Well, we also had a scheduled drug meet that day, in Newport News, and we drove over there to pick up 1,000 Metgaqualones (Lemon 714’s/Qualudes). All the while we are drinking alcohol, smoking pot, taking LSD, and now we are eating qualudes. We make a pitstop at a clearing in some wooded area, where it appeared there was the beginnings of a construction site, to “take a whiz” break. This was on Oyster Point Rd., at the I-64 junction, where Riverside Hospital was. I knew this, because when I was a kid, I was once “admitted” to the Mental Ward floor for a few about a week. It was less than a 1/4 mile away. As Todd is urinating, I strode up behind him, and pulled out a gun, and then said, “Todd, you’re gonna have to give that back,” and I cocked the hammer back. As it clicked twice, Todd turned his head around, still urinating, and replied, Mark, you ain’t gonna shoot me.” He then turned his head back towards the woods, finishing urinating. I was sooooo infuriated, and I dearly wanted to get that item back for my sister. I then shot Todd once in the shoulder region of his back, thinking this would convince him to tell me who had sold the item to. He spun to the ground, writhing in pain and asked me why I had shot him? “Todd,” I incredulously asked, “I told you I want my sister’s property back!” He again assures me that he didn’t take it. This makes me wonder, now, because why would a man facing certain death still lie? So I tell my friend, Steve Toney, about Riverside, and we come up with a story for Todd to tell, when he walks into the Hospital on his own, that he’d been hitch-hiking and a yellow sedan had drove by and shots rang out and when he tried to turn and run, one of the bullets struck him. Steve Toney was then applying a makeshift compress to the bullet wound, and I went to take a leak before we took Todd to Riverside. As I am urinating, I hear a commotion going on. I turn to see Jeffry Allen Lemons pulling Todd away from Steve, out of the van, and then Jeff hits Todd in the face. Todd falls backwards. Jeff reaches down, grabs Todd by the belt and jeans, at his waist, and lifting Todd off the ground, Jeff sets Todd upright on his feet again, says, “I’m gonna hit ya again, because ya need to learn a lesson, and if ya fall again, I’m really gonna beat your ass.” Before I can stop him, Jeff strikes Todd again. Todd stumbles backwards, hitting the side of Steve Miller’s van, and. slides sideways, leaving a trail of blood. By the time I get to where he is, Jeff is bending over Todd, and I knock him away, screaming at Jeff, “You idiot! How’s he supposed to walk in on his own now? He is unconscious, and even if he was, he can’t lie and say be didn’t see who shot him, because the car was driving by too fast; not with unexplainable wounds that aren’t a gunshot?!”
That was when we chose to kill Todd. Shortly after returning to Va. to face charges for Todd’s death, I called home to my mom. She told me to never call her again and disowned me. She gave the phone to a family friend, Tom Bridge, whom was living there at the time. As I spoke to Tom, he asked me why I killed Todd. I told him what all had happened. Tom Brute then confessed to me that HE had been the one who had taken my sister’s property; NOT Todd!
All of my life, as a child, I was beaten nearly every day, by my mother. And when I would stay with my grandparents, my grandma would beat me even worse than my mom. One time Grandma was beating me with a piece of cordwood, to the point she had split my temple open. My Grandpa saw it and stopped her. He asked her, “Lucille, why are you beating him like that?” She answered, “Because he won’t obey me.”
This was my world for most of my childhood; from about age 5, as I recall, til around 13 or 14, when the last time my mom went to beat me, I picked up a lead pipe and told her, “No more!” She contacted the police, had me arrested, testified against me, and had me sent away for what was then termed: “Beyond Parental Control.” Of course there were other mitigating factors. If one reads my juvenile record, and my mental health sessions, etc., they’ll see a revolving door concept that was very typical of the times (the 70’s), when dealing with unruly children.
But I did not “rob” Todd. In fact, the main Detective in the case, Danny Ellis, Jr. (I think that’s how you spell his name), will tell you, Todd still had his money in his pockets. I pleaded guilty to Capital Murder and Armed Robbery and Illegal Use of a Firearm because they were gonna give me the death penalty. I then told all kinds of lies, bragging about killing Todd for kicks, and shooting alcohol straight into my veins; anything that sounded sensationalized, just to hurt my mom, because I wanted her to feel pain the way I felt pain.
So, you see? We aren’t always “Criminally Minded.” Sometimes it is “Learned Behavioral” issues. I have NEVER in my life, sat down and PLOTTED to commit a crime. I have, admittedly, made incredibly stupid and impulsive decisions that ultimately put me in the position that crimes, as they are defined, would very likely be the end result! But Im no more, now, dispositive to being a criminal, than YOU, Ms. Bennett. But you go right ahead, and judge us all you want. What you fail to realize is that I was already “JUDGED AND SENTENCED!” It isn’t your job to determin whether or not I have “…done enough time.” as you put it, or as the real saying goes on behind closed doors: “GOTTEN MY JUST DESERTS!” The Va. Code clearly states that your duty is to “…release on parole those found suitable.” I am no legal wizard when it comes to parole laws and guidelines (that which you all refuse to let us see), but I can assure you of this, from this point onward, I will make it my life’s work in here, to bring to light the disparity with which you grant one man parole and deny another, all the while claiming denials based on “justifiable reasons.”
Categories: Mark Blain
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