DOWNTOWN LOS ANGELES - On the evening of April 19, Brian Alexik decided to run.
As firemen and police stood outside his penthouse apartment asking to get in, he rigged two metal rods to jam the door handle and rolled a five-foot circle of Plexiglass in front of the door. The Plexiglass was covered in mosaic tile, so it was heavy.
He scooted out to the balcony, which overlooks the Los Angeles branch of the Federal Reserve, then hopped onto a neighbor’s balcony and re-entered the building through a rooftop door. He scurried down several flights of steps, popped into the garage, and simply walked out of the building.
The police and fire department had responded to apartment 701 at the Reserve Lofts to investigate a neighbor’s report of an exhaust smell. She described hearing a rattling noise, like that of a gas-powered electric generator. The sound had stopped when police arrived.
When authorities asked to enter, Alexik shouted a refusal. LAPD Officer Michael Orosco didn’t smell anything, but the neighbor’s report was alarming, he would later testify, and after a while, Alexik stopped answering. As the room went silent Orosco feared an explosion, or that something had happened to the person inside.
Minutes after Alexik split, police used a battering ram to break down the door and the hastily assembled barricade.
Inside, the lights were out. Alexik’s power had been cut. Light spilling in from the hallway illuminated a five-foot-wide handmade tile mosaic of the CIA seal, the object previously standing on its side to block the door. It had tumbled to the ground and settled face up.
Once inside, Orosco used the light on his pistol to find his way. He saw a framed image covered in Arabic writing and depicting a woman in a burka, pointing a high-caliber pistol right back at him. A framed portrait of Venezuelan President Hugo Chavez hung on one wall. The place was littered with power tools. A musty scent lingered.
As Orosco moved into the bedroom, the toe of his boot caught something hard poking out from under the bed. He pulled out a rifle-sized gun case. He opened it and found a sawed-off shotgun, a handgun and components for an SKS assault rifle, the Soviet predecessor to the AK-47. They found one of those, too.
Orosco’s partner noticed the AK propped up against a wall inside a closet. It was loaded and “ready for live fire,” Orosco would later testify. Dozens of plastic identification cards were strewn across a bed. An open desk drawer was full of cash.
After Orosco and his partner found the guns, the police prepared a search warrant affidavit and, at 4:20 a.m., a judge approved it. Investigators tore through the apartment for at least four hours, uncovering a veritable buffet of drugs — crack, heroin, Ecstasy, crystal methamphetamine, cocaine and an array of pharmaceuticals. They also found miscellaneous gun parts that detectives believe were part of a weapons manufacturing operation.
But the most curious contraband was the $15,000 in counterfeit hundred dollar bills, a noteworthy find considering the location. The Reserve Lofts building was the former home of the Federal Reserve, before the institution moved into more modern digs next door.
The LAPD had come to investigate a gas smell and stumbled onto something bigger. Yet for everything police found, they had an unanswered question. Who was this guy? Where did he go? Was he planning some kind of attack? A witness told police she saw Alexik throw two duffle bags off the roof. Investigators still wonder: What was in the bags?
There were other questions they didn’t know to ask, like how did Alexik manage to watch from a neighboring building as investigators tossed his apartment?
In the following weeks, the mysterious fugitive caught the attention of the Secret Service and the FBI, and popped up on the America’s Most Wanted website. An LAPD release warned that he was armed and dangerous, and reported that he was of Russian descent. An LAPD official compared Alexik to Jason Bourne, novelist Robert Ludlum’s fictional super spy played by Matt Damon in three blockbuster films. National media outlets latched on to the affiliation and came to refer to Alexik as “the real life Jason Bourne” in headlines.
The LAPD assigned its Major Crimes Division, which investigates terrorism cases, to find Alexik. Six weeks later, on June 3, they traced him to his girlfriend Brittany Morrill’s apartment at the American Hotel, a rundown residential complex in the Arts District, not even two miles from the Reserve Lofts. After a standoff, he was arrested peacefully.
About four weeks later, on a Sunday morning in late June, Alexik sat behind two inches of scratched glass in the visitors’ pen at the Pitchess Detention Center in Castaic. He pressed the worn jail phone to his ear.
“I’m being held illegally,” he said.
“The charges are egregious.”
Alexik, 34, was anxious to get his story out. He told it at a Gatling gun pace.
“They have no case.”
