September 2009

by Jack Thrift

I never meant to kill the man. God’s honest truth. Nicholas Dressler was his name, though I didn’t find that out until later, in a police interrogation room, hours after I’d planted the steak knife in the corner of his eye. Which was a complete accident. Worst I should have been looking at is involuntary manslaughter; instead they went after me with first degree murder. The prosecuting attorney told the jury they had evidence of intent to kill, which precludes manslaughter, and anyway, he asked them, what was I doing approaching the guy with a knife in my hand if not to kill him? It looked bad. Plus — okay, cards on the table — there was the matter of what I did to his body after he was dead. “Mutilation of a corpse,” the name of the charge that got tacked on to the murder charge, didn’t help matters, especially as the charge went uncontested by my lawyer. The jury found me guilty and recommended death, and in the sentencing the judge took no pity. So now I’m staring down the barrel of death by lethal injection. I suppose the judge and jury feel the justice in that. Ah, but there’s so much more to the story they never heard. Some crazy, freaky shit I’m about to lay out for you, stuff that might have swung things my way in court if only anybody would have believed any of it. My public defender, the louse, at first thought my story might be useful in constructing an insanity defense, but he quickly rejected the idea given the dismal success rate such a plea historically has had for a defense. No, he reasoned, let’s stick with a story people will believe.

A lot of good it did me.