Author Topic: Sandra Lean and Billy Middleton (WAP) exit from Luke Mitchell case!  (Read 19948 times)

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Offline Nicholas

Lucy Briers Blue heart
@lucyjbriers
I’m proud to have narrated this new Channel 5 documentary examining the murder of Jodi Jones - here's how to watch
8:54 AM · Feb 24, 2021·Twitter for iPhone


Daughter of actor Richard Briers https://en.m.wikipedia.org/wiki/Richard_Briers
« Last Edit: Today at 03:03:18 PM by Nicholas »
A Lie Can Travel Halfway Around the World While the Truth Is Putting On Its Shoes

Offline Nicholas

A Lie Can Travel Halfway Around the World While the Truth Is Putting On Its Shoes

Offline Nicholas

Sandra Lean’s conspiracy theory ‘friend’ Sharon Sunshine aka Liquid sunshine crime (YouTube) has recently (over past 24 hrs) posted a video to her channel on the BBC frontline doc with the words ‘this documentary was removed from the public viewing - why?’

 *&^^&

Sandra Lean to Sharon Sunshine (Fan of killers Brendan Dassey & Steven Avery)

Sandra Lean
‘It really - it means a lot for me and for Luke’s family to be given opportunities to do things like this because for all those years it was nobody wanted to hear nobody wanted to

Sharon Sunshine
Your name was mud

Sandra Lean
Yeah it really is like for us really really appreciate the opportunity to do things like this who knows who might hear this who might go hang on I was there in 2003 you know I saw this or heard that or who knows it’s another way

Sharon Sunshine
Where’s the best place for people to go to if they do have something recalled or something they want to say you know or I should have come forward at the time but I didn’t where would where should they go

Sandra Lean
At the moment yep at the moment the simplest way for people to do that is to find me on Facebook because every time we’ve tried to set up we tried to set up a couple of fundraisers and they were taken down before we even got them launched

Sharon Sunshine
Yeah I remember that

Sandra Lean
We had a website built ready to go live and somehow it got infiltrated with mega mega spam something like twelve and a half thousand fake subscribers before it went live how is that even possible
So trying to get a new website built erm we’re in lockdown at the minute and we’re coming up to 17 years I’m getting tired of you can’t do this you can’t do that and I mean in reference to the case we’re 17 years down the line and the kid there who’s lost his his entire youth
So if it comes to getting a new website up and putting stuff on there that’s not been out before well maybe it’s time maybe it’s time so I will announce on Facebook when we finally get a way to get a website set up and all of that eh it will be on Facebook but if anybody wants to get in touch just look for me Sandra Lean the picture is a hand with a yellow paper clip it’s not a picture of me so it’s that Sandra Lean erm if anybody wants to get in touch

Sharon Sunshine
Be careful of fake Sandra lean’s

Sandra Lean
Anybody worried about getting in touch nothing ever goes anywhere nobody’s ever identified or named or anything I might come back and speak to ya or ask if you’d like to speak on the phone or something like that but your information will not be passed on to anybody without your permission so please if you’ve got anything to say it will be completely confidential
« Last Edit: Today at 07:29:30 PM by Nicholas »
A Lie Can Travel Halfway Around the World While the Truth Is Putting On Its Shoes

Offline Nicholas

this is what it's all about - 17.5 years spent desperatly trying to reach the summit of maslow's pyramid - "I AM a real criminologist!" - and to hell with the people hurt or damaged along the way

Sandra Lean (Lockdown 2020) on the Luke Mitchell case to Sharon Sunshiney
Quote
And it’s taken all these years to research it properly
« Last Edit: Today at 05:42:04 PM by Nicholas »
A Lie Can Travel Halfway Around the World While the Truth Is Putting On Its Shoes

Offline Nicholas

And Paul Capaldi (superfan of making a murderer scam or MaM) used to work alongside Sandra Lean’s father Sandy King apparently

Paula Capaldi
Me and dr Sandra Lean go back a lot further than a lot of people think because I actually worked alongside erm de leans father when I first moved up to Scotland in 1983 Sandy King so yes it’s and I’m great friends with this shows my age not only am I was I great friends with Sandy King but also his grandson haha he’s a good box player Stephen Johnson