“In everything I read, the city of L.A. is the victim, the LAPD is the victim. What about me?”
The “real-life Jason Bourne” is 5-foot-10 and weighs about 180 pounds. He has a pale, egg-shaped face and a distinct dimple in his chin. His hair, dyed the color of dry rust, was pulled back in a wave from his forehead, where his natural dark brown was starting to emerge at the roots.
He radiated a cool confidence, betrayed only by an occasional nervous jitter that took over his right hand when it was not gesticulating. He occasionally slowed the pace by mixing in friendly pleasantries.
“Are you having a good weekend?” he asked, before diving back into thoughts about the weapons, drugs and counterfeiting charges that threaten to keep him locked up for 15 years.
The SKS rifle that police found in his Downtown apartment and used to obtain a search warrant?
“It’s legal in the state of California,” he said. “The LAPD’s own documentation says as much.”
The gas generator that authorities suspected was spewing fumes into a neighbor’s apartment in the Reserve Lofts? They didn’t find one.
“There was no generator. I think it gives them permission to get into my apartment.”
Since his arrest, Alexik has become somewhat of a jailhouse lawyer. He rejected his court-appointed Public Defender and pleaded with a judge to let him represent himself. His request was initially denied, but the judge relented when another attorney Alexik hired didn’t show up for a routine preliminary hearing.
This turned out to be not a mistake, but a legal maneuver, Alexik said. Alexik had arranged for the attorney to attend one hearing to take over his case from the public defender. The lawyer showed up and gained access to documents Alexik said his court-appointed representative, for some reason, would not pass on to him. After that, Alexik’s new attorney didn’t appear again, leading the perturbed judge to let Alexik represent himself. He is now preparing paperwork that he hopes will trigger a second hearing to contest the search of his apartment — he lost a preliminary trial centered on the same issue in October. If he loses again, it would set the stage for a jury trial early next year.
Alexik believes his Fourth Amendment right to privacy and protection from unwarranted searches was violated. He won’t discuss the drug charges or the alleged counterfeiting operation — allegations that never would have arose had authorities not, he asserts, unlawfully searched his home.
“I’m not a bad guy,” Alexik said during our first jail visit. Over the course of three months, he also called me more than a dozen times, for conversations that ranged from five minutes to an hour.
“I’m a private person. I keep things private but I keep things safe. I don’t harm anyone.
“I’m not what’s being portrayed. For my mother to see ‘armed and dangerous,’ that breaks her heart.”
Brian Elliot Alexik was born on May 14, 1976, the second of two sons to Edward and Sharon Alexik in Edison, New Jersey. The mostly middle class city of some 90,000 is about 30 miles southwest of Manhattan.
Edward Alexik was an infantryman with the 82nd Airborne Division who parachuted into Normandy during World War II, according to military records. After the war, he worked with his brothers at an auto mechanic shop. He was a serial handyman who helped friends and family with plumbing, mechanical and carpentry tasks.
Young Brian inherited his father’s fix-it gene.
“When my husband put an addition on to the kitchen, my other son wouldn’t turn a screwdriver,” said Sharon Alexik, who speaks with a subtle New Jersey accent, like a native New Yorker, but softer. “Brian was very mechanically inclined. He just knew how to do it.”
When Brian was 8, his father went into the hospital, suffering from cancer. Several weeks later, after multiple surgeries, Brian and his brother readied a “Welcome Home Dad” sign. Edward Alexik never came home. He was 61 when he died on Dec. 16, 1984.
“Until very recently, that date was the start of my life,” Brian wrote in the first of two letters he sent me from jail. “Everything before was either a fairy tale that someone decided to tell me, or a picture I would stare at and try to remember, like looking at a magazine and ‘wishing you were here.’”
Brian persevered. In grammar school, he joined the choir and was a generally happy, social and popular child, Sharon recalled.
In eighth grade, he ran for class president under the slogan, “Vote for Brian, he’s not lyin’,’” but lost. As a teenager, he was a “boy’s boy,” who liked girls, going to the mall with friends and listening to big hair rock. High school, however, seemed to bore him, she said, and he posted “average” grades.
