Second body-cam video deleted after George Pino boat crash, FWC says
The body camera footage of a second officer at the scene of a Biscayne Bay boat crash that killed a teenage girl — asked by his boss to 'smell' the boat operator to see if he could detect alcohol — has been deleted, the Miami Herald confirmed Thursday with the state agency that investigated the crash.
This marks the second time within four weeks that the Florida Fish and Wildlife Conservation Commission, responding to the Herald's questioning, admitted that two of its officers at the crash scene who were watching over George Pino, the boat operator, deleted their body camera footage.
Body-camera footage has to be retained in criminal investigations, the FWC's own policy stipulates.
In this latest deletion, FWC Officer Keith Hernandez, the one asked to smell Pino for alcohol, mislabeled his body camera footage when he uploaded it, causing it to be deleted after 90 days, FWC spokesperson Ashlee Sklute said Thursday. The revelation came after the Herald requested Hernandez's body camera footage from the night of the crash, Sept. 4, 2022, and was told there was none.
'At this time, we do not have an explanation beyond human error for why the officers mislabeled their recordings in the audio storage system,' Sklute said.
Hernandez is one of a handful of FWC officers who had direct access to Pino after the crash. His conservation with his boss, William Thompson, the lead FWC investigator, about smelling Pino was captured on Thompson's body cam footage.
Thompson spoke to Hernandez as he and Pino were on boat heading to a triage center set up on Elliott Key, where Thompson eventually questioned Pino that night. As the boat pulls away from Thompson's vessel, Thomson yelled toward Hernandez, 'Keith Hernandez!' He then tells him quietly, 'Smell,' indicating he wanted Hernandez to smell Pino for alcohol.
Hernandez was escorting Pino to the ranger station, where the injured passengers were taken, according to Thompson's body cam footage. While Pino received medical attention from paramedics, Pino 'stated that he has 2 beers total for the day' and recounted the events leading up to the crash, according to Thompson's body-cam footage.
Pino's attorneys interviewed Hernandez last week, but transcripts of that proceeding were not available as of Thursday.
The other officer whose body camera footage was deleted from that night, Julien Gazzola, gave a sworn statement to prosecutors and Pino's lawyers in April. He told them Pino appeared intoxicated that night, noting he had bloodshot eyes when he shined a flashlight on his face, was disoriented and smelled of alcohol.
The FWC also said Gazzola's footage was deleted because the officer mislabeled it.
READ MORE: How investigators, prosecutors bungled probe into boat crash that killed teen girl
Pino rammed his 29-foot Robalo into a fixed channel marker in Biscayne Bay that night. He and his wife Cecilia were celebrating their daughter's 18th birthday and had invited 11 of her teenage girlfriends to join them in the boat outing. They were returning from Elliott Key to the Ocean Reef Club when the boat hit the marker, causing it to capsize and hurtling the passengers into the bay.
Luciana 'Lucy' Fernandez, 17, died after being trapped under the boat. Katerina 'Katy' Puig, her classmate at Our Lady of Lourdes Academy, suffered traumatic brain injury and is relearning how to walk after the crash.
READ MORE: Pino smelled of alcohol, had 'bloodshot eyes' after deadly boat crash, FWC cop says
When reached Thursday, the Fernandezes declined to comment on the missing footage.
'Since the criminal case remains pending, we will not be making any comments at this time,' Melissa and Andres Fernandez said in a text to the Herald.
FWC's policy says footage must be kept in criminal investigation
When asked about Gazzola's footage being deleted, FWC chair Rodney Barreto told the Herald that the officer 'mistakenly classified his body-worn camera footage as 'incidental' when he uploaded it to the FWC's body camera system.'
Because the footage wasn't classified as being part of a criminal investigation, it was automatically deleted by the system after 90 days, Barreto said.
'Our technology team has looked into the issue, but the footage is not available,' Barreto said.
Four days after the crash, the FWC and the Miami-Dade State Attorney's Office were already contemplating misdemeanor criminal charges for Pino, according to a text conversation between Miami-Dade State Attorney Katherine Fernandez Rundle and FWC Lt. Col. Alfredo Escanio, the deputy director of the south region, which the Herald obtained through a public records request.
Escanio asked Fernandez Rundle for contact information for the chief of the misdemeanor section at the State Attorney's Office. She provided it and noted the chief would be expecting the FWC's call.
