Child Beauty Queen Jon Benet Ramsey | Autopsy Photos and Crime History

Little 6-year-old Jon Benét Patricia Ramsey, born on August 6, 1990, and whose death is listed as December 25, 1996, was found on Christmas day by her father in a tiny room in the basement of their elegant Bolder, Colorado, Mansion,..murdered.

The room, which Jon Benet and her older-brother Burke had nicknamed the 'train room' was filled with evidence of strangulation and sexual assault, including a crude looking 'Garrot' made with nylon rope and a paintbrush handle and tied with an intricate knot—which was still entwined around the child's tender young neck.

According to the lead detective on the case, Steve Thomas, whose book—my copy is pictured above—the Garrott and vaginal trauma were staged afterthoughts left by the killer to mislead the investigators.

The real cause of death, Thomas contends, was a severely fractured skull—a wound which was made, according to Thomas, by Jon Benet's 39-year-old mother, Patsy Ramsey.

Although she was never charged, and according to this 'PDF link' was finally cleared by DNA in July, 2008, Thomas, in his crime-scene book, alleges an entirely different scenario.

Thomas states in his book, paraphrasing here, that Jon Benet, at six years of age, was still sometimes wearing diapers due to an ongoing bed-wetting problem—one which made the mother, Patsy Ramsey, furious and violent.

On the night/morning of Jon Benet's death, Thomas contends the little girl had once-again awakened after wetting the bed, alerting her tired and nearly drunk mother—who was also distraught over an approaching 40th birthday.

Then, the detective says, an explosive encounter happened between mother and daughter—in the area of the 'children's' bathroom—one that escalated to the point where Jon Benet's head was 'slammed hard into a solid surface,' such as the edge of the bathtub or sink-counter, causing the child to become unconsciousness and eventually dying due to brain hemorrhage.

A rambling ransom note was left behind also, which Detective Thomas contends was also staged and written by Mrs Ramsey in an attempt to avoid suspicion.

Thomas says Mr. Ramsey was never involved in his theory, but did willingly participate.

If Thomas is right, then Mrs Ramsey may have taken this secret to the grave with her, as she is now herself deceased, succumbing to cancer in 2006, at the age of 49.

A case of poetic Justice?

You decide.

Detective Thomas seems to think so.

'Keep your babies close' ~Patsy Ramsey

Warning Graphic Crime Photos: Sorry I Lost my Head in Mexico

The date was 12/10/2009.

No this isn't a butcher shop. And no those aren't pig carcases or some other random offal that may have fallen off the back of a slop-truck. 

Those are human body parts which, at one time, used to belong to four so-called drug-mules,' or Mexican drug smugglers. Ones who had clearly not done their job properly, and as a result, paid the ultimate price.

These mules, in human form, were employed throughout the country by larger drug cartels to smuggle and distribute Colombian cocaine, Mexican marijuana, methamphetamine and Mexican and Southeast Asian heroin across the border and into the California.

The Cartels obviously mean business. And they aren't afraid to let it be known that, should their rules not be obeyed or adhered to, you will receive a gruesome message, in partial cadaver form.

The headless torsos, above, were delivered and dumped outside a school named Escuela Secundaria Federal Raymundo Abarca Alarcón.

A note left beside the bodies read: "Sinaloenses, next time send some better trained people. And Michoacan, come and pick up your trash, whore! " signed, The boss of bosses. 
 ~
I'm @cagestokerblog on twitter.

Warning Graphic: Essex Boys: Rettendon Range Rover murders

It was a blistering cold night back in December 1995—especially in the tiny town of Rettendon, a small village in the Borough of Chelmsford in Essex, England. The borough itself, more specifically, is situated about 8 miles south east of the city of Chelmsford, near the River Crouch.

Dark nights in December however cold, cannot keep the bad-boys inside. Especially when the lure of illegal Drugs is involved.

These particular Drugs were hot enough to keep a couple of top-notch drug barons and their driver away from the cold for quite some time.

Patrick Tate, Craig Rolfe and Tony Tucker, three high-level drug dealers were presented with a deal they couldn't refuse. They were told by Jack Whomes and Michael Steele, to drive to Workhouse Lane, Rettendon.