Sandra Lean
My nephew

Paul Capaldi
It goes back a long way and I’d just like to give a shout out to derek who was the first person who alerted me to the fact that there is this erm there is this this huge egregiousness over the conviction of Luke Mitchell

Derek above 👆🏽is Derek Edmond - Paul & Derek https://m.youtube.com/watch?v=0fxTxPZvXk4&list=PLuXL9VfqHwGlVUbUY7Sec5sGUnvtXdBia&index=1
(Streamed live on Nov 6, 2019)

Derek also plays the ‘box’
« Last Edit: Today at 07:32:25 PM by Nicholas »
A Lie Can Travel Halfway Around the World While the Truth Is Putting On Its Shoes

Offline Nicholas

Stephen Bennett https://mobile.twitter.com/hello_bennett/with_replies

I suspect Stephen Bennett’s production will turn out to be another scam like Making a murderer turned out to be and Luke & Corrine Mitchell & Sandra Lean are hoping ‘vigilante justice’ will somehow help their cause


Advocacy journalism
‘Moira Demos and Laura Ricciardi do not consider their hit Netflix docuseries “Making a Murderer” an example of “advocacy journalism,” nor do they feel obligated to justify why evidence that unearthed since the documentary aired was left out.

“We do not consider this advocacy journalism in the least,” said Demos during the show’s panel at the Television Critics Association winter press tour. “We are not taking sides. If anything this is a social justice documentary. We chose Steven Avery because we thought his experiences offered a window into the system. We don’t have a stake in his character, his innocence or guilt, that was not the question we were raising.”

The two directors also remained adamant that they did not deliberately leave out biographical details from Avery’s life in order to characterize him in a certain way.

“It would have been impossible for us to include every piece of evidence submitted or attempted to submitted to the court,” said Ricciardi. “We took our cues from prosecution, what they thought was the most compelling evidence. Of course we left out evidence, there would have been no other way to do it. We were not putting on a trial with the film. The question is, of what was ommited, was that really significant? And the answer is no.”

In particular, the two denied deliberately leaving out allegations of domestic abuse against Avery from former girlfriends, including Jodi Stachowski, who was featured prominently on the series.

“How is any of that relevant to this individual’s right to a fair trial?” asked Ricciardi when pressed on why the domestic abuse allegations were left out of the doc.

Both filmmakers all but admitted to justice not being served in the Avery case.

“My main takeaway is that each and every one of us is entitled to justice,” said Ricciardi. “Each and every accused, despite how they’ve been characterized or demonized, is entitled to justice.”

“What we document in this series is a long list of irrregularities,” said Demos. “If I was accused of a crime, this is not how I would want to be treated. The level of pre-trial publicity, the fact that there was a department who said it would not be involved because of conflict of interest, and then they were. And I’m supposed to trust that evidence? I think there are so many questions about the reliability of this prosecution. It’s hard to rely on these verdicts.”

The filmmakers have also began working on potential new episodes, and said they will follow significant developments in the case in the future.


https://www.thewrap.com/making-a-murderer-filmmakers-doc-is-not-advocacy-journalism/ abuse allegations were left out of the doc.


Dead Certainty
How “Making a Murderer” goes wrong.

By Kathryn Schulz


‘Argosy began in 1882 as a magazine for children and ceased publication ninety-six years later as soft-core porn for men, but for ten years in between it was the home of a true-crime column by Erle Stanley Gardner, the man who gave the world Perry Mason. In eighty-two novels, six films, and nearly three hundred television episodes, Mason, a criminal-defense lawyer, took on seemingly guilty clients and proved their innocence. In the magazine, Gardner, who had practiced law before turning to writing, attempted to do something similar—except that there his “clients” were real people, already convicted and behind bars. All of them met the same criteria: they were impoverished, they insisted that they were blameless, they were serving life sentences for serious crimes, and they had exhausted their legal options. Gardner called his column “The Court of Last Resort.”

To help investigate his cases, Gardner assembled a committee of crime experts, including a private detective, a handwriting analyst, a former prison warden, and a homicide specialist with degrees in both medicine and law. They examined dozens of cases between September of 1948 and October of 1958, ranging from an African-American sentenced to die for killing a Virginia police officer after a car chase—even though he didn’t know how to drive—to a nine-fingered convict serving time for the strangling death of a victim whose neck bore ten finger marks.

