Carlo Dalla Vedova: Is ECHR Advised You Condoned Malicious Defamation By Knox Of Chief Prosecutor?

Posted by The TJMK Main Posters





Carlo Dalla Vedova,

You are trying to make the ECHR believe that while Knox may have lied to the police it was only under immense illegal pressure.

Really?!  In effect your case is that Knox only lies and defames under extreme pressure?

Knox and her agent and her publishers all claim you okayed the Knox book Waiting To Be Heard before publication. If you had advised otherwise the book would never have been published.

Under our own analysis that book includes perhaps 600 lies and 100 defamations by Knox, written when she was under no pressure at all and seemingly simply intent on damaging people.

You provided the go-ahead for the book to be published in the 2013 hardcover and again, unrevised but with an addition, in the 2015 softcover. And those 600 and 100 are only the lies and defamations in the book. Knox is on record for numerous others.

Here is one of the most dangerous and destructive lies by Amanda Knox in that book.

As you know Dr Mignini was not even at the central police station when Amanda Knox was sitting with Rita Ficarra quite voluntarily building a list which you wrongly describe to the ECHR as an interrogation.

Days and days of trial testimony by all who actually were there on the night - which you and Knox both sat through - proved that Dr Mignini only saw Knox much later, to read her her rights and then be subjected to her beating his ear about Patrick.  Knox finished the written statement she insisted upon at 5:45 am.

Knox here is claiming in her book written under zero pressure that Dr Mignini conducted a highly illegal interrogation - in effect he committed crimes which could destroy his career and perhaps even put him in prison -when in fact he was at home in bed at the time.

This is the spurious Knox claim about Dr Mignini in English. An Italian translation is at the bottom.
 

[This is a partial description of Knox’s voluntary discussion with Rita Ficarra concluding 12:45 am. Dr Mignini was at home in bed at the time.]
Eventually they told me the pubblico ministero would be coming in.
I didn’t know this translated as prosecutor, or that this was the magistrate that Rita Ficarra had been referring to a few days earlier when she said they’d have to wait to see what he said, to see if I could go to Germany.
I thought the “public minister” was the mayor or someone in a similarly high “public” position in the town and that somehow he would help me.
They said, “You need to talk to the pubblico ministero about what you remember.”
I told them, “I don’t feel like this is remembering. I’m really confused right now.” I even told them, “I don’t remember this. I can imagine this happening, and I’m not sure if it’s a memory or if I’m making this up, but this is what’s coming to mind and I don’t know. I just don’t know.”
They said, “Your memories will come back. It’s the truth. Just wait and your memories will come back.”
The pubblico ministero came in.
Before he started questioning me, I said, “Look, I’m really confused, and I don’t know what I’m remembering, and it doesn’t seem right.”
One of the other police officers said, “We’ll work through it.”
Despite the emotional sieve I’d just been squeezed through, it occurred to me that I was a witness and this was official testimony, that maybe I should have a lawyer. “Do I need a lawyer?” I asked.
He said, “No, no, that will only make it worse. It will make it seem like you don’t want to help us.”
It was a much more solemn, official affair than my earlier questioning had been, though the pubblico ministero was asking me the same questions as before: “What happened? What did you see?”
I said, “I didn’t see anything.”
“What do you mean you didn’t see anything? When did you meet him?”
“I don’t know,” I said.
“Where did you meet him?”
“I think by the basketball court.” I had imagined the basketball court in Piazza Grimana, just across the street from the University for Foreigners.
“I have an image of the basketball court in Piazza Grimana near my house.”
“What was he wearing?”
“I don’t know.”
“Was he wearing a jacket?”
“I think so.”
“What color was it?”
“I think it was brown.”
“What did he do?”
“I don’t know.”
“What do you mean you don’t know?”
“I’m confused!”
“Are you scared of him?”
“I guess.”
I felt as if I were almost in a trance. The pubblico ministero led me through the scenario, and I meekly agreed to his suggestions.
“This is what happened, right? You met him?”
“I guess so.”
“Where did you meet?”
“I don’t know. I guess at the basketball court.”
“You went to the house?”
“I guess so.”
“Was Meredith in the house?”
“I don’t remember.”
“Did Patrick go in there?”
“I don’t know, I guess so.”
“Where were you?”
“I don’t know. I guess in the kitchen.”
“Did you hear Meredith screaming?”
“I don’t know.”
“How could you not hear Meredith screaming?”
“I don’t know. Maybe I covered my ears. I don’t know, I don’t know if I’m just imagining this. I’m trying to remember, and you’re telling me I need to remember, but I don’t know. This doesn’t feel right.”
He said, “No, remember. Remember what happened.”
“I don’t know.”
At that moment, with the pubblico ministero raining questions down on me, I covered my ears so I could drown him out.
He said, “Did you hear her scream?”
I said, “I think so.”
My account was written up in Italian and he said, “This is what we wrote down. Sign it.”

