by Edgar J. Steele

Cyndi and Edgar Steele

There are things in life that defy belief. Seeing them often is enough to set one on a path toward seeing unbelievable things at every turn. Seeing is disbelieving? Hmm…

The Red Queen of Alice in Wonderland Fame remarked that she often believed in impossible things; as many as six of them, all just before lunch, too.

A great many more people now are willing to disbelieve in the inherent justice of the American Justice System. They watched a jury in Boise convict me of four Federal felonies.

Sigh. Where do I begin?

You Could Be Next

This story will take some time and require several installments. If you have yet to hear anything about it, you will not believe it. You may not believe it, anyway. I do, however. I am living it. All too easily, you could be next.

I was convicted of hatching a plot to kill my wife, in which I allegedly hired an oafish Idaho handyman as a hit man. Already, something may not sound quite right to you.

A Case in Search of a Motive

Why did I want Cyndi, my wife of 25 years dead? I never have quite heard a reason that makes sense. First, Cyndi was told by the FBI that the motive was life insurance, but then they learned that both of us cancelled our policies years ago. Then, the FBI told her that the motive was my jealousy over her (fictitious) boyfriend. Cyndi quashed that by demanding that the FBI produce photos they said they had; of course, there were none.

Finally, the government settled upon a case I was investigating as motive, because I had communicated with a great many young Ukrainian women (with Cyndi’s consent and even, assistance) to determine if the Russian Bride business really was a human trafficking scam. First, as part of that case I briefly handled, then simply because I found the subject fascinating and worthy of writing a book about it.

Two more novel motives were presented at trial: (1) I was after our car “uninsured motorist” insurance, though I was a lawyer and would have known full well that death by pipe bomb is not “accidental,” so that no insurance ever could be paid. (2) divorce from Cyndi would be too expensive. Yet, the prosecutor failed to tell the jury that I had signed all my assets over to Cyndi. Cyndi was part of every aspect of my life, even my communications overseas to determine how the bartered bride business really worked, so I could write a book exposing the fraud to be entitled “Love and Other Four Letter Words” (subtitled “The Invasion of Planet Earth by Teenage Russian Mail-Order Brides from Cyberspace).

You see, I happen to love Cyndi. I know – that just isn’t fashionable in this day of throw-away relationships, but it is true.

I often have written of how lucky I have been to have had her. About the terrific kids we have. About how my family life serves to steady my universe. All true, even now, as I write these words from a jail cell in Northern Idaho while awaiting sentencing and endeavoring, as best I can, to get a new trial.

My Love Story

Let me try, first, to tell you of my love for Cyndi. She is my mate, pal, helper, lover, buddy, partner, mother of our kids… my first and last wife…my best friend. The love of my life. She is so much better than I deserve. I could go on.

There is a reason for this paen to my blushing bride, of course. To see that the Emperor of my story has no clothes, you must first get, on a visceral level, as do my closest friends, just how ludicrous it would be for me to want my wife dead.

I recall the moment I first laid eyes on Cyndi and the spontaneous burst of surprise and pleasure that crossed her face just before she cast her eyes down and first smiled for me that impish little grin of hers that I love so much. In less than two minutes, I was swept away, though I did my manly best to seem inaffected. It was love at first sight and, 27 years later, my heart still leaps up every time I catch sight of her again.

I could, and should, go on like this for a long time, but please know that I still see Cyndi as my one and only soulmate. There is much, much more to this story, though, and I have to give you at least an overview in this first installment.

My Way

At my lawyers request, I have kept silent (though, not silent enough) about my case. I have made no public statements until today and have yet to speak with anybody from any media outlet. I bit my tongue during my recent trial and, against my better judgment, agreed not to take the stand to testify in my own behalf. Fat lot of good all that has done me!

No more. I did it my lawyer’s way and now, at age 65, I am facing a mandatory minimum sentence of 30 years, with 70 years a very real possibility. Obviously¸ any sentence over 10 years is redundant to my life expectancy, especially in view of the medical problems I have seen in recent years (yet another lengthy, though relevant, story for another day).

Now we are going to do it my way, which likely will involve a good deal of sound and fury.