If body-cam footage is part of a criminal investigation, it must be retained, legal experts say.
In fact, the FWC's own record-retention policy says body-camera footage related to misdemeanor charges must be stored for five years and a felony charge for 13 years, according to FWC records obtained by the Herald through public records requests.
Footage labeled as 'incidental' — which is how the FWC says its two officers labeled their footage — includes encounters where people are issued warnings or non-criminal infraction citations, the policy says. It's stored only for 90 days.
Felony charge after Herald investigation
Pino was initially charged with three misdemeanor counts of careless boating in August 2023, although the State Attorney's Office upgraded those charges to vessel homicide, a felony punishable by up to 15 years in prison, on Oct. 31, after a Miami Herald investigation into the crash.
The Herald's investigation led to new witnesses coming forward, prompting the Miami-Dade State Attorney's Office to reevaluate its case, drop the three misdemeanors and charge Pino with the second-degree felony, which also carries a $10,000 fine.
The Herald's investigation detailed a flawed probe by FWC investigators, including key witnesses who were never contacted and the FWC deciding not to give a Pino a sobriety test at the scene despite him telling investigators he had been drinking that day.
The FWC said it did not have probable cause to get a warrant to force Pino to take the sobriety test. But training manuals from both the FWC and State Attorney's Office list significant injuries and deaths as probable cause for a blood draw in a sobriety test, the Herald investigation found.
The day after the crash, the FWC found more than 60 empty booze containers on the boat. Pino's defense attorney, Howard Srebnick, said the empty booze containers found on Pino's boat stemmed from five boats tied up that day on Elliott Key.
Thompson, the FWC lead investigator in the case, wrote in his final report that the reason Pino declined to voluntarily submit blood to test for alcohol consumption because his lawyer wasn't present. However, in Thompson's body camera footage of the conversation, Pino declined because he had 'two beers.' That admission was not mentioned in Thompson's report.
Pino has pleaded not guilty.
More missing evidence?
The two missing body camera files are actually the third pieces of evidence that have disappeared, says an attorney for the Fernandez family.
A few weeks before the FWC filed its final report on the crash investigation in August 2023, the agency briefed the victims' families on the evidence.
Among the evidence investigators told the families existed were photos taken from a camera affixed to a channel marker by the feds to keep an eye on human smuggling via the waterways. That camera took intermittent shots of the waterway facing north in the 15 minutes leading up to the crash.
Pino had told the FWC that another boat heading toward his vessel threw a wake and caused him to lose control and crash into the channel marker. But, no witnesses on Pino's boat nor on any other boat in the channel that day saw that boat, according to the FWC's report.
Investigators told the families that they reviewed the shots from the camera on the channel marker and did not find evidence of another vessel heading toward Pino's boat, the families told the Herald last summer.
The final report mentions that photographic evidence refutes Pino's claim of another boat, however, it does not mention where the photographs came from. When the Fernandez family's attorney, Joel Denaro, filed a motion seeking that footage, he was told it no longer existed.
