I was standing in the kitchen with Steven, my 6-month-old son on my hip when I heard a commotion outside. I peeked out the blinds to see police cars in the driveway and heard a scuffle around the back of my house. We were surrounded.
April 14, 2002, is a day I will never forget. The police knocked on my door and asked if they could come in and look for "Charles." I said "sure." I thought I had my stuff outside. I figured if I didn't let them in, they'd think I had something to hide. I was too slick for them anyway, or so I thought.
My partner in crime had come in early that morning and brought in a big black duffle bag we usually hid in the woods. It had the ingredients for our "cook" that day. She was making sure we had everything we needed. I knew she had a warrant out for her arrest, so when I saw who was knocking, I ran back to the bedroom, Steven in tow, and told her to get in the closet. There was only one problem. She left a mason jar of acetone on the floor by her nightstand. When the police saw it they told me to go outside and take the baby, they'd be searching the rest of the property. continued..