The man who didn’t know how to drive was exonerated, at least partly thanks to coverage in “The Court of Last Resort,” as were many others. Meanwhile, the never terribly successful Argosy also got a reprieve. “No one in the publishing field had ever considered the remote possibility that the general reading public could ever be so interested in justice,” Gardner wrote in 1951. “Argosy’s circulation began to skyrocket.” Six years later, the column was picked up by NBC and turned into a twenty-six-episode TV series.

Although it subsequently faded from memory, “The Court of Last Resort” stands as the progenitor of one of today’s most popular true-crime subgenres, in which reporters, dissatisfied with the outcome of a criminal case, conduct their own extrajudicial investigations. Until recently, the standout representatives of this form were “The Thin Blue Line,” a 1988 Errol Morris documentary about Randall Dale Adams, who was sentenced to death for the 1976 murder of a police officer; “Paradise Lost,” a series of documentaries by Joe Berlinger and Bruce Sinofsky about three teen-agers found guilty of murdering three second-grade boys in West Memphis in 1993; and “The Staircase,” a television miniseries by Jean-Xavier de Lestrade about the novelist Michael Peterson, found guilty of murdering his wife in 2001. Peterson has been granted a new trial. Randall Dale Adams was exonerated a year after “The Thin Blue Line” was released. Shortly before the final “Paradise Lost” documentary was completed, in 2011, all three of its subjects were freed from prison on the basis of DNA evidence.

In the past fifteen months, this canon has grown considerably in both content and prestige. First came “Serial,” co-created by Sarah Koenig and Julie Snyder, which revisited the case of Adnan Syed, convicted for the 1999 murder of his high-school classmate and former girlfriend, eighteen-year-old Hae Min Lee. That was followed by Andrew Jarecki’s “The Jinx,” a six-part HBO documentary that, uncharacteristically for the genre, sought to implicate rather than exonerate its subject, Robert Durst. A New York real-estate heir, Durst was acquitted in one murder case, is currently awaiting trial in another, and has long been suspected in the 1982 disappearance of his wife, Kathleen Durst.

The latest addition to this canon is Laura Ricciardi and Moira Demos’s “Making a Murderer,” a ten-episode Netflix documentary that examines the 2007 conviction of a Wisconsin man named Steven Avery. Like the prisoners featured in “The Court of Last Resort,” Avery is a poor man serving time for a violent crime that he insists he didn’t commit. The questions his story raises, however, are not just about his own guilt and innocence. Nearly seventy years have passed since Erle Stanley Gardner first tried a criminal case before the jury of the general public. Yet we still have not thought seriously about what it means when a private investigative project—bound by no rules of procedure, answerable to nothing but ratings, shaped only by the ethics and aptitude of its makers—comes to serve as our court of last resort.

If you know anything about “Making a Murderer,” you know that Steven Avery has a particularly troubling and convoluted relationship with the criminal-justice system. In July of 1985, Avery was picked up by the Manitowoc County Sheriff’s Department after a woman named Penny Beerntsen was brutally attacked while out for a run in a Wisconsin state park. Beerntsen, who had been conscious throughout most of the attack, deliberately sought to memorize her assailant’s features, and subsequently picked Avery out of both a photo array and a live lineup. At trial six months later, Avery was found guilty and sentenced to thirty-two years in prison. He served eighteen of those before being exonerated by DNA testing, a technology not available at the time of the trial. That DNA test also identified Beerntsen’s actual assailant: a man named Gregory Allen, who was, by then, imprisoned for another assault.

This was bad news for the Manitowoc County Sheriff’s Department. As the public learned soon after the exoneration, local police had gone to the sheriff’s department within days after the attack to report that Allen may have been responsible; the department, convinced that it had the right man, declined to investigate. Ten years later, while serving time, Allen confessed to the assault. Again, the sheriff’s department was alerted and, again, no one acted; Avery remained in prison for another eight years. In light of this information, he filed a lawsuit against the county for thirty-six million dollars.