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Miami Herald
2 days ago
- Miami Herald
A daughter with DACA, a mother without papers, and a goodbye they can't bear
Michelle Valdes' mom thinks she sees immigration agents everywhere: in the lobby of the building where she cares for elderly clients, at the local outlet mall, on downtown corners. The fear is constant. Driving to work, going to the store —just leaving the house feels too risky for her. At work, while she cooks and cleans in her clients' homes, she listens as stories of immigration detentions, deportations and constantly changing laws and policies play loudly in English from the TV. The 67-year-old undocumented Colombian national who has lived in the United States for more than a third of her life has stopped driving completely, opting for Uber, and ducking down in the backseat when she sees police officers. As a Jehovah's Witness, she has chosen not to do her door-to-door ministry and only attends church on Zoom. But what keeps her up at night these days is that she will soon go without seeing her daughter, likely for close to a decade. She is preparing to leave the United States after 23 years, leaving behind her 31-year-old daughter, a DACA recipient or 'Dreamer' who came to the United States when she was 8 and is still in the process of gaining her green card. Deferred Action for Childhood Arrivals, or DACA, is a federal program that protects undocumented people who came to the U.S. as children from deportation. 'I don't want to feel like I'm going to be spending two months in some detention center in the middle of God knows where, where none of my family members see me,' she said in Spanish during an interview with the Herald. She asked not to use her name for this story because she fears she could be targeted. 'I'm done,' she said. Her daughter's immigration situation is also precarious, even though she is married to a U.S. citizen. His family, from Cuba, got lucky when they won the visa lottery. But her family did not have such luck. Valdes' family did what immigrants often do: They fled danger, asked for political asylum, hired lawyers and filed paperwork. And they lost. Last year, only 19.3% of Colombian asylum cases were approved, according to researchers at Syracuse University. Even in 2006, when violence was at a very high point in Colombia, only 32% of asylum cases were approved. Their family's story reveals the toll a constantly changing and exceedingly complicated immigration system has on families who tried to 'do the right thing' and legalize their status. Now, under President Trump's administration, which has ramped up enforcement and the optics around it, being undocumented has become even more hazardous. People who have been living and working in the shadows in the United States are now being forced to decide if the reward of seeking a better life is still worth the risk. And those who are following the rules are afraid the rules will keep changing. The mother has already started packing boxes. Denied asylum Valdes' mom had never heard of the American Dream. She said she had never even heard the phrase 'el sueño americano' before coming to the United States. The family fled Colombia in 2002, leaving behind comfort and status. Valdes' mother had been an architect in Cartagena, a city on the South American nation's Caribbean coast. The family had a driver, a cook and a nanny. But violence by the Fuerzas Armadas Revolucionarias de Colombia, the rebel group known as FARC, was encroaching on their lives: armed robbery at their home, threatening calls and the kidnapping of her cousin, a wealthy businessperson. The family was forced to pay a ransom for his release. The early 2000s in Colombia, under President Andrés Pastrana, were years of intense violence by guerrilla gangs such as the FARC, who targeted wealthier Colombians. 'They would just pick up anybody who they believed they could get money from,' said Valdes. Her aunt would often call Valdes' mom from Florida, telling her their family would be safer here. The family arrived on a tourist visa in 2002, found a lawyer and applied for asylum. It was denied in 2004. Under U.S. immigration policy, people who have suffered persecution due to factors such as race, religion, nationality, membership to a social group, or political opinion can apply for asylum. It must be filed within a year of arrival in the United States. Valdes' family's interview did not go well and they were placed in removal proceedings. They appealed and in 2006 took the case to the U.S. Board of Immigration Appeals. The family's asylum application claimed that Valdes' mom would be killed by the FARC guerilla gang if she returned to Colombia, in connection with her cousin's kidnapping. But the court ultimately found holes in her case, and said her fear is not well founded and that she failed to prove that she would be in danger if she returned to Colombia. Their final motion was denied in part because it was filed 45 days late, according to the court filing. Valdes was just 11 years old when the courts denied her family's final plea to stay in the United States. The family was issued removal orders. 'I feel like I made a mistake asking for asylum,' said Valdes' mother. 'I wasn't guided well because I was scared and didn't know what to do.' She says predatory lawyers charged her close to $40,000 but never told her the truth about her odds of winning the case. 'It's pure show,' she said in Spanish. 'I believed they would help, but they did nothing.' By then, Valdes and her brothers were attending public schools in West Palm Beach, a right undocumented children have because of a supreme court ruling which passed narrowly in the early '80s. 'I just kind of poured my whole life into school, just to kind of distract myself from other things going on in life, specifically with immigration,' she said. In fifth grade, she won the science fair. At Roosevelt Middle School she was in the pre-med program and the national junior honor society. She always had A's and B's in school. But when her middle school national honor society was invited to Australia, she had to stay behind, unable to travel because she was undocumented. At Suncoast Community High School, she was invited to sing in a choir concert in Europe, but again, she could not go. In 2007, ICE detained Valdes' parents and her eldest brother. Her other brother and Valdes were picked up from school and reunited with their parents at the ICE office. Valdes' mom said the officer told her that since the family had a removal order, they needed to deport at least one person to prove they completed their quota for the day. But to this day, Valdes and her mother can't fully explain why the father was deported but they were released. Was it luck? Did the ICE officers sympathize with their family? Then 13, Valdes remembers standing in the Miami immigration office as agents took her father away. 