At Gunpoint

On December 13, 2000 I stood outside the local library, chatting with an acquaintance, when I suddenly found myself in a tug of war with a purse thief. He was a tall man dressed in black with a black wool cap pulled low on his head. There was a brief tussle over the bag when the man put a large black gun next to my cheek and said, "Give me your money." I watched his mouth and made a mental note to never forget that mouth and those words. Then he said, "I'll kill you bitch!"

I stopped cold and let the purse go. The man continued to hold the gun to my cheek. Over my left shoulder, my acquaintance was shaking with his hands in the air. A second man held him at gunpoint. Then the man who took my purse started to walk away. I stood with my back toward him for a long time before I turned to look. The first thing I saw was my acquaintance running away so fast that the ends of his coat flared out behind him. The men who had robbed us were just walking away, my assailant with his hand deep inside my purse.

That evening I drove myself home in tears. The police seemed disinterested: "It's almost Christmas," they said. "We have dozens of these kinds of calls right now." I called friends and family and cried the rest of the night. The tears were not because I lost my money and my things; I was crying because I could have lost my life. In fact, I cried every time that thought occurred to me. I cried for days and missed a week of work. I was a wreck.

Facing the Fear

I finally came to realize that I couldn't let this man make me live in fear anymore. So I did what seemed unimaginable – I began to look for him. And it wasn't long before I found him.

"I was kept in the dark about the case.... Everything seemed to be about his rights, and I wondered who cared about mine."

On the night of the holdup, the police told me that if I saw the thief again, I should keep an eye from a distance and call them. I did see him again. The first time it was in front of a grocery store, not far from the library, but he left the area by the time I called the police.

Two weeks later, I saw him again, walking down the street. I drove slowly beside him, making sure that he was the one before I dialed 911. Unbelievably, they were no help: "We don't know your location; can you still see him, etc.," I hung up the phone, parked my car, ran to the curb and flagged down the first police car I saw.

"It's him!" I told the officer, "the man who stuck me up with a gun a few weeks ago. Please go and get him before he walks away." The cop told me to stay put, and he drove over to the suspect. I could see the cop stop him and put him up against the police car.

That night after I got home from identifying him, the police called and said that the man had confessed! I jumped, shouted and cried! I called all of those friends and family I had cried to weeks earlier and told them what had just happened. I didn't sleep at all that night. "I got him!" I kept saying, "I got him!!!" But the rejoicing was short-lived.

Trying Times

I didn't know that, after his confession, my perpetrator claimed the police threatened to charge him with other crimes if he didn't confess to the one against me. This made a simple case far more complicated. When a young woman from the district attorney's office called me in late February, I found out the case would go to trial. I would be needed to testify in court. My fear level rose, but I was determined to go through with it.

On the day of the trial, I was sworn in, and I told the jury and the judge what had happened to me. I looked in the face of the man who had held a gun to mine and pointed him out to everyone in the courtroom as the gunman.

I remember the call from the district attorney's office to inform me of the verdict. The man had been set free. The jury had found him innocent. The DA believed the jury was sympathetic to the perpetrator, possibly because so many had friends and relatives in prison and because the police had an unfavorable reputation.

I broke down in deep, sobbing and tears. After all I had done, why was he being let go? I had overcome the trepidation of not wanting to help incarcerate yet another black male. I made peace with the fact that this black male needed to be punished for what he did to me. Everything good I had ever believed about the justice system seemed shattered. I wept harder and questioned how this could be.

Well, it is what it is. I was a victim of crime in America. I was a victim of crime in my neighborhood. I had beefed up the security in and around my house. I had made myself aware of crime. In fact, I worked for a TV show that is famous for capturing criminals and defending victims' rights, and yet this happened anyway.

Crime had become very personal. So in a personal way, I've learned to put what happened to me into a positive perspective. I wasn't hurt or killed. Everything that was in that purse has been replaced. And as for that young man, I prayed that he would never hold a gun on another human being ever again. I prayed that he might use his freedom to do some good in the world. Perhaps we both got a second chance in our lives.

Cynthia Rudolph was the post-production supervisor for "America's Most Wanted" for twelve years. A board member of Witness Justice, Cynthia is looking forward to a future in writing and teaching.