Sharon, who never remarried, became a strict disciplinarian. She required her sons to be home before she returned from her job as payroll manager at an auto dealership. Brian was expected to do laundry, to vacuum the carpets, to trim the hedges. With the tight budget of a one-parent, blue-collar household, it also meant fixing the washer, repairing the vacuum and troubleshooting the cranky hedge clipper motor. He recounted his childhood in a letter:
Since the age of 8, I’ve basically come home to an empty home. I had been given chores to do that were beyond any kid I knew. Where most kids were playing I would be trimming hedges or tending to the lawn… But one thing was for sure, if it wasn’t done, it was the reason for my mother’s day to be that much harder (on me and my brother). Now don’t misunderstand what I am writing. My mother did what she knew. She did everything she could with two boys on her own. She never hit us, but I know it must have been tough. She always wanted to do more. I’m certain if she could have, she would have.
Growing up, Brian worked odd jobs, at a cafe in the mall, at McDonald’s, at a convenience store. At one point, he was a manager at an electronics store. By then, his facility for fixing things had evolved into a focus on computers.
“He basically taught himself everything he knows from playing with a computer,” Sharon said. “That was his thing. He could take them apart.”
Tragedy struck again when Brian was 17. A few friends planned to visit the mall to buy tickets for a Poison concert. The trip would have had Brian back home after his mother returned from work, against her edict, so he didn’t go. The car crashed and Brian’s best friend fell into a coma. He died a few weeks later. Recalling the incident last week in jail, Brian verged on tears.
After high school, Sharon and Brian remained close in some ways, but there are gaps in her knowledge regarding her son during his late teens and early 20s. He enrolled in community college, she recalled, but dropped out after a year. He got an apartment in Westfield, NJ, and appeared to be doing well financially with a business designing, testing and selling software, she said.
It was something else he was selling that first got him in trouble. At 20, he had his first recorded run-in with the law when he was arrested and charged with heroin and cocaine sales, according to New Jersey court records. At 24, he was arrested again, this time for “theft by deception,” a felony charge often applied to identity theft and forgery suspects, a Middlesex County court official said. He was sentenced to 180 days in county jail.
His legal trouble surprised his mother, but she confessed that Brian had become a very private person in his young adulthood. They locked horns on occasion, she said, mostly because they’re both bull-headed Tauruses who need the last word. He nevertheless remains fiercely loyal to her. When he wanted to reach out to me — he was reading Los Angeles Downtown News coverage of the investigation while he was on the run — he had his mother track me down and pass on his request for a visit. In that first meeting, he warned me, with a light-hearted veneer to his voice: “Don’t put my mom in a bad light or I will come for you.”
In 2005, at age 28 and not long after serving time for his theft by deception conviction, he moved to California.
“He wanted to start a new life,” Sharon said.
As investigators searched Alexik’s apartment, their suspect was gone, but he wasn’t exactly on the run. At least, he hadn’t run very far.
After walking out of the Reserve Lofts garage, he hustled over to the Packard Lofts, an apartment complex one block to the west, where his friend Charles Dupree lived. Alexik knew that he could see the windows and parts of his own balcony from Dupree’s fourth floor balcony.
“He basically went straight to the balcony, and was looking over at his place,” said Dupree, an attorney, who recalled the April 19 visit during an interview in his office on the top floor of the 72-story US Bank Tower. “I could tell something was up.”
As Orosco waved his pistol around the upstairs room in the penthouse, Alexik stood on Dupree’s balcony, watching a mini orb of light dance around the window. He was too far away to make out details, but Alexik said he saw officers walk on and off the balcony and eventually turn on the lights. Power in the unit had apparently been restored.
Dupree sensed that Alexik was in serious trouble and soon insisted that his friend leave. Alexik, dressed in a T-shirt and jeans, agreed to leave, but only after he looked through Dupree’s closet and asked to borrow what happened to be his nicest suit. Dupree reluctantly let him take it. They haven’t seen each other since, though Alexik somehow arranged the return of the suit, Dupree said.
The two met about two years ago when a friend of Dupree’s began dating Alexik. The relationship ended, but Alexik and Dupree maintained a friendship that they continued to build on discussions about fringe theories on American history, economic policy and law.
Alexik also delved into his political thinking in the two handwritten letters, totaling 25 pages, that he sent me from jail. In the letters, he paints America as a semi-secretly fascistic ruler in bed with international corporate interests.
