. You’re free to go.”

Just like that. “You’re free to go.” Friggin’ free to go. After the harassment. After the blame of being called a credit card thief. After being left arrogant, obnoxious messages by this detective on the phone repeatedly and then in person. After being objectionably interrogated by this officer when all along he knew I was innocent but because it is his “job”, he had to investigate her finger-pointing at me. He turned and left the room, leaving me there. Just leaving me there by myself. I slowly walked out on my own with my crutches to my daughter, who was waiting outside. She was anxious to find out what had transpired. All I could say to her was, “Let’s get out of here. It was Daniel that stole his mother’s credit cards and used them. Sandra tried to twist it on me.”

I don’t know that I could make these stories up. Sandra’s thinking was bizarre and twisted and she would use her fury on anyone that she perceived to get in her path. Because she was so ill, so perverse, no one really knew what she was thinking and concocting in her mind. Now I know why her daughter escaped her, never looking back and refusing to talk to her. Her husband hated her and had planned to escape her, too. Lester died before he could leave her. The woman was pure evil and spawn a demon. That demon is Daniel.

Peace.

Sorceress.

All works past, present and future are protected under a CCC. Creative Common License, Kaarie Blake Musings by Kaarie Blake is licensed under a Creative Common Attribution-Noncommercial-Noderivs-3.0-Unported License

 

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