Building Inspector Gary Vinson Collins appears screaming about his paintbrush read the assault story >>>
The Investigators
CCSO Criminalist Eric Collins
The man who apparently delivered the majority of the incriminating evidence that put Scott Dyleski in jail for life. A case than many feel has weak merits with very sketchy evidence, the lack of hair fibers matching Dyleski but untested DNA from an unidentified subject? What gives Criminalist Collins?
Rick Kovar: Apparently this is the son of former Walnut Creek Mayor Peg Kovar. It's a bit strange to me when reading about this .
Over the last eight years I've been subjected to numerous accidents, incidents and even an alleged poisoning but On February 11th 2012 - I attended a movie making event that I sensed was a setup >>> but this allowed a crucial connection to be made between Peter Branaghm, Eric Nunn, Craig Wilson, a bunch of realtors in the Poets Corners area, a retired SFPD Cop then finding houses lost to foreclosure in 2008/2009 which I believe leads to my 2011 car accident which leads to the same people at the same hole in the wall bar down the street from the Back Forty BBQ who lost a son.
During the summer of 2011 my car was totaled, my laptop breached weeks earlier but when I learned of Collins death via his Obituary in 2012 then long missing links surfaced.
The untested DNA and blond hairs likely match Gary Collins. The evidence collections techniques based on analysis by other writers suggests that a few untrained buddies collected evidence in the dark. Did CCSO deliberately alter evidence as they've deflected me many times and now they're linked Chris Butler, Tanabe, and Lombardi.
The last name Collins is synonymous with my story but connections to Poets Corners more significant but consider my position, truck fires, arson, beating, vandalized engines, damaged ABS System, clients targeted and offices affected.
During direct examination, Eric Collins testified that on October 17, 2005 while attending the autopsy, he collected numerous light hairs from the back torso of Vitale’s body and packaged these. Here is should be noted that Daniel Horowitz has dark brown hair, and Pamela Vitale had black hair and her husband Daniel Horowitz has dark brown hair.
On cross-examination, Collins testified that the hairs found on the back of the Vitale’s torso were blonde in color, and found at the junction where the T-shirt and skirt met, in the midsection of her back, and that the numerous blonde hairs were “loosely hanging on”. He collected these by placing them in an envelope.
Collins testified that when he photographed Dyleski following his arrest, his hair was black. He had no remarkable lacerations or bruises. The connective tissue in his mouth, which can tear during a violent struggle, was intact. His injuries were superficial in nature.
Scott Dyleski is a young man unjustly imprisoned in California for the murder of Pamela Vitale. Pamela Vitale was brutally murdered in her home in Lafayette, California on October 15, 2005. Scott was 16 at the time and lived in a planned community about a mile away in the same Hunsaker Canyon area of Lafayette.
She was murdered to cover-up to real truth about the 2004 Pipeline explosion
The Problem: The Documents used to transfer property was forged
The Forgery Problem: Officer Rabinowitz like many other times has refused to open a case
The Attorney: Said it was my money
The Executor: Alex Bennett Salt Lake City UT - given my setbacks finding him was challenge
This trust document was prepared by an attorney that told me if my brother won't pay up then I'll have to sue which really ticked me off was this document was supposed to solve that .
Given the current history with the Walnut Creek Police Department they won't investigate stalking, a hit and run attempt, a breach of data linked to PGE Databases why would they bother with forgery
The Contra Costa Bar won't assist with an attorney - they told me no one was interested
My theory is the Bar is controlled by the Barrister's who slice up cases to suit their needs. I've called enough times and been sent on waste of time referrals. One day I realized one attorney was fishing for details on the Danville case that would have netted a large award.
By the way all the going public might seem like a bad move but this sheds light on the Contra Costa Bar, The courts could be truly broken as as in 1992 I was burned by a law firm where the Senior Partner attorney who yanked the case from his associate attorney, settled for about 400K short and basically burned my case for their fees. The judge was siding with my attorney at hearing and pretty much lied through the hearing, he was adverse with me and painting his own client in a negative way. I understand that I could remove counsel but weeks from Trial?
