Trial For Infamous Accused Serial Killer
Underway; Threats Made In Court Against Grouchy Lawman
Calgary (CP)
What some are billing the Trial of the Century because of the infamy of the
accused and the scale of the crimes has gotten underway in this western
Canadian city. The trial has drawn attention across the world, and focuses on a
set of ten local murders in 2016. These murders, however, seem to be the tip of
the iceberg, as the accused has been implicated in thousands of murders all
over the planet for years on end. One of the questions on many minds is will
she be held accountable in all of those cases, or will Canadian justice alone be
sufficient to put her behind bars for the remainder of her days.
The accused
is the famous mystery novelist Jessica Fletcher, who made a fortune for decades
writing mystery novels while frequently assisting local law enforcement
agencies in investigating murder cases. Some of those cases were in her home town
of Cabot Cove, Maine, which for many years was the murder capital of the world,
per capita in terms of population, with an average of twelve murders a year for
a small town. Others were in places where she was visiting as a renowned
author. And authorities have alleged that in fact, she was committing those
murders and framing others for them. A key item of evidence in the present case
is a diary the author kept detailing her crimes for decades, discovered in her
possession.
It was the
world’s greatest and grouchiest lawman who finally brought her to account. The legendary
Inspector Lars Ulrich of the Royal Canadian Mounted Police arrested Fletcher at
a writer’s meet and greet in May 2016. Ulrich had been investigating the case
on behalf of the Calgary Police Service and had met Fletcher, who had offered
her services in looking into the matter. Sources confirmed at the time that the
two rubbed each other the wrong way at that first meeting- Fletcher had
mistaken him for the other Lars Ulrich, perhaps a deliberate way to irritate
him, while Ulrich had told her to stay out of his way and to "drop dead already",
according to sources.
Perhaps it
was that first meeting that fixated Fletcher on Ulrich. Perhaps it was the
humiliation of subsequently being arrested by him in front of her fans. For
whatever reason, during legal proceedings leading up to the trial, whenever the
two have been in the same room, Fletcher has ended up screaming at Ulrich,
making death threats, obsessed with having his head on a pike and ending him,
according to witnesses at such hearings. Initially being represented by an
attorney from her hometown, Fletcher has since taken on a different attorney, a
local star lawyer with the name of a different star.
Joni
Mitchell is sometimes mistaken for the folk singer by dimwitted entertainment
reporters, despite being a good deal younger and really not looking anything
like her. It’s an issue she shares with the aforementioned Inspector Ulrich,
who is often mistaken for the Metallica drummer. Mitchell has been busy
defending her client in pre-trial hearings and punching entertainment reporters
who have mistaken her for the other Joni Mitchell. Like Ulrich, she too is
something of a grouch. Unlike Ulrich, she hasn’t saved the world on multiple
occasions. Why she is defending Fletcher is another matter, as those who know
her say she’s not the sort of stereotypical ambulance chasing lawyer seeking
fame or looking to her reputation.
Inside and
outside the court, supporters of the accused have been present. Alison Murphy,
president of the Jessica Fletcher Fan Club, led a crowd of Fletcherites in
chanting outside the provincial courthouse in the heart of Calgary yesterday. “What
do we want?” she called out to the rest.
“Jessica
released and a big apology!” they yelled back in unison.
“When do we
want it?” Murphy prompted.
“Now!” the
crowd insisted, again in unison.
Inside the
court, a jury has been selected and the leading Crown Attorney has begun making
his case. The defendant has seemed tense, particularly yesterday when Inspector
Ulrich was brought to the stand to begin testifying about the investigation
into the ten murders. While Ulrich laid out the specifics of the case, Fletcher
was seen increasingly to tense up and mutter under her breath. It came to a
point where by the time the trial took a lunch break and the Inspector was
stepping down, Fletcher stood up and snapped, “I will feast on your bone marrow, Ulrich! You hear me? Your bone marrow!”
The judge
instructed Mitchell to keep her client under control, and for the jury to
disregard the defendant’s remarks. The expressions on their faces said it all-
how does one disregard hearing such things? Ulrich simply left court, while
Fletcher received a terse warning from her attorney about behaving herself. The
incident, a common sight to those who were covering pre-trial hearings- is
surely not the last to happen before this is all said and done.
Outside
court, Ulrich was intercepted by reporters. He seemed irritable, but that does
tend to be his default setting in dealing with reporters. Reassured that we
were quite well aware he was not the other Lars Ulrich, he seemed more at ease.
Questions were raised about the morning’s testimony and the hostility the
defendant has for him. He was addressing the matter when someone spoke up from
the back of the crowd. “Lars! Lars, can we get a comment?” It was a stereotypical
entertainment reporter, with the usual vacant eyes and dimwitted expression,
backed up by a cameraman. “Danny Davidson, Access
Hollywood. Tell us, because everyone
who’s anyone wants to know. Why aren’t you in the studio with the rest of
Metallica? And second, since no one else is doing it, will you host the Oscars?”
The rest of
the reporters backed away from the grouchy Inspector to give him space. The
cameraman, sensing danger, stepped aside to get out of the way. Ulrich’s eyes
narrowed, and his voice was low but gruff, a sure sign of trouble for anyone
with a working brain. “First, I am not
that Lars Ulrich. And second, **** the Oscars.”
Davidson
laughed. “Oh, Lars, you’re such a kidder!”
Without a
word, Ulrich lunged forward and threw a punch, hitting Davidson in the face.
Davidson went flying, hitting the floor of the courthouse and seeming to
finally realize he was in trouble. He scampered up to his feet and ran out the
door screaming, the Inspector at his heels. Davidson turned up in a local
hospital in a body cast, whimpering about being beaten up by a heavy metal
drummer. As he is an entertainment reporter (or will be again after he recovers
for about six months), no one cared. As for the Inspector, two final
observations. It’s fair to say that later in the month, he will not be watching
the Academy Awards. And it’s a bit of a shock, when you grow up with the
stereotype of Mounties as polite and nice and all, to hear one swear like a
sailor.
