MONDAY, OCTOBER 17 The week kicks off with a deep, dark local murder mystery featuring a criminally clobbered Seahawk, a suspiciously executed suspect, and a strategically placed dummy, all of which receive thorough illumination in this week's Police Beat (pg. 18). And so Last Days is free to sate our reportorial bloodlust with another freak-ass murder, this one from the superrich enclave of Long Island's Sands Point, where authorities are still trying to identify the tiny young woman found bludgeoned to death in some thick underbrush last Saturday. Details on the "unnamed, unknown" victim come from the New York Post: Police say she was between 17 and 24, with light brown hair and a happy-face tattoo on her hip, and may have worked as a nanny for one of the local rich. She was also small enough to wear children's-sized clothes—at the time of her death, the victim wore a pink sweat suit over a sleeveless pink T-shirt adorned with the comic Love Is..., best described by Simpsons writers as "the cartoon about two naked 8-year-olds who are married." Brain-exploding detail: On the particular T-shirt worn by the victim—who police believe was viciously beaten with a blunt instrument by someone with whom she was standing face-to-face—the aforementioned naked cartoon 8-year-olds are surrounded by this tenderly scripted sentiment: "Love is... patching things up." Tomorrow Nassau County police will finally name their victim—24-year-old Elizabeth Parisi of Mastic Beach, New York—whose ID is confirmed via fingerprints taken last July, when Ms. Parisi was arrested for domestic assault, after allegedly and repeatedly stabbing her boyfriend numerous times with a kitchen knife. Love is patching things up.
TUESDAY, OCTOBER 18 The week continues with the criminal trial of Dr. Charles Momah, the South King County obstetrician- gynecologist whose alleged assaults on four former patients have landed him in King County Superior Court on two counts of rape and two counts of indecent liberties. With the endlessly execrable accusations against Momah finally being sussed out in court—where convictions could land the bad doctor behind bars for 16 years—Last Days will reserve the majority of our attention for the verdict. For now, here's the trial in a nutshell: The prosecution says Dr. Momah used his position (and stirrups) to sexually exploit four female patients; the defense says Momah consensually banged one patient, while the others are money-grubbing liars; Last Days says stay tuned.
WEDNESDAY, OCTOBER 19 Nothing happened today, unless you count the collision of dire mental illness and strictly limited resources that conspired to ruin the life of Lashuan T. Harris, the Oakland, California, woman facing multiple counts of murder after witnesses reported watching her strip her three young children—ages 6, 2, and 16 months—and throw them into San Francisco Bay. Details come from the Mercury News: After being apprehended by police—who arrived to find her pushing an empty baby stroller back from the end of the pier—Harris was arrested and charged with three counts of murder. (The body of Harris's middle child will be recovered late tonight, while the eldest and youngest will remain lost and presumed deceased.) But underneath the alleged criminality that could earn Harris the death penalty lies a whole bunch of motive-clouding insanity. As relatives told the Associated Press, Harris has spent years fighting an increasingly unsuccessful battle against schizophrenia—a situation exacerbated by Harris's poverty. (Since September, Harris has been living with her children in an Oakland Salvation Army shelter.) "She told my mama she was going to feed them to the sharks," said Harris's half-sister Britney Fitzpatrick. "No one thought it was that serious." On Friday, Ms. Harris's attorney will enter a plea of not guilty on her behalf. For details on Harris's forthcoming defense, see above.
THURSDAY, OCTOBER 20 In much lighter news, today news agencies across the country went nuts hyping the first bit of legitimately good news in what feels like years. The subject: Herceptin, the drug described by the Associated Press as "perhaps the most powerful cancer medicine in a decade." The big whoop: According to new studies published today in the New England Journal of Medicine, Herceptin—which targets only diseased cells and has typically been used for advanced cancer—was recently tested on women with early-stage cancer, and the drug cut the risk of relapse in half. Let it be said that every hallelujah-for-Herceptin press piece closed with its own variation of "It's too early to speak of a cure." But even to speak of how it's too early to speak of a cure is to speak of a cure.
FRIDAY, OCTOBER 21 In much creepier news: Today the Associated Press introduced the world to Ubaldo Huizar, the 39-year-old man in Ontario, California, arrested after neighbors reported seeing him sexually assault his family's 10-year-old female rottweiler. God, as ever, is in the details: Since exposing himself to an 11-year-old girl last December, Huizar has been required to register as a sex offender. When police visited his home to remind him of his compulsory registration, they discovered Huizar was living in his backyard, in a large doghouse. Neighbors told cops that Huizar often slept naked in the doghouse with the family dog, Mayra, from whom they occasionally heard cries of pain from inside the doghouse; neighbors also reported seeing Huizar sexually assault the animal with a broom handle. Icing on the cake: Eyewitness reports of Huizar in the backyard wearing bra and panties, and dancing with a broom handle. (Shall we dance, rape tool?) Huizar remains booked in the West Valley Detention Center for investigation of two counts of sexual assault on an animal, Mayra remains in protective custody, and Last Days remains queasy.
SATURDAY, OCTOBER 22 Nothing happened today.
SUNDAY, OCTOBER 23 The week ends with a pair of impressive Hot Tips. Tip number one comes from Hot Tipper Frank, who was strolling through the bakery section of the Harvard Market QFC when his eye fell upon a beguiling duo: "A short man, dressed all in white, with what seemed to be his twink boyfriend," writes Frank. "The guy in white proceeds to yell random shit at his boyfriend, the two of them start horsing around, and they move dangerously close to me. Then I hear the guy in white say something to the tune of 'Smell this.' I turn around to see him shove his hand down the back of his pants, dig around for a second—he may have actually shoved his finger up his butt—then hold his finger up to his nose." "Does this smell?" asked the guy in white of our mortified Hot Tipper, but when Frank declined to play stink moderator, the guy in white answered his own question, barking at his twink: "You see? It doesn't smell bad—it smells like a man!" "This was," writes Frank, "the most fucked-up thing that has happened to me in Seattle." Which brings us to Tip number two, reported by Hot Tipper Josh, who writes, "On multiple occasions, I have been solicited by a prostitute outside of Ezell's fried chicken at 23rd and Jefferson. Most recently, a middle-aged woman with several teeth missing said, 'I'll suck your dick if you buy me some chicken.' I bought her some chicken, but did not demand a blowjob. This proves that Ezell's fried chicken is more addictive than crack."
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