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Roger Chiang(Joyce's brother)
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blondie



Joined: 10 Oct 2003
Posts: 567

PostPosted: Wed Nov 17, 2004 5:40 pm    Post subject: Reply with quote

I really hope that they look into this. In the meantime, we need to fing everything that we can. We should probably try and find out what area of Ca. the Chiangs are from, check into her other brothers, and anything else that we can think of.
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blondie



Joined: 10 Oct 2003
Posts: 567

PostPosted: Wed Nov 17, 2004 9:07 pm    Post subject: Reply with quote

Roger grew up in the suburbs oa Chicago. He graduated from UCSB, University of Ca, Santa Barbara in 1994. His fiancee is Cindy Chao.
At the time Joyce disappeared they lived in the 1700 block of Church St. NW DC.

His brother John is also involved in politics. He is a "Member of State Board of Equalization - District Four" - Capitol Mailing adress is 450 N Street, Sacramento, Ca. I don't know what all he does.

Can't find anything for sure on Robert.
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peripeteia



Joined: 22 Sep 2002
Posts: 1173
Location: Nova Scotia

PostPosted: Thu Nov 18, 2004 3:34 am    Post subject: Reply with quote

Blondie would not it be lovely to have the reports from the police and autopsy reports, oh my such a waste of time trying to figure things out for example there are several different reports about the articles Joyce allegedly left behind, and the exact location. If indeed Joyce's articles were found in a field near the naval station this is a long way from anywhere!!! I just cannot imagine going to such a place in the dead of winter in the middle of the night by myself and walking. How did Joyce's jacket which was suede come to be torn, suede is fairly difficult to tear and I don't believe for a minute that little Joyce tore her own jacket? One wonders too if some homeless person did not find and move these articles, they sounded if they were neatly placed in the grass.

There is a report on line that says Joyce went to some type of legal hearing at work the week before she died, this would make it the first week of January, however the same article then referred to the hearing in the future tense. Perhaps what the writer meant to imply is that there were other hearings to come or that the matter had not been concluded?

It would be helpful to know what kind of doo doo that Joyce was into with the management. Was this matter serious enough to take one's life! If Joyce did take her life, why do it in such a bitterly cold night and in that fashion and sober. Oh my this doesn't really make sense as a suicide, too inconvenient and cold. No I would think that Joyce would be more resourceful that a park across a bridge a long way from home.... Can't make sense of this. I'd not be surprized if Roger now took his own life as he has sabbotaged his career. Perhaps the trouble that Joyce was in was sufficent for motive for suicide? The police seem to feel that Joyce may have motive for suicide however, the evidence does not seem to point the way of a person who took their own life?

I think that it is time that the FBI coughed up some information regarding Joyce's case. Does the hair on Joyce's jacket match the DNA and other forensic evidence from Christine? There must be some DNA data on the assailant who attacked Christina as it is stated that she was sexually assaulted. Joyce's and Christina's murders are close together chronologically It is possible that the murderer of these women is one in the same. It is possible that Chandra too might have been murdered by the same perpetrator. It is possible that Chandra's was a copy cat murder.

One wonders if Joyce Chiang and Christine Mirzryan knew one another, through the intership programme, parties of people from California? We know little of Christine's life as there was little in the news, she was Iranian, and had recently moved to California with her family. Christine was married and was involved in biological research, she was a brillant mind.

There have to be a circle of Interns who do the circuit with the party thing, for example Christine was murdered coming home from a party. What and who is to say that someone who was at the party did not follow her and kill her, or someone knew that she was going?

Odd too that Joyce would get a cup of tea at 0100 when she could have had a ride to her door and all the tea she wanted, was Joyce planning on meeting someone? Washington is not all that safe a city to go jaunting about at one in the morning? There are several different times posted as to when Joyce's friends dropped her off at Starbucks for Tea?

If we had the autopsy report on Joyce we might be able to find out what her defensive wounds were, and whether she had been struck on the head. Christine must have had defensive wounds as well. I believe it stated that Christine had been severely beaten, however I did not read this in any searches of late?

rd, do we have a map that shows the locations and murders of the three interns? I do remember seeing one, however that did not include the place where Joyce's body had been found, only Starbucks in Dupont Circle where Joyce had been last seen and where her apartment was located.
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A vision sent me on the path of seeking justice for Chandra, nothing I've seen in print to date has diminished the vividness but only served to reaffirm the validity of this vision.
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peripeteia



Joined: 22 Sep 2002
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PostPosted: Thu Nov 18, 2004 4:14 am    Post subject: Washington City Paper Joyce Chaing August 1999 Reply with quote

COVER STORY
by Eddie Dean
July 30-Aug. 5, 1999

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PRINT THIS STORY

Cover Story
ARCHIVES
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+++
Victims don't come any more perfect than Chiang, at least from a media standpoint: charming, humble, demure. She was your sister, your girlfriend, your daughter.
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"Where is the justice behind all this? When someone could just take someone off the street? You're supposed to have flesh and blood, and she's found without flesh and without blood, literally tissue and bone. That's not human justice." —Roger Chiang
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Because the way Chiang died remains unknown, authorities have not officially declared her death a homicide. Random violence, suicide, death by misadventure
—nothing can be ruled out.
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"Always in the back of her mind, she remembered her roots," says longtime friend Judy Kim. "She remembered the struggle her parents went through when they first came to this country."
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THE MURDER VICTIM NEXT DOOR

Washington lawyer. Smith College alumna. Sister and daughter and friend. Bearer of gifts and the smile that launched a thousand fliers.

Let's say you want to drop something off east of the Anacostia River. You don't know the area very well, though. Only what you read in the papers and hear on the news: that Southeast is D.C.'s very own mecca of murder and mayhem, where life is cheap. At least, that is its reputation; that has been its notoriety for a generation now. And that's exactly why you want to go over there.

Let's say that thing you want to drop off is, in fact, a body. That's why you go to Anacostia—the perfect place for the end to the perfect crime. More than a natural boundary, that river is a border between two worlds. Across that border, the evidence would naturally finger the usual suspect—Southeast: the perfect scapegoat. Why not pin the crime on a place?

