Extreme Breach of Trust

By Steven J. Esdale

Murray Cohen planned to live out his "Golden Years," in his home on Siesta Key Sarasota, Florida. His dream was cut short when his wife of three weeks deliberately denied him medical assistance when he requested an ambulance thinking he was having a natural heart attack. Murray's bride waited until she believed he was dead before making her 'Academy Award' call to 911. Unfortunately for his killer, Murray was not finished fighting for his life. Murray Cohen's death was classified as natural by authorities in the State of Florida. His son became suspicious after many red flags and began his own investigation. He uncovered the ultimate evidence of murder left behind by his father. This story shines a light on how unequal, corrupt, and broken the Civil and Criminal Justice systems in America have become.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Page Publishing, Inc.
• Release date: Oct 31, 2018
• ISBN: 9781642987683

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Extreme Breach of Trust

Steven J. Esdale

Copyright © 2018 Steven J. Esdale

All rights reserved

First Edition

PAGE PUBLISHING, INC.

New York, NY

First originally published by Page Publishing, Inc. 2018

ISBN 978-1-64298-767-6 (Paperback)

ISBN 978-1-64298-768-3 (Digital)

Printed in the United States of America

Table of Contents

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Chapter 4

Chapter 5

Chapter 6

Chapter 7

Chapter 8

Chapter 9

Chapter 10

Chapter 11

Chapter 12

Chapter 13

Chapter 14

Chapter 15

Chapter 16

Chapter 17

Chapter 18

Preface

Murray B. Cohen, a Korean war veteran, was born on September 14, 1931, and lived until January 13, 2003. Authorities classified Murray Cohen’s death as Natural. His much younger Bolivian wife of three weeks, a former Special Narcotics Agent, told his son and authorities that Murray died peacefully in an afternoon nap. After many red flags the victim’s son Steven was forced to conduct his own investigation and uncovered the irrefutable evidence of murder left behind by his father. Steven turned to law enforcement for help. Instead of assisting him, he was attacked and told to move on with his life. This story is a direct threat to the public trust in the American Criminal and Civil Justice institutions because it exposes the ultimate public corruption.

The players are all unmasked and exposed for their actions or inactions. This book is based on court transcripts, law enforcement records, FBI documents, and expert witness testimony. Murray’s death has been investigated by former police officers, prosecutors, and one of the most qualified private investigators in the United States, and all concluded Murray did not die a natural death as claimed by the Sarasota Sheriff’s Office and Medical Examiner. This story was written by Murray’s son as it was lived through his eyes. All references in this story referred to as CMRE can be found at CohenMurder.com.

Murray on the beach

Chapter 1

In the fall of 2001 I received a call from my father, very excited to tell me, Some good news! He said, I have decided to sell both of my houses in New Jersey and live in Florida all year round. He had been a snow bird living the summers in New Jersey and the winters in Florida. He told me he was not coming back to Florida until all of his loose ends were tied up and the houses were sold. My father purchased his Florida house located at 4919 Commonwealth Drive, on Siesta Key, Sarasota Florida in 1992. When he purchased his Sarasota home, he fulfilled a dream his father was never able to achieve, retire and live out his golden years in the sunshine state. To honor his parents, he installed a plaque above the garage door which read, Casa of Abe and Rose.

Sarasota house

The other good news he wanted to share, was that he had a new woman in his life, Maria A. Amurrio, AKA Maria Antoineta Amurrio Fernandez. I was surprised at how quickly he recovered from the recent break up with his girlfriend of six years, Ronne Rose. My father and Ronne went to elementary school together and years after his divorce and her husband’s death, they started dating. When describing Maria to me he said, I found my Lisa. He was referring to my wife Lisa who I describe as being, my trillion dollars, one of the nicest and kindest human beings to ever walk on the earth. She has loved me unconditionally and stuck with me for better or for worse. When he compared Maria to my wife, I had one piece of advice for him, If you want to know if you found your Lisa, don’t tell her when you put her in your will. Sadly, he had a habit of making his new girlfriends beneficiaries of his will, believing it was a way to win their loyalty and love. Every time we would get together, the first thing he would do was hand me a revised will, whether it was because he had a new companion, or wanted to update financial information. My father always named me as his executor. I told him I was happy he found someone new and we looked forward to meeting his new love when he came back to Florida.