They did what they were told. While awaiting the drug transfer, the three men, Tate, Rolfe, and Tucker, fiddled around with the radio, smoked cigarettes. Killing time, one might say, if you'll pardon the pun.

They were likely still patiently waiting and "killing time" when numerous shotgun blasts, like fireworks, shattered the mid-winter air. The 12 gauge shotgun was loaded with 00 buckshot and, along with creating some made-made thunder it made an incredible mess as well.

The following day, through a think coating of morning frost, The Range Rover, and its gruesome contents were found.

The two aforementioned men, Whomes and Steele, were tried and convicted for the murders at their Old Bailey trial.

Just another day in paradise.

~

*There is a new movie based on this story. Set for 2013 release it's called: The Fall of the Essex Boys. I'm cagestokerblog@blogspot.ca 

Morbid Reality: Something is Wrong w/ Aunt Diane Schuler

The demanding east sunset shone into husband Dan Shuler's eye lids, prying them open.

Mr. Shuler, a night watchman by trade, would be up in an instant, fully awake.

Now—with the guttural sound of bullfrogs calling for mates still filling his dreams, he made coffee for himself and his wife, who remained in a snore-filled slumber.

It had been another great weekend at Hunter Lake Campground in Parksville, New York, and now 'Danny' was more than ready to get back to town. First though, he had to get the little wife, Diane Schuler, and their daughter, and his two nieces, fully awake. And then he would be gone..leaving them all behind.

Approximately 9:30 AM on Sunday, July 26, 2009, 36-year-old Diane Schuler left the Hunter Lake Campground driving a red 2003 Ford Windstar.

Riding along with Mrs. Schuler were her 5-year-old son and 2-year-old daughter, and her brother's three daughters (ages 8, 7, and 5).

Daniel had not waited for her. He was in a hurry, apparently—and had left the campground earlier in the morning in a separate vehicle. A co-owner of the campground later said that both Dan and Diane appeared to be sober, and it didn't look as though they had been arguing. 

On the way to West Babylon, New York, Schuler stopped at a McDonald's fast-food restaurant and a gas station in Liberty, New York.

While at the gas station, my Theory is that she attempted to buy an over-the-counter map, but the store did not sell any.

This is were the plot thickens. 

My theory, is that Shuler was lost.

Her head was completely turned in the wrong direction—and if you ask any Woodsman, they'll tell you it's a panic-attack like situation which trumps all others. You'll not believe anything. Not your GPS nor compass. And you may even toss them both away.

So, now, with the wrong direction logged firmly in her mind, Schuler left in what she felt was the right direction. She left the MacDonald restaurant and gas station in liberty just after 11 AM, traveling along Route 17/Interstate 86 and Interstate 87, entering the service area, and crossing the Tappan Zee Bridge, heading east.

Witnesses later reported seeing a red minivan driving aggressively on Route 17/Interstate 86 and Interstate 87, including aggressively tailgating, flashing headlights, honking the horn, and straddling two lanes At 11:37 AM.

Schuler stopped alongside the highway and called Warren Hance, her brother and the father of the three nieces in Schuler's car. She reportedly told him that they were being delayed by traffic.

She was lost. No doubt in my mind

According to a police report, Schuler was next seen at approximately 11:45 AM by the side of the road with her hands on her knees, as if vomiting.

She was seen again in the same position a short time later, north of the Ramapo rest stop.

At 1:33 PM, two drivers called 911 after noticing Schuler's van edging onto the wrong (northbound) exit ramp of the Taconic State Parkway near Briarcliff Manor, New York.

Within the next minute, four more 911 calls were placed by motorists who reported that a car was traveling the wrong way down the Taconic Parkway.

Then the end came, swiftly and tragically.

At approximately 1:35 PM, Diane Schuler's red minivan traveled south for 1.7 miles in the parkway's northbound passing lane before colliding head-on with a 2004 Chevrolet TrailBlazer, which then struck a 2002 Chevrolet Tracker head on.

Schuler, her daughter, and three of her nieces were dead at the scene of the crash, along with the three men in the TrailBlazer, 81-year-old Michael Bastardi, his 49-year-old son Guy, and their friend, 74-year-old Dan Longo.

