On Jan. 7, the clean-cut, caramel-colored 35-year-old believed responsible hung his head as Judge Thomas Motley read an account of what happened. Though he'd come into the brightly lit room to plead guilty, if Ajene Jones killed that woman—hurt her children—he didn't mean to. Standing in room 319 of the D.C. Superior Court building in an orange prison jump suit, he told the judge he didn't even remember the day in its entirety.

What he does remember: Using a Dodge Ram van to help a friend move out of an apartment. Buying and smoking a PCP-laced cigarette. Then, being strapped to an ambulance stretcher. "You were in an accident," he was told.

But no matter how out of it Jones might have been, police wouldn't see what happened as an accident. They'd see it as murder. At about 7:00 pm., Jones zoomed the van he was driving onto the 3600 block of Alabama Avenue SE, doing over 52 mph in a 25-mph zone. He was also driving down the wrong side of the street. He burst into Wimbush's life like a cannon.

As Jones agreed to a deal in which he would enter an Alford plea of guilty to voluntary manslaughter and aggravated assault charges, Motley made sure he understood what that meant. "I could sentence you up to 50 years, do you understand that?" the judge asked. Jones said he did. He'll be sentenced on March 11.

In the future, there could be more incidents like the one Jones was convicted of. Though in the District, PCP isn't as prevalent as crack, a 2010 Metropolitan Police Department intelligence report obtained from a police source says use of the drug is increasing: "Presently, the number of PCP users in the District of Columbia is low, but has increased threefold over the past two years and the demand for PCP continues to rise." (Of course, such reports are frequently used to justify budget requests for more resources to fight whatever scourge they're about.)

The report also mentions how "street distributors" peddle the drug in or around public housing complexes and residential housing areas, and that the business can be lucrative.

"Most street sellers possess either one ounce or a half ounce clear glass bottle containing the liquid PCP," the report says. "The buyer will produce their own cigarette to the seller." Sellers then dip the buyers' cigarettes in the drug. Newport is the most popular cigarette used for the "dipper," the report says. The doused cigarettes costs about $25 a pop.

It turns out that when your uncle's a guru, he acts a little weird. He sits on a bed with the writer in silence, smirking. But I think the weirdest part in the piece comes before he joins the Hare Krishnas:

He thought about suicide, got kicked out of school and spoke of moving to Nepal. "Where did I go so wrong?" my grandmother, who still lives in Germany, wrote in her diary back then. One afternoon, terrified of losing her connection with her son, then 17 or 18, my grandmother, a good Lutheran, sat with him at the kitchen table and got high on LSD.

Emphasis added. Can you think of anything wilder than doing acid with your mom? No word on how her drawings skills were affected.

Speaking of drugs, police officers in Montgomery County discovered a drug operation Friday after being called to investigate a noise complaint. After the partiers refused to turn down the music, officers checked out the apartment, where they found $15,000 in weed, Ecstacy, and PCP. They also found a one-year-old child in a closet, which is much less fun.

IN CASE YOU MISSED IT—DDOT Starts Construction on 11th Street Bridge Project, Sort of; and what's up with Cathy Lanier's latest All Hands On Deck summons?

Morning all. Given all that's happening out there this week, choosing a top story of the day is a tough call, but I am going with this one: ST. Es STILL STRUGGLING—That's according to a new report completed by civil rights attorneys for the federal government and summarized by the Washington Post's Henri Cauvin. This is quite an issue. As the Post notes, the District's hospital for the mentally ill is "falling short in patient safety, nursing care and other areas covered by a court settlement intended to reform the infamous institution in Southeast Washington."

More: "Indeed, the findings reflect the steep challenges facing the District as it attempts to remake the hospital and the rest of the mental health system and to end the long-running class action suit over care of the mentally ill. From the new hospital building that is scheduled to open in March on the St. Elizabeths campus to the closure of the government's main outpatient treatment agency, the D.C. Department of Mental Health has hardly been still over the past few years.

But the pace of change has yet to satisfy the federal judge overseeing the class action suit or the Justice Department team monitoring the settlement agreement for St. Elizabeths, the only public psychiatric hospital in the city and a landmark with a long, sometimes troubled history."

After the jump: More on St. Es; what's up with the D.C. snow cleanup budget for the rest of the winter?; EPA talks tough on C-Bay pollution; can't someone generate a blog post at D.C. Wire?; and a little bit more.

One of the report's major concerns is a gang rape that occurred at St. Es in July. According to the report, the event wasn't even mentioned in "routine treatment reviews of three of the four alleged attackers. But while the documents failed to note the rape allegation, one of the alleged assailant's documents recommended, without explanation, that the patient be observed for 'sexually inappropriate behavior.'"

