This story unfolded in London, England, that most “die-verse” of cities.
In Britain, where criticizing a darkie is a hate crime, it’s clear from so much of what’s coming to light that white girls and women are viewed as a public utility to be used and abused by muh dik.
The villain of this story, a worthless piece of dog sh*t named Pierre Bate, is strong suspected of raping a woman before he brutalized Lynda, and of continuing his raping ways afterward.
Lynda kept on the sorry asses of the police or Pierre would still be free.
Lynda Donnelly produces notes scribbled on the packaging of the Boots No. 7 foundation she wore in the days when appearance mattered to her.
‘Rang Crimewatch at 9ish, March 31. Told police would ring me. Rang back three times. 11.40pm: no joy. April 1, rang police complaints. Lady gave me chief of police Paul Stephenson’s number . . .’ And so on.
It is one of many bits of paper in a file Lynda began to compile on the day the ‘happiest years’ of her life abruptly ended: July 22, 1996 — the date Lynda was brutally raped in her South-East London home.
Her terrifying ordeal — the full details of which are too disturbing to reveal in a family newspaper — lasted for several hours as her two young children slept in adjoining bedrooms.
Suffice to say, the injuries she sustained were so appalling she was unable to see her five-year-old daughter or four-year-old-son for six weeks for fear of distressing them.
‘I thought about killing myself but I couldn’t do it because of my children,’ says Lynda, now 45.
‘They were the only thing that kept me going — that and because I was so sure the police were going to catch the guy.
They said: “We’ve put his DNA on a database. As soon as he gets caught doing something else, it will come up.”’
But it didn’t. Instead, due to an extraordinary catalogue of police blunders — including mislaying crucial DNA evidence — her attacker was able to evade justice for 20 years.
In this time, he moved to Los Angeles, where he built a career as a music producer who could afford swanky apartments, Aston Martins and invitations to parties where he claims to have rubbed shoulders with the likes of Oscar-winning actor Leonardo Di Caprio.
But this summer, those star-studied parties ended when Pierre Antoine Bate, now 42, finally stood trial at Southwark Crown Court after the case was reopened by the Metropolitan Police’s cold case unit.
After just an hour of deliberation, the jury found him guilty on eight counts of raping Lynda.
Once he had been sentenced to 24 years in prison, jubilant police officers made much of how his conviction demonstrated their commitment to identifying and arresting such monsters ‘no matter how much time has passed’.
Try telling that to Lynda. For, until the cold case team became involved in 2011, police appeared to show woefully little interest in tracking down her attacker.
Instead, they fobbed her off, on occasion ridiculed her and even, after much of the evidence had been lost, swore blind her case ‘didn’t exist’.
In short, she was treated like a fantasist.
‘This wasn’t like an episode from an American crime series where dedicated cops battle away for years to catch the bad guys,’ she says.
‘It was more like being caught up in a film about a conspiracy.
‘I even phoned chief of police Paul Stephenson [former Police Commissioner Sir Paul Stephenson] in 2008 to try to get him to do something for me, and was told by the woman officer who called me back: “I’m sorry, your case doesn’t exist. There is no crime report, no DNA, no statement.”
‘I said: “What do I do now?” She said: “I don’t really know.”
‘I was at breaking point. I’d been to so many different police stations over the years, and spoken to so many different officers literally begging for help, but none of them wanted to help me.
‘And now I was being told my case didn’t exist. I thought they were deliberately trying to drive me mad.
‘I was pacing the floor, literally pulling my hair out. I thought: “How am I ever going to end this?”
‘I was shaking. I could hardly breathe. I sat down and it was like an epiphany. I suddenly thought: “Oh my God — the Croydon Guardian.”’
The local newspaper had run a story shortly after the attack.
‘I thought: “However much the police say it didn’t exist, I can prove it did.” The report would have been archived in the library.
And so Lynda stayed the course until the filty, stinking savage was brought to justice. In the course of telling the rest of her story to the Daily Mail, politically incorrect, determined Lynda even describes her rapist as stinking. Of course, that’s racist. Right, mate?
The musty smelling, increasingly wealthy and violent Negro will hopefully die in prison. In all honesty, if I were serving a long stretch in the pen and I had the chance to give this vermin a shiv in the back, I’d gladly take that opportunity, the consequences be damned.
As one British citizen wrote in the comments at the Daily Mail about Britain, “This country is just awful.”
Sadly, America is next. White women have been deemed expendable by the left. The sacred Negro is an object of worship who can do no wrong.
We’re going to have to take up arms if Donald Trump is not elected or if he fails to restore law and order.