Tag Archives: Paranormal

HOW A GHOST’S EVIDENCE CONVICTED A MURDERER

A1In July of 1897, Edward Stribbling (Trout) Shue was convicted of first-degree murder for strangling his wife and breaking her neck. Trout Shue’s trial, held in Greenbrier County, West Virginia, rested entirely upon circumstantial evidence that strangely proved Shue’s guilt—beyond a reasonable doubt—to jurors who were presented evidence from beyond the grave.

The “facts” included postmortem statements from Shue’s wife, Zona Heaster Shue, who was said to appear before her mother four weeks after death and reported what truly occurred in her murder. It was the first—and only—time testimony from a ghost was admitted as evidence in a United States Superior Court trial and it secured a conviction.

A10At 10:00 a.m. on January 23, 1897, twenty-three-year-old Zona Shue’s body was found by an errand boy. She was lying on the floor in their house, face down at the foot of the stairs, stretched with one arm tucked underneath her chest and the other extended. Her head was cocked to one side.

Trout Shue arrived home before the coroner, Dr. George Knapp, attended. Shue had already moved his wife’s body to their bed where he’d dressed her in a high-necked gown. As Dr. Knapp began examining Zona, Trout Shue exhibited overpowering emotions and cradled Zona’s head and her shoulders, sobbing and weeping. Dr. Knapp stopped his exam out of respect for the grieving spouse and signed-off the death to “everlasting faint”.

A14A traditional wake was held before Zona’s next-day burial and attendants noticed peculiar behavior from Trout Shue. When the casket was opened for viewing, he immediately placed a scarf over Zona’s neck as well as propping her head with a pillow and blanket. Shue then put on another spectacular show of grief and made it impossible for mourners to get a close look at her face.

Zona Shue was buried in the Soule Chapel Methodist Cemetery in Greenbrier County. Initially, everyone who knew the Shules accepted Zona’s death as not suspicious—except for her mother, Mary Jane Heaster.

Heaster disliked Shue from the moment they met and suspected foul play at hand. “The work of the devil!” Heaster exclaimed. She prayed every night, for four weeks on end, that the Lord would reveal the truth.

Then, in the darkness of night, when Mary Jane Heaster was wide awake, Zona’s spirit allegedly appeared.

A9It was not in a dream, Heaster reported. It was in person. First the apparition manifested as light, then transformed to a human figure which brought a chill upon the room. For four consecutive nights, Heaster claimed her daughter’s ghost came to the foot of her bed and reported facts of the crime that extinguished her life.

Zona’s ghost was said to reveal a history of physical abuse from her husband. Her death resulted in a violent fight over a meal the night before she was found. Trout Shue was said to have strangled Zona, crushing her windpipe and snapping her neck “at the first joint. To prove dislocation, Zona’s figure turned its head one hundred and eighty degrees to the rear.

A4Mary Jane Heaster steadfastly maintained her daughter’s ghost was real and Zona’s reports of the cause of her death were accurate. Heaster was so compelling in her paranormal description that she convinced local prosecutor, John Preston, to re-open the case.

Preston’s investigation found Trout Shue had a history of violence. In another State, he’d served prison time for assaults and thefts. He’d been married twice before—one other wife dying under mysterious circumstances. By now the Greenbrier community was reporting more peculiar behavior from Shue. He’d been making comments to the effect that “no one would ever prove I killed Zona”.

Combined with Coroner Knapp’s admission that he failed to conduct a thorough exam, Preston established sufficient grounds to exhume Zona’s body and conduct a proper postmortem examination.

A17Zona was autopsied by three medical doctors on February 22, 1897 with the official cause of death being anoxia from manual strangulation compounded by a broken neck. Bruising consistent with fingermarks was noted on Zona’s neck, her esophagus was contused, and her first and second cervical vertebrae were fractured. Anatomically, they’re known as the C1 Atlas and the C2 Axis which combines to make the first joint at the base of the skull.

An inquest was held and Trout Shue was summoned to testify. Although he denied being present at the time of Zona’s death and bearing culpability, he was unable to establish an alibi and considered an unreliable, self-serving witness. It was ruled a homicide and Trout Shue was charged with her murder.

A12Trout Shue’s first-degree murder trial began in Greenbrier Circuit Court on June 22, 1897. A panel of twelve jurors was convened who heard evidence from a number of witnesses, including Shue himself.

John Preston was reluctant to subpoena Mary Jane Heaster as a witness, fearing her ghost story would damage credibility. However, Shue’s defense lawyer opened that can of worms and called Zona’s mother to the stand. Evidently, it backfired.