The bigger picture here is that the city, under the direction of Attorney General Peter Nickles, is seeking to pull St. Es out of the governance arrangement under which it currently operates—that is, with oversight from the courts and the Justice Department. No wonder that Nickles told the Post that the reform effort at St. Es "reflects real progress and a strong commitment to improving care." Examiner on same.

Older drivers are out there.

WARNING FROM THE FEDS TO CHES-BAY WATERSHED STATES: CURB POLLUTION OR ELSE! In years past, the EPA hasn't been too terribly tough on states around here that contribute to pollution in the glorious Chesapeake Bay. Now that's changing, according to Post reporter David Fahrenthold. Here's what could the feds could do if these states—and the nonstate District of Columbia—don't heed their watersheddy duties, according to the Post account: 1) "Object to state-issued permits for new sources of pollution, such as factories, sewage-treatment plants or suburban storm sewers." 2) "Require states to offset pollution in one area by cutting it in another. If a state can't find ways to curb pollution from farms, for instance, the EPA could require stricter cuts from sewage-treatment plants." 3) "Take tighter control of federal money that goes to states for antipollution programs, to make sure it is used to solve outstanding problems."

I'll bet these watershed states are quaking now! Examiner on same.

HOW MANY SEAT INCHES DO YOU NEED? That's the question at which Metro Columnist Courtland Milloy tilts. He laments that he can't get comfy on flights and he's not fat, either. Airlines assume 18 inches if good enough for a seat to accommodate the average American, whereas movie theaters and other industries are realizing that 22 is a better bet. Milloy says he measures 18 inches and still couldn't deal with his seat on the way home from Houston.

Better stock up on those quarters. That's the message from WaPo staff writer Nikita Stewart's piece on how area budget crises are going to affect parking and other activities around the region. The skinny for D.C.ites: "The District's fiscal year began Oct. 1 and brought increases in sales, cigarette and gas taxes. But there's more to come Friday, with the bag fee [five cents per plastic bag]. And by mid-January, the city will complete the conversion of 14,749 parking spaces to charge $2 an hour." Let LLD translate that for you: If you just want to make a quick stop to get a cup of coffee, you'd better scrounge up two quarters, at least. Because you're going to need 15 minutes for that ritual, especially in light of how many specialty coffee drinks are ordered these days. And 15 minutes, under these new rules, will cost you 50 cents. And don't think for a minute that you can duck in and get back out without detection by a parking goon: They're everywhere! Stewart gets some nice quote from Ward 2 Councilmember Jack Evans: "Nationally, people are fed up with the government nickeling and diming consumers. That's what we're doing. You can call 'em fees. They're all taxes. If it's a duck or a chicken, it's all a bird. ... Our challenge going forward is, with flat revenues, what are we going to do?"

More on the bag fee from the WaPo edit board: "The District is still days away from a new tax on plastic and paper bags, and the complaining has already started. That's understandable given the fundamental change in habit that people are being asked to make. Nonetheless, the new law is a worthy effort aimed at reducing local litter and cleaning up polluted waterways. Not only should it be vigorously enforced, but we also hope it spurs neighboring Virginia and Maryland to follow suit."

And letter writers to WaPo keep alive the great debate over the actions of D.C. Police officer Michael Baylor, he who drew a gun at a snowball fight at the corner of 14th and U Streets NW on Dec. 19. One Gerald E. Sheldon of Rockville responds to a previous letter writer who defended Baylor because he knew of someone who lost an eye during a snowball fight. Writes Sheldon: "There is not much danger to the driver after he stops his vehicle and is still inside his car. I suspect very little in the way of injuries due to thrown snowballs is inflicted on people inside Hummers. Once the car has come to a stop, the driver's exiting the vehicle and escalating the situation by drawing a gun is what causes danger, such as in the situation at 14th and U." And one Vincent M. Vacca of D.C.: "In all three Dec. 26 letters about the D.C. snowball fight and snowstorm, I noted a feeling of, if not forgiveness, then perhaps understanding of off-duty Detective Michael Baylor's pulling out his gun after his Hummer was pelted with snowballs. Is it that Mr. Baylor doesn't subscribe to the admonition that law enforcers never unsheathe a weapon unless they intend to use it?"

