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Category: Examples 35-72

2. Knox Book Lies 35 To 72

Posted by Chimera

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1. Overview Of This Post

My opinion is that this book is essentially Amanda Knox’s way of getting back at everyone in Italy she ever encountered, while falsely making her notoriously brash, sharp-elbowed, frequently drugged-up persona look endearing, naive, and squeaky-clean.

Knox includes numerous lies, smears, and stories to compromise literally dozens of others. None of them help clear up what happened to Meredith. And given how rampant the lies are, it doesn’t really clarify anything about Amanda Knox either. All it really does is to muddy the waters, which may be the real desired benefit.

I previewed this series and explained why “Revenge of the Knox” in this post here.

Series post #1 dissected pages 1 to 66 of the new paperback edition. Here I dissect pages 67 to 107 of the new paperback edition.

Points from this and many other posts will end up on a new TJMK page devoted exclusively to Knox’s lies.

2. Dissection Of Pages 67 to 107

[Chapter 6, Page 70] ‘’ ... Raffaele dialed 112””Italy’s 911””for the Carabinieri, which was separate from””and more professional than””the Perugian town police.

As soon as he hung up, I said, “Let’s wait for them outside.” Even without Chris’s insistence, I was too spooked to be in the house. On the way out I glanced from the kitchen into the larger bathroom. The toilet had been flushed. “Oh my God!” I said to Raffaele. “Someone must have been hiding inside when I was here the first time””or they came back while I was gone!”

We ran out and waited on a grassy bank beside the driveway. I was shivering from nerves and cold, and Raffaele was hugging me to calm me down and keep me warm, when a man in jeans and a brown jacket walked up. As he approached us he said he was from the police. I thought, That was fast.

Another officer joined him. I tried to explain in Italian that there had been a break-in and that we hadn’t been able to find one of our roommates, Meredith. With Raffaele translating both sides, I gradually understood that these officers were just Postal Police, the squad that deals with tech crimes.

“Two cell phones were turned in to us this morning,” one said. “One is registered to Filomena Romanelli. Do you know her?”

“Yes, she’s my housemate,” I said. “It can’t be Filomena’s, because I just talked to her. But I’ve been trying to reach my other roommate, Meredith, all morning. She

doesn’t answer. Who turned these in? Where did they find them?”

Later I found out that a neighbor had heard the phones ringing in her garden when I’d tried to call Meredith. They’d been tossed over the high wall that protected the neighbor’s house from the street””and from intruders. But the Postal Police wouldn’t explain or answer my questions.

We went inside, and I wrote out Meredith’s phone numbers on a Post-it Note for them. While we were talking, we heard a car drive up. It was Filomena’s boyfriend, Marco Z., and his friend Luca. Two minutes later, another car screeched into the driveway””it was Filomena and her friend Paola, Luca’s girlfriend. They jumped out, and Filomena stormed into the house to scavenge through her room. When she came out, she said, “My room is a disaster. There’s glass everywhere and a rock underneath the desk, but it seems like everything is there.”

The Postal Police showed her the cell phones. “This one is Meredith’s British phone,” Filomena said. “She uses it to call her mother. And I lent her the SIM card to the other one to make local calls.”

The men seemed satisfied; their work was done. They said, “We can make a report that there’s been a break-in. Are you sure nothing was stolen?”

“Not as far as we can tell,” I said. “But Meredith’s door is locked. I’m really worried.”

“Well, is that unusual?” they asked.

I tried to explain that she locked it sometimes, when she was changing clothes or was leaving town for the weekend, but Filomena wheeled around and shouted, “She never locks her door!” I stepped back and let her take over the conversation, Italian to Italian. The rapid-fire exchange stretched way past my skills. Filomena shouted at the Postal Police officers, “Break down the door!”

“We can’t do that; it’s not in our authority,” one said.

Six people were now crammed into the tiny hallway outside Meredith’s bedroom, all talking at once in loud Italian. Then I heard Luca’s foot deliver a thundering blow. He kicked the door once, twice, a third time. Finally the impact dislodged the lock, and the door flew open. Filomena screamed, “Un piede! Un piede!”””“A foot! A foot!”

A foot? I thought. I craned my neck, but because there were so many people crowding around the door, I couldn’t see into Meredith’s room at all. “Raffaele,” I said.

He was standing beside me. “What’s going on? What’s going on?” ....’‘

So you called the police to report the break-in BEFORE the postal police arrived? Didn’t phone records show that the call was made afterwards?

You mention one call to your mother, in which you tell her there has been a break in, and Mom tells you to call the police. Yet in Court, Edda Mellas testifies to many things being talked about (in 88 seconds). Can you please share your conversation more definitively with us?

Police reported that you looked completely exhausted, and smelled repulsive. Are these facts correct, and if so, why were you in this condition? Did you not spend a nice night at Raffaele’s place, and then just shower?

You showered at your place just recently. Okay, where are the clothes you changed out of, or did you just put your old clothes back on?

Filomena, when asked, mentioned a top you were wearing the night before, that has never been found. What happened to that shirt, or did she make that claim up?

Both you and Raffaele (in Honor Bound) mention that you turned off your cell phones—Perhaps because the courts wondered about this. Yet, you don’t mention when exactly you turned your phone back on. Care to share?

If this is the case, why? Did Raffaele slip away to make the call? Did you suspect the Postal Police would search the house anyway, and this being an attempt to cover yourselves?

You were very worried about Meredith, but your calls only lasted a few seconds. Did you let it ring? Did you call Laura, or any of Meredith’s English friends? Anyone who would possibly know more than you?

There were people crowded around the door? At trial, the police said everyone was kept away? Which version is correct?

The police allege that you originally said Meredith always locks her door. Filomena says no, that wasn’t the case. Are they lying?

Did you mention the frantic efforts you made a few pages earlier trying to see into her room?

You claim that Meredith locks when she changes or goes away. Was this an attempt to deflect what you originally said about Meredith always locking her door? A way to minimize the incongruency?

