According to F.B.I. crime statistics, an estimated 1,382,012 violent crimes were reported in the U.S. in 2008. What if one of those victims was someone you loved?

My novel No Justice
began with just that premise during a conversation with my husband. I wanted to know the breaking point, that moment in time when the average nonviolent person crosses the line to seek his or her own form of justice. Most people leave it all in the hands of the police, trusting the system and often waiting years for closure. Or perhaps never finding answers at all. A handful of others seek professional hit men that settle the score. Then there are the occasional few like my character Michael Sykora. Tragedy pushes them past the breaking point. They don’t believe the justice system can help them. The best they hope for is that their actions will tip the scale in favor of the innocent.
In 2008, there were 89,000 reported rapes in the U.S. Bear in mind that these are only the reported rapes. According to RAIIN (Rape, Abuse & Incest National Network), 60% of rapes go unreported. With reported cases, there is only a 50.8% chance that the police will make an arrest. Once arrested, 80% will face prosecution. Those prosecuted have a 58% chance of being convicted. Even with a felony conviction, the rapist stands only a 69% chance of doing jail time. What these statistics amount to is that, with all reported rapes, there is only a 16.3% chance the rapist will end up in prison.
When we factor in the unreported rapes, we find that 15 of every 16 rapists walk free.
Years ago, I served time on a jury during a murder trial. Everyone should have that experience, preferably early in their life. I don’t say that because I think it’s our civic duty. I say that because it shines a spotlight on how our system works for the average person. Not the O.J. Simpsons in the word, with powerful lawyers, but the average people who murder other average people.

The man on trial had raped, then strangled his girlfriend. He’d left her dead in his bed while he went out to a party. His defense was a jumble of nonsense, from a cocaine high many hours earlier in the day, to a jealous rage, to complete innocence. He even went as far as pointing the finger of blame at his brother, who shared the apartment he lived in. The most horrifying part of the trial for me, as a woman, was the way the victim was portrayed. Her soiled panties were held up as evidence of an earlier sexual encounter, while her parents cringed in the front row. The defense attorney all but called her a whore. The worst of her past was dragged out and displayed for all to see. We learned what she did five years earlier and with whom. None of that mattered. Whether or not she was sexually active in her past or cheated on her boyfriend bore no relation to the fact that she’d been brutally raped and murdered.
While we sat silent witnesses to all of this digging into the victim’s past, the man accused sat protected. His past was not allowed into evidence because it might “prejudice” the jury. We were allowed, even encouraged, to feel prejudice toward the woman. The victim. But we were not allowed to hear anything about the man accused of killing her.
Do we need wonder why so many rapes go unreported?
What surprises me is that more people don’t seek their own form of justice.
Of my fellow jurors, only one other initially voted for murder one. No one believed he was innocent. However, the other 10 thought manslaughter was more appropriate. He’d been high. He’d been jealous. Her behavior had pushed him over the edge. She’d asked for it. He hadn’t meant to do it.
He strangled her with his hands. Doing so takes up to 3 minutes of continuous pressure. How could that possibly be an accident?
The other juror and I fought for murder one. We eventually won that argument. After the verdict was read, the judge visited us in the juror’s chambers. She wanted to congratulate and thank us for coming to what she felt was the correct decision. At that point, she was finally able to share what had been kept from us. This man, who had sat quiet and solemn while his lawyer called his dead girlfriend a whore, had multiple charges of assault and rape in his past.
At one time or another, don’t we all wish we could do the things our justice system cannot or will not? What would it take to push you over the edge?