But you don't want to drive around the unfamiliar streets of Southeast with a dead body in your car. This is no time to get lost. Besides, from what you've heard, it's dangerous over there. So you choose the quickest beeline: South Capitol Street across the Frederick Douglass Memorial Bridge, and you take the first exit. It doesn't really matter where, just as long as you're on the other side of the Anacostia. It's the bad part of town, where people do all sorts of unspeakable things to each other in the middle of the night. That's what they say, anyway.

The off-ramp takes you around until you're nearly under the bridge: It is a parking lot, a desolate no man's land between Anacostia Park and the back gate of the Anacostia Naval Station. There are a few empty tour buses parked nearby. Over a small rise of scrub vegetation is the river.

Nobody's around. And who would be out here on a winter night? In a bare patch of dirt near the bridge's granite pillars, a mess of empty bottles lies scattered. Yeah, it's a dumping ground all right. The habituŽs of the place have found some shelter other than this wind-whipped spot, chill factor bobbing close to zero.

So you get the body from the trunk and go about your business, as if this is what you're supposed to be doing in the darkness on the banks of the Anacostia River. It weighs barely 100 pounds, so it's no big haul carrying it over the barren hump and down to the inky-black, ice-cold, polluted water. And then you shove it in, and it slowly sinks and joins the old cars and refrigerators and other rubbish—including a few other bodies, no doubt—at the bottom. And that's the end of that.

Well, almost. You need to leave some crumbs behind. So people will know where to look. No need to get too fussy about it. Some ID cards and house keys and pocket trinkets to tell the world who someone is. Just chuck them on the ground, out in the open, where any damn fool could stumble on them.

The whole operation takes maybe five minutes at the most. All that activity has almost made you forget how cold it is out here. Almost enough to make your teeth chatter. You get back in your car and head back across the Anacostia.

It was dark and cold out, but she was close to home. No problem. You can just drop me off here and I'll walk. Don't go out of your way. I'll be fine. That's what Joyce Chiang always said when she was catching a ride.

Driving Chiang home was a ritual her friends relished. It was a time to catch up and really commiserate with the woman whose day-to-day trajectory veered a million different directions. In the passenger seat, Joycie—as her friends called her—was a captive audience, always eager to listen and offer valuable advice. She had the effect of a mood enhancer, regaling you with stories of some crazy mishap. Though she often assumed the role of a mentor, the girlish-looking 28-year-old remained a faithful comrade-in-mischief, a connoisseur of everyday absurdities.

Chiang was never comfortable on the receiving end of a favor. It was she who was most often doing the giving, whether it was a homemade, personalized birthday gift, a surprise phone call with her playful "Hey, Bud" greeting, or some other beyond-the-call-of-duty gesture. She prided herself on her independence, beholden to nobody. On a whim, she'd book a budget flight to some European capital for a solo visit, to turn a long weekend into another adventure. But her dislike and fear of driving had long ago become a sort of inside joke among Chiang and her friends. Unless it was absolutely necessary, such as when she sometimes rented a car on business trips, the intrepid world traveler simply refused to get behind the wheel. So most social evenings ended with someone giving Chiang a lift home—or, at least, part of the way home.

On this cold Saturday, Jan. 9, 1999, Chiang had been busy on her usual weekend routine, mixing work and friends. That morning, she had the typical hello-goodbye exchange with her younger brother, Roger, who was just waking up as she was leaving. They shared a basement apartment on Church Street NW, a one-way shady lane of brownstones in Dupont Circle. Like his sister, 26-year-old Roger was always punched-in, crisscrossing the country as an advance man for Secretary of Housing and Urban Development Andrew Cuomo.

As she did on most weekends, Chiang spent a couple of hours at the Immigration and Naturalization Service headquarters on I Street NW, where she worked as a lawyer. Afterward, she took the Metro to the Pentagon City Mall to return some items. Then she met up with a few friends, including an INS co-worker, at the Xando coffee shop, a few blocks from her place. This was not the usual perky Chiang, for understandable reasons: "She was a little tired," says Patty First, a Justice Department lawyer who had known Chiang for years. "She'd had a hard week at work, she had a cold, and she had just come back from an extremely long detail."

Chiang was dressed for the bitter weather and the head cold she'd been battling since New Year's. Over her light-blue jeans and black turtleneck, she wore a thigh-length green coat, a red paisley scarf around her neck, and a black one wrapped over the hood of her jacket. First recalls how cute Chiang looked all bundled up, her dark brown eyes peering from all those layers of clothing. "When we were leaving, she pulled up her hood," says First. "She pulled the strings to pull it tight around her face, and it was hysterical. She was so tiny, and she looked really funny."

In the brief time the women had been in Xando, the temperature outside had plummeted along with the waning daylight. After dropping First at her home, Chiang and her INS friend spent the afternoon in Friendship Heights at a screening of the courtroom drama A Civil Action. The women returned to Dupont Circle for dinner at Lauriol Plaza, at the corner of 18th and S Streets.

After dinner, though it was not even 8:30 p.m., Chiang said she had to call it a night. At 9 p.m. sharp, she explained, she needed to phone someone in San Francisco who was scheduled to appear in a theater production that evening. Typical Joycie: She wanted to send a good-luck message before her friend left for the performance. No matter what was going on in her own jampacked life, she managed to keep tabs on important events in her friends'—an exam, a big legal case, or something more personal—and she rarely failed to make contact and give her support.

As always, Chiang's dinner companion offered her a ride home. The restaurant was only a few blocks from Church Street, but it was already dark outside, and the temperature had continued to plunge, to well below freezing. Chiang grudgingly accepted. True to form, though, she insisted that her friend drop her off along Connecticut Avenue, instead of having to double back along the one-way streets that led to her apartment. Why go through all that trouble? After all, this was her neighborhood, where gas-lamp streetlights flickered above familiar sidewalks in a wintry wonderland. Not exactly the mean streets of D.C.