You claim that you made the call about the break in, and then waited outside, at which time the postal police showed up. Then Marco Z. and Luca arrive, followed shortly by Filomena and Paola. After a brief time the police kick down the door. Could you be a bit more precise as to how and at what times this all unfolded? It seems like it all happened in the span of about 10 minutes. Given how the prosecutors used this against you at trial, your exact version would help.

This whole business about the postal police: they came because Meredith’s phones had been found. Why do you think those phones were ditched? Was it the burglar/killer/rapist dumping stolen property, or were those phones dumped to create a diversion and confusion?

You found a rock in Filomena’s room and concluded it had been used to break the window. Yet you walked right by the window when you first came home. A rock that size really left no glass outside? Someone climbing that wall left no dirt or scrape marks?

Nothing was stolen? How diligent had you been prior to making thoseclaims? How diligent was Raffaele when he called the police? How thoroughly had you looked before making this claim?

The Carabinieri is more professional than the Perugian Police? Is that why you wanted them involved? Or did Raffaele’s sister, Vanessa, have something to do with it?

[Chapter 6, Page 72] ‘’ ... One of the guys shouted, “Sangue! Dio mio!”””“Blood! My God!” Filomena was crying, hysterical. Her screams sounded wild, animal-like.

The police boomed, “Everyone out of the house. Now!” They called for reinforcements from the Perugian town police. Raffaele grabbed my hands and pulled me toward the front door.

Sitting outside on the front stoop, I heard someone exclaim, “Armadio”””“armoire.” They found a foot in the closet, I thought. Then, “Corpo!”””“A body!” A body inside the wardrobe with a foot sticking out? I couldn’t make the words make sense. Filomena was wailing, “Meredith!

Meredith! Oh, God!” Over and over, “Meredith! Oh, God!” My mind worked in slow motion. I could not scream or speak. I just kept saying in my head, What’s happening? What’s happening?

It was only over the course of the next several days that I was able to piece together what Filomena and the others in the doorway had seen: a naked, blue-tinged foot poking out from beneath Meredith’s comforter, blood splattered over the walls and streaked across the floor.

But at that moment, sitting outside my villa, the image I had was of a faceless body stuffed in the armoire, a foot sticking out.

Maybe that’s why Filomena cried, and I didn’t. In that instant, she’d seen enough to grasp the terrible scope of what had happened. All I got was confusion and words and, later, question after question about Meredith and her life in Perugia. There was nothing I could say about what her body was like in its devastation.

But even with all these blanks, I was still shaken””in shock, I’d guess. Waiting in the driveway, while two policemen guarded the front door, I clung to Raffaele. My legs wobbled. The weather was sunny, but it was still a cold November day, and suddenly I was freezing. Since I’d left the house without my jacket, Raffaele took off his gray one with faux-fur lining and put it on me.

Paramedics, investigators, and white-suited forensic scientists arrived in waves. The police wouldn’t tell us anything, but Luca and Paola stayed close, trying to read lips and overhear. At one point, Luca told Raffaele what the police had said: “The victim’s throat has been slashed.”

I didn’t find out until the months leading up to my trial””and during the trial itself “”how sadistic her killer had been. When the police lifted up the corner of Meredith’s beige duvet they found her lying on the floor, stripped naked from the waist down. Her arms and neck were bruised. She had struggled to remain alive. Her bra had been sliced off and left next to her body. Her cotton T-shirt, yanked up to expose her breasts, was saturated with blood. The worst report was that Meredith, stabbed multiple times in the neck, had choked to death on her own blood and was found lying in a pool of it, her head turned toward the window, eyes open….’‘

You are in shock? But aren’t you and Raffaele buying lingerie and joking shortly after about the ‘‘hot sex’’ you two are going to have? Guess you get over shock quickly.

You had no idea what was happening, yet you want into Meredith’s room precisely because you are worried about her? Did you not have any clue what was happening?

You said you wanted Meredith’s family to read your book. Why, then, would you include very graphic details about how their sister/daughter was murdered? Are you trying to ‘‘shock’’ them?

Moreover, the details read ALMOST LIKE A CONFESSION. How do you know, or better yet, how do you remember the precise details of Meredith’s death, when so many other details are foggy and contradictory to you?

’‘Nothing you could say about what her body was like in it’s devastation’‘? What does that mean exactly?

Previously, you had added unnecessary and irrelevant details about Meredith’s sex life. Again, this is what you want her family to read?

You seem to vividly remember Filomena’s ‘‘wild, animal-like’’ screams? Did it bother you that she was so upset over Meredith’s death?

Luca told Raffaele that Meredith’s throat had been cut? But at trial, you had no idea who said it. At what point did you learn?

Even if the story about Luca were true, why would you use it later on Meredith’s English friends? Trying to shock them?

[Chapter 6, Page 73] ‘’ ... In the first hours after the police came, standing outside the villa that had been the happy center of my life in Perugia””my refuge thousands of miles from home””I mercifully didn’t know any of this. I was slowly absorbing and rejecting the fractured news that Meredith was dead.

I felt as if I were underwater. Each movement””my own and everyone else’s “”seemed thick, slow, surreal. I willed the police to be wrong. I wanted Meredith to walk down the driveway, to be alive. What if she’d spent the night with one of her British girlfriends? Or gotten up early to meet friends? I held the near-impossible idea that somehow the person in Meredith’s room was a stranger.

Nothing felt real except Raffaele’s arms, holding me, keeping me from collapsing. I clung to him. Unable to understand most of what was being said, I felt cast adrift. My grasp of Italian lessened under the extraordinary stress. Catching words and translating in my head felt like clawing through insulation.

I was flattened. I was in despair. I cried weakly on and off into Raffaele’s sweater. I never sobbed openly. I’d never cried publicly. Perhaps like my mom and my Oma, who had taught me to cry when I was alone, I bottled up my feelings. It was an unfortunate trait in a country where emotion is not just commonplace but expected.

Raffaele’s voice was calm and reassuring. “Andrà tutto bene”””“It’s going to be okay,” he said. He pulled me closer, stroked my hair, patted my arm. He looked at me and kissed me, and I kissed him back. These kisses were consoling. Raffaele let me know that I wasn’t alone. It reminded me of when I was young and had nightmares. My mom would hold me and smooth my hair and let me know that I was safe. Somehow Raffaele managed to do the same thing.

