Miscarriage of Justice: The Murder of Teresa de Simone
★★★ One of the strangest true crime stories you'll read ★★★
The murder was brutal--raped and strangled. The case was open and shut--a man had confessed to the murder, and he was easily convicted. There was a problem with the man's testimony, however...he was a pathological liar who had confessed to over 200 other crimes--many of which never happened.
For over 27 years, Sean Hodgson, the convicted murderer, sat in prison for a crime he didn't commit. The real killer, 17-year-old David Lace, had also confessed to the crime, but police didn't believe him.
This gripping short book takes the reader on the hunt for the real killer, and reveals the creation of Operation Iceberg--the operation that led to the DNA review of over 240 other convictions.
The murder was brutal--raped and strangled. The case was open and shut--a man had confessed to the murder, and he was easily convicted. There was a problem with the man's testimony, however...he was a pathological liar who had confessed to over 200 other crimes--many of which never happened.
For over 27 years, Sean Hodgson, the convicted murderer, sat in prison for a crime he didn't commit. The real killer, 17-year-old David Lace, had also confessed to the crime, but police didn't believe him.
This gripping short book takes the reader on the hunt for the real killer, and reveals the creation of Operation Iceberg--the operation that led to the DNA review of over 240 other convictions.
Buy Now!
|
|
Excerpt
Introduction: The Strangler
Southampton, England – December 5, 1979
Teresa wasn’t having a good night.
It had started off well enough. The 22-year-old clerk had spent most of the evening in her second job as a barmaid at the Tom Tackle, a popular bar in the center of Southampton. She’d taken on the bar job to make some new friends and keep up the payments on her used Ford Escort, and it had worked out well. She was cheerful and willing to work hard, and she’d quickly become a favorite of the regulars who drank there most nights and the after-theater crowds on the weekends.
That Tuesday the bar closed at 11:00pm, and normally Teresa would have had to remind customers of the 15 minute drinking-up-time rule, then wash the last glasses. Her friend Jenni was waiting for her at the bar, though, and bar manager Anthony Pocock knew the two girls were planning on going out. It was Jenni’s birthday and rather than wait for the weekend they wanted to spend a couple of hours dancing. Pocock didn’t mind washing a few glasses himself – he was happy to do a favor for his bubbly young barmaid. He’d let Teresa go as soon as the bar stopped serving, and the two of them had jumped in Jenni’s car and headed off to a local disco. It would have been easy to walk – it wasn’t far - but both girls felt safer driving. Southampton isn’t known for abnormally high crime rates but it is a port city, and docks can attract rough people. Sometimes they wander into town in search of fun – or victims. So they drove to the club, and Teresa left her own car in the Tom Tackle’s car park. After their night out Jenni could drop her off and she would drive home. It seemed a fair enough plan, and Teresa had no trouble with avoiding alcohol – she preferred to do so anyway when she was working the next day. What could go wrong?
This could go wrong. Now she was gasping for breath, the gold chain of her own crucifix looped tightly around her throat and starving her brain of oxygen. Hovering on the edge of blacking out, she was only dimly aware of her attacker ripping at her pantyhose and underwear with his free hand. Her skirt had already been pulled up and her blouse hung open. Her waning consciousness was still sluggishly trying to catch up. It was only minutes since she’d said goodnight to Jenni. The ruby glow of lights as her friend braked at the car park exit hadn’t faded from her eyes before this hideous assault had begun. Too weak to struggle now, she could only wonder why it was happening as the strangler tried to force himself into her unwilling body.
Teresa wasn’t having a good night, and it was going to be her last.
Southampton, England – December 5, 1979
Teresa wasn’t having a good night.
It had started off well enough. The 22-year-old clerk had spent most of the evening in her second job as a barmaid at the Tom Tackle, a popular bar in the center of Southampton. She’d taken on the bar job to make some new friends and keep up the payments on her used Ford Escort, and it had worked out well. She was cheerful and willing to work hard, and she’d quickly become a favorite of the regulars who drank there most nights and the after-theater crowds on the weekends.
That Tuesday the bar closed at 11:00pm, and normally Teresa would have had to remind customers of the 15 minute drinking-up-time rule, then wash the last glasses. Her friend Jenni was waiting for her at the bar, though, and bar manager Anthony Pocock knew the two girls were planning on going out. It was Jenni’s birthday and rather than wait for the weekend they wanted to spend a couple of hours dancing. Pocock didn’t mind washing a few glasses himself – he was happy to do a favor for his bubbly young barmaid. He’d let Teresa go as soon as the bar stopped serving, and the two of them had jumped in Jenni’s car and headed off to a local disco. It would have been easy to walk – it wasn’t far - but both girls felt safer driving. Southampton isn’t known for abnormally high crime rates but it is a port city, and docks can attract rough people. Sometimes they wander into town in search of fun – or victims. So they drove to the club, and Teresa left her own car in the Tom Tackle’s car park. After their night out Jenni could drop her off and she would drive home. It seemed a fair enough plan, and Teresa had no trouble with avoiding alcohol – she preferred to do so anyway when she was working the next day. What could go wrong?
This could go wrong. Now she was gasping for breath, the gold chain of her own crucifix looped tightly around her throat and starving her brain of oxygen. Hovering on the edge of blacking out, she was only dimly aware of her attacker ripping at her pantyhose and underwear with his free hand. Her skirt had already been pulled up and her blouse hung open. Her waning consciousness was still sluggishly trying to catch up. It was only minutes since she’d said goodnight to Jenni. The ruby glow of lights as her friend braked at the car park exit hadn’t faded from her eyes before this hideous assault had begun. Too weak to struggle now, she could only wonder why it was happening as the strangler tried to force himself into her unwilling body.
Teresa wasn’t having a good night, and it was going to be her last.