At the corner of Connecticut and R Streets, Chiang hopped out of the car. She said she was going to the Starbucks across the street. She'd sworn off coffee and caffeinated drinks a few years before, after her doctor warned her of an impending ulcer. What she wanted was a cup of hot herbal tea to take the chill off during the walk through Dupont Circle. She had plenty of time to make it back for her 9 p.m. phone call. No problem. I'll be fine. Chiang stood on the corner in front of La Tomate restaurant. The car pulled away into the night.

When a crime happens in Dupont Circle, authorities know where to look to find evidence: nearby Rock Creek. It has long been a favorite drop-off point for everything from guns to bodies.

But it was alongside the Anacostia where a couple found Chiang's INS identification card the next day. By then, Roger Chiang had figured that his sister had spent the night at a friend's house—a common enough occurrence. When she didn't come home Sunday night, though, he began to get worried. Monday afternoon, he phoned her office: She hadn't reported to work, and nobody had heard from her. It was one thing for Joyce to spend the weekend away, but quite another for her to skip a work day without calling. Her friends told Roger they had no idea where she could be. The next day, he contacted authorities to report his sister as missing.

On Jan. 21, nearly two weeks after Chiang was last seen, authorities launched a massive search effort at the riverside site where her ID had been found. Nearby, they found her torn green coat, along with her Blockbuster and Safeway cards. Right out in the open. Her keys showed up near the chain link fence of the naval station gate.

They combed the Anacostia River as well, a wide but shallow area, no more than 20 feet deep in the middle. They had a fleet of boats and helicopters and dogs trained to find cadavers. Teams of divers from the Metropolitan Police Department's Harbor Branch scoured the river bottom.

They did discover a body, but not Chiang's.

It was by accident, really. After a half-day, the divers took a break to regroup, convinced that Chiang's body was not in the designated search area. Then a helicopter spotted something a hundred yards away, nearly underneath the Frederick Douglass Bridge. It was bobbing on the surface, jostled from the depths by the boats and activity.

It was the decomposed body of a man who had been in the cold water for much longer than two weeks, maybe even months. Later he was identified as Ridgley Tyrone Pleasants Jr., 25, whose last known address was on a shady street of brick colonials in Cheverly, just across the District line in the Prince George's suburbs. His previous address had been in far Southeast. There was no public clamor to find out how Pleasants had ended up at the bottom of the Anacostia. According to police sources, his mother had reported him missing in the fall, but no search parties ever went on the trail to find him. His death, ruled a drowning by the D.C. medical examiner, remains a mystery; but the manner of death was listed as "undetermined." He didn't rate a mention in any newspaper.

It is no real surprise that Washington seemed to heave a collective sigh of relief when the body turned out to be a local John Doe instead of Chiang. Victims don't come any more perfect than Chiang, at least not from a media standpoint: charming, humble, and demure—a friend to all. You know the type. And just in case the warm anecdotes from friends and colleagues didn't get you, there were the photos. More than just pretty, she had a warm, inviting smile that was a beacon of trust. She was the kind of too-good-to-be-true person that newspapers and their readers pick up on: the cute one, the nice one, the one whom everybody still wonders about. Never mind that there were dozens of dead people all over the city whose stories never see an inch of newsprint.

Chiang's disappearance had all the elements that make for an irresistible story: walking down the street in her own neighborhood, and then, in a flash, no more Chiang. Posters of her were immediately plastered all over the city. Then came the weekly vigils, seemingly of their own accord. Watching them on TV, you shared in the protest. You didn't even know Chiang, but she was already like a part of your family—your sister, your girlfriend, your daughter.

And all the others, the ones who existed only in the small type of the crime section of the paper? Well, they had it coming. Bad address, bad time of day, bad corner, bad customer. They were just part of the background noise of the city, unworthy of celebrity even in death.

Chiang's circle of familiars grew quickly after her disappearance. She soon became one of the most well-known missing persons in the country. Yet the publicity surrounding the case did little to flush out helpful information. Fox's America's Most Wanted: America Fights Back ran a segment on her disappearance; the broadcast garnered few calls and no solid leads.

Not only was Chiang a beautiful, brilliant young woman, she was also a federal employee, so it was a high-profile case from the start, with the FBI spearheading the investigation. Despite her youthfulness, Chiang had friends in high places, including her former boss, Howard L. Berman (D-Calif.), and INS Commissioner Doris Meissner. As the months went by, some powerful Washington people reportedly made personal calls to FBI Director Louis Freeh, demanding some progress on the case.

The basic line went something like this: People just don't vanish from the middle of Dupont Circle. Not on a Saturday night at 8:30 p.m. Sure it was cold, but it was Connecticut and R, for goodness' sake. It just didn't make any sense. And if the FBI couldn't solve this sort of mystery right in its own back yard, then who could?

Meanwhile, Chiang's family and countless friends continued to canvass the city, posting fliers with her radiant photo and talking with anyone who would listen. Week after week, without fail, they held candlelight vigils in Dupont Circle; these ceremonies, led by Roger Chiang and organized by her friends, sometimes counted more than a hundred strong. Their efforts helped to comfort them and nurture a glimmer of shared hope, but did little to help solve the case.

Then the tide did what no law enforcement agency or loved one's prayers could accomplish. On April 1, a canoeist was paddling down the Potomac River south of Belle Haven Marina in Fairfax County. He lives in a riverside subdivision—his back yard is on the water—and his solo excursions have been a daily ritual for years, no matter what the weather. He usually hugs the shoreline to get a look at the wildlife, particularly the birds. Sometimes he comes across the carcass of a sheep or a deer that has washed down from Roosevelt Island or some place above Washington. He wonders what mishap—falling through frozen ice? a flash flood?—has sent the animals to their final resting place on the banks.

This evening, something else caught his eye as he drifted along a remote stretch of rip-rap rocks that buffer the upscale Arcturus neighborhood from the river below. At first, he thought it was one of those dummies used to train emergency workers for rescue missions. As he drew closer, though, he realized it was a body snagged in the boulders just above the lapping low tide. Fully clothed down to a pair of black shoes, the body lay face down in the rocks. The head appeared bald. Though badly decomposed, it was still intact—no outward signs of trauma—though the canoeist didn't draw closer for further examination. From what he could tell, it had probably been submerged in the chilly water before the tide finally exposed it.