Later, people would say that our kisses were flirtatious””evidence of our guilt. They described the times I pressed my face to Raffaele’s chest as snuggling. Innocent people, the prosecutor and media said, would have been so devastated they’d have been unable to stop weeping.Watching a clip of it now, my stomach seizes. I’m gripped by the same awful feelings I had that afternoon. I can only see myself as I was: young and scared, in need of comfort. I see Raffaele trying to cope with his own feelings while trying to help me…’‘

Well, this by itself seems plausible enough. It is how your behaviour changed in the days following that raised a lot of red flags. Yes, you and Raffaele kissed. Why do we need the details in the above section?

Were you and Raffaele seen doing more graphic displays of public affection even in the police station?Giaccomo testified in court that you were totally relaxed at the police station. Was he wrong?

Were you (as police allege), still trading sex for drugs with Cristiano, or Federico?You state that you were in shock. Was any of that morning ‘‘drug related’‘?

Were you not making cold blooded remarks, like ‘‘she had her fucking throat cut’‘?

You said you willed Meredith to be with her English girlfriends? Funny, how you never tried to contact them when Meredith was missing….

[Chapter 6, Page 53] ‘’ ... We waited in the driveway for what seemed like forever. The police officers would come out, ask us questions, go in, come out, and ask more questions. I always told them the same thing: “I came home. I found the door open. Filomena’s room was ransacked, but nothing seems to have been stolen. Meredith’s door was locked.”

It seemed like the words came from somewhere else, not from my throat.

In the middle of my muddy thoughts I had one that was simple and clear: “We have to tell the police that the poop was in Filomena and Laura’s bathroom when I put the hair dryer away and was gone when we came back,” I told Raffaele. The poop must have belonged to the killer. Was he there when I took my shower? Would he have killed me, too?

We walked up to a female officer with long black hair and long nails””Monica Napoleoni, head of homicide, I later found out. Raffaele described in Italian what I’d seen. She glared at me. “You know we’re going to check this out, right?” she said.

I said, “That’s why I’m telling you.”She disappeared into the villa, only to return moments later. “The feces is still there. What are you talking about?” she spat.

This confused me, but I continued to tell her what happened anyway. I told her I’d taken the mop with me in the morning but had brought it back when Raffaele and I came to see if the house had been robbed.

“You know we’re going to check that for blood, too?” she asked.“Okay,” I said. I was surprised by how abrupt she was.

The police explained that they couldn’t let us back into the house, that it would compromise the crime scene. Before we were told to go outside, Filomena had carefully gone through her room to see if anything had been stolen. Now, having calmed down momentarily, she came over and whispered that she couldn’t leave without her laptop, that she had to have it for work. She snuck back into her room””I have no idea how she got past the police standing sentry””and grabbed it, disturbing the scene for a second time. Marco stood in the driveway, looking lost. Paola and Luca had slipped off to the car, where it was warm….’

‘You seem surprised that the police would spend a significant amount of time questioning the occupants of the home? Why is that?

The poop must have belonged to the killer? While true, how did you know that? Wouldn’t most people assume it was either someone from the home, or a visitor?

So, you drew attention to the mop, or were you asked about it? Did you add that detail to cover yourselves? Officer Napoleoni said she will check it for blood? Did she really say that?

Did Officer Napoleoni ever ask the obvious question: Why didn’t you just flush?

You accuse your roommate Filomena of sneaking in to get her laptop. Did you ever say that in Court, or to the police?

[Chapter 7, Page 77] ‘’ ... For the first hour, I was questioned in Italian, but it was so hard for me to follow and explain that they brought in an English-speaking detective for hours two through six. Alone in the room, we sat on opposite sides of a plain wooden desk. I described everything I could think of. Some questions he asked were obvious. Others seemed irrelevant. “Anything might be a clue for the investigators,” he said. “Don’t hold back””even if it seems trivial. The smallest detail is important. You never know what the key will be to finding the person who did this.”

How did you meet Meredith? How long have you been in Perugia? Who was Meredith dating? What do you know about the guys who live downstairs? Where did Meredith like to party? When was the last time you saw her? Where was she going? What time did Meredith leave home?” ....’‘

Really, you were questioned for 6 hours straight? Let me guess, no videotape of this either?

You spoke virtually no Italian? Odd, Rita Ficarra testified at trial that you spoke Italian quite well.

Asking for background information on your ‘‘roommate’’ and ‘‘friend’’ seems pretty normal. Why did you think it wasn’t?

These are the questions you listed in your book. Which one(s) were they asking which were excessive?

[Chapter 7, Page 78] ‘’ ... “It was yesterday afternoon. I don’t know where she was heading,” I said. “She didn’t tell us.” “What did you and Raffaele do yesterday afternoon and last night?” he asked. “We hung out at my house and then at Raffaele’s apartment.”

He didn’t press me. He just listened. It seemed like a straightforward debriefing. I was too naïve to imagine that the detectives suspected that the murder had been an inside job and that the burglary had been faked. I had no way of knowing that the Postal Police had thought Raffaele’s and my behavior suspicious. The detective didn’t say any of this. Nor did he allow that the homicide police had begun to watch us closely before we’d even driven out of the driveway. ...’‘

Didn’t you say in your Nov 4th email to Judge Nencini that police asked you all kinds of personal questions (like Meredith liking anal)? The questions you list seem pretty normal and routine.

You didn’t know the police thought it might be an inside job? Did you not reiterate that you thought nothing was stolen?

Did the Postal Police not come by with Meredith’s ‘‘abandoned’’ cell phones?

Did you not walk past Filomena’s window without noticing it was broken?

There was no glass outside Filomena’s window? The whole time you were there, you didn’t notice?

A burglary ... through the front window on the second floor?

Did you not shower in a bloody bathroom? Or at least claim you did?

[Chapter 7, Page 77] ‘’ ... Now I see that I was a mouse in a cat’s game. While I was trying to dredge up any small thing that could help them find Meredith’s killer and trying to get my head around the shock of her death, the police were deciding to bug Raffaele’s and my cell phones.

