Justice Watch: The Perfect Crime (The Victim X Story Pt. 2)

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Over the past two decades sexual assault cases perpetrated by industry Goliath's have screamed from the headlines. For the victim, the question is always the same, "Why did it take decades to bring these perpetrators to justice?"

For me, the question is no different. Moreover, anyone who knows me will explain I would have inundated any judicial assistance with the needed irrefutable documents, paperwork, and sources to create the paper trail that would widen the scope of this master crime so they could see the story for what it truly is and not for what it appears to be.


Justice Watch: A Failed System The Victim X Story (Part I)


The story of Victim X, the law firm and the religious organization didn't begin when the crimes were reported.

Beginnings of the Beginning

I had been living in Manhattan since 1992. I had worked my way through NYU, secured employment, which at the time I had a multiple structure plan which included graduate school. I had decided if my creative pursuits didn't pan out, I would teach history. Over the course of my career I sat for the LSAT's, I attempted an MA in Ancient Civilizations, I considered an MBA, took marketing at Wharton, and was eventually accepted to Columbia University where I had planned to matriculate into the School of International Policy Administration.

At Gunpoint Robbery

My intersection with the religious organization began on a fall Friday night. Walking home, I stopped to cross the street at 80th & Columbus, located on the backside of the Museum of Natural History. In front of my building, a late model brown car with smoked blacked windows was sitting under the streetlight. To me, this vehicle was out of place and looked like trouble.

I felt a warning in my spirit and waited for a few minutes, in fact I waited a complete traffic light cycle maybe two. I finally crossed the street and the window slowly powered down and an African American man looked at me.

About 15 minutes after entering the building I left to meet my roommate at the movies and a sign in the elevator alerted all tenants that someone in the building had been robbed at gunpoint. The following week a police artist sketch of this same man appeared in the New York Daily News.

It would be years before I would put together that this moment was ground zero in the terrorizing, stalking and violence that was coming, like a superstorm, in my life.


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101 W. 80th

I always felt I could discern seasonal relationships and permanent ones. My former roommate, who this day I still credit with evolving my Einstein, seven of the same piece combination, fashion sense into a more couture and stylish, competitive, wardrobe even though she locked me out of our apartment while I was vacationing in Europe.

I had spent two weeks traveling through Portugal and I returned to the states knowing something was going to happen, I felt something was wrong. We had lived together for four years, traveled together, ran the reservoir, even while I expected our friendship to be seasonal. Locking me out and then vacating, packing everything, and moving into storage in two days was bizarre even for her. We never spoke again. It would be a pattern that has repeated over the years which for me is a red flag.

I arrived back to New York on August 31, 1997.

The Stage is Set

By the fall of 1998, I was living my dream. Living in Manhattan, attending a legitimate theatrical conservatory. Everything had changed and for this brief moment, life was good. Oddly, I didn't know George Magazine, owned by John F. Kennedy, Jr., was located in the same building.

I had been told the religious organization that I begin attending in March 1998,  also for a period of time had offices in the building. By September 1998, when I begin attending Circle in The Square they no longer had offices in the building.

The Conservatory at that time was located at 49th & Broadway, the side entrance at 49th had a small kiosk. One morning a man who had an uncanny likeness to John Kennedy was standing looking the National Enquirer, upside down. I leaned in, and like everyone had seen many pictures of John, sans shirt, playing football in the park, this impostor had his face but a very thin, almost spindly, body.

I don't understand why I said aloud "You're going to have to do better than that." A woman who I later found out managed the finances of the religious organization was waiting at the stairs.

Not a week later, I stepped out the same door and the real John was waiting outside. I leaned in closer and essentially looked, studied, and security must have notified him of an impostor, and this time it was him. There was no doubt. From that point forward, over the next eight months, we would acknowledge each other as we often passed by in the building lobby.

I was working my usual second shift schedule at the law firm when the tech supervisor came running the stairs telling me that John's had disappeared. It was about 10:00pm.

Decades later, after I had been trying to sort out the pieces and put something together that made sense, I watched an episode of Breaking Bad, which provided for me the last missing piece and made everything click into place. One of the pastor's at the church was a pilot, and often talked of having trouble landing, and a sermon he preached often stated "if you change direction by one degree it will eventually turn the whole ship," the other from the pulpit spoke of hatred for The Kennedy's and called them Satanic, and an impostor would be needed to get through security at Teterboro Airport.