A16

This verbatim excerpt is from the transcript of Mary Jane Heaster’s testimony. It’s still on record in the West Virginia State Archives:

Defense Counsel Question I have heard that you had some dream or vision which led to this post mortem examination?
Witness Heaster Answer It was no dream – she came back and told me that he was mad that she didn’t have no meat cooked for supper. But she said she had plenty, and said that she had butter and apple-butter, apples and named over two or three kinds of jellies, pears and cherries and raspberry jelly, and she says I had plenty; and she says don’t you think that he was mad and just took down all my nice things and packed them away and just ruined them. And she told me where I could look down back of Aunt Martha Jones’, in the meadow, in a rocky place; that I could look in a cellar behind some loose plank and see. It was a square log house, and it was hewed up to the square, and she said for me to look right at the right-hand side of the door as you go in and at the right-hand corner as you go in. Well, I saw the place just exactly as she told me, and I saw blood right there where she told me; and she told me something about that meat every night she came, just as she did the first night. She cames [sic] four times, and four nights; but the second night she told me that her neck was squeezed off at the first joint and it was just as she told me.
Q Now, Mrs. Heaster, this sad affair was very particularly impressed upon your mind, and there was not a moment during your waking hours that you did not dwell upon it?
ANo, sir; and there is not yet, either.
Q And was this not a dream founded upon your distressed condition of mind?
A No, sir. It was no dream, for I was as wide awake as I ever was.
Q Then if not a dream or dreams, what do you call it?
A I prayed to the Lord that she might come back and tell me what had happened; and I prayed that she might come herself and tell on him.
Q Do you think that you actually saw her in flesh and blood?
A Yes, sir, I do. I told them the very dress that she was killed in, and when she went to leave me she turned her head completely around and looked at me like she wanted me to know all about it. And the very next time she came back to me she told me all about it. The first time she came, she seemed that she did not want to tell me as much about it as she did afterwards. The last night she was there she told me that she did everything she could do, and I am satisfied that she did do all that, too.
Q Now, Mrs. Heaster, don’t you know that these visions, as you term them or describe them, were nothing more or less than four dreams founded upon your distress?
A No, I don’t know it. The Lord sent her to me to tell it. I was the only friend that she knew she could tell and put any confidence it; I was the nearest one to her. He gave me a ring that he pretended she wanted me to have; but I don’t know what dead woman he might have taken it off of. I wanted her own ring and he would not let me have it.
Q Mrs. Heaster, are you positively sure that these are not four dreams?
A Yes, sir. It was not a dream. I don’t dream when I am wide awake, to be sure; and I know I saw her right there with me.
Q Are you not considerably superstitious?
A No, sir, I’m not. I was never that way before, and am not now.
Q Do you believe the scriptures?
A Yes, sir. I have no reason not to believe it.
Q And do you believe the scriptures contain the words of God and his Son?
A Yes, sir, I do. Don’t you believe it?
Q Now, I would like if I could, to get you to say that these were four dreams and not four visions or appearances of your daughter in flesh and blood?
A I am not going to say that; for I am not going to lie.
Q Then you insist that she actually appeared in flesh and blood to you upon four different occasions?
A Yes, sir.
Q Did she not have any other conversation with you other than upon the matter of her death?
A Yes, sir, some other little things. Some things I have forgotten – just a few words. I just wanted the particulars about her death, and I got them.
Q When she came did you touch her?
A Yes, sir. I got up on my elbows and reached out a little further, as I wanted to see if people came in their coffins, and I sat up and leaned on my elbow and there was light in the house. It was not a lamp light. I wanted to see if there was a coffin, but there was not. She was just like she was when she left this world. It was just after I went to bed, and I wanted her to come and talk to me, and she did. This was before the inquest and I told my neighbors. They said she was exactly as I told them she was.

Now, whether jury members accepted Mary Jane Heaster’s ghost story as being credible, or if it made any difference to their interpretation of the facts, will never be known. And it’s on record the trial judge cautioned jurors about the reliability of circumstantial evidence:

A5“There was no living witness to the crime charged against Defendant Shue and the State rests its case for conviction wholly upon circumstances connecting the accused with the murder charged. So the connection of the accused with the crime depends entirely upon the strength of the circumstantial evidence introduced by the State. There is no middle ground for you, the jury, to take. The verdict inevitably and logically must be for murder in the first degree or for an acquittal.”

A6The jury was out for an hour and ten minutes before returning to find Trout Shue guilty of murdering his wife, Zona, in the first degree. He was sentenced to life imprisonment and died of an epidemic disease three years later.

I’d love to go back in time and be a fly on the wall during that deliberation. What they discussed in that sequestered room has long gone to the grave, but I find Mary Jane Heaster’s testimony about Zona’s fractured vertebrae to be downright spooky.

NO LIFE UNTIL DEATH

garrythumb2Here’s a preview of No Life Until Death, the sequel to the Amazon #5 BestSelling novel No Witnesses To Nothing.