In 2005, while the defendants in that civil suit were being deposed, Avery was arrested again—this time for the murder of a twenty-five-year-old photographer named Teresa Halbach. Four months later, his sixteen-year-old nephew, Brendan Dassey, was arrested as well, after he confessed to helping Avery rape and murder Halbach and burn her body. In 2007, after separate trials, both were found guilty and sentenced to life in prison.

Ricciardi and Demos examine those convictions in “Making a Murderer,” and the information they present has led viewers to respond with near-universal outrage about the verdicts. Because of the pending civil litigation, the Manitowoc County Sheriff’s Department was supposed to have nothing to do with the Halbach investigation beyond lending any necessary equipment to the jurisdiction in charge. Yet members of the department were involved in the case at every critical juncture. One of them was allegedly left alone with Halbach’s vehicle for several hours after it was located and before Avery’s blood was discovered inside. Another found the key to Halbach’s S.U.V. in Avery’s home—in plain view, even though the property had previously been searched by other investigators six times. A third found a bullet fragment in Avery’s garage, again after the premises had been repeatedly searched. The analyst who identified Halbach’s DNA on that bullet had been instructed by a county detective to try to come up with evidence that Halbach had been in Avery’s house or garage. Perhaps most damning, the defense discovered that a vial of Avery’s blood, on file from the 1985 case, had been tampered with; the outer and inner seal on the box in which it was kept had been broken, and the vial itself had a puncture in the top, as from a hypodermic needle.

That is sobering stuff, but the most egregious misconduct shown in the documentary concerns not Avery but his nephew, Brendan Dassey—a stone-quiet, profoundly naïve, learning-disabled teen-ager with no prior criminal record, who is interrogated four times without his lawyer present. In the course of those interrogations, the boy, who earlier claimed to have no knowledge of Halbach, gradually describes an increasingly lurid torture scene that culminates in her murder by gunshot. The gun comes up only after investigators prod Dassey to describe what happened to Halbach’s head. Dassey first proposes that Avery cut off her hair, and then adds that his uncle punched her. Finally, one of the investigators, growing impatient, says, “I’m just going to come out and ask you: Who shot her in the head?” After the confession is signed, the prosecutor calls a press conference and turns Dassey’s story into the definitive account of what happened—a travesty of justice for Dassey and Avery, given the questionable nature of the interrogation, and a terrible cruelty to the Halbach family.

Dassey repeatedly recanted his confession, including in a letter to the judge and on the witness stand. But it was too late. “Put the tape of his confession in the VCR or DVD player and play it, there’s our case right there,” Halbach’s brother told the press. He was right, but he shouldn’t have been. Most people find it impossible to imagine why anyone would confess to a crime he didn’t commit, but, watching Dassey’s interrogation, it is easy to see how a team of motivated investigators could alternately badger, cajole, and threaten a vulnerable suspect into saying what they wanted to hear. When Dassey’s mother asked him how he came up with so many details if he was innocent, he said, “I guessed.” “You don’t guess with something like this, Brendan,” she replied. “Well,” he said, “that’s what I do with my homework, too.”

B By chance, I have known many of the details of the Avery case since long before the release of “Making a Murderer,” because in 2007 I spoke at length with Penny Beerntsen. At the time, I was working on a book about being wrong—about how we as a culture think about error, and how we as individuals experience it—and Beerntsen, in identifying Avery as her assailant, had been wrong in an unusually tragic and consequential way.

Beerntsen had also been unusual among crime victims involved in wrongful convictions in that she had instantly accepted the DNA evidence—and, with it, her mistake. “It ain’t all her fault, you know,” Avery had said at the time of his release. “Honest mistake, you know.” But Beerntsen had felt horrifically guilty. “This might sound unbelievable,” she told me when we first talked, “but I really feel this way: the day I learned I had identified the wrong person was much worse than the day I was assaulted. My first thought was, I don’t deserve to live.” She wrote Avery a letter, apologizing to him and his family, and, concerned by the missteps and misconduct that led to his incarceration, became involved with the Innocence Project, which seeks to free the wrongfully convicted and to reform legal practices to help prevent miscarriages of justice.