I've heard enough probate stories where they over for various reasons and bleed the estate down with the pretense of protecting the estate. File a lien of the property could be done for less than $500 but one firm took out a $250,000 loan then started taking their fees. The let the daughter stay but actually told he she couldn't have guests or overnights.
This trust was a rip-off by brother and its reasonable to say that our trust attorney did a poor job.
Late on a November night last year, several days after she first reported to police that her 15-year-old daughter was missing, Minnie Norrell awoke from a fitful sleep and went to look outside her bedroom window.
There in her front yard, amid the many candles that well wishers carefully had placed and lit in her front walk, she saw a stranger.
She watched quietly as the man moved some of the shining candles aside to make room on the brick walls that line her front path for the one he had brought. He then lit the candle on the walk, which had become a symbol of hope for Norrell and her community, and disappeared into the darkness as silently as he had arrived.
“Pittsburg people are special,” said Norrell, nearly a year later, recalling those agonizing nights and the outpouring of public sympathy and support she felt. “I can’t tell you how many thousands of people were in this house. And I’m talking thousands.”
The tragedy of Lisa Diane Norrell’s disappearance and the news of her murder eight days later brought the community of Pittsburg together in fear and mourning like few other events in recent times, and has helped spark an effort by city officials and religious leaders to address problems of violence and youth alienation.
Lisa’s murder “heightened awareness of people and their surroundings,” said Mayor Federal Glover, 43, a lifetime resident of Pittsburg. “Emotionally it draws the community together. We all learned from the tragedy."
“She was a good person, who happened to find herself in the wrong place at the wrong time,” Glover went on. “Emotionally it makes you want to do more outreach.”
To that end, the city has held conferences on youth issues and set aside funding for a new teen center and skating park over the past year since Lisa’s killing, which remains unsolved. The city also holds open forums during city council meetings to promote dialogue between the teenagers and adults.
But one of the biggest changes since Lisa’s murder has been in the way Pittsburg officials discuss the problems of the city. According to Pittsburg’s Assistant City Manager, Glenn J. Valenzuela, 50, the city’s leaders were never so involved with young people as they are now.
“Involvement with the youth before Lisa’s death was a priority, but it was not at the front burner,” said Valenzuela. “Now, wherever you go in this city and hear elected officials speak, one of the first words that come out of their mouths is in support of young people. That is real rare in any city.”
Taking Comfort in Family
Pittsburg, a close-knit industrial town of 54,117, is located 40 miles east of San Francisco across the San Francisco Bay. Its hard-working residents are a diverse mix -- 47.2 percent Caucasian, 23.7 percent Hispanic, 17.1 percent African-American, and 11.2 percent Asian, according to the 1990 census. Many of its residents have lived all their lives in a town where Dow Chemical is one of the major employers along with a steel company called USS-POSCO.
They take comfort in their families, do the best they can to get by, and take pride in the city’s multi-ethnic character, which sharply contrasts with other, largely white, suburban towns in otherwise affluent Contra Costa County.
Indeed, at least one Pittsburg official, school board trustee Jim MacDonald, charges that local industries pollute the air and water more freely in Pittsburg than in other Bay Area communities precisely because of the city's working-class and ethnic makeup.
Earlier this month MacDonald proposed that the city demand that the Federal government declare Pittsburg "an environmental justice community." Such status, part of an environmental protection agency program begun five years ago to reduce the effects of pollution and toxic waste in poor and minority areas, would allow the government to oversee the industries and provide funding for education programs.
At first glance, Pittsburg, nestled next to the Sacramento and San Joaquin rivers, has a small-town feel, a safe haven from the problems of the major metropolis. But looks can be deceiving, for like many suburban towns across America Pittsburg is not immune from urban dangers: drugs, prostitution, youth gangs and violence among them. Lisa’s murder was one of at least six last year.
For some time, Pittsburg police have been at a loss about how to eliminate prostitution and the drug houses that became common sights on Ninth and Tenth streets. Gang warfare even began to claim lives.