Chapter 1

 

Thursday, November 1st  

9:40 am

SeaSpan Dockyard

Surrey – a suburb of Vancouver, British Columbia

Inspector Sharlene Bate of I-HIT, the Integrated Homicide Investigation Team, swung her unmarked car into a pot-holed lot on the south bank of the muddy Fraser River and slammed it in park. She jumped out, ducking yellow barrier tape and dashing through cold, pissing-down rain to the passenger side of a grey Chevy Impala – oblivious to desperate people doing desperate things.

“Jesus!” Corporal Jill Prunty looked at Bate’s forehead from behind the wheel. “What the hell happened to you?”

“Mixed it up with an asshole at Walmart.” Bate palmed her long, nasty gash. “Tell you later. What have you got?”

“Ah, call came at daybreak.” Prunty’s eyes stayed on Bate’s wound. “A dumpster-diver is gettin’ early dibs on the bins and sees a van back up to the jetty’s end. Driver gets out, opens his rear doors, and pulls out a package that’s like six feet long, floppy, and wrapped in white plastic. He’s got it strapped to an appliance dolly. Wheels it over and cuts it loose to the water. Guy puts his dolly back in the van and drives off.”

“Go on.” Bate pulled a notebook from her lusty-red trenchcoat.

“So buddy in the dumpster… some homeless dude named Dave… thinks it’s wrong so he checks it out. Well, the package snagged on a deadhead. You know them semi-submerged logs? Dave guesses it’s a body in the bag, so he runs for help.”

Bate put on glasses. “Good ol’ Dave.”

“Local PD responds. Between them and a tugboat crew, they fish it out. Sure enough.” Prunty pushed back unruly red hair. “A homicide file.”

“Like we need another.” Bate started scribbling. “Body is where?”

“In the recovery boat. Still shrink wrapped. Don’t know if male or female. We’re waitin’ for the coroner to get here.”

“Did Dumpster Dave get a decent look at our guy?”

“Yup. From probably ten feet away. He’s peeking outa the trash can like Oscar the freakin’ Grouch as the bad guy drives by.”

“Description?”

“Asian male. Approximately 40. Little shit around 5-3 or 5-4. Maybe 120-130 pounds. Short black hair. Clean shaven. Wearin’ dark clothes.”

“Asian. As in…?”

“Well, Rick Portman… Saargeant Portman, I gotta call him now since he got promoted, has Dave back at the shop going through photos and maybe get in front of the artist. Doesn’t sound like our guy is Chinese or Viet. More like Malaysian or Indonesian. Says he’ll have no problem IDing him.”

“Sounds like Dave is our star witness. How wrecked was he?”

“Seemed fine, but I figgered there’d be a credibility issue so I had him blow and give blood. Came back at .03 alcohol, but I’ll send for tox. Especially for crack and meth. Also his vision seems okay. I’ll get him to an optometrist just to make sure.”

“Jill.” Bate looked up and smiled. “You’re always thinking.”

Prunty blushed. Nice compliment. Especially from Sharlene Bate.

“What about the van?” Bate put pen back to paper.

“It’s a white panel thing with only driver windows. For sure a Dodge. Long wheel-base. And definitely propane fired, not gas or diesel. Dave says when you’re in bins all day long, you develop a keen sense of smell.”

“Classy,” Bate said. “Like a Surrey sommelier.”

Prunty read from her notes. “Says it’s an old carpet cleaner with a slider door on the passenger side. Company name’s painted over. Exhaust leaks and it runs rough at the idle. Also, there’s a crease down the bottom of the passenger side and a big crack across the windscreen starting from the left.” Prunty cranked up the defogger and raised her voice. “Knows there’s local plates, but can’t remember the number. Inside it’s got a bunch of welded brackets to tie things down and there’s a big, mottled paint-stain on the floor which dripped out to the back bumper. It’s kind of a sky-blue.”

“Hang on.” Bate stopped writing. “How’d he know what’s inside?”

Prunty grinned. “Dave knows this van. He stole it once to do B&Es.”

Bate rolled her eyes as her Blackberry toned. She checked call display. “Just a minute, Jill. It’s Emma. I have to get this.”

*   *   *

 

Hey Ems.

Hi Mom. Red Cross called. They need me Monday.

Okay, Sweetie. I’ve got a new case starting, but if I can’t go with you then Graham will take you or maybe Carolyn or Brian.

Just wanted to give you heads-up.

Thanks Em&Ems. Love you!

Loves you too, Mew.

*   *   *

             “Couldn’t help hearing,” Prunty touched Bate’s arm. “Your daughter’s pretty rare, eh?”

“Yeah, a one in thirty-five million blood-type.” Bate was back writing.

“You guys are on standby with the blood bank to donate?”

