What government agency — federal, state, or local — wants to be the canary in the coal mine?

Incredibly, I recently received a written message telling me to keep my mouth shut when law enforcement approaches me again about deaths of men tied to organized crime. The note told me to pray to Santa Muerta and Saint Felix Alejandro for protection.

FBI Interrogations and Miranda Violations

A salient feature of my so-called “confessions” to FBI agents is that they were obtained under gross violations of my civil rights. Some sheriffs even joke that FBI stands for “Fucking Bunch of Idiots.”

Here’s what happened:

11/08/23 and 05/07/25 interrogations — I was tricked into coming to their office from a hospital mental ward without the psychiatrist’s permission.

I was forced onto psychiatric drugs (Risperdal) that made me pliable and confused. Hours later, I had extreme chest pains and cardiac arrest.

I was forced onto cardiac medications that disrupted blood flow to my brain, leaving me disoriented.

On 11/09/23, my glucose dropped to 48, causing mental confusion.

My Miranda rights were not read to me, even though they should have been.

My prescription glasses were confiscated, leaving me unable to read the FD-395 waiver form.

My hearing aids were also confiscated, so I couldn’t understand every third word spoken.

Just hours before the FBI picked me up, medical declared an emergency at 6:00 AM and I was supposed to go to the ER. Captain DeFeo canceled it and turned me over to the FBI, where their EMT treated me. Within hours, I was hospitalized anyway with chest pains and confusion.

Now I’ve been diagnosed with vascular dementia or possibly early-onset dementia.

Business, Mob Ties, and “Spycraft”

Local officers also informed me about my old tax ID, business license in Las Vegas, and articles of incorporation for Spycraft, tied to attorney Allen Teagarden of Nevada and Illinois. Supposedly, this corporation connected me to Ralph Staino, an Italian mob boss from Philadelphia.

The Spycraft store in Las Vegas, which I supposedly owned, had no required tax bond and was declared a “showroom.” The store was mob-connected, but law enforcement never told the media about it. They didn’t want me sensationalized, or worse, getting high-powered legal representation.

At the same time, I was breaking into ATM machines during the holidays, stealing hundreds of thousands of dollars. The San Jose Mercury News (March 31, 1991) reported my crimes — “10 million heists” later revised to “100 million in stolen computers.”

The Christina Martinez Case

Amazingly, just days ago, authorities slipped me notes asking: Why did you plead guilty to the death of Christina Martinez? They pointed out that at the time of her disappearance in May 1997, I was under 24/7 intense surveillance — by Phoenix police, U.S. Customs, even video cameras at nearby businesses.

That night, my wife went to a Rush concert with Doug Stafford, leaving me with our infant daughter Zoe. Phone records show I called Gretchen Jones from my hotel room for hours. She confirmed the calls in interviews. My wife also called the hotel to check on me and the baby.

Other evidence pointed to Richard Harmon:

Dog hair at the Martinez grave site matched Harmon’s dog.

The shovel at Harmon’s house matched soil and impressions at the grave site. My shovel still had concrete on it from April 5, 1997, when Ginger Rios was buried a month earlier.

Harmon possessed a knife purchased from Rothco that matched the Martinez weapon.

Authorities know this. They also know the States of California, New Jersey, and New York don’t want to prosecute me because of the evidence — and because of the mental condition of both my former wife and me.

Brain Damage and Confusion

I was hung at Los Angeles County Jail. Officers made me write a confession before hanging me. I was in a stripped cell. How did I get a sheet, paper, and pencil? How did the cameras “malfunction” that day? It was all bullshit.

That brain damage frustrates me every day. It limits me from enjoying things I once loved. Some police now speculate I plead guilty to murders as a way to cover for other people’s crimes. That’s a psychological question I cannot answer.

I’m still alive. But decades of incarceration have twisted my loyalties, my values, and my mind.