The police bugged several people’s phones. Why do you omit this detail?

How is giving background information about the victim a cat-and-mouse game?

[Chapter 7, Page 77] ‘’ ... As I sat waiting to hear what else the police needed from me, I asked the detective if it was true that it was Meredith who had been murdered. I still couldn’t let go of the tiniest hope that the body in her room hadn’t been Meredith’s, that she was still alive. The detective nodded and ran his finger in a cutting motion across his neck.

This is extremely unlikely, few police officers would be callous enough to do something like that. I suppose he also said that Meredith ‘‘fucking bleed to death’’ or that ‘’ shit happens.’‘

Finger across the neck can be interpreted as death—in any form. Why did you take it to mean literal throat cutting?

[Chapter 7, Page 78] ‘’ ... Trying to be helpful, I shared the information I had, much of which turned out to be wrong. I still thought Meredith’s body had been found stuffed into the armoire.

When I first saw Laura, she was dry-eyed. She came up and hugged me and said, “I can’t believe it. I’m so sorry. I know Meredith was your friend.” Then she sat me down and said, “Amanda, this is really serious. You need to remember: do not say anything to the police about us smoking marijuana in our house.”

I was thinking, You can’t lie to the police, but I considered this anxiously a moment and then said, “Okay, I haven’t yet. I won’t.” I asked, “Do you think they’ll let us get our stuff out of the house?”

Laura said, “I hope so. Filomena and I are talking to our lawyers about that.” It didn’t occur to me””or to my parents, who were now calling me nonstop””that perhaps I should call a lawyer, too. ...’‘

Trying to be helpful, I shared the information I had? Funny, the police never claimed you said Meredith was in the armoire. Laura says that Meredith was Amanda’s friend? Odd that the British girls say the exact opposite.

So, you promise not to tell the police about marijuana ... and you put it in your book?

Really, Laura and Filomena are so cold they are calling lawyers to get their stuff out of the house? It didn’t occur to you to call a lawyer? Why, to get your stuff, or to get you released later?

[Chapter 7, Page 80] ‘’ ... Around 3 AM a police officer led the British girls and me downstairs to get fingerprinted. “We need to know which fingerprints to exclude when we go through the house,” he said.

One by one they took us into a room and painted our fingertips with a black, tarlike syrup. When I came out, Sophie was sitting on a chair outside the door, sobbing. I tried to make up for my earlier lack of warmth, saying, “I’m so sorry about Meredith. If you need anything, here’s my number.”

And suddenly, I woke up from deep shock. I was struck with righteous fury against Meredith’s murderer. I started pacing the hallway. I was so outraged I was shaking and hitting my forehead with the heel of my palm, saying, “No, no, no,” over and over. It’s something I’ve always done when I can’t contain my anger.

The English-speaking detective who’d been overseeing the fingerprinting approached me and said, “Amanda, you need to calm down.” ...’‘

This is a bit unclear, but were you all at the police station since that afternoon?

No one fingerprinted you then? Really, they kept you up until the wee hours of the next morning?

Given how vague you are about times, how do you know this was 3am, or is it a detail made up for sympathy?

That is the reason for the fingerprinting. If the police know who is there, they can focus on unknown prints?

As someone who (you admitted at trial), watches CSI, why don’t you believe this explanation?

Suddenly you are angry? You weren’t before?

[Chapter 7, Page 81] ‘’ ... As I continued walking back and forth in the hallway, my mind kept looping back around itself, making quick, tight turns: What happened? Who would leave poop in the toilet? Why hadn’t Laura’s and my rooms been touched? Why was Filomena’s computer still there? Did Meredith know her attacker? How could this have happened? How? How? How?

Again, why are you still going on about the poop? Wouldn’t most normal people (ie. everyone), flush it?

Why happened your room or Laura’s room been touched? That is a good question. Better question: Did you notice your lamp missing yet?

Why was Filomena’s computer still there? Also a good question

Did Meredith know her attacker? Great question as well.

And you cannot see why the police may be wondering if this was an inside job?

[Chapter 7, Page 82] ‘’ ... When I wasn’t on the phone, I paced. I walked by one of Meredith’s British friends, Natalie Hayworth, who was saying, “I hope Meredith didn’t suffer.”

Still worked up, I turned around and gaped. “How could she not have suffered?” I said. “She got her fucking throat slit. Fucking bastards.”

I was angry and blunt. I couldn’t understand how the others remained so calm. No one else was pacing. No one else was muttering or swearing. Everyone else was so self-contained. First I showed not enough emotion; then I showed too much. It’s as if any goodwill others had toward me was seeping out like a slow leak from a tire, without my even realizing it.

This is exact opposite of what was reported. Giacomo, in particular, mentioned later how calm and unemotional you were, while everyone else was in shock and traumatized. Was he lying, or is this passage fiction?

She got her fucking throat cut? Again how did you know that? When questioned at different times, you were unable to say how exactly you knew this.

Meredith’s body had not yet been autopsied, so the police wouldn’t know either at this point.

And saying this to Meredith’s friend doesn’t come off as cold to you?

Muttering and swearing, is this grief, or impatience and frustration?

[Chapter 7, Page 81] ‘’ ... I suspect that Raffaele thought I was having a breakdown. He sat me in his lap and bounced me gently. He kissed me, made faces at me, and told me jokes””all in an effort to soothe my agitation, babying me so I would stop storming around. I cringe to say that treating me like an infant helped. Normally it would have repelled me. But at that time it worked….’‘

Really, you have to do this now? And what was reported about odd behaviour… aren’t you just confirming it?

[Chapter 7, Page 81] ‘’ ... Finally I took my journal from my purse and scribbled down a few stream-of-consciousness lines about how unreal all of this was and how I wished I could write a song about the heinous, tragic event””a personal tribute to Meredith. I thought that, like the act of writing itself, music might somehow help me feel better. Later, when the police confiscated my notebook and its contents were leaked to the press, people saw this as proof that I was trivializing Meredith’s death.

