The killer went to great lengths to cover up her crime including sending his grandmother flowers, going to the memorial service, driving by the victim’s house and calling the lead investigator, Detective Esteban Flores. This incident took place in a suburb of Phoenix, Arizona. It would be five years before this case of capital murder would be put in front of a jury to decide the fate of Jodi Arias although the fate of Travis Alexander had been set in stone. Was she a cold, calculating murderess or was she a victim of extreme domestic violence at the hands of an abusive boyfriend? The first jury was left to decide in 2013. It was the most watched trial of the century. The jury decided that Jodi Arias was guilty of first-degree murder with cruel and heinous circumstances which qualified her for the death penalty. The jury could not reach a decision in the penalty phase and justice was delayed. A new jury, drawn from a pool of four hundred people, was drawn for the highly anticipated retrial of Jodi Arias. On October 21, 2014, a jury of nineteen was given the responsibility of deciding whether Jodi Arias should live or die for her crime. So began a retrial that would last almost five months with Juan Martinez and Detective Flores representing the State of Arizona and the return of Kirk Nurmi and Jennifer Willmott speaking to the defense of the convicted killer. The journey will walk the reader through the meticulous actions of the courtroom and extend to an appellate court, a municipal court and a day in the in the original courthouse in phoenix, Arizona. The trial speaks toward the long arm of the law and the implications of decisions made daily. With the help of former jurors of the Jodi Arias death penalty retrial, the reader will step into the jury box when Jodi Arias was on the witness stand and reach a climax when the reader accompanies the jury foreman into the deliberation room as the jury decides the fate of the defendant. “The lambs to the law were now executors of the law. It was humbling, intimidating and powerful at the same time. It was also the time that the jurors’ souls would be tested for truths and experiences that would mark many discussions in the deliberation room. The jury would remember Travis Alexander and what was done to him.” Why Not Kill her is the suspenseful follow-up to the authors first book, Brain Damage: A Juror’s Tale, the true story of being a death penalty juror on the case of Marissa DeVault and the brutal killing of Dale Harrell. The third revised edition is now available in honor of Dale Harrell. Take a journey into the life of Travis Alexander and a search for truth and justice. Somehow, Lady Justice will wield her sword and the end of a seven year saga would be realized but in no way that anyone could have anticipated. Special thanks to True Crime Radio, Trial Talk Live, the Trial Diaries, FOX 10, ABC, NBC and CBS. The author would also like to thank those who supported this work on Go Fund Me with extra recognition to the administrators and fans of Juan Martinez Prosecutor Support Page, The State vs. Jodi Arias, Joey Jackson Fan Page, Justice For Travis, Justice 4 Dale, Justice For Travis Alexander and His Family, Court Chatter, Beth Karas on Crime, Gavel geeks, Trial Watchers, The House That Travis Built, Understanding The Travesties of Unexpected Murder Trials and For The Love of Travis. This work could not have happened without your support! Why Not Kill Her is dedicated to Travis Alexander, his family and all those whom he touched in his short life.

    There, an insular community of Satmar Hasidim shirk the Internet, the president and the rules of secular America, even hiding crimes within the community from police and the courts. The narrative centers on two women—the traditional heroine, a young and beautiful newlywed, who challenged her community's rules and her abuser's many supporters to throw him behind bars, and the abuser’s wife, who continues to stand beside her husband and profess his innocence. Convicted sex abuser Nechemya Weberman's 103-year sentence was a record for a Hasidic man in a Brooklyn court and a victory for Brooklyn’s longtime district attorney, who had been accused of cowtowing to religious leaders. The story also provides a rare glimpse into the cloistered Satmar Hasidic community, which claims to be the world's largest ultra-Orthodox group with 150,000 followers worldwide. Cover designed by Evan Twohy.

    Guns are drawn, and in the ensuing hail of bullets, only the husband walks away. However, police soon find out, that what seems to be a robbery gone wrong is anything but. The Case of the Ragged Stranger, as the tabloids dubbed it, is a tale of deceit, betrayal, and depravity, a stranger-than-fiction mystery story whose shocking solution riveted the nation and made it one of the most sensational crimes of the Jazz Age.