D.C. Wire STILL IDLE! Come on, this is getting embarrassing. I mean, it still features that Dec. 23 item on Nickles commenting on Fenty's security detail. Yeah, we all know this is dead week, but can't you just fake it or something. Yesterday, we here at LLD offered a few ideas on refreshing the blog, and nothing happens. Hasn't anyone else noticed that there's just no activity on this crucial blog? This is what it says on D.C. Wire's "about" page: "The D.C. Wire is live! Washington Post reporters will take you to the heart of the District's political life, from neighborhoods to the D.C. Council to Mayor Adrian M. Fenty's bullpen." Please, D.C. Wire contributors, make all those words resonate. Get on the phone right now, and call a source. Just update this blog, today. The way I'm counting, you guys have six staffers on this blog. You can't all be skiiing this week. We'll check in with you tomorrow.

Examiner columnist Harry Jaffe makes a strong statement in favor of increasing penalties for PCP-related crimes. Using two anecdotes of possibly PCP-related mayhem, Jaffe says that the bill of Phil Mendelson to up penalties for PCP possession is inadequate. "Mendelson has introduced legislation to make PCP possession a felony, and to suggest jail time of 'not more than five years.' Mendelson makes a good start, but as often happens with this city council, he doesn't go far enough. Rather than 'not more than,' the language should read 'a minimum' of five years. We know that PCP causes random mayhem, violence and homicide. Let's take people who use it — and make it — off our streets."

And Examiner reporter Kytja Weir has this little nugget in a piece about snow removal and budgetary difficulties: "The snow budgets could be tapped again this week. The National Weather Service is forecasting light snow or freezing rain from overnight Wednesday into Friday. The District said Tuesday it was preparing to battle slick roads when revelers descended on the city for New Year's Eve. The city has spent $4 million of its $6.2 million snow removal budget, said District Department of Transportation spokeswoman Karyn Le Blanc." WaBizJo on same.

Ben Conery and David C. Lipscomb of the Washington Times get out of the gate with the first year-end crime roundup. And the data looks good, as we've been expecting: "The year is drawing to a close with homicides in the District at a 45-year low, reflecting a national trend that law enforcement officials are attributing to multipronged crime-prevention strategies that include advances in communication and coordination. With just two days left in the year, according to preliminary numbers from the police department, the District has had 138 homicides compared with 184 at the same time last year, setting up the city to record the lowest number of homicides since 1964, when 132 were reported killed. Metropolitan Police Department officials attribute the decline to a "perfect storm" of crime-fighting strategies, including a new culture of communication within the police department."

LLD's apologies to NBC4's Tom Sherwood, for failing to link to his excellent billboard-removal story of earlier this week. As is often the case, Sherwood comes up with angles and facts that aren't in other accounts.

Police have ID'd the pedestrian killed at the intersection of 16th and Park Road on Monday morning. Also: Man arrested for 1998 murder in Northeast.

Fenty Today: 2:30 pm, Remarks: Uniform Grantmaking Procedures Announcement. Location: 441 4th Street, NW

• Jesse Finfrock of Mother Jones recently interviewed Robert King, who was released after 29 years in solitary confinement when a judge reversed his conviction in 2001. An excerpt: "In 1972, King was assigned to solitary confinement (for allegedly plotting to kill a guard—a murder that occurred before he arrived at Angola), where he would ultimately spend 29 years. Ensconced 23 hours a day in a 6-by-9-foot cell, King kept himself busy reading, writing, studying law—and experimenting with pralines. He fashioned a cook pot out of segments of soda cans stacked together like a chimney. For fuel, he wrapped lengths of toilet paper into tight rings, tucked the ends in on themselves, and lit them under his makeshift stove. All of this took place on the edge of his toilet; he could easily knock the whole contraption into the bowl to avoid being busted for contraband. For the most part, the guards looked the other way."
• Jack Shafer calls out WaPo for sensationalizing a recent story about PCP: "Although PCP has long been part of the area's drugscape, the Post has rarely done more than accept police department and prosecutor handouts in reporting on the topic. For instance, if the police declare a "street value" for a quantity of seized PCP, the Post automatically publishes it."
• Recent reports from Time Out Chicago and East Bay Express suggest that Yelp.com, a site that features user-generated reviews of businesses, punishes companies that refuse to advertise on the Yelp site by deleting or misplacing positive reviews: "'Nicholas Paul, an instructor at an art studio in Chicago (which did not want to be named for fear of retribution) and who handles the studio’s advertising, said that Yelp approached him to advertise starting in July of 2008. After he turned them down, ‘then all of a sudden three of our positives disappeared and then we got two negative ones,’ he said. Of the original thirteen reviews they had, only eight now remain, four of which are negative. Paul says the sales rep told him he could control that. ‘We could basically adjust the way our reviews are read,’ Paul said the rep told him. ‘We could highlight the ones we wanted and put the ones we didn’t want on the backburner.’”
• AIG isn't the only company giving out big bonuses in the midst of a recession: "Wal-Mart Stores Inc. (WMT) is making its largest ever annual award to employees, handing out roughly $2 billion to its rank and file U.S. workers through measures including bonuses, profit sharing and discounts. The financial incentives for hourly workers include $933.6 million in bonuses that the retailer is handing out Thursday. There is another $788.8 million in profit sharing and 401(k) contributions, and hundreds of millions of dollars in merchandise discounts and contributions to the employees' stock purchase plan, said Chief Executive Mike Duke in a memo to employees Thursday....The bonus averages $933.60 for each qualified employee, ranging from cashiers to shelf stockers."[H/t Katherine Mangu-Ward]
• Mark Jenkins, the mastermind behind D.C.'s stuffed-bear installations, made it on NY's Wooster Collective blog.