During the winter of 1997, my father and his new girlfriend at the time, Ronne Rose came to stay with us for a few days. Just like clockwork, as soon as he came in, I was handed a new will. This time I said, I no longer want to be the executor of your will because I know I will be too distraught to carry out the responsibilities. I will make sure whoever you appoint honors your last wishes. I placed his new will in the box with the other wills I collected over the years. The next morning while we were having breakfast, I was relieved when my father said, I am going to make Ronne the new executor, I have known her a long time, and I trust her to carry out my will. She knows I do not want my body embalmed and I want to be buried in New Jersey next to my parents the day after my death by sunset. She knows I want to be dressed in a shawl and placed in a simple pine box. I instructed Ronne to hire a locksmith upon my death to drill open my safe and for her to use the $50,000 cash I keep in there to pay for my burial wishes. My father also told me he kept our family coin collection of gold pieces and silver dollars along with my grandmother’s jewelry in the safe.

Family with Ronne Rose

On September 14, 2001, I called my father to wish him a happy birthday and got his answering machine. My wife, my son, and I left him a message wishing him a happy birthday. He never called us back. I thought he might have gone away and forgot to tell us. A few weeks later, I received an letter in the mail from my dad. In the envelope was a picture of him and his new girlfriend, Maria. Written on the back of the picture was, My Surprise 70th Birthday Party thrown by Maria in Bradenton, Florida.

Birthday party picture

I was upset when I learned that my family and I were not invited to Maria’s surprise party for my father, held in Florida. That same night, I called my father and reached him at his New Jersey home to express how hurt we were over not being invited to his party.

When he answered the phone, I said, I received your picture and asked, Why weren’t we invited to your seventieth surprise party?

My father replied, Maria told me she called you and you told her you were too busy to attend. In shock I replied, I have never spoken with Maria, and she never called to invite us to your party.

As I was speaking, I heard a female voice with a Spanish accent whispering and telling him what to say to me. I was appalled that my father would allow his new girlfriend to eavesdrop on my private conversation with him. I couldn’t believe he was allowing a stranger to do this. I was angry over the fact that he believed Maria over me. I couldn’t take it any more and said, I hear that bitch telling you what to say to me, and she is a filthy liar; I am not going to get together with you until this bitch is gone, and hung up.

On Wednesday, January 15, 2003, I woke up to a beautiful blue sky, cloudless, crisp winter morning in South Florida. A cold front blew through, and it was perfect weather to be working outdoors. When I was eighteen years old, I started my own business doing home renovations and repairs and I have been self employed in this field ever since. On my way to the job site, I continued to think about my father, who had been in my dream during the night. When I woke up, I made up my mind that on the coming weekend I was going to call him and bury the hatchet. We were both stubborn, and a year of life had passed by.

Around 1:30 p.m., I received a call from my wife, who had been off from work that day. She was extremely distraught, and I knew something terrible had happened.

I asked, What is wrong?

Struggling to get the words out, she said, Your father died.

As I felt my heart tear apart, I screamed out in sheer agony, No! I began to wail uncontrollably and struggled to tell my wife I was headed home. I cried so hard I could hardly see to drive. All I could think about was that I would never be able to make up with him.

Upon arriving home, Lisa told me she found out that my father died when my uncle called the house and asked, How’s Steven doing?

Lisa replied, What do you mean?

My uncle replied, Murray died two days ago.

Lisa told me that after she called to tell me about my father, she then called Ronne, seeking more information since she lived in Sarasota and was still friends with my father even though they broke up. While they were a couple, my father loaned her money interest free for her down payment on the house she wanted to buy in Sarasota. He also sold her his Dodge minivan with no money down with the promise she would make monthly payments to him until it was paid in full.

Lisa said, When I called Ronne it seemed to me her only concern was how we learned that your father died. The first words out of her mouth was, how did you find out, and I kept on asking her what happened? She wouldn’t answer me and kept asking how we found out. Lisa then asked, Why didn’t you call and tell us Murray died?

Ronne answered, I forgot your phone number.

This seemed odd since she had called us hundreds of times during their six-year courtship, and our phone number was very easy, it ended in 6000. Ronne told Lisa that my father and Maria had been married three weeks earlier while they were in Maria’s home country of Bolivia.

Ronne said, Maria is having a funeral service for Murray tomorrow in Sarasota, and his body is going to be shipped and buried in New Jersey this weekend.

Ronne instructed Lisa that we should drive to her house so that we could follow her to the funeral home. Lisa was in shock when she hung up with Ronne. As I walked in the door, Lisa told me about Maria’s burial plans and funeral service in Sarasota. I could not believe what I was hearing. I became extremely upset because I knew what my father’s burial wishes were and so did Ronne. I had no doubt he drilled it into Maria’s head. Instead she violated his trust and kept his body in Sarasota for almost a week.

