I thought Massachusetts stopped hunting witches in the 17th century?

Police are apparently accusing Barbara Asher of a bunch of things:

• being a dominatrix by the name of Mistress Lauren M
• having a 53-year-old man by the name of Michael Lord as a slave
• Asher only changing into her outfit after Lord was already naked and bound
• Michael Lord having a heart attack in her dungeon
• having a boyfriend by the name of Miguel Ferreria
• dismembering Lord’s corpse with a hacksaw
• fitting the dismembered corpse of a 280-pound man into eight trash bags
• doing all this without leaving DNA evidence of the butchery, or evidence of cleaning agents

Suppose for a moment that the part about Asher being a dominatrix is true and that Lord was her slave. Lets assume that she’s a pro, because allegedly she was “worried the police would find out about her operation” — I don’t think they mean the sex-change kind, here. The implication is that she was doing this for money or she was afraid because kinky sex between consenting adults was illegal back in July 2000, years before Justice Anthony Kennedy and Lawrence v. Texas (2003) said otherwise. So, if I were a paying customer of Asher’s services for kinky roleplay, I’d certainly expect her to be in her outfit from the start, not after I’m already naked and bound. Otherwise, you’re just not getting your money’s worth, right?

How can they prove that Michael Lord died of a heart attack, if they never recovered his corpse? I know I’m no forensics expert, but I imagine determining cause of death minimally requires observing the corpse, maybe even an autopsy, right? Maybe the police consulted an expert psychic and contacted Michael Lord’s spirit to find out what happened to him? Maybe they just watched the wrong episode of Crossing Jordan and got carried away?

Regardless of all this, lets pretend he really did die in her dungeon. Is your first instinct to call someone like your boyfriend and tell them about it, or to deal with it by yourself and leave no living witnesses? Okay, maybe you are the type to call someone for help — fine. Now you and your boyfriend are trying to figure out how to dispose of this 280-pound corpse. Damn, can’t sell it on eBay. Don’t suppose she’s got some starved pigs in her condominium, either. What’s a girl to do? Oh, duh — pick up the hacksaw and start carvin’ like it’s Thanksgiving! But, then what? Well, it’s 170 miles to Augusta, she’s got a full tank of gas, eight 35-pound bags each full of Lord’s parts, it’s dark and she’s wearing shades. They find Alice’s restaurant and dump their trash and head on home. Right? Because, you know, if someone just died in my freaky sex dungeon in my own private home, this is exactly what I’d do, wouldn’t you?

Sounds like witch hunting is alive and well in Massachusetts. I thought they gave that up in the 17th century. Guess old habits die hard.

(via grigoricennui)