Given her history, Beerntsen does not need any convincing that a criminal prosecution can go catastrophically awry. But when Ricciardi and Demos approached her about participating in “Making a Murderer” she declined, chiefly because, while her own experience with the criminal-justice system had led her to be wary of certitude, the filmmakers struck her as having already made up their minds. “It was very clear from the outset that they believed Steve was innocent,” she told me. “I didn’t feel they were journalists seeking the truth. I felt like they had a foregone conclusion and were looking for a forum in which to express it.”

Ricciardi and Demos have dismissed that idea, claiming that they simply set out to investigate Avery’s case and didn’t have a position on his guilt or innocence. Yet “Making a Murderer” never provokes the type of intellectual and psychological oscillation so characteristic of Koenig and Snyder’s “Serial.” Instead, the documentary consistently leads its viewers to the conclusion that Avery was framed by the Manitowoc County Sheriff’s Department, and it contains striking elisions that bolster that theory. The filmmakers minimize or leave out many aspects of Avery’s less than savory past, including multiple alleged incidents of physical and sexual violence. They also omit important evidence against him, including the fact that Brendan Dassey confessed to helping Avery move Halbach’s S.U.V. into his junk yard, where Avery lifted the hood and removed the battery cable. Investigators subsequently found DNA from Avery’s perspiration on the hood latch—evidence that would be nearly impossible to plant.

Perhaps because they are dodging inconvenient facts, Ricciardi and Demos are never able to present a coherent account of Halbach’s death, let alone multiple competing ones. Although “Making a Murderer” is structured chronologically, it fails to provide a clear time line of events, and it never answers such basic questions as when, where, and how Halbach died. Potentially critical issues are raised and summarily dropped; we hear about suspicious calls to and messages on Halbach’s cell phone, but these are never explored or even raised again. In the end, despite ten hours of running time, the story at the heart of “Making a Murderer” remains a muddle. Granted, real life is often a muddle, too, especially where crime is involved—but good reporters delineate the facts rather than contribute to the confusion.

Despite all this, “Making a Murderer” has left many viewers entirely convinced that Avery was framed. After the documentary aired, everyone from high-school students to celebrities jumped on the “Free Avery and Dassey” bandwagon. In the weeks since, people involved in the conviction have been subjected to vicious and in some cases threatening messages from Netflix-watching strangers. (So have people who were not involved, including the Manitowoc Police Department, a separate entity from the county sheriff’s department.)

For those people, and for others close to the original case, “Making a Murderer” seems less like investigative journalism than like highbrow vigilante justice. “My initial reaction was that I shouldn’t be upset with the documentarians, because they can’t help that the public reacted the way that it did,” Penny Beerntsen said. “But the more I thought about it, the more I thought, Well, yeah, they do bear responsibility, because of the way they put together the footage. To me, the fact that the response was almost universally ‘Oh, my God, these two men are innocent’ speaks to the bias of the piece. A jury doesn’t deliberate twenty-some hours over three or four days if the evidence wasn’t more complex.”

https://www.newyorker.com/magazine/2016/01/25/dead-certainty
« Last Edit: Today at 08:02:52 PM by Nicholas »
A Lie Can Travel Halfway Around the World While the Truth Is Putting On Its Shoes

Offline Nicholas

Sandra Lean: ‘nobody burned his clothes - Luke was taken straight to the police station...’

 *&^^&
https://m.youtube.com/watch?v=uK7OVE_5L7Y

Luke Mitchell had plenty of time before he was ‘taken straight to the police station

There are thousands of examples of Sandra Lean’s deceptive narratives - is Mitchells prison governor aware of any of these ?

So much deception in the first episode of ‘murder in a small town’ difficult to know where to start

The more I learn about Corrine Mitchell the more she reminds me of Cindy Watts

‘Analysing Chris Watts and Cindy Watts on the phone’

https://m.youtube.com/watch?v=YD5P7xVS0rU

I don’t think Corrine Mitchell mentioned the bottles of urine found in Luke’s bedroom during the James English podcast - though found her comments on JF & the ‘condom’ interesting

Corrine Mitchell on JF:
He must have been the kind of person who got off on seeing a dead body - he must have seen her where he was - he must of. But why use a condom for masturbating

Wonder what Luke made of the hedgehog story told by Corrine?


« Last Edit: Today at 10:41:57 PM by Nicholas »
A Lie Can Travel Halfway Around the World While the Truth Is Putting On Its Shoes