'He was wearing jeans, a tan coat and a gray-blue fisherman's hat,' she said. 'What I remember the most is that there was, like, some sort of feeling that I got, that I knew that I was never gonna see him again.' He was deported in January of 2007, when Valdes was in seventh grade. It was the only semester she ever failed in school, she said. Her father died at 69 in Colombia in 2022. A petition for him to get legal status and return to the U.S., filed on his behalf of his son from a previous marriage, was approved a year after his death, said Valdes. '17 years too late,' she said, in tears. DACA as a lifeline In 2012, Valdes and her mother were preparing to leave the United States for good. Flights were booked. Boxes mailed. Then, just 14 days before departure, President Obama announced the Deferred Action for Childhood Arrivals program. The program was meant to protect children like Valdes, who came to the U.S. at a young age. Valdes was 18. Her phone lit up with messages from people in her community who knew she was undocumented. She applied that October. As a 'Dreamer,' or DACA recipient, she's protected from deportation and able to work legally — but can't travel outside the country. Her two older brothers, Ricardo and Jean Paul, had already left the country by then. After attending public schools and graduating from high school, the brothers could not attend college or find work. So in 2011, they returned to Colombia, and their mother sent them money to attend university. They both still live there and haven't seen their mom in 14 years. Valdes' situation was slightly better, but without legal permanent residency, she didn't qualify for most scholarships. The one scholarship she did get was a $4,000 scholarship from the Global Education Center at Palm Beach State, but $1,500 was deducted in taxes because she was considered a foreign student. Starting in 2014, Florida universities provided in-state tuition waivers for undocumented students under certain conditions. But because Valdes didn't enroll in college within a year of graduating from high school, she lost access to the waiver. That waiver was recently canceled in Florida for undocumented students, and starting July 1, at least 6,500 DACA recipients in Florida enrolled in public universities will have to pay the out-of-state tuition rate. 'When people asked me what I wanted for my birthday, I would ask for money to pay my tuition,' she said. Throughout those years, people would come to Valdes asking for help filling out their work permit applications, DACA applications and other legal forms, and they would say, 'Wow, you are so good at it.' Although she never wanted to do anything law or immigration related, she kept getting pulled in that direction, and decided to get her paralegal certificate, Valdes said. She now works at an immigration law office. Her plan is to go to law school after getting hands on training. 'I always thought: When I turn 18, I'm an adult — 'why am I still tied to my mom's case?' ' she said. 'But nobody explained it.' At her job in the law office, she finally learned the full truth of her case. Her name is still listed on her mother's asylum application — the case that was denied in 2006. So she still had a final removal order connected to her name. That case, and its order of removal, still haunts her. Although she's married to a U.S. citizen, it will take her years to adjust her status to get a green card and permanent residency status. The process will involve her husband filing petitions and waivers explaining that it would be an extreme hardship for him if she were deported. Valdes will have to leave the country and re-enter. In all, the process could take around eight years. Former president Joe Biden had a program to help people like Valdes, whose family is of 'mixed-status' but the program was shut down by Republicans. Immigration attorneys say there are fewer and fewer pathways for people married to U.S. citizens to legalize their status. The roadblocks and complications frustrate Valdes to tears. Valdes said that it is not fair that 'under our immigration system, a child, at such a young age, has to suffer the consequences of the parents' mistakes.' 'No es justo, no es justo,' she said, crying. It's not fair. But immigration laws, enforcement and policies are changing every day. 'People say 'get in line, get in line, get in line,' and then you get in line, and it's like, 'Oh, too bad, you don't apply with that anymore, or we're just going to change the laws. Or, you know, you aged out, or you didn't submit by this day,' said Valdes. In the past weeks, ICE agents across the nation have even begun detaining people as they exit immigration courthouses. Some are individuals with final orders of deportation like Valdes and her mom. Just this week, the Supreme Court ruled that President Trump can revoke humanitarian parole for over 500,000 migrants from Cuba, Haiti, Nicaragua and Venezuela. President Trump has spoken favorably of DACA recipients, but nonetheless, 'Dreamers' still have to reapply every two years, and there is no guarantee their right to legally be in the U.S. will not be revoked. Immigration attorneys say DACA could be the next program to be shut down by the Supreme Court. 'How shaky is DACA? How solid is it?' Valdes asked. Same fear, different country Valdes' mom says she now feels the same fear in the United States as she did in Colombia — maybe worse. 'I'm scared. Terrified,' she said. 'I'm constantly looking over my shoulder, always on alert.' For years, she tried to hold on. But after 23 years, she's tired of living in limbo. Valdes and her mom try not to think much about the fact that they are leaving each other, focusing more on the present and getting through each day. Valdes' mom says her ultimate goal was always for her daughter to get an education in the United States, and now that her daughter has a job, a husband, and is planting roots, she feels like she can go and let her daughter live her life. She left Colombia because she was 'tired of being followed. I was tired of being paranoid. I was tired of never being able to have my freedom, to just live, because I was always so scared. And fast forward, 23 years later, I'm just in the same boat in a different country,' she said. The hardest part for Valdes is imagining being pregnant and then giving birth without her mom by her side. But, she says, 'Now I tell her, I totally understand. It's your turn to finish living your life, Mom. I want her to be at peace, and I want her to rest.' As her mother prepares to leave, Michelle is left with the frustration of knowing that there's nothing she can do. 'I am still helpless. I still can't help her. I still can't help myself. It's a looming darkness you carry every day,' said Valdes.