That's it for me, folks. Have yourselves a nice weekend.

Just before 3 p.m., Judge Harold Cushenberry Jr. sentences Dante Dickens. The judge had found him guilty of the PCP charge (aka holding a dipper while asleep at the wheel of an idling car on Alabama Avenue). Before the judge could issue his penalty, he had to hear from the prosecutor and defense attorney.

The prosecutor wanted jail time. Not serious jail time, but still. Ninety-days most of which would be suspended plus probation. Dickens was smoking PCP while in an idling car. People could have been hurt, the prosecutor argues. He was behind the wheel. He also has a history of charges including domestic violence, a child neglect/abuse charge, a gun charge from long ago. And old positive drug tests.

The defense attorney notes that Dickens has a job and has tested clean since getting this charge. He asks for probation. Then Dickens takes up his own boilerplate defense.

"I have improved a lot as far as the community and myself," Dickens says. "I do extra. I do things for the youth....I'm a human being."

Judge Cushenberry takes it all in and issues his sentence. There's no going back to judges' chambers. No consulting the great law books. The circumstances of the PCP charge may have been unusual but the actual nuts and bolts are not. It's still a possession charge. It's simple and petty and heard-it-all-before stuff.

Cushenberry gives Dickens: one-year probation, 150-day suspended sentence, 50 hours of community service, and fines him $50 to be paid into the victims of crime fund.

Dickens gets a break.

While Dickens fills out paper work, the prosecutor goes and tells the officers who are waiting in a witness room. Officer Harris is pleased enough with the result. "I'm glad he's found guilty," Harris says. "Let's me know I did a good job."

Within a few minutes, Dickens walks out with a female friend. "I feel OK," he says. "It could have been worse."

Dickens still can't explain the dipper and why it was in his hand. "I don't know," he says. "They found it on me." Outside D.C. Superior Court's main entrance, Dickens pulls out a Newport ready to forget the whole damn day.

So what did he learn? "Stay in the house."

The Dipper Man has nodded off. Dante Dickens is sitting outside Courtroom 321. His belly is full of Burger King. His eyes are closed. His shiny head tilts off to the left against his jacket color. He is wearing his work boots, dark blue work pants, and a work shirt with his name sewn on his chest. In a few minutes, he gets to see the resolution of his drug case. Prosecutors and police alleged that he was found asleep in his idling car, a dipper in his hand on August 22, 2008.

Dickens had gotten to D.C. Superior Court at 8:30 a.m. He says he works as a maintenance man in a White Oak apartment building.

Dickens had to wait on the prosecution's last witness, the chemist. Judge Harold Cushenberry Jr. decided to call for lunch. The proceedings are set to begin in a few minutes at 2:20 p.m. Dickens wakes himself up and walks into the empty court room. He takes a seat in the back.

Judge Cushenberry appears.

"Where's the chemist?" he asks from the bench.

Prosecutor Matthew Kluge goes and gets her from the witness room just outside the courtroom. It's 2:27 p.m. and that dipper has to be examined.

The chemist, Jennifer McKay, takes the stand. She is dressed in a black pantsuit and glasses. She looks small on the witness stand. She runs down lab no. LV792 aka the dipper. She says the dipper tested positive for PCP.

The dipper, McKay says, had 3.7 percent purity/concentration plus or minus .3 percent. It weighed .0081 grams. "It was slightly burned," she says of the dipper. "Because it had been smoked."

To test it, McKay testifies that she cut off the dipper's filter. She did not test to see if the dipper contained tobacco. But she stated that it was a "brown colored plant material."

Dickens' defense attorney David Stringer asks whether there was any way to know where the PCP came from: the wrapper or the "brown colored plant material?" Or the filter?

