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Say Nothing to the police
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Excerpted from the seminal work Unintended Consequences by John Ross.
There is an important lesson here. Read it.
You are not compelled at Law to say ANYTHING to the police. What you say will be used as the rope to hang you with. All's I ever say to the police is :
Here is my ID
And:
Am I free to go?
FYI.
"You know about Joe Columbo's attempted murder?" Henry broke in. "What? No. Who's that?" "One of the most instructive events in American history. A lawyer friend of mine thinks it should be taught in grade school. Ah...here we go," Henry said as his malt was delivered. "Damn, these are good," he said, savoring the first few sips. "Where was I? Oh yes—Joe Columbo and the guy that tried to kill him. "Joe Columbo was a big wheel in the organization in New York City in the early '60s. Some other big wheel or wheels decided to take over Joe's part of the business. He or they hired a contract killer—some black guy—to shoot Joe in the middle of a New York City parade. I don't know what they paid the guy, promised him, or threatened him with, but he did it. Shot Joe Columbo in the middle of the parade, just like he was supposed to. Didn't kill him, but left him paralyzed and confined to a wheelchair. A few thousand witnesses were there to see it, and a couple or three television cameras filmed it as well." Henry took another sip of his malt and smiled. "What happened next is the interesting part. "As soon as the black guy shoots and paralyzes Columbo, five big Sicilian gentlemen jump on top of him. The black guy is buried underneath them. Don't forget—cameras are filming all this. Okay, so there's this big dogpile of six people, and all of a sudden, Whump! Whump! Two muffled shots. The five guys stand up, and there's one dead black guy lying on the ground with two .38 slugs in him, and a .38 revolver lying on the ground next to him. Smith & Wesson, I think it was. "Anyway, the serial numbers on the gun have been destroyed with a punch, and every place on the gun that the shooter would have touched is wrapped with friction tape, including the trigger. "Cops haul in the five big Sicilians, find out all of 'em test positive on the nitrate test. Also find out none of 'em have Social Security numbers. Guess which one they decided to charge with the murder of the black guy?" "Uh...I have no idea," Cindy said. "Neither did the cops. So they let them all go." "What?" "They let them all go. Had to. Not one of the Sicilians said anything. Not one single word. Soon as one of them claimed something—anything—the cops could go to work on that one thing, find out if it was true or not, get the guy on the stand, nail him for perjury if nothing else, whatever. Take hold of the one loose thread and unravel the whole cloth. But there was no loose thread." "What about that test?" "It tests for nitrates, which are found in both gunpowder and fertilizer. Cops knew if they looked hard enough, they'd find someone who'd seen all five of the men carrying bags of fertilizer that day. Even without the fertilizer, proving all five of them shot a gun since their last bath doesn't make them guilty of murder. State had no case. They had to let all five of them go."
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