One such death touched Father Ricardo Chavez enough to prompt him to do something about it. When a teenager named Douglas Askern was killed in a drive-by shooting only a few weeks before Lisa’s death, the town, numbed by the constant violence, did nothing.
“What got to me was that there was no reaction,” said Father Chavez, the priest at a local Catholic church who grew up in Pittsburg. “Nobody put a marker out there, nobody put up a flower or a cross. This was now the umpteenth death and I began to sense that everyone was like I was--you just expect it.”
Lisa Norrell’s murder soon followed, along with the deaths of several prostitutes from the area and brought hordes of Bay Area media attention to Pittsburg (See ETHICS). Finally, people were paying attention.
“The town just kind of adopted her, kind of like a strange phenomenon,” said Christine Rohde, one of Lisa’s teachers at Pittsburg High. “It was just this cute little girl who wouldn’t hurt a fly and all of a sudden she’s just gone. And violently and horribly.”
"A Wake-up Call to Residents"
In the aftermath of the killings, Father Chavez launched Families Against Violence, a group dedicated to teaching parents how to talk to their kids about violence. The city formed a task force in hopes of combating the problem and after school programs were instituted along with midnight basketball to help keep kids out of trouble.
Mark C. Leonard, 45, a resident of Pittsburg for six years, President of The Rotary Club and a member of the Board of Directors for the Chamber of Commerce and Boys and Girls Club, said that Pittsburg is no worse than any other city when it comes to crime. Still, he said Lisa’s killing has been a "wake-up call" for residents and police alike to do a more effective job at maintaining security.
“Personally, I don’t want my kids out after dark,” said Kathy C. Meidinger, Executive Assistant at the City Manager’s office and a mother of four. “And I preach to them ‘don’t put yourself in a compromising position,’ which is really what Lisa did. Just don’t walk alone in the dark.”
Lisa disappeared on Nov. 6, 1998 after leaving a rehearsal for a quinceañera party for a Latina girlfriend in an Antioch Hall. She reportedly left in anger and decided to walk home along the largely desolate Antioch-Pittsburg Highway. She never returned home. Her asphyxiated body, her hands knotted in fists, was found face down in the yard of a landscaping firm a week later.
It was a devastating time that council member Frank R. Quesada, 65, among many others in Pittsburg, will never forget. A retired postal worker, and Pittsburg’s mayor at the time of Lisa’s disappearance and murder, Quesada was an old family friend of Lisa and her family. Lisa’s 17-year-old brother Tony Quesada is Frank’s nephew by adoption.
“It was … heartbreaking,” said Quesada. “I saw her grow up. We would go to family functions and see each other. To me it was pretty personal, I knew her since she was a kid. The whole tragedy made you want to help the community.”
Like many, Quesada can’t make sense of the tragedy. He hopes the $60,000 reward money recently offered by Governor Gray Davis for information leading to arrest and conviction in the case will produce progress in solving a case that has seen little thus far.
“The funny thing, I don’t know what got her to be walking out there,” said Quesada. “It is not a heavily used road, people only used it for east-west traffic for work. Otherwise there is no traffic and no lights, it is very dark. I wouldn’t walk there and I am 65 years old. I know better.”
A statue of a fisherman adorns the Piazza di Isola delle Femmine on the Marina, representing the Pittsburg of the past, a predominantly Italian fishing community where Sicilians had come to make a better life in the early 1900’s. Originally named New York of the Pacific, the town became Black Diamond in 1905 after the discovery of coal in the hills just south of town. In 1911, residents voted to change the name to Pittsburg, after the Pennsylvania city, to reflect its industrial development. The “h” was dropped to simplify the spelling.
When commercial fishing in the bay and rivers was banned by the state legislature in the late 1950’s, the Italian community deteriorated and people began to move out. By then, an influx of people from all over the world had begun to call Pittsburg home and the population grew significantly. The largely Italian community began to give way to a new Latino population along with African-Americans and Filipinos. The change resulted in the exodus of many whites to neighboring Antioch, which consisted mostly of whites, as it does today.
