The Fear of 13 Page #6

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They weren't taking him to

the hospital to get arrested,

so they dumped him,

stole his drugs, and he's dead.

So you don't have to

look for him no more.

All I wanted them to do

was lower my bail enough that

I was allowed out temporarily,

at which time I could abscond.

Jimmy was dead, they were going to

find out eventually, right?

They took me to the warden's office.

They brought me in, took my

handcuffs off, the warden goes,

"Hey, get him a drink, man.

Get him a cold drink. "

So they went out

and got me a Coca-Cola.

I'm sitting in a lounge chair,

no longer in a prison setting, like.

And I'm sitting there,

and he's got my file.

He's, like, "Oh, man,

you're a young guy.

"What are you charged

with all this for?

"You don't have any violence on your

record. What's this bullshit?

"Attempted murder? That doesn't

sound like you, Nick.

"You're a car thief.

What's going on here?"

I tell him my story.

Like a proud parent,

everyone's praising me.

In just a few hours,

I went from sitting there with

$100,000 bail waiting to go

to prison for the rest of my life

to being told

I was going to have a hearing

set up next week in which

I would possibly be

released on my own recognisances

and my charges would be reduced to

nothing more than resisting arrest.

When they found

James Brisbois alive,

you could have knocked me

over with a feather.

Jimmy had gotten off the drugs,

got his life together.

I was screwed.

When they came back to me,

they knew two things.

One - James Brisbois had

nothing to do with that crime.

And I had more information

than anyone else.

It was all guesswork,

but it didn't matter to them.

KEYS JANGLE:

CELL DOOR OPENS:

I was charged with

the abduction, rape,

and murder of a woman

I'd never met in my life.

I was already sitting

in prison for the attempted murder

of a police officer.

I'm a 20-year-old drug addict,

who's been thrown

out of his own house

onto the streets by his own family.

What chance do I have?

No-one's going to believe me.

In April,

the trial for the attempted murder

and kidnapping of Officer

Benjamin Wright was to begin.

By then, I had already been charged

with the murder of Linda Mae Craig,

so the media was having

a field day with stalker stories

and making me out to be

a complete deranged lunatic.

So, my trial began

and Officer Wright testified.

He got up on the stand,

and he started telling a completely

different story than what

actually happened.

He said that when he pulled up to

the car, I had opened the door,

got out, and punched him

in the face,

and knocked his glasses

off his face.

He then said he was trying

to flail and defend himself

while I pummelled him

a couple more times in the face,

before I reached down

and grabbed his gun

and took his gun from him,

and after which he said I had

the gun pointed directly at his face

when he heroically reached out

with both hands,

and grabbed the gun,

and pulled it from me

as it discharged

right next to his face.

And he had a photograph of his hand

with a 2.5cm scratch on it

to prove all of the things

that he said.

CHAIR SCRAPES:

And Sam Stretton,

my defence lawyer, got up

and calmly walked over

with the photograph in his hand,

placed the photograph down on the

bar of the witness box

in front of Officer Wright and said,

"Is it your testimony that

Nicholas Yarris punched you

"in the face three times,

breaking your eyeglasses,

"he then took this pistol

and held it up,"

and said, "Hit you

in the face with it,

"like, a seven pound

metal object twice.

"Why didn't you photograph

your face?"

Officer Wright

knew that the jig was up.

He turned and said,

"I'm a good looking man.

"I didn't want the jury to see

my face all scratched up.

"I don't have to show that. "

He got all defiant.

The jury made this snorting,

scoffing kind of noise and, like,

everyone saw in that one moment

that his story was really a lie.

The jury deliberated for a very

short... very, very short time,

and came right back.

Not guilty of attempted murder.

Not guilty of kidnapping

of a police officer.

Not guilty - aggravated assault.

All charges - not guilty.

And then Barry Gross,

the prosecutor,

who is, like, really pissed off,

he was so angry, he tells the jury,

"You just let a murderer go,

you just let him go!"

And the jury foreman was this

woman who stood up and said,

"Excuse me, we didn't try that case.

"We tried this case, and your case

stinks. " And my mum said, "Yeah!

"That's right,

tell him again, lady. "

And it was the worst thing.

Oh, my God.

The very next week, Barry Gross

takes over the murder prosecution

and begins seeking

the death penalty.

I went from April, when I was

acquitted of all charges,

to the June trial for the murder

of Mrs Craig.

I was so scared.

Arthur Craig, the victim's husband,

was asked to testify.

That first click in the rotation.

IMITATES CLICK:

And, there it was,

the portrait photograph.

Mr Craig, Mrs Craig,

and their three adopted children

in a family-type setting.

And the prosecutor asked Arthur

Craig, "Is that it your wife?

"Can you identify the people

in the photograph?"

He did, along with his wife as well.

And then...

IMITATES CLICK:

.. there was Mrs Craig,

laid out on the autopsy table,

six stab wounds, clearly visible

and her broken teeth

and everything visible.

There was... a gasp, almost.

People were looking away.

IMITATES CLICK:

The next one.

The photograph was white and black.

But for when you got closer towards

that figure that was

covered in snow...

you could see the children's

footprints in white snow...

.. and then they scattered.

The first steps were

dark and lighter,

so you had to imagine it was

bloody...

and that they must have been

horrified as they looked down

and saw the treads

of their own feet, blood-soaked,

as they ran in different directions.

And the jury... they looked

up at the screen.

They looked at me.

And, like uniform animals

in one of those documentaries,

where they all do an alike thing,

they all went...

And it was the last time

any one of them could look at me.

I had just turned 21.

And they were going to take my life.

The only science that was available

in the early '80s was blood type.

That was the cutting

edge of technology

as far as identifying someone.

That was it.

And there was no real

evidence at my trial.

Not a signed confession,

not an eyewitness testimony,

no murder weapon.

Nothing but speculation

and circumstantial evidence.

But unfortunately, I shared the

same blood group as the murderer.

And at the time, that made me

a near slam dunk

for being probably

the person who did it.

And then in February of 1988,

there was this newspaper article

about DNA testing.

And I'm like blown away.

I can't believe I have the key

to my cell in my hands

because I knew

I didn't kill that woman.

I know none of my biological

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