They found more evidence in my gallows humor. I wrote, “I’m starving. And I’d really like to say that I could kill for a pizza but it just doesn’t seem right.” ...’‘

You tell Natalie that Meredith ‘‘had her fucking throat cut’‘, which even the police didn’t know

You are acting impatient with having to be at the police station

You are kissing, joking, making faces with Raffaele

Writing jokes about killing for a pizza

[Chapter 7, Page 83] ‘’ ... It was early morning by the time I put my notebook away. The police weren’t stopping to sleep and didn’t seem to be allowing us to, either. Raffaele and I were part of the last group to leave the questura, along with Laura, Filomena, Giacomo, and the other guys from downstairs, at 5:30 A.M.

The police gave Raffaele and me explicit instructions to be back at the questura a few hours later, at 11 A.M. “Sharp,” they said.

I can’t recall who dropped us off at Raffaele’s apartment. But I do remember being acutely aware that I didn’t have anywhere else to go.

Interesting ... you claim you were singled out, yet Giacomo, Laura, Filomena, and ‘‘the other guys from downstairs’‘, were all kept until 5:30am

And you aren’t clear how long you are actually questioned for. You said 6 hours earlier, although you seem to be notoriously bad with numbers. Were you questioned again later?

So much for the cat-and-mouse game.

[Chapter 8, Page 85] ‘’ ... I had the same opportunity. Mom had asked in one of our phone conversations the night before if I wanted her to buy me a plane ticket to Seattle. “No,” I said. I had been adamant. “I’m helping the police.” ...’‘

In your November 4th email, you said you wanted to leave, but couldn’t because you ‘‘were an important part of the investigation’‘. Which is it?

In fact, you complained in that email about needing underwear since you wouldn’t be able to get into your house for a while.

[Chapter 8, Page 69] ‘’ ... I never considered going home. I didn’t think it was right to run away, and that’s exactly how I looked at it””as running away from being an adult. I knew that murders can and do happen anywhere, and I was determined not to let this tragedy undo all I’d worked so hard for over the past year. I liked my classes at the University for Foreigners, and I knew my family’s finances didn’t allow for re-dos. The way I saw it, if I went home, I’d be admitting defeat. And my leaving wouldn’t bring Meredith back….’‘

You did consider going back home. Again, reread your November 4th email.

Running away would be looked at as a failure as an adult? Umm ... people MIGHT view it as running from a murder charge.

Your close friend is murdered, and you are thinking about redo’s?

[Chapter 8, Page 86] ‘’ ... I was already so paranoid I refused to let Raffaele out of sight in his one-room apartment. Walking down the street with his arm around me, I kept looking nervously over my shoulder to make sure no one was following us. Passing cars made me jump. Had the murderer watched our house, waiting until one of us was alone to make his move? I couldn’t help but wonder, Would I have died if I’d been home Thursday night? All that separated Meredith’s and my room was one thin wallboard. Why am I alive and she’s now lying in the morgue? And: Could I be the next victim?

Were you paranoid about Raffaele leaving because you didn’t want to be alone, or because he might talk?

His arm around you: Is this protection, or affection?

Why are you alive and she dead? Good question.

[Chapter 7, Page 86] ‘’ ... I hated that I felt so traumatized. As my family, friends, and the UW foreign exchange office checked in one after another, they each said some version of “Oh my God, you must be so scared and alone.” ...’‘

Why would the UW foreign exchange office be checking in? You weren’t on any formal exchange program.

[Chapter 8, Page 86] ‘’ ... I believed I had to demonstrate to Mom, Dad, and myself””as if my whole personhood depended on it””that I was in control, that I could take care of things in a mature, responsible way. And just as I’d had some wrong-headed notion about the link between casual sex and adulthood, I was also sure that an adult would know how to deal with whatever was thrown at her””including how to behave if her roommate were brutally murdered. It wasn’t logical, but I believed that I’d made the decision to come to Perugia and that, while no one could possibly have anticipated Meredith’s death, I just had to suck it up. I treated the whole incident as if it were an unanticipated situation I had found myself in and now I had to handle it….’‘

You had to demonstrate that you were in control? So why did Dad end up hiring a PR firm?

Why keep calling your Mother, if you were in control?

So, what exactly was the ‘‘mature, responsible way’‘, you dealt with things?

You are comparing casual sex with the aftermath of your roommate’s murder? Disingenuous to say the least.

You just had to suck it up? Wow. Well, shit happens, but let’s move on with life.

[Chapter 8, Page 87] ‘’ ... So, anytime I was on the phone with my parents I put my energy into reassuring them that I was okay. Just as I hadn’t wanted to alarm my mom when I’d first run out of the villa after seeing the poop in the toilet, I still didn’t want to alarm her.

Therefore, each phone conversation was more or less the same. “Yeah, I’m really tired, but it’s going to be okay. I’m with Raffaele. He’s taking good care of me. My roommates are looking for a new place. Don’t worry, don’t worry, don’t worry.” ....’‘

You and your roommates were looking for a new place? Both Laura and Filomena stated they had no interest in continuing to live with you.

Raffaele is taking care of you? You mean with the ooh-la-la, or washing the blood out of your ears?

Again with the poop? Again, you supposedly don’t even know it has anything to do with the crime scene. Or do you?

[Chapter 8, Page 90] ‘’ ... Sometime that afternoon the police drove me to the villa. Sitting in the backseat with an interpreter on the way there, I admitted, “I’m completely exhausted.”

One of the officers in the front seat swung around and looked at me. Her reaction was harsh: “Do you think we’re not tired? We’re working twenty-four/seven to solve this crime, and you need to stop complaining. Do you just not care that someone murdered your friend?”

However, from accounts told later, Amanda frequently complained about being tired, and hungry, and cold

Seriously, you were treated this way? What proof?

[Chapter 8, Page 91] ‘’ ... When the police finally came to get me, I saw that the entrance to our apartment was blocked off with yellow police tape. Instead of going in, the police had me show them from the outside what I’d noticed about Filomena’s window, asking whether the shutters were opened or closed when Raffaele and I had come home. They wanted details about how we lived. Did we usually lock the gate to our driveway? What about the faulty lock on the front door? Did anyone else have a key? Were there outside lights on at night? Did Meredith often stay there alone? Did we have frequent visitors?

