Absurdity in Massachusetts courts hits new heights in Karen Read trial

The answer is, Brian Walshe.

The question is, why hasn’t the state already fired this crooked, drunk hack cop Michael Proctor after his pathetic, failed attempt to frame Karen Read?

The problem for the racketeering enterprise known as the Norfolk County District Attorney’s office is this crooked knucklehead is also the lead investigator in the upcoming murder trial of Brian Walshe, whose wife’s body has never been found.

The Walshe case is a real murder, not a pathetic attempt to lynch an innocent woman.

Karen Read had to be the happiest person in Norfolk County yesterday as what was left of Proctor’s career as a Keystone Kop went up in flames.

Brian Walshe, jailed at the House of Correction in Dedham, had to be running a close second.

Michael Proctor is this week’s poster boy for the decline and fall of the modern Massachusetts State Police. He’s a “detective,” and in his investigations, he leaves no stone unturned.

Except the one his drunken townie pals are hiding under.

Skinhead Proctor even texted to his buddies that he wanted Karen Read to kill herself.

“It’s a figure of speech,” he said. “My emotions got the best of me.”

And if his emotions don’t get the best of him, it might have been his greed, in his desperate grab for that nice “tip” he solicited his wife for doing the right thing in his investigation.

“She never received one,” he complained of the bribe he had solicited in a text.

Another thing that occasionally gets the best of Proctor is his thirst, because… Canton.

It’s bad enough to go through life drunk and stupid. It’s worse when you lie a lot, which Proctor does, even when he’s had months to prepare to put the lies across.

And even by Massachusetts hack standards, he’s one of the laziest payroll patriots of all time.

In no particular order, let’s go over some of his lies, laziness, stupidity and drunkenness.

The dumbest part of the whole day was, he’s testified before two grand juries, talking wildly different stories to each one. Yet he couldn’t settle on which lie he wanted to hang his Smoky the Bear hat on.

It got so bad that defense attorney Alan Jackson kept having to ask Proctor the same question over and over again:

“Would it refresh your recollection if you looked at these grand jury minutes?”

First of all, although he had no clue what really happened, he was adamant about charging Karen Read with murder. She was an outsider – not to mention, Proctor doesn’t like women. They tend to be “whack jobs,” in his $146,000-a-year opinion.

Why? Because she’s “whack job (c-word).” Those were his words, both to his fellow crooked cops and in another text group involving his hillbilly pals from Canton High.

The medical examiner, also female, refused to say what the cause of death of Read’s boyfriend was. In other words, it wasn’t a murder. Proctor didn’t care. You know why?

“She’s a whack job.”

Proctor was desperate to charge Karen Read with running over her boyfriend with a three-ton SUV. Yet the body had no bruises on it – not one. The defense lawyer, Alan Jackson, asked Proctor if he’d ever seen a pedestrian killed by a car that had no bruises on the body.

“Not that I recall.”

He talked about how another drunk local cop, ATF agent Brian Higgins, hadn’t turned over his cell phone but instead gave the idiot Proctor a “curated” collection of calls. It was “not uncommon” to have someone doing that, he told Jackson.

So the defense lawyer showed him his recent testimony before a federal grand jury. Proctor told that grand jury a totally different story – that he’d never seen anyone do something that shady.

Proctor was asked about another breathtaking lie, that he took custody of Karen Read’s car the day of John O’Keefe’s death at 5:30 p.m. He said it in multiple affidavits – 4:16 a.m. It was a lie. The surveillance video – and the sunset –proved it was false.

“Those were typos, sir.” Three typos, Jackson pointed out. When he meant to type 5, 3 and 0, he instead typed 4, 1 and 6. Could happen to anybody. Over and over and over again.

Also, he said he didn’t really know the Albert family, who like him grew up in the festering cesspool of Canton. Never knew ‘em, not really.

“That’s just not true, is it?” said Jackson. “That was a lie… That would have been a lie.”

One night in July 2022, he got stinkin’ drunk with one of them, Kevin Albert, a Canton police officer. Being cops from Canton, they got so loaded that Albert left his badge and his gun in Proctor’s state police cruiser.

Proctor didn’t recall getting smashed with one of the McAlberts. Blackout, perhaps? So Jackson showed him the text messages from the Canton drunkard inquiring about how he could retrieve his badge and gun.

“I don’t recall that,” he said, because… Canton, where blackout drunks apparently happen every night, especially among cops driving MSP vehicles. Jackson had to show him some more texts from Kevin Albert.

“Yes,” Proctor finally said, “that does refresh my memory.”

He knew nothing – absolutely nothing! – about all the deleted calls on toothless Jen McCabe’s cell phone. Never checked ‘em. Musta been somebody else’s job.

He got a tip from a Canton cop that he should pull the surveillance video from a local gas station because it was “unreal.”

“Good to know,” Proctor texted back. “I’ll add that to the list.”

But he didn’t. He never went near the gas station. It might have embarrassed the real killers.

He got a list of all the people who’d been in the death house that night, but when he transcribed the list of names, he forgot one – Colin Albert, the high-school hothead. That was the one name he forgot.

Everyone else’s, he just misspelled. Makes it harder for the defense to check ‘em out.

Proctor told a state grand jury no one had plowed Fairview Road, where O’Keefe died, on the morning of Jan. 29, 2022. That was a lie.

The town DPW boss told him the street had been plowed by a guy named Lucky Loughran.

Proctor finally got around to interviewing Loughran – after the defense told him about the plow driver that Proctor had claimed didn’t exist.

The smartest guy to make any appearance in court yesterday was another of the local yokels in Proctor’s non-cop text group. Proctor explained to all his high-school Harry homeys what was going on, and a guy named Bird replied, presciently:

“Something stinks,” Bird wrote.

“Yeah,” Proctor replied, but there will be some serious charges brought on the girl.”

Somewhere in Dedham in the Norfolk County House of Correction, Brian Walshe must have been smiling.