Alexik’s America is one fit for conspiracy theorists, but coming from him, the ideas were strangely palatable, said Dupree, who always considered himself a sociopolitical progressive. He was never given to ideas like those Alexik espoused, at least not until the two met. At first the concepts sounded radical, “crazy” even, but Dupree was so impressed with Alexik’s intelligence and his seemingly encyclopedic grasp of history and economics that he couldn’t ignore him.
“A lot of the stuff Brian talks about, you know, is, well at first I was like, I don’t know,” Dupree said. “But he’s really smart. I just thought, you can’t just dismiss a guy like that.”
The letters from jail came in envelopes adorned with the symbol of the Freemasons, the secretive fraternity of secular philanthropists often accused by conspiracy theorists of plotting to take over the world. One envelope was decorated with a pencil drawing of the scale held by Lady Justice, the blindfolded Roman Goddess who symbolizes moral force in judicial systems.
“Have you ever wondered where our desire to install a democracy across the world comes from,” Alexik wrote. “Remember these words, ‘To the Republic, for which it stands?’ The pledge never mentions democracy. How did we become one? The ‘united states,’ which is a corporation, just like the DEA, CIA, FBI, NASA, LAPD and the ‘Los Angeles Superior Court,’ all require one thing in order to operate. That is money.”
The $15,000 in counterfeit cash found in Alexik’s apartment was deemed of “average level of deception” by a spokesman for the Secret Service, which investigates counterfeiting cases. But sources with close knowledge of the case, who declined to be identified because they were not authorized to discuss it, said that a Secret Service investigator originally described the bills as high quality, or a “nine out of 10.”
Inside the apartment, authorities found scattered knickknacks and accessories consistent with a home counterfeiting operation, including glittery green nail polish and hair spray, which is used to beat certain scanners that detect bogus bills. There was an ink jet printer, a scanner and several bills with obvious defects that were trashed, or simply unfinished. Investigators also seized multiple computers that they are still analyzing.
It’s unclear whether Alexik or anyone else ever tried to use the faux bills police found in his apartment, but Secret Service spokesman Wayne Williams said the paper never entered circulation. Every batch of counterfeit bills has an idiosyncratic flaw that helps the agency pinpoint the source of the bad dollars, he said. In Alexik’s case, the red flag was that among the 150 bills found, there were only four serial numbers.
Dupree said he never saw any evidence that his friend was printing fake cash. But if he was, Dupree theorized, it may have been his way to illustrate his contempt for the Federal Reserve and the U.S. monetary system. In his letter, Alexik likened the country’s removal from the gold standard as the “bankruptcy of America.”
“I could see Brian just wanting to make a point, you know, like hey, I can make money too — that doesn’t mean it’s worth anything,” Dupree said.
Alexik may be skeptical of the American monetary system, but that hasn’t stopped him from spending lots of cash.
In Los Angeles, Alexik lived luxuriously. He drove a Lexus, wore Versace and resided in expensive penthouses. The Reserve Lofts apartment cost him about $3,000 per month. In 2007, he paid about $4,000 per month to live in the priciest unit at the City View Lofts. He always paid in money orders, managers of both buildings said.
Even before he moved to California, he was partying hard, rubbing shoulders with high rollers and celebrities. Two photos obtained by Downtown News show Alexik with U2 frontman Bono. In one, they appear to be at a beachside bar, and Alexik has one arm around the Irish rock star. The other, a black and white print, shows the two sitting on a couch, Alexik in a white bandana and both wearing sunglasses. The name of a photography and film processing shop in Saint Tropez, France, a vacation oasis for the international elite, is printed on the back of the picture, along with the year 2003.
Two other images, neither of them dated, show Alexik embracing the supermodel turned reality television star Janice Dickinson. In one, they lean into each other, posing on a beach.
Representatives for Bono and Dickinson did not respond to requests for comment. Alexik would not discuss the nature of his relationships with either star, out of respect for their privacy, he said in a letter.
You found out my private memories through someone violating my rights… I’m not willing to reward you or anyone else for doing so. I know these people and have had the relationships I have had with them on the basis of 2 major things. These were things I realize with anyone I encounter. 1. They breathe the exact same air I do. They are members of the human family and enjoy being treated as such. 2. They adore and respect privacy, for themselves, their families and their business. (Ok, not so much Janice). But understand we all do… don’t you?
Alexik’s letters make several appeals to loyalty, honesty and integrity. He is fond of tapping the words of famous writers and leaders to express his thoughts; he references more than a dozen quotes or passages in his letters, most with exact accuracy.