After being home for a short while, I mustered up enough composure to call the Sarasota Medical Examiner’s Office and I was transferred to Investigator Meghann Simrak. She was assigned to my father’s case. Simrak told me that my father laid down to take a nap and died peacefully in his sleep. She said the cause of his death was going to be classified as natural. (CMRE 1: Medical Examiner’s Summary) I told Simrak that I was concerned about the circumstances surrounding my father’s death. I requested that the Medical Examiner’s Office perform an autopsy to rule out foul play. Simrak advised me that I needed to call the Sarasota Sheriff’s Office (SSO) to speak with someone in the investigations department, and gave me their phone number.

I called SSO and was transferred to Detective David Scott. After informing him of my name and my father’s, I told him that I believed something nefarious happened to him. Scott told me he was in charge of my father’s natural-death case. I informed him that I was advised by Medical Examiner Investigator Meghann Simrak to call SSO and speak to someone in investigations regarding my suspicions.

His first response to me was a question: Why is your last name different from your father’s?

I replied, I changed my name when I was eighteen years old to my mother’s maiden name, Esdale, to avoid dealing with anti-semitism which I found prevalent while working in New Jersey. I assure you, I am Murray Cohen’s firstborn natural son. I was extremely upset and seeking comfort.

I asked Scott, How did my father look? I wanted him to tell me my father didn’t suffer and that he died peacefully in his sleep as reported to me by ME Investigator Simrak.

Instead, he shocked and horrified me when he said, Mr. Esdale, your father was found on the floor clenching the bed post. Most people who have a heart attack know it.

I said, Maria never notified us that my father had died and I believe Maria did not want me to find out about his death until after he was buried and I am certain she had something to do with his death.

Scott replied, I am not going to order an autopsy, but I will order toxicology testing, which will show if your father was poisoned, under-dosed, or overdosed with medication. The results will take sixteen weeks to obtain, and I will call you when they come back. Our call ended.

I trusted that if there was evidence of murder, Detective Scott would arrest Maria. Records showed hours after I voiced my concerns to Detective Scott the Sarasota Medical Examiner’s Office dispatched Investigator Simrak to Toale Brothers Funeral Home to retrieve bodily fluids for toxicology testing. M.E. records also showed Investigator Simrak drew two 10 mL red-top samples of blood, one pulled head hair sample, and a vitreous specimen. (CMRE 2: Toxicological Analysis Report)

On January 16, 2003, I drove by myself to Sarasota to attend my father’s funeral service. I left Lisa home because I didn’t want my eleven-year-old son’s last memory of his grandpa to be his funeral. As instructed, I went to Ronne’s house to follow her to the funeral home. When I arrived at Ronne’s house, she answered the door, and was very nervous. I quickly asked her where I could change into my dress clothing. She directed me to the guest bathroom down the hallway. After changing into my suit, I came out of the bathroom, looking for a chair to put on my shoes and socks. I headed towards Ronne’s dining room table. Ronne was standing in the arched entrance way between the kitchen and dining room with one arm resting against the edge. I sat down on the chair and leaned over to put on my socks, suddenly, without solicitation she nervously blurted out, You know, Maria called me and said, ‘I think he is having his heart attack.’ Shocked by her statement, I quickly lifted up my head and looked at her and in a panic she quickly changed her statement and said, I mean, he was already dead when she called. I could not believe what she had just said. Her statement was alarming to me because it seemed like my father’s heart attack was a planned event.

When I was finished, we headed to the funeral home. As I followed Ronne, I watched her fidgeting and fixing her hair at every traffic light. After arriving at the funeral home, Ronne walked over to my car and told me she would meet me inside. As I approached the entrance, I felt like I was in a nightmare walking into a long dark tunnel. There were twenty to thirty people already sitting in a room with a simple pine casket up front. I felt lost and alone as I took an empty seat in the front row. I did not know anyone there except for Ronne. The last place I ever expected to meet my father’s new girlfriend/wife would be in front of his coffin.

As I took my seat, I observed a woman who was dressed in black, sobbing and hugging the casket. I assumed this person was Maria. I heard her mumbling, and the only words that I could make out were Please forgive. As I was sitting there, Ronne came over and sat down next to me.

She asked, Did you pay your respects to Maria yet?

I replied, How can I do that? She is still hugging the casket.