And here is the same spurious Knox claim about Dr Mignini in Italian.

Alla fine mi dissero che sarebbe entrato il pubblico ministero.
Non sapevo che fosse l’accusa, o che fosse il magistrato a cui si riferiva Rita Ficarra qualche giorno prima, quando aveva detto che bisognava aspettare di sapere cosa avrebbe detto lui, per vedere se potevo andare in Germania. Pensavo che “pubblico ministero” fosse il sindaco o qualcuno che detenesse una carica politica simile in città e che, in qulche modo, mi avrebbe aiutata.
Dissero, “Devi parlare col pubblico ministero di ciò che ricordi.”
Dissi loro, “Non credo che questo sia ricordare. Sono davvero confusa in questo momento.” Gli dissi perfino, “Non mi ricordo di tutto ciò. Riesco ad immaginarlo, ma non sono sicura se sia un ricordo o se lo stia solo immaginando, ma è quello che mi viene in mente e non so. Davvero non so.”
Dissero, “I tuoi ricordi torneranno. E’ la verità. Aspetta e ti ritornerà la memoria.”
Entrò il pubblico ministero.
Prima che iniziasse a interrogarmi, dissi, “Guardi, sono davvero confuse, e non so cosa sto ricordando e non mi sembra giusto.”
Uno degli ufficiali di polizia disse, “Ci lavoreremo su.”
Nonostante il setaccio emotivo per il quale ero passata, realizzai che ero una testimone e che quella era una testimonianza ufficiale, che forse avrei dovuto avere un avvocato. “Ho bisogno di un avvocato?” chiesi.
Disse, “No, no, peggiorerebbe solo le cose. Sembrerebbe che tu non voglia aiutarci.”
Era una situazione molto più solenne e ufficiale dei miei precedenti interrogatori, benché il pubblico ministero mi stava facendo le stesse domande che mi avevano già posto: “Cosa è successo? Cosa hai visto?”
Dissi, “Non ho visto niente.”
“Cosa intendi dire con non ho visto niente? Quando l’hai incontrato?”
“Non so,” dissi.
“Dove l’hai incontrato?”
“Al campo da basket, credo.” Avevo immaginato il campo da basket a Piazza Grimana, proprio al di là della strada dall’ Università per Stranieri.
“Ho un’immagine del campo da basket a Piazza Grimana, vicino casa mia.”
“Cosa indossava?”
“Non so.”
“Indossava una giacca?”
“Credo di si.”
“Di che colore era?”
“Credo che fosse marrone.”
“Cosa ha fatto?”
“Non lo so.”
“Cosa vuol dire che non lo sai?”
“Sono confusa!”
“Hai paura di lui?”
“Suppongo.”
Mi sembrava di essere quasi in trance. Il pubblico ministero mi guidò in uno scenario e io concordai docilmente con i suoi suggerimenti.
“E’ successo questo, giusto? Lo hai incontrato?”
“Suppongo di si.”
“Dove lo hai incontrato?”
“Non lo so. Al campo da basket, suppongo.”
“Siete andati a casa?”
“Credo di si.”
“Meredith era casa?”
“Non ricordo.”
“Patrick é entrato?”
“Non so, crdo di si.”
“Dove vi trovavate?”
“Non lo so. Nella cucina, suppongo.”
“Hai sentito Meredith urlare?”
“Non lo so.”
“Come potevi non sentire Meredith urlare?”
“Non lo so. Forse mi sono coperta le orecchie. Non lo so, non so se mi sto solo immaginando tutto. Sto cercando di ricordare e voi mi dite che devo ricordare, ma non lo so. Non mi sembra che sia la cosa giusta.”
Disse, “No, ricorda. Ricorda cosa é successo.”
“Non lo so.”
In quel momento, mentre il pubblico ministero mi tempestava di domande, mi coprii le orecchie, così da non sentirlo.
Disse, “L’hai sentita urlare?”
Dissi, “Credo di si.”
La mia dichiarazione era scritta in italiano e lui mi disse, “Questo é quello che abbiamo messo a verbale. Firmalo.”


Posted by The TJMK Main Posters on 05/26/16 at 07:42 AM in


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