They handed me protective booties and gloves. After I slipped them on, I sang out, “Ta-dah,” and thrust out my arms like the lead in a musical. It was an odd setting for anything lighthearted, but having just been reprimanded for complaining, I wanted to be friendly and show that I was cooperating. I hoped to ease the tension for myself, because this was so surreal and terrifying. Instead of smiling, they looked at me with scorn. I kept trying to recalibrate my actions, my attitude, my answers, to get along, but I couldn’t seem to make things better no matter what I did. I wasn’t sure why…..’‘

Police tend to ask details such as locking doors, open windows, access to keys, visitors. Why include this?

Your ‘‘ta-dah’’ is just weird. Why pretend this was normal? Are you five?

So, they bring you back to your home. What precisely, besides marijuana, were they ‘‘looking for’‘?

Recalibrate your answers? What exactly do you mean by that?

[Chapter 8, Page 92] ‘’ ... Next we went to the room that Marco and Giacomo shared. There was no blood””or contraband plants. While we stood there, the detectives started asking me pointed questions about Giacomo and Meredith. How long had they been together? Did she like anal sex? Did she use Vaseline?

“For her lips,” I said. When I’d first gotten to town, Meredith and I had hunted around at different grocery stores until we found a tiny tub of Vaseline.

Giacomo and Meredith had definitely had sex, but I certainly didn’t know which positions they’d tried. Meredith didn’t talk about her sex life in detail. The most she’d done was ask me once if she could have a couple of the condoms I kept stashed with

Brett’s still-unused gift, the bunny vibrator, in my see-through beauty case in the bathroom Meredith and I shared.

I couldn’t understand why the police were asking me about anal sex. It disturbed me. Were they hinting that Meredith had been raped? What other unthinkably hideous things had happened to her? ...’‘

What I can’t understand is why you would add this in your book. You said you wanted Meredith’s family to read it.

Seriously, you want Meredith’s parents to know she was hitting you up for condoms?

Seriously, a homicide investigation, police would be asking about what sex positions Meredith liked?

While they likely did ask how long Meredith and Giacomo were together, anal and vaseline probably never came up.

Even if these questions did happen, couldn’t you have just left it as ‘‘personal questions’’ in your book? This is very distasteful.

[Chapter 8, Page 93] ‘’ ... Back at the questura, I had to repeat for the record everything I’d been asked about at the villa. It was a tedious process at the end of a difficult day.

Finally, at around 7 P.M., I was allowed to call Raffaele to pick me up. While I was waiting for him, Aunt Dolly phoned. “Did you ask the police if you can leave Perugia? If you can come to Germany?” she asked. “Yeah, and they said no, that I’d have to wait until they heard from the magistrate in three days. Whatever that means.” ...’‘

You had to repeat everything for the record, yet you don’t say how long. I ask, simply because I am trying to figure out how you were ‘‘questioned for over 50 hours’’ as you claimed in your December 2013 email to Judge Nencini.

[Chapter 8, Page 94] ‘’ ... As I walked outside the questura, I saw the guys from downstairs coming in. After we said hello, I wavered for a moment over the police’s order that I never talk about what I saw. “I was at your apartment today and you should know that your comforter was splotched with blood, Stefano. It made me wonder if Meredith was down there before she died. It was awful.”

“Yeah,” Stefano, said. “I hope that was from our cat and not Meredith.” Stefano, Giacomo, and Marco exchanged anxious looks…’‘

Not at all sure what the point of this is. Is Knox trying to drive suspicion between the men?

I thought Knox wasn’t supposed to talk about the case. Isn’t that what she told her classmates?

[Chapter 8, Page 94] ‘’ ... Just then, Raffaele drove up and I said good-bye to the guys. Raffaele took me to a small boutique downtown called Bubble, next door to a luxury lingerie shop. Pulsating with music, Bubble catered to students, offering trendy, cheaply made clothing, the kind that’s not meant to outlast a season. I tried on a few things but decided to wait until my mom got to town to replace my staples, which were locked in the crime scene. I settled on one necessity, grabbing a pair of cotton bikini briefs in my size from a display rack near the cash register. In the long run it probably would have been better if I’d chosen a more sedate color than red. I didn’t give it another thought, but it turned out that what was insignificant to me was a big deal to other people. Standing at the cash register as he paid, Raffaele hugged me and gave me a few kisses””our lingua franca in a scary, sad time. A few weeks later, the press would report that I bought “a saucy G-string” and that Raffaele brazenly announced: “I’m going to take you home so we can have wild sex together.”

According to bank records, they cost $60, or was it 60 Euros? And this was just for necessity?

According to the surveillance video, it was more than just a few hugs and kisses.

Why bring this up? How does it help clarify where you were, or what happened to Meredith?

You remember the underwear store well, but not what you were doing when Meredith was killed?

[Chapter 8, Page 94] ‘’ ... “The police are grilling me endlessly,” I said. Filomena said, “I know it’s hard, Amanda. You’ve just got to be patient. They’re fixated on you because you knew Meredith better than we did.”

Laura and Filomena were each consulting a lawyer about how to get out of the lease. No doubt their lawyers were also counseling them on other things, such as how to deal with the police and on our pot-smoking habit, but they didn’t mention any of that.

“Are you okay living with Raffaele? How’s it going?” Laura asked. “Filomena and I are thinking about sharing another place.” “Would you guys mind if I live with you again?” Laura said, “Of course you can live with us.”

They both hugged me. “Don’t worry. Everything will be okay,” Filomena said. ...’‘

According to you, they kept you, Laura, Filomena, Giacomo, and the other men downstairs into the wee hours of the morning. How were they focusing on you?

And you think they ‘‘grilled’’ you because you knew Meredith so much better?

You seriously think Laura and Filomena were asking their lawyers about the ‘‘alleged drugs’’ the police didn’t seem to care about?

They wanted to keep living with you? Both testified that you were loud, messy, lazy, and brought home strange men.