All My Trials

First up: Motion for a New Trial which my Federal judge will reject in summary fashion. I will have to rely on an appeal to get that new trial. It should be a laydown appeal, though, because this judge repeatedly committed reversible error (more than one story for other days).

We wrecked a sizable legal defense fund (the thanks for which will take more future stories than you will want to read) during the first trial, so I very possibly will have to represent myself at retrial. Spare me the jokes – all lawyers are fools (else¸ we wouldn’t even be lawyers, of course).

Lessee now, where were we? Oh, yes. What really happened? Here’s the executive summary:

The Idahun Hit Man

Larry the Idahun handyman/builder/junk hauler whose cousin’s name is Daryl, I swear (though I do not yet know if the cousin has one or more brothers also named Daryl), worked off and on for us for years. Larry knew we had hidey-holes here and there on the property, because he built some of them for us. Larry stumbled across one of three silver stashes in an outbuilding and then he searched and found two others. All told, Larry stole $45,000 in silver bullion from us at the then price of $18 per ounce.

Knowing I/we would discover the theft, Larry apparently decided that I/we had to go, so he set out to kill me/us with car pipe bombs. Like Wiley Coyote, Larry must shop at Acme, because neither of the two bombs that he then placed on the two cars I drive (one of which Cyndi drove about half the time) went off.

Larry says he removed the bomb attached to one car and then believed the other “fell off” when his cousin Daryl failed to see it after being told to look.

There is an alternate theory that explains the car pipebomb as having been emplaced after I was arrested, but the foregoing seems the most likely scenario.

It is undisputed that Larry sold silver on three different occasions (remember, he stole three of our hidden stashes) – he produced receipts for those sales (totaling just a few thousand dollars) during his testimony at my trial. Larry claimed I gave the silver to him as part of my $10,000 payment to him for killing my precious Cyndi. Larry did actually admit that I didn’t give the silver to him (he took it from one of the three hidey-holes, he said).

Making a Federal Case Out of It

Why did Larry then go to the FBI and fess up to his part in this sordid affair? In exchange for full immunity, of course. He still had to get me out of the way before I discovered his theft. I was beginning to mend from the four surgeries I had had in six months and I was starting to get out of the house.

Larry and I had been talking a lot during those six months, because he was helping us out with many things, including feeding our horses twice a day whenever Cyndi was out of town tending to her very ill mother who lives alone. I explained my difficulties with the ADL, the Russian Mafia, the FBI and others. All he needed to do was make one phone call in order to be conscripted into helping get me out of the way, which is just what he wanted.

Just a Coincidence

The ADL’s internet site hit piece on me was quoted in the very first court filing – coincidence? The FBI is alleged by us conspiracy theorists to be in bed with, if not controlled by, the ADL. More coincidence? Why did Larry go to the FBI rather than the local Sheriff or state authorities, like most of us would do? Yet still more coincidence? Larry said that he travelled nine hours to Oregon to ensure the bomb fell off the car that Cyndi then was driving, but he couldn’t be bothered to take the time to look for himself. Really? Of course, it is just coincidence that this interstate trip is the only thing that gave jurisdiction to the FBI…isn’t it? Do you still believe in coincidence? I don’t.

Ok, you may be saying – What’s the big deal? My word against the Idahun’s, so I should be exonerated without a fight. That would be true if not for those pesky audio recordings that Larry and the FBI claim memorialize my hiring Larry the Idahun hit man. But let’s save that story for the next installment in this epic affair, “Sex, Lies and Audiotapes.”

There is so much more to come in this story: Russian Mafia intrigue, teenage beauty queens, official (and unofficial) corruption, mail-order brides, Hannibal Edgar, the Tao of Ed, private jets, Tahiti…..and more, believe it or not. Remember, seeing is disbelieving.

With a little help from my friends and my lovely Cyndi, who resolutely has stood by me throughout this ordeal, I will get this and future installments out to my list and posted on my website , as well as others. Bear with us, please.

I was finally seeing some of the mail sent to me in recent months. However, I’m once again being moved and at this moment, no one knows where. So please visit www.free-edgar-steele.com for updates on where to send mail

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Copyright ©2010, Edgar J. Steele

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