The lack of hair meant that it had probably been in the river for a long time. (Among many striking features, Chiang boasted a mane of lovely, shoulder-length black hair. She had a habit of twirling the long strands.) Judging from the petite body, especially the small hands and shape of the hips, he guessed that this was the corpse of a woman.

It took authorities nearly two weeks to make a positive identification. Dental records proved inconclusive, so they had to rely on DNA testing to confirm that this was the body of Chiang. After that delay, the medical examiner's office took another month to announce that the body was too badly decomposed for them to determine a cause of death.

There was a clue of sorts: Chiang's ATM card found tucked in her knee socks. Authorities had detected no action on her bank account; robbery had apparently already been ruled out as a motive. For the most part, though, the discovery of the body only deepened the mystery.

Now, six months after she disappeared, and four after her body was found, the case is at a full stop. Because the way Chiang died remains unknown, authorities have not officially declared her death a homicide. In the MPD's Crime Solvers Web site, the case is dubbed a "death investigation." Random violence, suicide, death by misadventure—nothing can be ruled out. A Joyce Chiang Task Force has been formed; its appeal to the public hints that she probably didn't leave Dupont Circle of her own accord: "Anyone with information about the disappearance of Joyce Chiang, or anyone who may have been the victim of an attempted abduction in the Dupont Circle is asked to contact the FBI."

The MPD is notorious for its backlog of unsolved cases, from theft to murder. One unsolved slaying bears some resemblance to the Chiang case: Last summer, a 28-year-old intern at the National Academy of Sciences was found in some woods off Canal Road near the Georgetown University dorm where she was staying. Christine Mirzayan was walking home from a barbecue at 10:30 p.m. when someone snatched her off the street. Her partially clothed body revealed how she died: severe blows to the head after an apparent sexual assault. Like Chiang, Mirzayan was the daughter of immigrants—in her case, parents who fled Iran after the shah's downfall. Like Chiang, she was a pretty—some might say exotic-looking—young woman with a bright future. Her fiancé came to Washington to claim her body. Her killer has never been found.

The Chiang case remains inexplicable. The FBI has released scant information—not unusual in an unsolved case that has precious little physical evidence. In recent weeks, its agents have used flotation devices to test river currents, trying to ascertain how the body could have ended up on the Potomac shore eight miles south from where her belongings were found: "We are basically trying to find out where the body might have gone into the river," says Gregg Horner of the FBI's Washington field office. "We're just checking out the possibilities."

Those familiar with the investigation say that a lot of time and energy have been wasted on frivolous theories that have focused on the fact that Chiang was a Chinese-American. Immediately following her disappearance, it apparently struck investigators as odd that no one (either her or a potential abductor) was using her bank card. A friend of Chiang's says the clueless authorities tried to find answers in traditional Asian culture: "They consulted one of their internal Asian experts, who said it wasn't such a big deal that she didn't use her ATM card to withdraw any money because Chinese-Americans keep their money in a mattress. The ignorance of this is ridiculous—she went to Smith College!" The closest to hoarding money that Chiang ever got was tucking cash or bank cards in her socks. Indeed, family and friends recall a fully acculturated, thoroughly modern woman more at home entertaining guests with her collection of Smith china than following ancestral customs.

The absence of clues, let alone answers, led to other wildly speculative theories. Shortly after the body was identified, Fox News reported that investigators were examining whether the death could have been tied to an Asian prostitution ring. In this scenario, Chiang could have been kidnapped by a gang that mistook her for a teen. Bundled up and as petite—5-foot-2, 105 pounds—as she was, she could have easily passed for a junior-high-schooler waiting at a bus stop. The news report mentioned the 1998 abduction of a 14-year-old Chinese immigrant girl in Fairfax County. But it failed to mention that Dupont Circle is not exactly a nexus of the Asian community, so it would seem an unlikely location for so-called Chinese gangs to troll for victims.

A few wisps remain, adding up to not much. Reportedly, a Starbucks employee recalled a customer resembling Chiang's description coming in the night of Jan. 9. In this version, Chiang stayed for more than an hour, drinking tea and talking with a blond woman. Authorities reportedly have a composite sketch of the woman, but they have yet to release it to the public. Excepting this employee's vague recollection, though, there is no reason to suppose that Chiang did anything other than follow her initial plan: grab a cup of hot tea to go and head home.

One scenario—which is as good as any other— points to a stalker who knew Chiang quite well, even if only from afar. After all, she had a cheery hello for everyone, whether it was a Capitol Hill congressman or a Dupont Circle bum. She was the type of person whom the grocery-store checkout clerk remembers, if only for a bright smile. So why shouldn't some secret admirer be smitten as well? He could have known where she lived and worked and all her daily routines. Then came the sequence: an abduction, a murder, and, finally, a disposal of the evidence down by the Anacostia.

If you stand on the spot where Chiang's belongings were found, you can get a splendid view of the U.S. Capitol on the skyline across the river. It's where Chiang launched her career, where she would eventually be remembered in a eulogy in the House of Representatives. She came to Washington as an intern and ascended the ranks without the help of nepotism and influence peddling.

Chiang grew up in a Chicago suburb, one of four children of a chemical engineer who had emigrated to the U.S. from Taiwan. She went to Smith, a prestigious New England women's college, where she served as student government president in her senior year. While a student at Smith, she interned at the Capitol Hill office of Rep. Berman, where she charmed everyone she met. "She was an uncommonly terrific person," says Gene Smith, Berman's chief of staff. "She was sweet and hard-working and capable and fun. She was a very, very pretty girl and just a sparkling personality. She was very engaged, and smart as can be—a special kind of person."

That's the standard rap on Chiang—a rare gem of a person inside and out—repeated by many friends and colleagues. The profound effect she had on those who knew her goes a long way to explain the overwhelming public outpouring in the weeks after her disappearance. The weekly vigils made Dupont Circle resemble a small town coming together in the wake of some unprecedented calamity—instead of a community of urbanites worried about one more body in the mortal toll D.C. piles up regardless of the time of year. Nearly 700 people packed St. Matthews Cathedral for her memorial service.

