ALL ABOUT JANET
The
Murder of my Guardian Angel
BY FORREST CANUTT
ALL ABOUT JANET
Copyright 2016, by Forrest G. Canutt
Format: ebook
ISBN-13: 978-1-4566-1244-3
All rights reserved. Except as permitted under the U.S. Copyright Act of 1976, no part of this publication may be reproduced, distributed, or transmitted in any form or by any means, stored in a database or retrieval system, without the prior written permission.
Publisher
Forrest Canutt
PO Box 2305
Alameda, CA. 94501
First Edition: October 12, 2012
Published in eBook format by eBookIt.com
This book is a nonfiction literary work. The characters and events named, portrayed and/or described in this book are true and accurate to the best of my knowledge. Forrest Canutt
This Book is Dedicated to
Janet K. Cash
1944-1956
Preface
in october of 1956, my twelve-year-old newly adopted orphan babysitter, janet cash and I were staying the night alone on my uncles northern California ranch. During the night, we were attacked by three men, two of them were us navy sailors. Janet was beaten and gang raped by the three men throughout the night, and I was tortured and assaulted. In the morning, janet was taken to an area called the flats and viciously murdered by the two us navy sailors. They then buried janet in a clandestine grave on my uncle’s ranch. For over twenty-five years, I have been looking for janet. I haven’t found her yet, but I have found two major news organizations and three government agencies that have conspired to cover up her disappearance, murder, and even her very existence. Throughout those years, I have been stonewalled, been refused any information that might lead me to her. But in spite of their efforts, I have gathered enough proof and information to lead me to believe that my babysitter janet wasn’t just some sweet, beautiful and courageous young girl from a broken home, but quite possibly an important young girl, maybe a very important young girl, and if the right people knew about her back then, her mere existence might have changed some important people’s lives, and/or even changed history. I am determined now, more than ever to find her, and learn as much as I can about her. You see, she saved my life several times during this tragic ordeal, so I owe her my life, and I feel that finding her is the very least I can do to repay her, and exposing the truth about what happened to her is just as important. I believe that the path to the truth to this tragic mystery lies waiting in an unmarked grave, in her bones, in her DNA.
After all of the research that I have done in addition to writing this book, it makes me wonder how many other times these so-called symbols of authority lied, told untruths, or generally mislead the public and all concerned regarding murder, missing children and other terrible crimes. How hard did they really try to seek justice, look for that child, and solve that crime? Was it too expensive based on their perceived value of the victim (like my recently adopted 12 year orphan babysitter), were they protecting someone, or were they just too stupid to do the job? I wonder how many kids might have been found and/or would have been found if not for the deceit and/or performance of these so-called symbols of authority.
We have all had the opportunity to see firsthand the ineptitude and incompetence of law enforcement when they recently excavated the remains of the victims of the speed freak killers in Calaveras County. The way they exhumed the remains with tractors and stockpiled the excavated soil and remains reminded me of a bunch of kids playing in a sandbox. This was either the result of economics (which should never be a factor when it comes to justice as guaranteed by our Constitution). Or was it blatant ignorance. They could have and should have provided shoring and excavated the remains using forensic archaeologists in order to preserve all aspects of the exhumation and investigation. This is what happens when you allow people to make decisions that are obviously way above their pay-grade.
As far as what happened to my babysitter and me when it came to receiving our guaranteed justice, we were denied by those so-called symbols of authority. You know, the ones that decide who is worth bringing justice for and who is not. They are the liars, the deceivers, the betrayers of our society that make justice in America nothing but a joke. If you sing a song, are on TV, or are connected to someone with money or politics, then justice will come to you. But if you are a “nobody” with nothing, well, it’s like they say in New York “forget about it”.
Forrest Canutt
1. The Murder of My Guardian Angel
It always starts the same, a man at the foot of the bed, he has on white pants, his shoes are off and he’s taking off his white tee shirt and pants, Then, I notice that there is a young girl in bed next to me. She looks about 12 or at the most 13 years old. She has medium to light brown hair that is combed and tied back in a ponytail. She is wearing a nightgown, and is looking at the same man as I am. The man comes around to her side of the bed and climbs in next to her. At that time, I thought it was my cousin, so I was happy about that, but soon realized it wasn’t him. He climbed up on the young girl and began to fondle her, she began to cry, and then I began to cry. He then sat up on his knees, grabbed me by the hair, swung my head left, then right really hard, throwing me out of the bed and up against the wall. She started yelling for me to run, “run Forrest, run Forrest” (this is one of the reasons I would not watch that movie Forrest Gump for a long time. When you hear it for real, it takes the comedy right out of it). I got up and ran as fast as I could right out of the house and stopped on the walkway. I was still dressed in my pants and shirt but had no shoes or socks on. That was the first time that she saved me.
I did not know the man who attacked us, and I don’t believe the girl knew him either. Since I don’t know his name, for purposes of identification, I call him the “bad guy”. He looked about 6’ to 6’2”, about 200 to 220 pounds, short, wavy dark hair combed straight back, light olive complexion, and wore bright white navy pants like you see them wear on the ships.
I was staying at my Aunt and Uncles ranch in Calaveras County. It was called the 44 Ranch. Since my father’s death, I guess my mother shipped all five of us kids in different directions and to different relatives for a while, but for some reason, I was there alone that night with just the babysitter to watch over me. The ranch was one square mile in size, and three miles from town. The ranch was very dark and very scary for a little boy only 5 years old. There were two houses opposing each other in the wide driveway. Barbed wire fence surrounded the two houses, and there was a gate at the top of the driveway. The fencing and gate established a secure compound for keeping cows, large animals and unwanted people out. The house I was in was very old and was used as kind of a bunk house for visitors. When you first entered from the walkway, there was a screened in breezeway about six feet wide that went from the front of the house to the back. It was used for storage, washing clothes. Etc. Once entering the breezeway, you turn right, and enter the kitchen. The kitchen is square, with a small rectangular