Very few believe John was murder, it would be too heinous, too diabolical, the perfect murder. One that would fuel even greater criminality. I believe it is the third murder in this criminal mastermind's plan fueled by hatred of the affluent.


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War and The Beginnings of War

I had been working at the law firm, living my dream and a little more, and in another part of the world a war was raging. The Serbians, led by Slobodan Milosevic, had entered Kosovo, taking the men, sons, husbands, brothers, and killing them. Humanitarian teams from the religious organization were planning trips and I felt "led" to take one step in that direction, just to confirm it was the right path.

Needing to raise my own finances to cover the expenses, I reached out to individuals at the law firm, who were willing to donate. It didn't hurt that the horror stories of this atrocities were splashed on the front page of The New York Times daily. Soon, the partners and associates donated enough so that I could travel to Macedonia for the first trip and a second trip to Kosovo.

In fact, a senior partner told his family and his children cleaned out their toys so I could hand them out at the local orphanage. We landed the same weekend as President Bill Clinton was signing the Peace Accord, I believe it was May 1999.

When we entered Kosovo the first evidence of war was an unearthed mass grave. Bodies were neatly wrapped in white shrouds and stacked on top of each other.

Two people, a man and women, who were obviously parents, were standing looking at the stack of bodies. She refusing to be overwhelmed, as they both held cloths to block the smell, moved forward to the bodies. Some of the passengers traveling with us took pictures. It was before the smart phone and selfie craze, so my pictures of Kosovo and the war-torn ravaged city don't include the mass grave.

We stayed with a family, and with sign language and broken English they told me their story of being held at gun point by the Serbians, their son and son-in-law were taken. I hoped for them, that one day they would return home, alive.

Pharisees and The Religious Crowd

I had hoped also to build friendships with the few people that I traveled with, hoped that my sincere faith would be welcome, and hoped to build relationships. Unfortunately, my second shift employment stopped the possibility of participating in any activities. So, with the few friends I thought I had, I found myself doing all the work and for me that's not friendship.

Finally, after one instance, I realized these individuals were cold, cruel, and heartless. Even fair-weather didn't describe it. I wasn't ever sure if they were withholding friendship as manipulation to persuade to follow their skewed doctrine or were simply shallow. Either way, I knew, and was fine with only attending church without interaction with any of the church employees or hierarchy.


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The few conversations I had with the religious crowd always seemed to be focused on how I should change. I should quit acting school, quit my job, quit wearing skirts, quit attending the gym, every conversation was focused on the external, never the internal.

Acting, they said, was glorification of self, clothing should be modest, skirts below the knees, gym attire was too revealing. For me, I knew my direction. I knew acting school was the direction; I worked for my competitive wardrobe and didn't feel skirts above my knees were the issue and attending the gym necessary.

I have to admit the length of my skirt was also a conversation at the law firm. My first night, December 1999, four associates were having a heated discussion as I sat hidden in the corner able to see them. One practically screamed, "did you see the length of her skirt? Hasn't she ever worked in an office before?" By that time, I had managed an office of 600 people. No one seemed to care about my clothing, then.


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Writer's Write

When I knew writing was my calling, my sister, who has since passed away said, "Writer's write." Her words rang true, cut to the quick, and forced me to realize that I needed to stop talking about writing and start writing. I signed for a Community College course not long after.

I also became an avid journal writer. Over the next two decades and through my involvement in both the law firm and the religious organization I wrote what I thought were private musings. It wouldn't be until many years later that I discovered each of my roommates had shared my journals with this pseudo-religious organization, and those at the law firm, driven by an insatiable curiosity and thirst for destruction, or an entertainment career, found their own way to read my writings and develop what I call "the substitute."

Moreover, in order to create the perfect crime, the criminal mind needs a substitute, a decoy, a person or a conclusion that sticks, to throw the scent off the trail, and redirect the investigation.

 

Justice Watch: The Perfect Crime, is the second installment of a series of articles detailing the breakdown of the justice system in New York and New Jersey and the depths members of the legal community will reach into to stop prosecution when power and privileged clash.

Justice Watch and The Victim X Story, both WGA-E registered. are the property of Janet Walker.

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