After graduating from Smith, Chiang came to Washington to work full time in Berman's office. Besides her day job, she enrolled as a night student at Georgetown University Law Center, following the example of her two older brothers, who had put themselves through school as well. One is now a lawyer and elected official in Southern California; the other is an eye doctor in Texas.

The grind seemed to energize Chiang rather than wear her down. According to law school classmates, she could turn all-night cram sessions for exams into something resembling fun: "She was always able to see the humorous side of even a crummy situation," says Jim Pickup, now an attorney with a Washington firm.

In Berman's office, Chiang quickly moved up the ranks from answering phones and mail to addressing policy matters. She eventually became the staff expert on immigration issues. Upon receiving her law degree in 1995, she took a job with the INS. Her successor in Berman's office as immigration specialist, Joel Najar, remembers that he was surprised she was going to work for the INS, often perceived as a bully second only to the IRS. "I said, 'Why do you want to go work for the INS?,'" says Najar, now an immigration policy analyst for the National Council of La Raza. "A lot of people think the INS is a bunch of jackbooted thugs, and it's such a hard agency to work for to keep your morale up. But there are a lot of good people over there, and she was one of them. More power to her if she can go in there and improve the agency's image and its delivery of services and the way it enforces the law."

Like so many others, Najar remained close to Chiang down through the years. "She [was] the kind of person you want to keep around in your life," he says. "She was my first friend in D.C. That's the thing about Joyce. She had a lot of friends—and she kept them." It was Chiang who schooled him on the social mores of the Hill—don't talk on elevators, because you never know who might be standing behind you—while at the same time poking fun at herself for relaying such rules.

When Chiang joined the INS, it was a heady time for the agency. The 1996 immigration bill—tough on illegals, among other points that liberal Democrats had protested to no avail—had to be implemented, and Chiang helped spearhead this effort. Yet she remained conscious of her own immigrant roots, even if through no effort of her own. Once, on a detail in Arkansas, she was riding in an INS van along with other agency officials. As the only female and only Asian on board, she caught the attention of a motorist at a stoplight. The motorist got out of her car and pointed at Chiang, shouting, "Let her go! We want her kind here!" The woman had mistaken Chiang for a deportee.

Another time, Chiang was at a court hearing when a Korean woman approached her, weeping and pleading her case in person. Unfortunately, Chiang couldn't understand a word the woman was saying.

By all accounts, though, Chiang relished her job even as she was consumed by it. In 1997, she became a special assistant in the INS's Office of the General Counsel; she became known for her mediation skills. Last fall, she went to the West Coast for a three-month detail including a stint troubleshooting at the Los Angeles office as well as some training in trial law in San Francisco. She told a friend that she was hesitant about the latter assignment; she didn't want to argue cases that could send hard-working people back to their home countries. "Always in the back of her mind, she remembered her roots," says Judy Kim, who knew Chiang for more than a decade. "She remembered the struggle her parents went through when they first came to this country." (Kim, a student at Loyola Law School in Los Angeles, shared Chiang's interest in Latin men, a schoolgirlish, isn't-he-cute sort of attraction that was a running joke between them: "We always said, 'We're Mexican women trapped in Asian women's bodies,'" she says. "The guys we find really good-looking are always Latin men.")

One thing was certain: Chiang's career dominated her life. Her job left her little time for anything other than work-related socializing, usually after late-night sessions at the office. According to co-workers and her brother, she always made sure to take a cab in these instances; she knew the Chinatown neighborhood around the INS headquarters was no place for a woman to be alone at night. "Joyce would always scream that she had to pay the five or six or seven dollars every night to take a cab home because she didn't have a car," recalls Roger Chiang. "At some point, the family was going to help her buy a car."

Chiang often joked with friends that she had had a better dating life at all-female Smith College than in Washington. Even so, she never failed to draw the attention of male admirers of all sorts. "She seemed to attract a lot of weirdos," says a law school friend who would often walk her home. "Joyce said hello to everybody—she didn't discriminate against anyone—and that can always be taken the wrong way."

"She'd make a connection with anyone, even if it was someone bothering her," recalls Pickup. "It's not like she was naive—she was street-smart—but there was that side of her that was so caring. It's been my suspicion that she may have done that with someone who may have mistaken that for a lot more than it was."

Najar remembers several incidents when strangers took an untoward interest in Chiang. "There was a guy who followed her for a while when she would walk to the Metro," he says. "Then one time she was walking downtown, and some guy kept following her and ended up flashing her in a parking lot." Many women endure this sort of abuse all the time, but Najar believes that Chiang was particularly vulnerable because of her striking looks and ethnic background.

"Because she was pretty, because she was Asian, there are some nuts out there who are going to pick on her," he says. "I've been reading the personals in back of papers a lot, just in case somebody's out there putting some clues out. A lot of us are obsessed with this case....It bugs me to no end to see ads where guys are especially looking for Asian women because they have some sort of fetish."

In early December, Chiang returned to Washington after her detail on the West Coast. It wasn't all work—she'd been able to visit her mom and her oldest brother, John, who both live in the San Fernando Valley. The Chiangs had relocated there six years ago; her father died in 1995 after suffering an apparent heart attack and drowning in a swimming pool.

Once back in D.C., she returned to her usual routine, but she had a new perspective. She told friends that she was considering going into private practice. She had loans to pay off; she was burned out. In October, she had taken a vacation with an INS co-worker; it was a scuba-diving trip to the Cayman Islands. Pickup recalls what Chiang told him about her dive for final certification. "They had to go out to some flooded quarry in some godforsaken place out in Fairfax County. Somehow, she put on too many weights—and she was teeny—so of course she dove further down than everyone. She got some accolades for the deepest dive, and she didn't have the heart to tell them it was just because she'd put too many weights on."