The two occupants of the Tracker suffered only minor injuries. Schuler's severely injured third niece and Schuler's 5-year-old son Bryan were taken to local area hospitals, where the niece died later that day.

Bryan is the sole passenger of Schuler's vehicle to survive, suffering from broken bones and severe head trauma.

According to all reports, he is doing well. 

I'm cagestoker on blogger 

Crime Scene Photos: Forty Whacks: The Lizzie Borden Axe-Murder Mystery

"Upon inspection of the victims it seems that Mrs. Borden had been slain by the use of some sharp and terrible instrument, inflicting upon her head eighteen blows, thirteen of them crushing through the skull; and below stairs, lying upon the sofa, was Mr. Borden's dead and mutilated body, with eleven strokes upon the head, four of them crushing the skull."~ George D. Robinson, attorney for Lizzie Borden
~

The date was August 4, 1892.

The scene of the crime was Fall River, Massachusetts, more specifically, 92 Second Street, home of the affluent Borden family.

According to newspaper reports from the time, the day was agonizingly humid.

The "Dog Days" of summer they used to call it.

Days when the summer air gets so hot and humid and weighted that one gets an energy-sapping feeling—and the only desire is to seek out a cool spot in which to sleep.

At eleven o'clock in the morning the temperature had already reached into its highest double digits—and still climbing. 

 

Some say the heat can make one crazy.

Bridget ("Maggie") Sullivan, the Borden family's maid, soaked with sweat after washing the windows from the outside, suddenly heard a primal scream coming from inside the home which caused the hair on her arms to stand to attention and her adrenal glands to spring to life.

It was the youngest daughter in the Borden family, thirty-three-year-old Lizzie: 

"Maggie, come down! Come down quick; Father's dead; somebody came in and killed him." 

The body of Andrew J Borden, Lizzie's father, lay downstairs on a sofa—nearly decapitated.

Upstairs, the body of his wife, Lizzie's stepmother, both pictured above, was also found dead—with strangely similar mortal head wounds.

With an attention-getting front page headline made from the finest of graphic bold print, the local newspaper, called the Fall River Herald, didn't waste a second spreading the news throughout New England:

"Shocking Crime: A Venerable Citizen and his Aged Wife Hacked to Pieces in their Home."

The news reporters who visited the gory crime-scene tried their best to paint a gruesome portrait, made from their finest metaphors and adjectives:

"Over the left temple a wound six by four had been made as if it had been pounded with the dull edge of an axe. The left eye had been dug out and a cut extended the length of the nose. The face was hacked to pieces and the blood covered the man's shirt. The room was in order and there were no signs of a scuffle of any kind."

The coroner along with help from the newspapers, local police, and physicians eventually concluded that the crime was not committed by an intruder—as was previously thought—but by someone inside the family home. More specifically a woman.

Police additionally stated they had also found a possible murder weapon, a hatchet, located in the basement—but it contained no blood or other evidence.

Stated the physician:" 'Hacking' is almost always a positive sign of a crime committed by a woman who is unconscious of what she is doing."

So, mostly due to giving only vague answers to police, coupled with a bad relationship with her stepmother, Lizzie Borden, on August 11, only seven days after the crime was committed, was arrested for double homicide.

In the end however, regardless of the famous Lizzie Borden rhyme, Ms Borden was acquitted of all charges against her. She remained in Fall River for the rest of her natural life until her death from Pneumonia on June 1, 1927. She was 66.

This story, the Lizzie Borden Murder Mystery, much like the Lindbergh baby case, is still wrought with controversy. And, for the most part, remains unsolved.

*The above article was written by me, @cagestokerblog, with quotes from Tru-TV.com

"Lizzie Borden took an axe
And gave her mother forty whacks.
And when she saw what she had done,
She gave her father forty-one." 
~ Famous Rhyme

The OJ Simpson Murder Revisited | Nicole Brown Simpson's Neck Decapitation Photo

Although he was acquitted of the horrendous crimes, these graphic crime scene photos show evidence of an extremely psychopathic, angry, jealous, and somewhat deranged husband. One whom, after their break-up, began stalking his wife's every move until one day confronting her—and the man he viewed as her new boyfriend—in the doorway of his upscale mansion.