“The very word secrecy, in a free and open society, is repugnant,” he writes, referencing President John F. Kennedy’s 1961 appeal to the American Newspaper Publishers Association. Kennedy was urging publishers to consider national security when divulging state secrets in the press.
In the same letter, Alexik quotes English writer E.V. Lucas: “The art of life is to show your hand. There is no diplomacy like candor. You may lose by it now and then, but it will be a loss well gained if you do. Nothing is so boring as having to keep up a deception.”
But in life, Alexik himself did not shy from deception. At the Reserve Lofts his lease was in the name of Ken Shurin, an alias, and he played the part with bravado. In the months before April 19, Alexik appeared in court as “Ken Shurin” to fight an eviction from Reserve Lofts management. “Shurin,” who had paid his rent in cash for the first 10 months, suddenly stopped paying. Alexik said he refused to pay after management entered his unit without consent.
Even from jail, Alexik maintains the ruse. In a request to get a message out to some friends, he lists several close pals, including “Ken.”
During a visit last week at Men’s Central Jail in Downtown, where Alexik was moved in October, he insisted that Shurin is a different person. He said he acted as an agent of Ken Shurin at the courthouse, not as Ken Shurin. He mused that even if he was using an alias, it was hardly a “deception,” because there was no ill intent. “What was it actually doing wrong?” he asked.
Police officials feared that Alexik’s veil of secrecy was a key ingredient — along with the guns, drugs and cash — in a recipe for some greater if only half-cooked plot.
“He had the wherewithal,” Lt. David Dolan, a Major Crimes investigator, told Downtown News in May. “He had it all there, the guns and everything. It was definitely there. He hadn’t pushed the button yet, but who knows?”
If he was plotting something, a crucial piece of the puzzle is missing. None of the 10 charges the District Attorney filed against Alexik allege conspiracy of any kind. Still, the evidence that was recovered — the guns, the drugs, the fake cash — could put him in state prison for 15 years, possibly more if the feds file additional counterfeiting charges.
Alexik said prosecutors offered him a plea bargain, but he would not specify the terms.
“I don’t want to take it because the search was illegal,” he said during last week’s visit. “I have so much law to back it up…. If anything, I’ll let it go to the appellate court.”
He maintains that his apartment should not have been searched, but he’s not surprised to find himself fighting what he considers a Fourth Amendment violation. In fact, he was betting this day would come. Tattooed on the back of his neck, just below his hairline, are five words. They were meant as a warning to others. They turned out to be a premonition for himself.
The nape of the neck, he points out, is the patch of skin most likely to be seen when an arresting officer has a suspect face down on the ground to apply a set of handcuffs.
The tattoo reads: “Notice I Do Not Consent.”
Major Crimes Detective Daniel Logan, the lead in the Alexik investigation, sat in a Downtown courtroom in October waiting for the arrival of the defendant and the start of his preliminary trial. Logan, a hulking ex-Marine with shoulders broader than the chair he occupied, chatted with the court reporter. She had taken notice that the defendant was a pro per — in propria persona, or representing himself.
“It never works out, even when you’re an attorney and you pass the Bar,” she said with a sigh.
“He thinks he’s real smart,” Logan said.
Dupree described Alexik as an extremely intelligent, well-read person with a sharp memory and startlingly good focus. Sharon Alexik said her son is “brilliant.” Still, even Dupree questioned his friend’s decision to go pro per.
Alexik armed himself with a copy of Black’s Law Dictionary (his mother sent it to him) and tapped the county jail’s limited resources (he said he has computer access for an hour a day) to research Fourth Amendment law and other probable cause cases that might offer clues on how to argue his own. In September he filed a motion to have the search warrant thrown out, thereby expunging any evidence it allowed police to find. He aims to prove that the forced entry was illegal; that the warrant was unjustified; and that even if the warrant was viable, authorities searched his home before they had the warrant in hand.
His motion prompted the October preliminary trial, during which his lack of legal acumen stuck out almost immediately. Minutes into the hearing, Judge Samuel B. Mayerson scanned the document certifying that Alexik had relinquished his right to representation. Alexik signed the document, but like he did on every page of the letters from jail, he added the phrase “All rights reserved.”
“That contradicts the very essence of this document,” Mayerson said with an incredulous lilt.