Now, after her detail, that vacation seemed a long time ago. The INS job was really wearing her out. She said she might even move to Los Angeles, where she had gotten bold enough to rent a car and tool around those hellish freeways—even to the point of driving her friend Judy Kim to a Beastie Boys concert. Dec. 7 was her birthday, and friends took her to dinner downtown at Georgia Brown's. As often happened, Chiang showed up bearing gifts of her own. She told them it was so close to the holiday that she had decided to bring them their Christmas presents early. Friends recall an endless list of such offerings from Chiang, always personalized: saffron from a trip to Spain, a children's book from London for someone's toddlers, a tin whistle from Ireland, a hand-written cookbook in which she'd copied Asian recipes she couldn't find in any published book. For a girlfriend who had moved to the West Coast, Chiang mailed a kit containing a set of jumper cables and emergency flares.

A week before Christmas, Chiang showed up late to a party. It was another crazy adventure that had detained her, she told friends: She was shopping at Pentagon City when a Chinese woman approached her. Chiang knew some Mandarin from her parents, so she was able to discern that the woman was looking for clothes for her 15-year-old daughter, and Chiang was just the right size. Chiang spent an hour with the woman she'd just met, picking out clothes and even trying them on.

That Christmas, she stayed in Washington. Roger Chiang flew back to California to be with the family. Before leaving, he got his sister a stocking and filled it with a $5 gift certificate from McDonald's, in a motif from their modest, middle-class childhood. "Everything was great; life was good," he recalls. "We were both working real hard." According to friends, Joyce Chiang mainly rested during the week she took off from work through New Year's. It was like her college and law school days, when she would go full-tilt all the way to exams and then sleep for 24 hours.

Two days before she disappeared, Chiang called Najar at work and left a message. It was his birthday, and she always remembered his birthday. But the fact that she phoned him at the office told Najar there might have been another reason behind the call. "She would call me when she had something on her mind, especially when it had to do with a guy," he says. "I'm wondering if she wanted to talk about someone. And she hardly ever called me at work unless it was something she really wanted to talk about." Najar left a message on her machine, but he never heard back from her.

On the night Chiang disappeared, someone called her pager, which she had left back in her apartment on Church Street. The call came from a pay phone at a hotel near Dulles Airport; authorities reportedly have not been able to determine who or exactly where the call came from.

Nearly six months after his sister disappeared, Roger Chiang stands on the bank above the Anacostia River. Back in January, he and some friends helped search for evidence in the barren area where his sister's belongings were discovered. As far as he knows, it was the first and only time his sister had been east of the Anacostia, unless it was driving through on Interstate 295.

The yellow police tape is still here, shreds of it blowing in the wind. Roger Chiang didn't find anything in January, and he knows he won't find anything now. (Authorities have meanwhile pulled two more bodies from the Anacostia.)

As family spokesperson, Roger Chiang helped organize the candlelight vigils, where he often spoke. For months, he gave countless interviews with the media, leading camera crews around the neighborhood where Joyce Chiang was last seen. He tried his best to keep her case in the public eye. He took a polygraph test. He posted fliers in Anacostia, where MPD officers stared blankly at his sister's visage, telling him they didn't even know she was missing. He did everything a little brother could to find out what had happened to his sister. Nothing.

Slim and preppily clean-cut, Roger Chiang looks younger than his 26 years, as if he were fresh out of the University of California at Santa Barbara, where he graduated. Like his siblings, he is an overachiever. "Joyce and Roger are obviously brother and sister," says a friend. "Not only do they look alike, but they have a lot of the same personality traits."

The ordeal has exhausted Roger Chiang. First there were the long weeks of the disappearance. His mother, Judy Chiang, came to stay with him; a devout Catholic, she prayed every day at St. Matthews Cathedral, where Joyce Chiang's memorial service was held. After the body was found, he and his family waited weeks for a positive ID. Then another month for the medical examiner's office to announce that the cause of death may never be known. The burial of his sister next to their father in Los Angeles brought little solace, because everything else about her death hangs in limbo.

He still lives in the basement apartment on Church Street. He says he wants to move but hasn't been able to find the time; he is still busy with the task of settling his sister's estate. Mostly, he waits for any new information from the FBI. They haven't contacted him for weeks. "I don't know where else to go from here," he says. Updates from authorities have trickled to none, and he craves those once-dreaded calls. Friends of his sister's call him to ask if he's heard anything; they can't get the case out of their minds. One thought he saw Joyce in a newspaper ad for George Washington University Hospital: an attractive Asian-American woman gazing frankly at prospective health-care customers—but it wasn't Joyce's smile, nowhere close, really.

Roger Chiang reiterates a theme he sounded during the final vigil in April, when his sister's body had finally been identified, dashing all hopes of ever seeing her alive again. Instead of being resigned or sad, he was angry, and he sounds angry now: "Where is the justice behind all this? When someone could just take someone off the street? You're supposed to have flesh and blood, and she's found without flesh and without blood, literally tissue and bone. That's not justice. That's not human justice or human rights."

He has played out all the scenarios of his sister's last hours. He has tried to imagine all the unimaginable endings. All he knows is that all of them are bad. Even as the Anacostia River continues to yield more bodies, it has no answers: "Somebody must have seen something somewhere that night." CP
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peripeteia



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PostPosted: Thu Nov 18, 2004 5:35 am    Post subject: Reply with quote

This article sets much straight as to the time and exactly where Joyce was dropped off. I just was reading the interview of Roger on CNN, and I had a thought, he is the executor of Joyce's estate, for sure Joyce would have had insurance at work. Usually twice or 2.5 times the salary. Most policies have waivers regarding suicide. There is a possibility that Joyce had personal life insurance outside her work. Regardless of what policies Joyce may have had on her life, would not these companies be reluctant to pay a claim on a death where the cause was indeterminate.

Therefore, would not the delay the police have taken in the determination of Joyce's death hold up the closure of Joyce's estate? Given where Joyce was found, unless they suspected Roger of finding she had committed suicide and dumped her body in the River, it makes little sense why the police have not rule foul play in Joyce death. It is odd that the police make no comment or closure on the cause of her death.

There is literally no way on such a cold night that Joyce is going to walk about 5 miles to the bridge area, walk through a field down to the shore, and dump herself in, or be in the field and then walk to the bridge and dump herself off. This makes no sense. There is no way that I can imagin such a scenario, everything points to the fact that Joyce's body was dumped at this site, she may have been murdered near there, but one thing is for sure, Joyce did not arrive in Antatosia Park near the naval base on her own and not by her own volition. NONESENSE!

