by Felicia Pell

Created on: May 13, 2008

So here I am. A human being. A wife. A mother. A victim of our "so-called" justice system. I believe the system to be "just-less"; a farce that pales in comparison to the original ideas upon which the justice system was established. My only method of critique is my own personal struggle. One, I'm sure, is shared by too many others victimized our legal system.

I was arrested on June 14, 2002 just before noon. Interrogated for 8 hours, then charged with murder. I gave a detailed statement of my activity and whereabouts for an entire week. Everything checked out. But was checked out too late. I was placed in the jail of the county in which I resided. And indicted within a week. During that first week, I had hair plucked from my head and blood drawn. My clothes confiscated for forensic testing. One week after being indicted all forensic tests returned from the lab...negative. A clear fingerprint on a bullet casing that clearly did not match my own. A solid alibi, along with five alibi witnesses. Yet, there was no escaping the charge. I guess the fact my hair was a faded shade of pink, and I wore a small piercing in my lip was all the reason they needed to believe I was of a criminal mind.

It has been almost 6 years, and yet I remember that day as if it were today....everyday. I spent 2 years and 4 months in that jail just waiting. Waiting for vindication. Waiting for the truth to be found. Waiting for a trial. Waiting all in vain. Remaining in a cell block with addicts, thieves, alcoholics, and other miscreants. Facing the death penalty for a crime I did not commit or know anything about. My only solace was my innocence. Something, I began to learn, that meant nothing at all.

I had a great attorney appointed to me by the state. An attorney who has never defended a client claiming their innocence whom he believed actually was innocent. Until he met me. He believed in my fight. He tried so hard for a dismissal, but it would not be had. Discovery, something all defendants have a right to, had to be fought for. When we got it, we understood the reason we had to fight. So many mistakes. My hands were never checked for gun residue because the detectives thought too much time had elapsed, they were correct. Except for the fact they confiscated my clothing for testing(as I mentioned previously)and it tested negative. Their argument was that I was not wearing those clothes the night the murder took place. An argument that was lost by a VHS surveillance tape from a local

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