[Chapter 8, Page 96] ‘’ ... It was after midnight when Raffaele and I finally went back to his apartment. I stayed up surfing the Internet on his computer, looking for articles about the case. As many answers as the police had demanded of me, they weren’t giving up much information. Then I wrote a long e-mail, which I sent to everyone at home, explaining what had happened since I’d gone back to the villa on Friday morning. I wrote it quickly, without a lot of thought, and sent it at 3:45 A.M….’‘

This was your November 4th ‘‘alibi email’‘, right? Why did you really send it?

Why did you send it to people, some of whom, were hearing for the first time Meredith was dead?

Why did you include the personal details about Meredith? Was it to cause embarrassment?

These people back home are not interrogating you. Why add every single detail?

If you wanted to show a complete record, why did you not include the email (a full copy), in your book? After all, the police tried to use it against you. Certainly you could disclose it and set the record straight.

[Chapter 9, Page 97] ‘’ ... Had I seen a news item that morning in The Mail on Sunday, a London tabloid, it might have shifted everything for me. The article said the Italian police were investigating the possibility that the murderer was a woman””someone whom Meredith had known well. “”˜We are questioning her female housemates as well as her friends,’ a senior police detective said.”

Interesting claim. The police are asking you for background info on Meredith, and you take ‘‘questioning’’ to be suspicions.

I have not seen this ‘‘news item’‘. By any chance do you have a copy?

Really, the police were looking for a woman? Any thoughts as to why that may be?

[Chapter 9, Page 98] ‘’ ... In quiet moments like this, as in the squad car the day before, my thoughts went straight to Meredith and the torture she’d been put through. I tried to imagine over and over how she might have died, what might have happened, and why. I replayed memories of our hours spent on the terrace talking, our walks around town, the people we’d met, the last time I’d seen her.

Either Meredith’s murder was completely arbitrary or, worse, irrationally committed by a psychopath who had targeted our villa as Chris had suggested. The hardest question I put to myself was: What if I’d been home that night? Could I have saved Meredith? Would she somehow still be alive? ...’‘

’‘Your thoughts went straight to Meredith and the torture she’d been put through’‘???? Ummm… Is this a confession?

Why are you trying imagine over and over how she died? Do you like that sort of thing?

’‘... or worse, irrationally committed by a psychopath who had targeted our villa’‘? Could be.

Could you have saved Meredith? You mean instead of stabbing her? Sure.

[Chapter 9, Page 97] ‘’ ... We stood together, talking quietly about nothing. I leaned against him, glad for his company. He kissed me.

Just then, Rita Ficarra, the police officer who’d said I couldn’t leave Perugia, walked by. She turned around and gave us a piercing stare. “What you’re doing is completely inappropriate,” she hissed. “You need to stop this instant.”

I was taken aback. It’s not like we were making out. What could she possibly think was improper about a few tender hugs and kisses? Raffaele was being compassionate, not passionate””giving me the reassurance I needed. But we were offending her.

Raffaele was the main reason I was able to keep myself somewhat together in those days. I’d known him for such a short time, and he had met Meredith just twice. Who would have blamed him if he hadn’t stuck around? Besides giving me a place to stay, he had been patient and kind. He’d dedicated himself to my safety and comfort “”driving me to and from the police station, making sure I ate, curling around me at night so I’d feel protected. I had put him on the phone with Mom, Dad, Chris, and Dolly to reassure them. He made sure I was never alone….’‘

Well, this is the second time you’ve brought up kissing and cuddling in the police station. You also mentioned what went on in the shop Bubble. So, while you claim that the police made up stories about your behaviour, you seem to be confirming their version of events.

Out of curiosity, and for the record, when Rita Ficarra scolded you, what language was it in? She testified at trial that she spoke no English and only talked to you in Italian. You, on the other hand, claim to know only minimal Italian. And this passage doesn’t say there was any translator. So, English or Italian? Or some third language perhaps?

[Chapter 9, Page 100] ‘’ ... I reached in, pushed a few knives around, and then stood up helplessly. I knew the assortment in the drawer might include the murder weapon””that they were asking me to pick out what might have been used to slash Meredith’s throat. Panic engulfed me.

I don’t know how long I stood there, arms limp at my sides. I started crying. Someone led me to the couch. “Do you need a doctor?” the interpreter asked.

“No,” I whimpered, my chest heaving. I couldn’t speak coherently enough between the sobs to explain. I could only think, I need to get away from here. I felt the way Filomena must have felt when she looked into Meredith’s room two days before. I didn’t have to see the blood, the body, the naked foot, to fully imagine the horror.

Seriously? You were nowhere near the crime scene, never looked in Meredith’s room, and the police ask you to pick out a possible murder weapon?

Why did panic engulf you? You don’t really elaborate on that point.

You didn’t have to see the blood, the body, and the naked foot to fully imagine the horror? Why, did you have a front row seat?

[Chapter 9, Page 102] ‘’ ... I was naïve, in over my head, and with an innate stubborn tendency to see only what I wanted. Above all, I was innocent. There were so many what-ifs that I never even began to contemplate. What if I hadn’t thrown the bunny vibrator in my clear makeup case for anyone to see? What if I hadn’t gone on a campaign to have casual sex? What if Raffaele and I hadn’t been so immature? What if I’d flown home to Seattle right after the murder, or to Hamburg? What if I’d asked my mom to come immediately to help me? What if I had taken Dolly’s advice? What if I’d gotten a lawyer?...’‘

Unless her mind is completely disjointed, am not sure how she makes these connections.

You have an innate stubborn tendency to see only what you wanted? Is this narcissism or just not being observant?

Why would throwing the bunny vibrator in the clear case cause problems ... unless it grossed Meredith out? And why do you keep talking and writing about it?

How would the ‘‘casual sex campaign’’ have led to Meredith’s death? Did it annoy her, or did one of your ‘‘male friends’’ kill her?

You and Raffaele are immature how? For acting this way after a murder? Before the murder? Thinking murder would solve your problems?

If you had flown home to Seattle, would you not be in much the same position as Rudy Guede afterwards? As in a lower sentence?