     As a child, I was known as "Jessica Pelley." When I was nine, I went to a sleepover at a friend's house for the weekend. While I was away, my entire family was murdered. I would spend the next 30 years fighting, crawling, and clawing my way through the darkness. This wasn't just a national news headline, a cold case, or a true crime show. It was my family. And my life. I was the broken little girl left behind to tell this story. I am now "Jessi," in the pages of this unapologetic memoir, set free. *** JESSI - APRIL 29, 2016 April 29, 1989. A date I cannot forget. Numbers forever seared deep into my soul. It was 27 years ago, today. Jesus. Get a grip, Jessi. They’re just numbers. They don’t mean anything. You’re giving them power over you, again. That’s what I tell myself. But the numbers—those damn numbers—they haunt me. They always will. I cannot escape them. Not now. Not ever. For most people, dates are just numbers on a calendar. No big deal. Random markers of time affixed to the top left corner of small, white squares on a page to depict days filled with choices, chances, and opportunities. At least that’s what they are for the normal people. But I’m no longer one of them. For me, they serve as numeric reminders of the girl I used to be. A tragedy that would irrevocably and mercilessly alter the life of a little girl wearing dark blue jeans, canvas lace-up sneakers, and a white tee shirt, accessorized by prominent coke bottle glasses, her hair hanging in a messy bob. Her life would be forever dismantled. Gone. The moment they told me the words. The ones that I will never forget. At that moment, my life froze and shattered into pieces, splintering like bits of broken glass, dropping down onto the ground around me, like the remnants of a cracked windshield, falling fast before the spinning mind and broken heart of a wide-eyed little girl. Life, as I knew it, was over in that moment. What happened on April 29, 1989, has scarred me forever. A day that started out normally, before it became ensnared in marred memories, tucked between folds of tragedy and darkness. The lingering memories cut straight to the core of the hollow girl left behind. The darkness delivers itself to me, every year, on schedule. Steadily. Greedily. On the 29th day of April. Relentless. Haunting. It taunts the pieces of me that remain. Every single year. I try to lift myself out of the darkness. I tell myself the numbers shouldn’t matter. Not after 27 years have passed. Jessi, It’s just another day. You can do anything you want with it. Don’t slip into the darkness. But not even the voice in my head believes those lies I tell myself. Year after year, my happiness recoils, my thoughts run to a dark place filled with foggy memories and a void that swallows me whole. The door of despair opens and I’m trapped: alone, numb to the bone, emotionally deplete, void of all reality, space, and time. I hate the helplessness as I slip further into that dark place. A place that, long ago, was filled with light. A place where three little girls would sing happy songs, pick flowers, hold hands while skipping through tall blades of grass, and sit down at the dining room table, where they would bow their heads to pray before plates filled with food, in a home filled with laughter. Then it hits me—the life-defining, self-inflicted images of horror—of their final moments—dragging me deep into the darkness.

    When high school sweethearts Karen and Richard Sharpe married, they shared an interest in medicine, a desire for family, and a dream for the future. For Karen, that dream became a nightmare. After years of abuse at the hands of her physician husband, she put an end to their 26-year marriage. Fearing a crushing divorce settlement, Richard ended the marriage first by unloading a .22-caliber rifle into Karen's chest. The murder revealed more about the millionaire doctor-and his double life-than polite Boston society was prepared for.He Also Had A Secret That Shot His Picture-Perfect World To Hell.Behind the doors of their upscale Massachusetts home, Dr. Sharpe was a compulsive cross-dresser with a penchant for his own daughter's underwear-a respected family man who had not only been taking hormones to grow breasts, but who stole his wife's birth control pills to supplement them. But not even his own family could have imagined that it would take cold-blooded murder to finally reveal the good doctor's disturbing secrets, and shatter forever the prosaic façade of an all-American family.

    An infant died in her care at the same time the unknown science of Shaken Baby Syndrome hit the media. Swept up in a media frenzy, Edmunds was accused of killing the child through SBS. She was stripped from her children and husband and sent to prison where she would fight for freedom 13 years before she was finally exonerated after updated science showed her innocence. Audrey was and is an all-American mother from the Heartland who shares her story of hope and redemption in the face of unrelenting odds. Built as the ideal reader's club book, It Happened to Audrey includes questions that challenge all readers to think of the possibilities in today's ever-changing world. Edmunds is ultimately released from prison in the middle of a blizzard and reunited with her now grown children.