the conspiracy means that there was no weed involved, other wise they would have gotten him for sales and distribution and what ever other trumped up charges they felt like pinning on him...
conspiracy simply means that two people got together and had the same ideas.. conspiracy charges are fucked up imo, as you don't even have to go through with the idea, just have to have more then one person involved and talk about committing a crime.. bam, conspiracy..
Word, check this... she did get released after around 5 years...
Prisoner of Denver
by Hunter S. Thompson + Follow
Vanity Fair | June 2004
Just 22, Lisl Auman was convicted in 1998 of the felony murder of a police officer, a crime she didn’t commit, and is serving life in prison without parole. This summer, Colorado’s Supreme Court will rule on her appeal.
The case of Lisl Auman, who first wrote me from prison three years ago, is so rotten and wrong and shameful that I feel dirty just for knowing about it, and so should you. The Colorado Supreme Court is preparing to hand down its fateful decision on an appeal in the case this summer, which should scare the living shit out of your whole family if the judges decide to keep this young woman in a filthy state prison for the rest of her life, when each one of them has to know—in their hearts and their minds—that she is innocent. She was locked and handcuffed in the backseat of a Denver police car long before a cop was shot 10 times and killed in what the thugs in the Denver Police Department call a sudden “adrenaline dump”—which in real life is called another disastrous police panic and a frenzy of hysterical shooting and screaming in a residential neighborhood that left two people dead. At least 100 uniformed law-enforcement officers swarmed onto the scene that day from all over town, and they went crazy. Shit, of course some people got killed, like they always do when 100 armed goons with a license to kill any suspect who comes within 21 feet of the rifle fire of a Denver cop responding to a 911 call show up in a mood to shoot somebody.
One of my sweetest memories of growing up in Louisville is taking long walks on summer nights with Pierre, the kindly old uniformed cop who patrolled our neighborhood streets all night to keep us safe from crime. Or at least that’s what he told us when we asked him about his job and why he was prowling around in our territory with a spotlight and a whistle and a steel-blue .38 police special on his belt. Nobody else could get away with that kind of crap, and we soon came to think of him as the Final Authority, the Man. We made Pierre a secret honorary member of the Hawks Athletic Club, and after that we ruled our turf together. It was wonderful. And that’s how I was raised to believe that that was what police officers we...