<a href="http://boxspringskopen.eu">Boxsprings kopengreat info well done
By Jim Schutze
By Rachel Watts
By Lauren Drewes Daniels
By Anna Merlan
By Lee Escobedo
By Eric Nicholson
Dallas Detective Eddie Lopez pushed a photo across the table in a tiny interrogation room. "All I care about is finding this guy right there. It's that simple. I know you know where he's at."
A huge, manic grin spread across Seth Winder's face as he laughed nervously. It vanished as quickly as it appeared. "I don't know," he said, his voice trembling.
"I don't want to hear 'I don't know.' You do know. ... I only want to hear about one thing."
Lopez slammed his palm down on the photo. "Where's he at?"
Winder glanced at it. Lopez leaned in. "Where's he at?"
"I don't know what you're talking about," he said flatly.
Another detective, Dwayne Thompson, charged into the interrogation room. He stabbed the photo of the victim with his index finger. "You look at that. Look at it! Don't be scared to look at it! Look at it!"
"Where's he at?"
"I don't know."
"Did you kill him?"
"How'd you get that blood on your backpack?" Thompson asked, his voice rising again as he knelt, his face even with Winder's.
"I don't know what you're talking about."
"There was blood on your backpack, the old backpack that you had. There was blood on it."
"There was blood in your camp," Lopez interjected.
"Blood in your camp," Thompson thundered, his voice ringing off the walls. "Did you cut him up? Did you cut him up, son?"
"You didn't cut him up? What'd you do with him? Look at it! It hurts, don't it? I can see the tears in your eyes." He held the photo close to Winder's face, placing his massive hand on his bony shoulder, shaking him gently. "We gotta bring him home, man. We gotta bring him home."
The interrogation had gone on like this for hours, ever since police had found 29-year-old Winder hiking down Hebron Parkway, sweating in the September heat. "I don't know" was his insistent refrain that day in 2008, when they asked over and over whether he had anything to do with the murder — a murder so brutal it stunned veteran detectives and terrified Dallas' gay community, so gruesome it would be featured on A&E's The First 48, whose cameras were rolling as the detectives tried to break Winder down.
It would be more than three years before the "I don't knows" gave way to a trial, during which the legal system would face a daunting Catch 22: Winder is a paranoid schizophrenic, and without antipsychotic medication he is too insane to be prosecuted. But with medication he becomes someone else entirely, capable even of calm rationality. He would have to be induced into a state of synthetic sanity before he could stand trial for a crime that he allegedly committed while unmedicated.
For now, though, he was just another uncooperative suspect.
"We need your help. Are you going to help us?" Thompson's index finger jackhammered the photo. "Look at him!"
With his slight build and his short, blond hair, Winder looked hunted, like a boy among men. He looked up at the detectives and murmured, "I don't remember."
At around 8 years old, Seth Winder insisted on clutching a baseball bat in bed. The devil was trying to break into his bedroom at night, he told his parents.
Back then it was easy to write his visions off as the product of an overactive imagination. He'd been born in Dallas in 1979, a son of divorce. His father worked construction and drank excessively. His mother worked in the accounting department of The Colony. He grew up in that suburb, a planned development that broke ground in 1972 and became an expanse of single-family homes, strip malls and steeples. He fished and golfed with his father, wrote poetry and drew intricate sketches, some of fantastical castles perched on mountaintops carved with winding roads.
He was a shy, withdrawn, even socially phobic child, but he was intelligent. His IQ was tested at 130. But he struggled to make connections. He completed A-plus homework and left it in his locker. He was an outsider who was often picked on, but his friends in ROTC said he was sensitive and thoughtful.
"For me to hear all these bad things about him, it's like, wow. That's not the person I know," says Stephanie Pittman, a friend of Winder's at The Colony High School. "He was always real calm, real mellow. We all knew he took medicine."
Like any suburb, The Colony exerted its own gravity. "If you get out you're very lucky, because there's a lot of drugs," she says.
Winder started drinking, smoking weed and experimenting with hallucinogens. His paranoia intensified and he struggled to carry on conversations. His eyes would become vacant, lost to some inchoate threat. At 16 he was diagnosed with paranoid schizophrenia.
Winder didn't believe the doctors. He dropped out of high school his sophomore year and was soon kicked out of his mom's house, unable to follow her rules. He camped out of a friend's garage for a few months, then moved in with another friend named Barb Sweeney.
Sweeney, a retired postal worker, doted on the fragile young man. "He was very confused," she recalls. "He was very paranoid. He thought everybody was following him." But he was also harmless — the kind of guy who recoiled at confrontation, who would pick a spider up and release it rather than see it harmed. He hung out with a close-knit group of kids, including Sweeney's partner's daughter. It was an age of experimentation for Winder. The group's sexualities, Sweeney says, were fluid.
<a href="http://boxspringskopen.eu">Boxsprings kopengreat info well done
I may have read this wrong, but does anyone know why the maintenance man would have entered the apartment one day and claimed only to see a little red dirt on the carpet. Then the next day when confronted by the police he admitted seeing some blood in what the officer described as like a Stephen King movie?
@What the? I was the maintenance man that was interviewed by the homicide detectives in the first 48 " the guy with no shirt " I wanna say none of us were ever let in to the apt until the detectives asked for the victim's apt key I then was asked to get it & walk them to the apt but was not let in! They took the keys and opened the door saying he could still be in there. As they went in the apt I stood on the other side of the breezeway . There was alot that was not covered in the episode but being as the show was an hour long they put in enough for the common person just watching the show to know. All I remember was the small smeared bloody hand print on the corner of the window you could see from outside. We never saw the unit until it was aired on tv.... Poor guys! Both of them!!
My prayers go out to both sides of the family! May they find peace!!
Wow. Too bad Law & Order isn't on anymore as I would have loved to see how they handled this scenario.
Such a sad example of our flawed mental health and justice system. He was insane when he committed the murder but can't remember it but if he can stay medicated he can be prosecuted and sent to prison where he will have no mental health care. Where is there any justice here?
The book: Slipping into Madness -The Seth Winder Story is available online at Amazon.com and other online bookstores.
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I beg to differ with Derek Adame, the book didn't cause the trial delays. The proesecution wasn't ready, they delayed it over and over again after May of 2010.
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