Ronne replied, That’s not Maria, that’s her mother.

She then turned her head and looked toward the back of the room by the entrance and pointed to a jovial woman dressed in black, who was having a conversation with another woman. She looked more like a lottery winner than a grieving widow.

Ronne said, That’s Maria.

I later learned through a deposition that the woman she was laughing with was my father’s financial adviser, Evelyn Villa, from Wachovia Bank. I told Ronne that I wanted to see my father one last time, and I requested that she ask Maria to allow me to view him. Ronnie got up and walked toward Maria. As she approached her, it was obvious Maria now knew I was there, and her happy face turned instantly into a face of stone. As Ronne began speaking to her, Maria and the bank adviser looked over in my direction and then Maria repositioned her body so that I could no longer see her face.

After a short conversation with her, Ronne came back and told me that Maria was going to allow me to see my father and she was going to ask the funeral director to open the casket. A few minutes later the funeral director and Maria walked towards the front of the room, everyone stopped talking. The funeral director then opened the head section of the casket, and Maria motioned for me to approach the coffin. As I stood up and approached the casket, with my heart beating out of my chest and my legs feeling like rubber, I heard someone say, That is Murray’s son. I could feel everyone’s eyes trained on me as I was being forced to say goodbye to my father while a whole room of strangers were watching.

As I peered over into the casket, I was horrified to find myself viewing a person who had blackened skin under the eyes and did not look like my father. This person was clearly stuffed into a casket that was the wrong size. It was so narrow that the shoulders were almost touching the chin. I also noticed something uncharacteristic. The hair on the head of this person in the casket was pure white up the sides, and the top of the head was dyed a dark black. My father never had his hair style with a two-toned look. He always dyed the sides and the top the same color. As I stood there distraught, I became faint, and the funeral director escorted me to a nearby door that led to a side room so I could sit down and regain my composure. After what seemed like an eternity, I returned back to my seat.

My father belonged to the Masonic Lodge in Sarasota. The lodge sent two representatives to perform a Masonic ritual at his service. After they were finished, the funeral director stepped up to the podium and asked if there was anyone who wanted to say anything about my father. Nobody stood up, not even Maria or Ronne. I was too emotionally devastated to speak a word. A short time later, the funeral service concluded and the director announced that Maria was inviting everyone back to the house for food and beverages.

I did not want to go there, but I had to, as this was the only way I could speak to Maria. I had a million questions to ask her. I followed Ronne back to my father’s house. As I entered through his front door, I could see all the women from the funeral service, including my father’s bank adviser, sitting around the dining room table straight ahead. Everyone was laughing and having a good ole time. All the men who were at the service were sitting in the living room and were walking back and forth to the kitchen, digging into the feast Maria was serving. I noticed an empty seat on the couch next to an elderly man who was about my father’s age. He told me his name was Bill Nies.

He asked, Are you Murray’s son?

I said, Yes.

Nies said, I consider myself to be your father’s best friend in Sarasota, and we both belonged to the Antique Car Club of Sarasota.

He asked, Why don’t you have some food? Maria and her mother have been cooking and preparing the food for days.

I replied, I have no appetite and I feel nauseous.

As I was sitting on the couch, I noticed that all my family pictures that used to be around the living room were gone. There was an unfamiliar photo album left open on the cocktail table in front of the couch. They were wedding pictures of my father and Maria while they were in Bolivia two weeks earlier. I instantly noticed that my father’s hair in the wedding pictures showed the sides and the top were of the same dark color, unlike the person in the casket.

After waiting more than an hour to try to speak with Maria, I couldn’t take it anymore, and I got up and walked into the party going on in the dining room. As I headed toward Maria, the laughter went silent and everyone looked up and stared at me.

I said to Maria, I need to head back home and I would like to speak with you in private before I go.

She agreed and told me to meet her out on the front porch. Maria got up from the table and as her mother went to follow, she turned and said something in Spanish and then motioned for her to stay in the dining room.

Maria came outside and I asked, Could you tell me what happened?

She stated, Your father was doing paperwork at his desk all day and said that he felt tired. He decided to take a nap, and I joined him. We were both sleeping when the phone rang. I got up to answer the phone in the kitchen. My father only had one phone in his house, and it was an old-fashioned wall-mounted push-button phone. She then said, The caller asked to speak with your father. I called out for him, and when he did not respond, I went back to the bedroom and put the light on and found him in bed, turning purple.

I thought about what Detective Scott had told me, Your father was found lying on the floor, clenching the bedpost.