What are we missing here????

Why have not the police ruled foul play in Joyce's death????This is truely puzzling? Did politicans cover up this matter for some reason, has someone told the FBI to put a lid on this case.

The forensic evidence of the jacket is puzzling, obviously the police can tell if it was torn in a stuggle, or if it was torn intentionally. Joyces keys appear to be in a different place that her other belongings, reported to be near the fence at the Naval Station......Truely odd? One would think there would be some fingerprints besides Joyce's on the keys. Likely the perp wore gloves.What could be the explanation of the keys being in another place, would someone have carried Joyce's body in that direction and they fell out of a pocket????

Seems very complicated, unless of course someone was trying to make it look like a homeless person might have committed the crime. It is possible that the evidence was moved by someone who came upon it, and if there was no body in sight, they may have picked these up and moved them.....and discarded them as they were of no benefit to them. Joyce is alleged to have had on two scarves, wonder if these were found? Where did these go?

It is a no brainer to figure that Joyce floated down river to the Pontamac, and James has pointed out exactly where Joyce's body was found along with pictures, near Alexandria. This seems plausible, however at what point Joyce entered the water is only conjecture as it is assumed to be where her personal articles were located? This may or may not be the case.

There is nothing to say that Joyce did not jump off the Bridge or was thrown off, anyone could have brought the articles to Antacostia Park. Odd that the identification would be left at the site where her body was likely dumped from, odd that one would want her body found if they were the culprit!? One would not want anyone to know where the body was dumped. Who would want the police to know where Joyce was?????

Presumably had the police looked harder, used dogs, perhaps they might have been able to determine at the time if Joyce had walked about the park and dropped her stuff here and there or if these articles had been placed there by someone else. Had the police searched more throughly immediately Joyce's body may have been found near the park?

Does anyone remember the story of the keys being found in a newspaper that was printed the next day after Joyce went missing, or is this an urban internet legend?
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blondie



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PostPosted: Thu Nov 18, 2004 8:53 pm    Post subject: Reply with quote

Good article and excellent questions. I wonder if DC police are aware of this theft by Roger.
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benn



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PostPosted: Thu Nov 18, 2004 11:47 pm    Post subject: Reply with quote

Hello kate and blondie.

>>>Why have not the police ruled foul play in Joyce's death????This is truely puzzling? Did politicans cover up this matter for some reason, has someone told the FBI to put a lid on this case.<<<

This is just my opinion. I think we need some law enforcement civilian review boards that are headed by non civil service employees, and by non appointed government officials, in other words just plain citizens or civilians. There are police civilian review boards to overlook excessive force, etc., by police departments; but the civilian review board that I am thinking of would be looking at police priorities, a general overview of what law enforcement in certain cities is doing, or in certain states, or in the entire U.S.A.

We do have grand juries, but grand juries are headed by appointed or elected officials. I was reading an old murder case today and in having the preliminary grand jury hearing the book, or author, said that the DA had almost complete control over what the grand jury did, so the DA could ask the questions that he wanted to, and not ask the questions that he did not want to ask.

The government is just like a private industry in that it has books that it keeps, whether about money, or activities, and those books or activities should be audited regularly just as they are in private business. Of course we are doing a little of that now, but there have to more procedures set up so that we the constituents can have our voices heard.

Of course we have all our elected officials to do that, but elected officials once they get into office are very hard to get out again, let alone try to tell them what to do.

Washington D.C. does not seem to be doing a very good job in law enforcement. They probably need more resources to start with. The head of the Park Police got fired when she asked for more money for the department. News reports when Chandra first disappeared often said something about the Washington D.C. missing person records not being in a satisfactory condition. It looks more and more like the government tells us what to do instead of the voters telling the government what to do.

Well, I guess if we write enough someone might hear us.

benn
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peripeteia



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PostPosted: Fri Nov 19, 2004 4:50 am    Post subject: Reply with quote

Benn

You are so right about changes that need to be made in law enforcement,
for example, we could demand an enquiry of Joyce's death, hold a public enquiry into the police investigation into Joyce's death.

As far as the grand juries are concerned, the duties and powers and existence of grand juries vary from State to State. In examining some of the guidelines for grand juries, it does appear that a grand jury does have power of investigation in some states, however this does not appear to be used to the letter of the law, or exercised, as it is rarely seen that a grand jury exercises power or usurps the power of the district attorney.

I was surprized when Gary Condit did not have to appear before the grand jury to plead the fifth, and that he was able to go to the district attorney. This could not happen in Canada. We have no such possibilities of escaping the law that when we are being investigated for obstruction of justice, there is no such thing for us as pleading the fifth, or that it might be harmful to one's career, or take a designer polygraph and try to appear innocent. Gary would have had to appear or the Law would have had to tell the public how Gary had been exonorated.

We would have a public enquiry into this matter, the public would have the right to know all the details of how the DA was allowed to dismiss this case without the consent and direction of the grandjury. I think that the DA has abused his power. Perhaps what it is Benn, the system of law enforcement needs revamping?

The public has the right to know the manerism of Joyce's death, to know first if Joyce was murdered and if the public is at risk, to clear up the matter of one's estate, as there is a hugh difference legally if you have been murdered or if you have committed suicide. In the Catholic faith for example, if is difficult to get buried in consecrated grounds when you have committed suicide. It matters!

If the police believe that it is not a murder then they still have to release to the public the information how they came to this conclusion. Joyce did not get to Antacostia Park by herself and jump in the brink of her own volition.

The only statement the FBI made about Joyce is that they thought she committed suicide. They must support this claim with evidence being released to the public, and certainly to first her family.... how they came to such a conclusion. What evidence supports the police's claim of suicide. In light of the fact that there is two other californian interns that died under similar circumstances, and that it appears that Joyce may have been murdered as well, then is there any connection between these three murders forensically?

