Fresno Police Officers Shoot Man Who Charged Them With Scissors After a Taser Fails To Stop Him

They Found a Body in Her Trunk. She Had a Permit for It. The clip is titled some version of the same thing everywhere it appears. Traffic stop, officers at the back of a sedan, and the moment the trunk opens and one of them steps back sharply. A woman is put in handcuffs on the shoulder of a highway. What the caption never says is that she had a signed permit in her glovebox authorizing exactly what was in that trunk, and that what she was doing was legal in her state, and that the person in the trunk was her mother. My name is Ondine and I am a home funeral guide. I was on the phone with her about ninety minutes before it happened. I want to explain what my job is, because most people do not know it exists and the not knowing is the entire reason this story happened. When somebody dies, most families in this country call a funeral home within the hour and the body leaves the house before anyone has really understood what has occurred. That is a fairly recent arrangement historically, and it is not a legal requirement in most places. In the majority of US states, a family may care for their own dead. They may keep the body at home for a period, wash and dress the person themselves, and, with the correct paperwork, transport that person to a crematory, a cemetery, or a place of burial without hiring a funeral director. A minority of states require a licensed funeral director for some or all of this, and the rules vary considerably. That variation matters enormously and I will come back to it. The paperwork is the key. What is generally required is a death certificate signed by whoever is legally authorized to pronounce, and a permit, usually called a burial transit permit or a disposition permit, issued by a county or state registrar. That permit is the document that makes transporting a body lawful. It is a real form with a real number issued by a real office, and it is the whole difference between a family carrying out an ancient practice and a person committing a serious crime. Talia Ruggiero had one. It was in a plastic sleeve in her glovebox along with a copy of the death certificate and a letter from the crematory confirming her appointment for the following morning. Her mother Josephine, who everyone called Jo, was eighty one and had died at home four days earlier after a long illness that had been expected for months. Jo had asked for this. That is not a small detail. She had been explicit with her daughter for over a year about wanting to be at home afterward, wanting her granddaughters to be able to sit with her, wanting her own bed and her own room and no strangers in the first hours. Talia did all of it correctly. She had a physician sign the death certificate. She filed with the county. She obtained the permit. She kept her mother at home for three days with dry ice, which is the standard approach, and which I helped her arrange. On the fourth morning she was driving to the crematory, which was about two hours away because it was the one that would work with families directly. She was going four miles over the limit when she was stopped, which she freely admits, and which was not the problem. The problem was that Deputy Cale Bonham asked what she had in the vehicle, and Talia, who is a fundamentally honest person and who had a permit in her glovebox, told him the truth. She said her mother's body was in the back. I have thought many times about what she could have said instead and there is no good version. She had a lawful thing in that car and she said so, and the next four hours happened anyway. Here is where I stop blaming anybody, because I want this to be useful rather than satisfying. Deputy Bonham did not know that what she described was legal. There is no reason he would. Nothing in the ordinary training of a patrol officer covers home funerals, and the entire practice is invisible enough that most people in this country have never heard of it including the people who enforce the law. From his side, a woman at a traffic stop had just told him there was a deceased person in her trunk. There is exactly one reasonable initial response to that sentence and it is the one he had. He detained her. He called a supervisor. He called for a detective. And he tried to verify the permit. That is the moment where this stops being about one officer's knowledge and becomes about something structural, and it is the reason I have told this story at three conferences. He could not verify it. It was a Saturday. The county registrar's office that issued the permit was closed. It had no after hours line. There is no shared database that a deputy can query at eleven in the morning on a weekend to confirm that a disposition permit number is genuine. The state issues a document that authorizes a lawful activity, and then provides no mechanism by which anybody can confirm that document outside of business hours. So a legitimate permit in a plastic sleeve was, functionally, a piece of paper that a person had produced from a glovebox. Bonham had no way to distinguish it from something printed at home. He was not being obstinate. He was in a position where the only tool he had for resolving the question was unavailable, and the thing in the trunk was a human body. They took her out of the car. That is the footage. Somebody in a passing vehicle filmed it and it was online before Talia had been released. She was handcuffed for approximately forty minutes and detained for closer to four hours. She was not arrested and no charges were ever filed. The coroner's office was called out. Her mother was removed from the vehicle and taken to the county facility, which is precisely the thing Jo had spent a year explicitly asking not to happen. Talia spent the fourth day of her mother's death on the shoulder of a state highway watching strangers load