I asked Maria, Didn’t you hear him in trouble?

She quickly said to me in a cold, sarcastic way, I am a light sleeper, and if I heard anything I would have helped him.

She asked, What do you think? I would not help your father if he was in trouble? How do you think I feel? I was sleeping next to your father while he was dead for at least an hour. Again, I thought about what Detective Scott said, "Most people having a heart attack know it."

At this point, I was certain she was lying about the true circumstances surrounding my father’s death, and I had a bad feeling that she was directly involved in his demise.

I asked Maria, Did you retrieve my father’s will from his safe?

Her eyes widened and in an angry tone of voice she said, There is no will. I am the wife, and I get everything. When your father died, his safe was unlocked, and there was nothing in there but a plastic watch and titles to his vehicles.

I asked, Where is my grandmother’s jewelry that was kept in the safe?

Maria said, Your father gave me all your grandmother’s jewelry when we came back from Bolivia.

I then asked, Where is my family’s coin collection that was supposed to be in the safe?

Maria smirked and said, Your father gave out all the gold coins to the street children while we were in Bolivia.

I could not believe what she was telling me and I asked, Where is the $50,000 cash my father always kept in his safe?

She replied, There is no cash. I knew she was lying through her teeth and I now believed I knew her motive for causing his death. I could not bear another second looking into the eyes of the monster who I believed murdered my father.

I took a deep breath and said, I need to leave now.

My three-and-a-half-hour drive home was the longest, most torturous ride I had ever taken. When I arrived home, I walked in and said to Lisa, This woman had something to do with my father’s death. I also shared with her Maria’s absurd claim that my father had no will. She was shocked and a short time later, we located the shoe box containing all of the wills I collected from my father over the years.

The next morning, I called a local attorney, Stephen Rakusin, whom I had previously hired to collect a judgment. I asked him if he handled probate cases, and he told me it was one of his specialties. A few hours later, I was in his office with the six wills that I had in my possession. I told Rakusin that my father’s wife of three weeks claimed he died with no will, and I knew my father always had an updated will. Rakusin told me that if she was claiming my father had no will, the most recent one in my possession would prevail in the probate of his estate. He advised me we needed to file the original copy with the Clerk of the Courts in Sarasota immediately. I also told Rakusin about my belief that my new stepmother murdered my father. I could tell from his reaction that he was not convinced of my allegation, and his only concern was about probating my father’s estate. Rakusin’s office was located in downtown Ft. Lauderdale, and my father’s will needed to be probated in Sarasota where he resided. This presented a problem for Rakusin. He told me that it would be too expensive for him to handle my case if he had to drive to every hearing in Sarasota. He told me the only way he would take my case was if I agreed to hire a local attorney to co-counsel and show up for the, bullshit hearings and he would attend the major hearings so I agreed to his plan.

The next day, Rakusin hired a local attorney in Sarasota named John Compton from the law firm of Norton, Hammersley, Lopez, and Skokos. Compton filed a motion for a hearing to introduce my father’s will into the Sarasota Probate Court. Compton told us the first available date was January 24, 2003, and was assigned to be heard in front of Judge Nancy Donnellan.

He advised us that upon entering the will into the Probate Court, I had the legal right to go to my father’s house and retrieve my family belongings. To save time, Compton recommended that I rent a U-Haul truck prior to the hearing so we could proceed directly to his house after the hearing. I made the decision to wait to rent a truck until after we went to my father’s house and made contact with Maria.

Chapter 2

On January 24, we woke up to an unusually bitter cold and windy twenty degree winter morning in south Florida. To Floridans, this was considered to be arctic weather. Lisa and I left for Sarasota at 5:30a.m. and Ryan’s great-grandmother Sally Esdale stayed with us overnight to see Ryan off to school in the morning.

We arrived at the courthouse and proceeded to the seventh floor to Donnellan’s courtroom, where we met Attorney John Compton. He told us our case was the first one on the docket. When we were called, Compton got up and approached Donnellan. After sharing pleasantries they got down to business, it was clear that Compton and Donnellan were chums. Donnellan accepted the will into probate and then said to Compton, I am sure we will be seeing a lot of each other on this case, and they both laughed. We left the courthouse in downtown Sarasota and followed Compton in his BMW for a short trip over the intracoastal bridge onto Siesta Key.

As our caravan got closer to my father’s house, I noticed Maria was standing outside halfway up the driveway. She was touching a leaf on a tree and staring up toward the sky, she seemed to be deep in thought. Compton got out