Why do you need a lawyer for what seems to be routine questioning? Do you have something to hide? It sure isn’t shame…

[Editorial note: it is in chapters 10 to 12 that Knox lays the Interrogation Hoax on thick and most inventions in those chapters will be exposed in that alternate series soon.]

[Chapter 10, Page 103] ‘’ ... Police officer Rita Ficarra slapped her palm against the back of my head, but the shock of the blow, even more than the force, left me dazed. I hadn’t expected to be slapped. I was turning around to yell, “Stop!”””my mouth halfway open””but before I even realized what had happened, I felt another whack, this one above my ear. She was right next to me, leaning over me, her voice as hard as her hand had been. “Stop lying, stop lying,” she insisted.

Stunned, I cried out, “Why are you hitting me?” “To get your attention,” she said. I have no idea how many cops were stuffed into the cramped, narrow room. Sometimes there were two, sometimes eight””police coming in and going out, always closing the door behind them. They loomed over me, each yelling the same thing: “You need to remember. You’re lying. Stop lying!” “I’m telling the truth,” I insisted. “I’m not lying.” I felt like I was suffocating. There was no way out. And still they kept yelling, insinuating. The authorities I trusted thought I was a liar. But I wasn’t lying. I was using the little energy I still had to show them I was telling the truth. Yet I couldn’t get them to believe me.

We weren’t even close to being on equal planes. I was twenty, and I barely spoke their language. Not only did they know the law, but it was their job to manipulate people, to get “criminals” to admit they’d done something wrong by bullying, by intimidation, by humiliation. They try to scare people, to coerce them, to make them frantic. That’s what they do. I was in their interrogation room. I was surrounded by police officers. I was alone.

You were in discussion with Rita Ficarra, primarily correct? You seem to understand her, but she testified she spoke no English, and you claim you barely understand any Italian. So what language were you ‘‘interrogated’’ in?

An interpreter, Anna Donnino, was called from home when you were at the police station. She was present during the bulk of your ‘‘interview’‘. Is this true or false?

You allege Rita Ficarra hit you. Why did you not name her until after you were released? You said only a ‘‘chestnut haired woman’‘.

Why did your lawyer, Luciano Ghirga, deny publicly that you were ever hit? Why did you not mention this ‘‘assault’’ in your ECHR complaint?

Police claim that you were not supposed to be at the police station, only Raffaele. When you complained of being tired they told you to go home.

Police allege since you came anyway, they asked if you would be willing to help put together some names. Is that true?

You claim it was teams and teams, yet there was considerable testimony that there were only 3 officers including two women and the interpreter Anna Donnino. Is that true?

[Chapter 10, Page 104] ‘’ ...That Monday morning, Meredith’s autopsy report was splashed across the British tabloids depicting a merciless, hellish end to her life. The fatal stabbing, the coroner said, had been done with a pocketknife, and skin and hair found beneath Meredith’s fingernails showed she was locked in a vicious to-the-death struggle with her killer. Mysteriously, news accounts reported that something in the same report had made the police bring Filomena, Laura, and me back to the villa. To this day I don’t know what it was.

There was evidence that Meredith had been penetrated, but none that proved there had been an actual rape. But other clues that would lead the police to the murderer had been left behind. There was a bloody handprint smeared on the wall and a bloody shoeprint on the floor. A blood-soaked handkerchief was lying in the street nearby. As the stories mounted, I was the only one of Meredith’s three housemates being mentioned consistently by name: “Amanda Knox, an American,” “Amanda Knox, fellow exchange student,” “Amanda Knox, Meredith’s American flatmate.” It was all going horribly wrong….’‘

It seems very farfetched that police would go out of their way to leak embarrassing details about the victim. You, on the other hand, have shown again and again, that you have no qualms about posting embarrassing, and often false information.

Meredith’s autopsy was splashed across the British tabloids? Really, can you name ONE precise newspaper?

Really? The police compromised their own investigations by releasing half-finished findings?

You weren’t paying attention to the news? Were any of your classmates? Did you hear from them?

[Chapter 10, Page 105] ‘’ ... I was desperate to get back to my regular routine, an almost impossible quest given that any minute I expected the police to call again. I didn’t have a place of my own to live or clean clothes to wear. But trying to be adult in an unmanageable situation, I borrowed Raffaele’s sweatpants and walked nervously to my 9 A.M. grammar class. It was the first time since Meredith’s body was found that I’d been out alone….’

So, it was your first time being alone? How much of it was the police, and how much with Raffaele? You are not at all clear on the numbers. And remember, you did email Judge Nencini, telling him you were interrogated for 50 hours over 4 days.

[Chapter 10, Page 106] ‘’ ... When class ended I headed back toward Raffaele’s apartment. As I walked through Piazza Grimana, I saw Patrick standing in a crowd of students and journalists in front of the University for Foreigners administration building. He kissed me hello on both cheeks. “Do you want to talk to some BBC reporters?” he asked. “They’re looking for English-speaking students to interview.”

I said, “I can’t. The police have told me not to talk to anyone about the case.” “Oh, I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to put you in a difficult position,” he said. “That’s okay. But Patrick . . .” I hesitated. “I’ve needed to call you. I don’t think I can work at Le Chic anymore. I’m too afraid to go out by myself at night now. I keep looking behind me to see if I’m being followed. And I feel like someone is lurking behind every building, watching me.”

If this is true, then why were you expecting to work later? Remember that message Patrick sent, saying it is slow? Remember your reply, See you later? Why wouldn’t Patrick have taken you off the staff list, at least for the time being?

The version Patrick tells, is that you didn’t keep silent out of respect, that you turned around and walked out at the attention Meredith was going to receive. How accurate is his version?

You told him you don’t think you can come anymore? Patrick told the police he was going to replace you—with Meredith—for being lazy? Is that true?

Posted on 11/02/14 at 05:59 PM by Chimera • Click here for my past posts, via link at top left.
Archived in Knox False Claims, Examples 35-72
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Category: Examples 35-72

2. Knox Book Lies 35 To 72

Posted by Chimera

1. Overview Of This Post

2. Dissection Of Pages 67 to 107

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