Jo into a van. It took nine days to get her mother back. There was an examination that Talia had not consented to and could not prevent, which is standard practice when a body comes into official custody under unexplained circumstances. The cremation happened eleven days later than planned, with the granddaughters not present because school had restarted. I want to be extremely clear that I am not describing misconduct. Every individual in that chain did the defensible thing given what they knew and what they could check. The system produced a bad outcome anyway, which is the thing I keep trying to get people to understand about how these situations actually work. The video did what videos do. Body in trunk at traffic stop, and the comments assembled a murder in about four minutes. Some of them decided she had killed her mother for an inheritance. That specific theory appeared in three different reposts. The correction did not travel. It never does. There is no audience for a video called it turned out to be legal and the paperwork was fine. To this day, if you search Talia's name, the second result is a repost of that clip. Now let me tell you why I do this work, because it is relevant and because I have never written it down before. My father died in 2011. He died at home, in the afternoon, with all four of us there, and it was as good as that hour can possibly be. Then somebody called the funeral home because that is what you do, and two very polite men arrived forty minutes later, and my father left the house before my mother had finished making phone calls to his brothers. Forty minutes. That was the entire amount of time our family had with him, and it ended because none of us knew we were allowed to ask for more. I found out three years later that we could have kept him at home for the rest of the day, that we could have washed him ourselves, that my mother could have sat with him through the evening, and that all of it would have been perfectly lawful in our state. Nobody had told us. Not the hospice nurse, not the funeral director, not anyone. It is not that they concealed it. It is that the practice has become so unusual that it does not occur to people to mention it. I have spent fourteen years making sure other families know the option exists. That is the whole job. So here is the practical part, which is why I said yes to writing this. If you are considering caring for your own dead, and I think more people should at least know they can, there are specific things that would have prevented what happened to Talia. Know your own state's law before anything else. This varies more than almost any other area of family law in the country. In most states you may transport a body with the correct permit. In a small number you must involve a licensed funeral director for at least part of the process. Find out which you are in, in advance, in writing. Get the permit and carry multiple copies. Original in the glovebox, copies in the vehicle, and a photograph of it on your phone. Also carry the death certificate and any confirmation from the crematory or cemetery. Then do the thing that would have changed Talia's entire day, which is to call the non emergency line of the agencies whose jurisdictions you will drive through, before you drive. I mean it. Call the sheriff's office and say you will be transporting a deceased family member on Saturday morning under a disposition permit, give the permit number, and ask them to make a note. It takes eleven minutes. It creates a record that exists before anybody needs it. And it means that if you are stopped, the dispatcher has something to find at a moment when the registrar's office is closed. I did not tell Talia to do that in 2019. I tell every family now. That is the single change that came out of this, and it came out of it because I got it wrong first. Also, and this is smaller but it matters, do not drive alone. Have a second adult in the vehicle. Two people telling the same story with the same paperwork is a materially different situation from one woman alone at a roadside. Now the part that is not practical advice. Talia and I are still in touch. She is fine, in the way people are fine. She does not talk about the four hours much. What she talks about, when she talks about it, is the nine days. She says the handcuffs did not really register. What broke something in her was standing on the shoulder of a highway watching her mother, who had asked for one specific thing, be put into the back of a county van by two men who were doing their jobs correctly. She has never once expressed anger at Deputy Bonham. I asked her about that directly, about two years later, and she said something that I have repeated many times since. She said he was the only person on that highway who was doing what he was supposed to do, and that if there had been a body in her trunk without a permit, she would want him to do exactly what he did. I do not know that I could be that fair about it. She is a better person than I am. There is one last thing. Jo's ashes went into the ground under a magnolia at the property where she grew up, eleven days late, with three of her four grandchildren present. Talia read something. It was not the funeral anyone had planned. Afterward, Talia asked me whether the whole thing had been worth it, whether she should have just called a funeral home like a normal person and saved everybody the trouble. I told her the truth, which is that her mother spent the last three days of her presence in this world in her own bed in her own room with her family touching her hair, and that no highway and no van and no nine days took that away, because it had already happened and it could not be undone. She said she had not thought about it that way. That is what I do. Not the paperwork. That part. The footage is below, and the caption on it is wrong, and it has been wrong for six years.