No doubt about it. The evidence is overwhelming that the husband then murdered them both in cold blood.

That husband's name is Orenthal James Simpson, better known as 'OJ.' And Simpson's estranged wife's name was 35-year-old Nicole Brown-Simpson.

The entire story is a long one, but I will attempt to summarize it for you here and give you my theory.

It took place June 12, 1994, in the Brentwood district of Los Angeles, California—a place where, only days before, after one-too-many highly publicized domestic quarrels, ones where "911" was eventually called, the loving married couple, OJ and Nicole, had finally separated.

Simpson, a former NFL football star for the Denver Broncos of the NFL was a competitive athlete with a passion for winning. But this time after agreeing to move out of the house, he felt he had lost.

OJ had 'physically' left the marriage, but not 'mentally.' And, as a result of the heart-breaking separation, he was now finding himself slowly sinking into a mental depression.

Simpson was now quickly becoming obsessed with another great challenge—maybe his greatest. Which was how to get somehow back-together with his estranged wife, who, by the way, wanted nothing more to do with him.

It was like she was winning an emotional game against OJ..she seemed happy, and she was dating..which made him all the more furious.

Speculation from the evidence tells us that Simpson likely thought that "one way or another" he would get back at his ex-wife...even if it meant death.

OJ, from that point onward, trailed Nicole like a proverbial wounded deer; because, he also most-likely thought, "If I can't have her back, then nobody else will have her either."

On the night of the actual crime, Simpson—while waiting-in-the-weeds like a cowardly Lion—watched closely from afar as Nicole left a local L.A restaurant named the 'Mezzaluna Trattoria.' It was at this eatery where it is said Nicole had met and was now "dating" a 26-year-old waiter named Ronald Goldman.

This is merely speculation, but in my opinion, Simpson probably followed his wife home from the 'Mezzaluna Trattoria.' Albeit, at a safe distance so he wouldn't be detected.

Perhaps then, once his wife had arrived back home, Simpson may have stalked her by circling the block many times, and walking the perimeter of the property, peering in through the windows to see what she was up to.

The key piece of this puzzle—which brought this threesome together like something from an old Alfred Hitchcock movie, or a psychotic perfect storm, or murderous Bermuda sex-triangle, was simply a pair of reading glasses.

The restaurant waiter and suspected boyfriend, Ron "Ronny" Goldman, had found the eye-glasses, which had been left behind at the table of his restaurant. He then slipped them into an envelope, hopped into his car, and was about to deliver them at the door when he found himself face-to-face with the grim reaper.

The jealous husband, Simpson, and his notorious rage, suddenly went into high-gear.

Like a sudden earthquake—which goes from a six to a ten on the Richter scale in mere seconds—all at once, like a rabid predatory-animal, this once-heroic pro-football-playing and star NFL quarterback, suddenly pulled-out either a razor sharp Swiss-army-knife, a stiletto, or both.

Simpson then went to work. He stabbed, slashed, and mutilated both his wife and Goldman until they lay motionless.

Nicole, a statuesque beauty dressed in a seductive black evening dress, was now barely recognizable, except for her sexy black evening dress.

Like the destruction of a precious painting by Rembrandt or priceless Picasso, OJ's wife's beautiful blonde hair and pretty face and body were now defaced and forever defiled.

She had been slashed and stabbed so many times her body was now drenched in buckets of blood.

So much blood that the crime-scene gave the illusion of someone spilling thick tomato cocktail on their way into the house—and it was now running down over the concrete steps where it was then smeared and tracked all the way along the patio-stones.

The scarlet river of blood inched it's way over the decoratively-created entrance-way—which defined the Simpson's immaculately trimmed lawn.

Although acquitted of double homicide, with the verdict being read on October 3, 1995, in 1997, Simpson was eventually found guilty in a civil court trial for the wrongful deaths of his wife and Goldman, and given a $33.5 million penalty.

In what could be called "Poetic Justice," Simpson is now a 65-year-old inmate at the Lovelock Correctional Center in Lovelock, Nevada—where he is serving a nine year sentence (without parole) for other unrelated crimes, such as armed robbery and kidnapping.

~Written by Garth MacIntosh, aka "Cage Stoker." 

Found on Twitter @cagestokerblog