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On a Tuesday morning in August an explosion tears through Café Meridian on Calloway Street. Several people are hurt. The cause is unknown. What follows are twelve accounts given to Detective Mark Honeycutt of the 9th District by twelve people who were there that morning. Twelve people. Twelve versions of the same truth. One package nobody can agree on. One man whose face nobody could see. And a detective who has spent thirty five years learning that what people say they saw and what they actually saw are almost never the same thing. The investigation remains open. From Where I Stood: Twelve Accounts.
From Where I Stood: Twelve Accounts
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On a Tuesday morning in August an explosion tears through Café Meridian on Calloway Street. Several people are hurt. The cause is unknown. What follows are twelve accounts given to Detective Mark Honeycutt of the 9th District by twelve people who were there that morning. Twelve people. Twelve versions of the same truth. One package nobody can agree on. One man whose face nobody could see. And a detective who has spent thirty five years learning that what people say they saw and what they actually saw are almost never the same thing. The investigation remains open. From Where I Stood: Twelve Accounts.