Bate straightened up. “Yes. It’s tied to databases and cell-phone alerts. We’ve been expecting this one. It’s a planned procedure where they’ve identified a compatible recipient and need backup blood. But you never know when an emergency comes in and we have to go right now.”

“She must be a lifeline for someone like her.”

“You bet.”

“Quite a load for a thirteen year-old kid to take on.”

Bate breathed deep. “But I’d hope someone else would do the same for Emma if she needed a transfusion.”

“Yeah.” Prunty shuffled her hips that filled the seat. “What goes around, comes around.”

*   *   *

             Tap. Tap. Tap.

Prunty hit the locks and thumbed the back seat.

Coroner Barbara McCormick wrestled through the driver’s rear door. “Goood morning, Jill and Inspector. What have you got for me on this crappy fall morning.”

“Got a floater for ya.” Prunty puffed her cheeks, winking at the coroner.

“Lovely.” McCormick pulled her clipboard from her scene bag. “Need its name, rank, and serial number.”

“Sorry, Barb,” Bate said, fingering long, wet, black hair. “Just a Jane or John Doe at this point. It’s zip-locked, like in a body bag, and we haven’t checked it over.”

McCormick’s brow raised. “You bagged it without me having a boo first?”

“No. It was fished from the river in some kind of a shrink-wrapped bag. We held it like that for you.”

“Most efficient. Are forensics clear for us having a little look?”

“It’s your show.” Bate looked over her specs and flashed a big, toothy smile.

*   *   *

           Bate and Prunty shivered under a protesting umbrella on a tugboat’s greasy, wood deck as they hovered the mummy-like mass.

McCormick finished snaps with her digital Pentax. “This is a hospital shroud, not a body bag. Unusual.” She bent down, picking at the dripping-wet plastic. “Hmm. Bound by clear packing-wrap on the neck, waist, and ankles. Most unusual.”

Bate and Prunty watched. Their backs faced a leaf-splattering wind.

“I’ll open it for a peek at the face.” McCormick slit the wrapping with her box cutter. A dark, bearded mess stared from eyeless sockets framed in a white, plastic pool.

“More unusual all the time.” McCormick said. “Should be a most interesting post-mortem.”

She sliced down the shroud, leaving the neck wrap intact. Bare, brown skin shined from the neck and shoulders. McCormick exposed more. Surgical incisions showed, starting at the tip of each scapula, connecting at the sternum, and heading down the center of the chest. They’d been stitched with brown, butcher twine.

“Oh dear.” McCormick stood up. “Somebody’s already autopsied him.”

Get the #5 BestSeller No Witnesses To Nothing on Amazon at 

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DO YOU BELIEVE JESUS IS SUPERNATURAL?

Whether you’re Christian or not, you have to behold the enormous impact Jesus of Nazareth continues to have on humanity.

JCTwenty-one centuries after his recorded birth, approximately 2.2 billion souls adhere to Christianity; a mainstay being their belief that Jesus possessed supernatural abilities. The religion asks you to accept the Articles of Faith – the Immaculate Conception, the Miracles, direct communication with the Divine, and the Resurrection. All of these require your acceptance that Jesus was, and continues to be, a supernatural entity. The payback of your faith is everlasting life for your soul.

So what, exactly, does supernatural mean? Without checking with Webster, I’d say it’s events for which there appears no natural, scientific explanation. Much of our understanding of science comes from operating in our timeline. 2,000 years ago the PC I’m writing this on, and the Internet connection you’re receiving it through, would be mind-blowing. We’d probably get stoned for Blogging.

3D1Over the past two years, I did a lot of investigation into the supernatural while writing No Witnesses To Nothing. The novel’s based on a true-crime story where many believe paranormal intervention occurred, as there’s no natural, scientific explanation for what went down during a police operation on a frozen Canadian Yukon lake, 27 years ago.

My research into the science and spirituality behind the human soul took me into the worlds of organized religion, First Nations mythology, Shamanism, consciousness, and quantum physics. I confirmed there’s a lot of really weird shit that goes down which science sucks at explaining, but there’s continual scientific progress being made into understanding all kinds of fascinating things.

Higgs BosonThis year, the Higgs Boson confirmation bust the quantum door wide-open in our understanding how the sub-atomic communicates – some call it the ‘God Particle’. Another little gem is in DNA research with single nucleotide polymorphism (SNP) explaining how genetic code realignment at the quantum level accounts for how chameleons and cuttlefish camouflage – they think themselves into shifting shape.

Christ on CrossI believe that the human soul exists, and I made an attempt to scientifically & spiritually explain how the soul works. But I gotta admit that it comes down to faith, just as 1/3 of humanity accepts that Jesus Christ is supernatural and I respect that.

What do you think? Have I been drinking the Cool-Aid?

I’m dying to hear your words.