In Pittsburg, the various races learned quickly to live with each other. “As far as I can remember, we got along well,” said Father Chavez. “It was such a small community that there weren’t really a lot of opportunities for doing wrong.”
Pittsburg saved its animosity for Antioch. For as long as residents can remember, there has been a rivalry between the two small towns that culminates in a raucous annual football game between their high schools each Fall.
“Antioch was our mortal enemy,” said Minnie Norrell, a graduate of Pittsburg High. “The Pittsburg-Antioch football game was the last of the year always. They had a lot of security out there because the funnest thing to do on Saturdays was to go to Antioch and start a fight.”
Remembering Lisa
These days, Minnie Norrell continues to mourn her daughter. The mention of Lisa’s name still brings tears to her eyes. But she is also doing what she can to find ways to better Pittsburg after the tragedy. She has been a vocal leader in seeking ways to bring new legislation so that children up to 16 years old will be considered missing instead of being automatically labeled as runaways.
She is also starting a non-profit organization called Lisa’s Closet to provide new clothes to needy children in the area.
And Norrell said she still takes great comfort in the citizens who have helped her cope, all the people who made a point to come to her and tell her how her daughter had touched their lives. She remembers the memorial for Lisa at the school, which drew over 2,000 students, many of whom were looking for ways to express their fear and grief. Norrell sat in the front row as Lisa’s teacher, Christine Rohde, gave a speech.
“It was very hard to speak looking at them because nobody knows what you’re going through until you look and see the pain in their eyes,” said Rohde. “Kids who didn’t even know Lisa just wanted to go up and hug her. She sat there for like two hours and just let kids come up and hug her.”
The children also remembered Lisa by decorating her locker with posters, cards and flowers. They held a candlelight vigil, walking from the high school to Norrell’s house, all the while singing Lisa’s favorite song, “Dreaming of You” by Selena. They crafted yellow ribbons and tissue paper flowers and gathered in Rohde’s room to weep and remember her.
Adults showered Norrell with gifts, flowers, constant visits, phone calls and the rapidly increasing collection of candles on her front walk, where so many strangers took the time to pay their respects.
Today, nearly a year later, a few candles still line Norrell’s front walk and a poster bearing a picture of Lisa remains in the front yard. Students from the high school stop by every once in a while and friends and neighbors still check in on her.
But for Minnie Norrell, who now lives alone in her modest corner house, things will never be the same.
“There is never going to be any closure. When they catch this guy and they kill him, I don’t have any closure,” she said. “My daughter is gone.”
Late on a November night last year, several days after she first reported to police that her 15-year-old daughter was missing, Minnie Norrell awoke from a fitful sleep and went to look outside her bedroom window.
Pittsburg, a close-knit industrial town of 54,117, is located 40 miles east of San Francisco across the San Francisco Bay. Its hard-working residents are a diverse mix -- 47.2 percent Caucasian, 23.7 percent Hispanic, 17.1 percent African-American, and 11.2 percent Asian, according to the 1990 census. Many of its residents have lived all their lives in a town where Dow Chemical is one of the major employers along with a steel company called USS-POSCO.
In the aftermath of the killings, Father Chavez launched Families Against Violence, a group dedicated to teaching parents how to talk to their kids about violence. The city formed a task force in hopes of combating the problem and after school programs were instituted along with midnight basketball to help keep kids out of trouble.
A statue of a fisherman adorns the Piazza di Isola delle Femmine on the Marina, representing the Pittsburg of the past, a predominantly Italian fishing community where Sicilians had come to make a better life in the early 1900’s. Originally named New York of the Pacific, the town became Black Diamond in 1905 after the discovery of coal in the hills just south of town. In 1911, residents voted to change the name to Pittsburg, after the Pennsylvania city, to reflect its industrial development. The “h” was dropped to simplify the spelling.
She is also starting a non-profit organization called Lisa’s Closet to provide new clothes to needy children in the area.