Given that Joyce worked for so many politicans and in such high places in the political arena it seems to have done her NO good, in that the police agent Gainer took three months before getting in contact with Roger and still to this day has not released any information to the public that satisfies the public that Joyce was not murdered, and that if the Police think it is murder then they should release the information, or why they have concluded that Joyce took her own life? One would think that some of the collegues of these interns would be pressuring law enforcement for some answers.

Benn on the weekend, I read the article again, where an FBI agent when they got involved with Chandra's murder, stated that the washington police had no means of collecting and logging data related to murders, that there was no murder registry as such, no system set into place for cross referencing and yadda yadda ya.

Also we can just guess how little sharing of information goes on between the different agencies and levels of law enforcement. In this information age of technology it is obvious that the law enforcement agencies are not up to snuff with the collection/dissemination of data on criminals and missing persons. How extrodinary!

We have many flaws within our own system, and oftentimes this is people, there are law enforcement here on the take and make, and so understand Benn I'm not pointing my finger to say our system is better than the American way. I'm simply pointing out the differences in our system of laws and public rights issues.
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blondie



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PostPosted: Fri Nov 19, 2004 8:12 am    Post subject: Reply with quote

Something that has always puzzled me and angered me. When a bank is robbed all the forces come out - It is a federal crime and yet there is rarely violence. When a violent crime is committed, not that much happens. In a bank robbery, the FBI begs for the publics help, but with a murder they generally stay silent. A little backwards, I'd say.
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jane



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PostPosted: Fri Nov 19, 2004 7:38 pm    Post subject: Reply with quote

Good point, blondie. Kate - it does seem there was something fishy about the way that grand jury fizzled out, apparently before finishing the job they were put together to do.
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benn



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PostPosted: Sat Nov 20, 2004 2:33 am    Post subject: Reply with quote

>>> there is no such thing for us as pleading the fifth, or that it might be harmful to one's career, or take a designer polygraph and try to appear innocent. Gary would have had to appear or the Law would have had to tell the public how Gary had been exonorated.<<<

This is very interesting, kate. Maybe you can say a little more about this. Canadians can not choose to remain silent? Of course I can look this up more on google also. I don't think that anything that is man made is perfect, and that could apply to the U.S. Constitution also. Of course I can see that we do not want suspects, or witnesses, being given the "third degree."

We are living in a strange society, or at least a society that has never existed before. I was looking at the news this evening, and some of the spectators at basketball games are now beginning to battle with the professional basketball players.

Any professional player, who is making millions of dollars a year, has to be crazy to fight with anyone. If I was a professional player and the spectators wanted to take over the field, or the basketball court, I would let them. I guess there will be a lot of news feedback about that.

benn
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peripeteia



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PostPosted: Sat Nov 20, 2004 10:06 pm    Post subject: Reply with quote

Well Blondie and Jane, it makes no sense to me how someone is to appear before a grand jury, and they simply to not appear but go to the DA and plead the fifth, this seems like a hugh hole in the legislation that would allow the DA to make such abritrary decision as to decide that a case should not go forward because the defendant refused to appear for questioning before the grand jury. I've never heard of such a thing, I wonder how often this happens? I'd venture to say that this is an anomoly of the law? My understanding of the powers of the grand jury in Washington is that the District Attorney does not really have this kind of power without the consent of the grand jury.

There is no question that Condit did obstruct justice in that he waited two days before notifying the police that Chandra was missing, when he was specifically asked to notify the police by the Levees, his constituents. Condit withheld the information from both the Levees and the police that Chandra was to be coming by train, and when the Levees called Condit on the 5th, Chandra should have already reached her destination as she was to leave on or about the 1st of May, Chandra stated the train trip was 5 days, therefore, Condit should have contacted the train to see if Chandra was on board, not to mention telling the police and the Levees what Chandra had ALLEGEDLY informed Gary Condit what her itinerary would be. Condit's delay in notifying the police, compounded the problem of lack of evidence, in that the only real evidence there might have been is the tapes from the Newport Apt, and Condit's delay in notifying the police caused these to be erased as he did not call the police until the 7th, and by this time the one week turn around on the video tapes had already happened.

The grand jury lasts forever as far as I can tell, or a new one is called. Why we have heard nothing from the grand jury in all this time is a gross misjustice/miscarriage of the law. Condit does need to answer to the public, the police and the Levees as this matter has not been laid to rest.
Condit has no right to plead the fifth, without making himself appear guilty.

No Benn, there is no provision in law to plead the fifth in Canadian Judicial spheres. One of course does not have to take the stand in their own defense, and if one did not answer the questions of the court one would be held in contempt of court. One does not have to testify against their spouse. Other than this we have no rights to silence in court, and refusal to answer would only point the finger to look guily....

Jane perhaps you can help me here, as the court system is not all that known to me, this is a place that I avoid?

As far as the police, they would keep visiting and asking questions until they broke you down. The RCMP if they get on your case about something, they would be in your kitchen, at your work they would be all over your life, at your friends, everywhere, not harrassing but they do not go away easily. Wire taps are common place, and if you have seriously broken the law, the RCMP are likely to be camped outside your front door. All the laws regarding gathering of evidence, this is in and that is out as evidence, well the laws to privacy are just not the same in Canada, such as personal searches, and search warrants and such things however, try and open our mail, now that is a serious thing and we are very strict about what is allowed to be open. For example, the police in a drug seige involving the mail, the police would have to wait until you opened the package, as they would not be able to, before they could catch you you'd have to have the package open. Strange our laws.

It is required to have a search warrant before you go into someones house, but I do not know that in law, one has to be as specific about the search warrant as they are in America. When I watch Law and Order and see the exclusions of things gathered in Search warrants, it seems like Greek to me, and by damm, if the police come with a search warrant, anything about goes, you are in deep doggie doo......

That all being said, we do not feel like we lack privacy, and I think our belief is that if you have nothing to hide, you have nothing to fear from the law, if the police violated our human rights, we could call for a public enquiry to the matter.

Of course if one is wealthy, there are ways of keeping the law at Bay for awhile and the best one could hope for is that money will buy you a delay in the process but one still would have to face the inevitable (the music).
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