Stringer is in a deep bind. There's just no way of getting around that positive test for PCP no matter how many questions he asks about the untested filter or the variations of purity. A dipper is still gonna be a dipper. Dickens can only look on expressionless. This is just defense attorney business.

At 2:50 p.m., it's Dickens' turn. Judge Cushenberry asks Dickens if he plans to testify. Stringer confers with his client. Then asks for two or three minutes outside the courtroom. The request is granted.

Dickens and his attorney leave. The courtroom suddenly becomes the quietest place in the world. There is no talking. Judge Cushenberry just stares out in the rows of empty seats. The prosecutor keeps his head in his notes. The time does not fly.

Dickens and the attorney are retrieved by a courtroom clerk. Dickens has decided against testifying. After the prosecutor makes his closing (running down the basic events:

*Dickens was seen in his idling car asleep.

*911 was called.

*When Officer Harris and his partner arrived, they could not wake Dickens up. Fire and EMS were called. They could not do anything to rouse the man.

*Officer Harris' partner reached into the car and turned it off. The officer noticed the car smelled like PCP smoke.

*Dickens was found with a dipper in his hand. The dipper tested positive for PCP.

Now it is Stringer's turn. He argues there was no proof that Dickens was smoking that cigarette. "I don't know what the cigarette was doing in Mr. Dickens' hand," Stringer argues. "He may not know either."

Sometimes defense attorneys have so very little to work with. Stringer then asks for the "benefit of the doubt" and takes a seat.

"There is no doubt," Judge Cushenberry says.

It is 12:30 p.m. and Officer Harris is sitting outside the courtroom with a fellow cop. Harris is reading an Examiner. The other cop is tearing through James Patterson's Violets Are Blue. Both just testified in the case of the dipper man who fell asleep at the wheel. But there's been one snag.

A prosecution witness—the chemist—hasn't shown up. The judge wants to give the chemist five more minutes. The prosecutor stands by Harris and dials the chemist on his cellphone. Judge Harold L. Cushenberry Jr. seems patient enough.

Harris and the other cop can't quite believe this case went to trial. The dipper man was caught asleep at the wheel holding a PCP-laced smoke. Case closed. Well, almost.

The dipper man has a name: Dante Dickens. And Dickens has an attorney. They had just called a witness who was in the car shortly before the arrest. The witness is a cousin. Dickens had driven him and a female friend to another residence.

The prosecutor uses up his cross-examination on what kind of relationship the cousin had with Dickens. It's way off topic but necessary.

"Do you help him on occasion?" the prosecutor asks.

Sure.

"Does the defendant smoke cigarettes?" the prosecutor asks.

"Yes," the cousin replies.

Nothing further. There is no one in the courtroom except one woman who is there supporting Dickens and the cousin. Judge Cushenberry calls for a lunch break. Everyone has to return by 2 p.m.

Dickens walks out into the hallway past the two cops. He walks fast. His bald head is shiny with sweat. There's a few days growth of beard on his face. He is wearing his work uniform. Lunch is next. Then the chemist. And maybe time in the witness chair.

"I'm in neutral," Dickens says. "It could change any second. You never know."

Officer Harris takes the escalator up to the third floor inside D.C. Superior Court. He then does what all officers must do every morning in the courthouse: check in on his case. He walks over to courtroom 321 and scans the printout case list taped to the door. His case is there.

It's almost 9 a.m. This morning, he skipped breakfast and coffee, and took the Green Line from Camp Springs. Officer Harris says he had to be at Superior Court by 8:30. It's his day off. "Unfortunately," Harris says, "if we don't come we get in trouble."

Harris is stuck standing outside courtroom 321 because of some other guy's troubles. This past summer, he arrested a guy for possession of PCP. One of the easiest arrests he's ever made.

"Someone was driving along and smoking PCP," Harris says. "They fell asleep at the wheel at an intersection [Alabama and 32nd Street SE]. We came on the scene. He still had the dipper. He still had it in his hand. Car still in drive. Foot on the brake."

The man didn't wake up until he was in a hospital bed, Harris says. "That's when he got combative," Harris recalls. "He didn't know what was going on. He's like 'What am I here for? I didn't do anything.'"

"It was funny," Harris says. The Sixth District officer is telling his story at the end of the long hallway, in a darkened nook just outside his courtroom. At 9:15, his cellphone rings.

"They told me it's up in courtroom 321. Yes. OK. I'll come in. No he's not here. OK. All right."

Harris hangs up. It's the prosecutor calling from inside the courtroom.

"He wants me to come in," Harris says.