It was the first of several hiccups born of Alexik’s weak grasp on courtroom custom and legalese. At one point, he sounded awestruck by the veterans of the system in the room.
“How you know all this stuff, I have no idea, sir,” Alexik told Mayerson, with an almost childlike sincerity, during a break in the proceedings. “May I say I have tremendous respect for everyone in the courtroom today.”
Despite his lack of formal training, Alexik wasn’t entirely lost. In cross examinations of Orosco, Logan and Detective Angel Vega, he managed to expose several discrepancies in the official timeline of the investigation of his apartment.
The warrant was issued at 4:20 a.m. The LAPD left the scene, according to its own documents, at 7:11 a.m. But in response to Alexik’s cross-examination, Vega said that the search took four to five hours. If it lasted four hours, Alexik reasoned, it would have had to start at 3:11 a.m., or more than an hour before the warrant was issued, in order to finish by 7:11 a.m.
Police are permitted to force entry into private property when there are “exigent circumstances,” but even in those cases, they cannot search without a warrant. Only obvious contraband, observed by an officer in plain sight, can be used to obtain a search warrant. The so-called plain sight doctrine is a key to Alexik’s defense.
According to testimony and official reports, the Secret Service was at the Reserve Lofts by about 10 p.m., more than six hours before the warrant was issued. But there was no mention of counterfeit money in the warrant affidavit. So why did the Secret Service beat the warrant to the scene by several hours, Alexik asked?
The discrepancies were not lost on Mayerson.
“You’ve got a peculiar charm about you, Mr. Alexik,” Mayerson said during a break. “And you’re doing very well for a layperson. But I would advise you to have a lawyer.”
Mayerson ultimately rejected Alexik’s motions to quash the warrant, ruling that exigent circumstances necessitated Orosco’s forced entry into unit 701. As for the timeline, Mayerson said that documented times cannot be treated as ironclad, since officers must write their reports after their work is done. The process leads to inevitable, if minor, incongruities in the timeline.
Mayerson conceded that mistakes were made during the search. For one, he said Orosco shouldn’t have moved or opened the gun case that he tripped over. Still, Mayerson sided with prosecutors who said that the warrant was attained on the strength of information and evidence that was collected lawfully.
A week after the preliminary trial ended, Alexik called from jail. Despite losing, something about the trial emboldened him.
“You see, the truth always comes out,” he said.
Alexik pointed to the discrepancies in the timeline, and the fact that police never found a source of the fumes. The guns they recovered were in a closed case, not in plain sight. The AK-47 in the closet was not in plain sight either, he said.
He is convinced the court will eventually see it his way.
“I think every judge in the state knows that police jumped the gun,” he said. “They looked around the apartment and said this guy’s a terrorist…. They stumbled upon some little bullshit and blew it into something completely out of control.”
He feels that the cops and the media sensationalized him, starting with the gratuitous Jason Bourne references. The Hugo Chavez portrait was torn out of a New Yorker. The police claim in a media release that Alexik was possibly of Russian descent was not only incorrect, but flew in the face of his father’s decorated Army career.
During our final visit, Alexik seemed anything but worried. He showed no emotional urgency, no overt distress except when he recalled his teenage friend’s death. This time, there was no twitch in his hand. His hair, slicked back as always, was now entirely dark brown. He said he knows that going pro per defies all conventional wisdom.
“I understand that what’s going on for me is totally insane,” he said. “But there’s nobody in the world who is going to spend as much time on this as me. I spend every minute of my day researching how the Supreme Court has found that what happened to me is illegal. If they gave me bail for $1, I would guarantee that I would show up in court, because I’m dying to fight this fight.”
Sharon Alexik, on the other hand, is on edge. She and Brian grew apart in recent years. They hadn’t been speaking regularly before he was arrested, and she has concerns about her son.
“I don’t think anybody will ever truly know him,” she said. “I believe in my heart of hearts that Brian is an extremely sensitive person and he’s been hurt so much personally in his life.”
But Brian is still her son, she said, and she continues to help him out, functioning as his de facto legal runner, printing out court rulings and mailing him the documents.
“I’m very proud that he’s representing himself, because who knows better than Brian what happened?” she said.
“But as a mother, I’m worried.”
Contact Ryan Vaillancourt at firstname.lastname@example.org.
page 1, 12/13/2010
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