Street Legal
Attorney Mark Rochon defends the indefensible and makes juries believe the unbelievable. This time, he had his work cut out for him.
Cover Story
It was obvious who the dead man's family was. Sitting quietly outside Courtroom 319, the brother wore a big, black cowboy hat, and the sister-in-law wore plaid flannel. They had come to D.C. Superior Courthouse from Virginiathat's Virginia with a capital Vjust across the river, but a world away from the District. When the trial finally startedafter the jury shuffled in and the prosecutor rose to speakthe brother was the only one to cry. Big, fat tears of a man whose baby brother, David Hancasky, had died of a gunshot wound to the face in the middle of the night.
On a warm Friday evening in September 1996, three longtime friendsLori Byars, Michael Corley, and Hancaskywere drinking beer, playing cards, and smoking dime bags of crack at Byars' house in Alexandria. Byars and Hancasky had spent their childhoods on this block, where Hancasky still lived with his parents. Now in their late 20s and early 30s, all three were adults by default, still just bumping along from day to day. They'd grown up to be regular crack users, frittering away their paychecks on weekend binges.
That Friday was typical, a night spent chasing their highs across the Potomac. Back and forth they drove, all night long, from Virginia to the District, to replenish their crack supply. They drove a half hour each time, to their usual point of purchase in a neighborhood just off Route 295 in Southeast D.C.... Continued
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