Yahoo
2 days ago
- Yahoo
Father-to-Be, 19, Killed by Falling Tree Limb: 'A Smile That Would Just Melt Your Heart'
A 19-year-old soon-to-be-father and former high school football star has died after he was struck by a tree branch The El Paso County Sheriff's Office said that 19-year-old Aiden Hernandez, of Woodland Park, Colo., died on May 29, following the work incident The former football player was set to welcome his first child with his longtime girlfriend in JulyA 19-year-old soon-to-be-father and former high school football star in Colorado has died after he was struck by a tree branch, local authorities say. The El Paso County Sheriff's Office confirmed to local outlet KRDO that 19-year-old Aiden Hernandez, of Woodland Park, Colo., died Thursday, May 29. Deputies were called to the scene after a work accident in Colorado Springs, about 70 miles south of Denver, just before 10 a.m. local time on May 29. Although they administered CPR, Hernandez was pronounced dead on the scene, the Sheriff's Office told the outlet. Members of the local community have spoken out about Hernandez's death. The soon-to-be-dad was a well-known high school football player and was described in his obituary as "a talented athlete" who was "known on the football field as 'The Beast,' a nickname earned through his passion, strength, and dedication to the game." "Incredible young man, great energy, A smile that would just melt your heart. Very intense. Very driven young man, even from an early age," the teen's former football coach, Chad Drummond, told KRDO. "It dropped me to the floor," Drummond said of the 19-year-old's death. "I don't know if I've still accepted it." The El Paso County Sheriff's Office did not immediately respond to PEOPLE's request for further information. Hernandez was expecting his first child, a boy to be named Zion, with his longtime girlfriend this summer. "He was preparing to be an incredible father and partner, ready to build a beautiful life full of love, adventure, and devotion," his obituary states. In his final Facebook post shared just hours before his death, Hernandez wrote: "I have no words for how much I love this woman, and for what we have coming! I'm forever grateful and I count the days down till we can meet little Zi." Never miss a story — sign up for to stay up-to-date on the best of what PEOPLE has to offer, from celebrity news to compelling human interest stories. Drummond told KRDO that his family was extremely close-knit. "If he had an event, everyone was there. If someone else in the family had an event, they were all there," Drummond said. "They supported each other from morning to night, which is why my heart breaks for this family. It is absolutely a catastrophic loss." The 19-year-old's family shared in his obituary that he "lived life to the fullest." "Whether he was jumping off cliffs, climbing mountains on camping trips, or swimming across Pueblo Reservoir, he approached every adventure with a fearless heart and a bright smile," the obituary adds. "Even during difficult times, Aiden's focus was always on lifting others and making the most of every moment." A celebration of life is set to be held on Sunday, June 7. Read the original article on People
Miami Herald
2 days ago
- Miami Herald
Outraged Broward sheriff lashes out at state attorney for arresting 3 deputies
Broward Sheriff Gregory Tony blasted the State Attorney's Office for arresting three corrections deputies who are accused of battering a woman they booked into jail almost three years ago. Tony said the deputies never should have been arrested, that the woman they're accused of beating attacked and injured them and he is reinstating them. 'So, we're moving forward from an internal-affairs standpoint. Our investigation has been completed. All three deputies will be reinstated to full capacity, and they've been either exonerated of these false allegations or it's been unfounded,' he said at a press briefing Friday morning. The State Attorney's Office arrested Sgt. Zakiyya Polk, Deputy Cleopatra Johnnie and Deputy Denia Walker last week on aggravated battery charges stemming from an Oct. 4, 2022, incident involving a woman being booked into jail on a charge of driving under the influence. Each faces up to 15 years in prison if convicted on the second-degree felony charge. Eric Schwartzreich, Polk's attorney, said she and the other 'detention deputies have not committed any crimes, or any policy violations.' 'As a criminal defense attorney that represents those that find themselves thrust into the criminal justice system, which at times includes deputies, this is the first time that the Sheriff and I have stood in solidarity and both of us agree that these deputies should not be charged with any crimes,' Schwartzreich said in an email to the Miami Herald. 'This is an important case for all of law enforcement. I applaud the Sheriff on his response and for standing up for the men and women who keep us safe.' According to the deputies' arrest warrant, the woman, 38-year-old Samantha Caputo, became argumentative when the deputies told her to remove her bra as she was changing from her personal clothes to her jail uniform. Polk pushed Caputo, and then Johnnie and Walker punched and kicked her several times, the warrant states. Walker and Polk also pepper-sprayed Caputo, and Polk shot prongs into her with her Taser stun gun, according to the warrant. After the struggle, Caputo had a hematoma under her right eye, bruises and a scar from the Taser prongs, the warrant states. The jail nurse treated her for her injuries, and she was hospitalized days later because the Taser wound became infected, according to the warrant. Tony stressed that security-camera footage shows the deputies used an appropriate amount of force in controlling Caputo. He said Caputo 'struck, scratched and bit' one of the deputies, puncturing the skin and fracturing her finger. 'The video is crystal clear that [the deputies] had demonstrated only the level of force necessary to get this individual back into compliance,' Tony said. 'Our standard is reasonable, necessary force in proportion to the threat to that which we face.' Tony struck out at Broward State Attorney Harold Pryor's office for pursuing charges against the deputies yet declining to charge in many cases against deputies and other public employees whom the sheriff's office recommends for prosecution. Referring to Polk, Johnnie and Walker as 'the select three,' Tony questioned why Pryor's office pursued them while ignoring other public-corruption leads from the sheriff's office. 'This is most certainly a miscarriage of justice and exhibits symptoms of public corruption in itself,' Tony said. Tony said that in his two terms he has taken deputy misconduct so seriously that he has fired 141 of them. He said he holds his deputies to strict standards when they use force. Pryor responded in a statement that it took almost three years to charge the deputies because prosecutors didn't begin looking at the case until Caputo's attorneys filed a motion to dismiss a charge of battery on a law-enforcement officer. Public Corruption Unit prosecutors then viewed the security-camera footage and decided to charge the deputies, Pryor said. They also dropped the battery charge against Caputo, according to court documents. 'All individuals charged with a crime are presumed innocent unless and until they are proven guilty. At no time were the detention deputies placed in front of the national media in handcuffs, they were allowed to surrender to the jail at a time that was arranged with their defense attorneys in advance, and they were released from the jail on agreed bonds of $7,500 without going through magistrate court,' Pryor said. Tony said he was outraged the charge against Caputo was dropped. 'You don't get a free pass to strike, injure or harm any of my God damn deputies in this agency,' he said. 'None of them!' Johnnie's attorney did not immediately respond to a Herald request for comments. Information about Walker's legal representation was not immediately available. All three deputies were released from jail on May 29, the same day they were arrested. Tony brought up the case of former Broward Sheriff's Office Deputy Ronald Thurston and other examples of what he said were mishandled cases by Pryor's office. READ MORE: Broward school security specialist is accused of abusing student Thurston was fired for excessive force in 2022. The sheriff's office recommended the State Attorney's Office charge him with battery the previous year, but prosecutors declined. He was arrested three years later on charges of aggravated child abuse and aggravated battery after being hired by Broward County Public Schools to work security at Blanche Ely High School in Pompano Beach. Pryor defended his office's handling of both cases against Thurston. 'Thurston was criminally charged in February of this year on an unrelated matter and is currently facing criminal prosecution by our agency,' Pryor said. 'As with all cases, we will file criminal charges when we have facts and evidence to support them.'
