He still left the hospital with a bullet inside his body.
He still faced bills significant enough to seek financial assistance publicly.
Then there was the woman allegedly targeted in the November 29 car theft.
According to the account, she had been threatened with a firearm.
Her wallet was demanded.
Her vehicle was taken.
She survived physically.
But being confronted with a gun can alter a person’s sense of safety long after the property is recovered or replaced.
A criminal case is usually named after the defendant.
The paperwork revolves around charges and sentencing.
But one defendant can create several circles of victims.
The owner of the first stolen car.
The owner of the Ford.
Norman.
Sally.
Occupants of the other vehicle struck in the crash.
Family members.
People who witnessed the collision.
Even first responders can carry memories from violent scenes.
By the time J. Marlin received his sentence, the courtroom was dealing with the combined impact of conduct extending beyond any single victim.
The title of the story may focus on 71 years in prison.
But the number makes sense only after understanding how many events came before it.
The drug case was already there.
Then another stolen vehicle.
Then another.
Then gunfire.
Then flight.
Then the fatal collision.
This is how criminal exposure can compound.
A young person may think of each act as a separate problem.
The court eventually sees them together.
Patterns matter.
Prior charges matter.
Weapons matter.
Injuries matter.
Death changes everything.
Once Sally died, the case could not be treated as merely a reckless-driving event.
Her death had to be connected legally to the conduct that caused the collision.
The source says J. Marlin was charged with involuntary manslaughter.
That charge recognized a basic truth.
He may not have entered the Ford intending to kill Sally Schultz.
But a person does not necessarily need to intend a specific victim’s death to face criminal responsibility for causing it through unlawful conduct.
The fatal result mattered.
His decision to flee mattered.
The speed mattered.
The attempt to evade the stop sticks mattered.
The collision mattered.
Sally’s injuries mattered.
And the fact that she died from those injuries mattered most of all.
For Norman, criminal terminology probably offered little comfort.
He had lost his wife.
He later turned to civil court, alleging negligence against the municipalities involved in the pursuit strategy.
His lawsuit highlighted the debate that often follows deadly pursuits.
Where should responsibility end?
The fleeing suspect caused the danger.
But did the police tactic increase the risk unnecessarily?
Could officers have chosen another way?
Would stopping the pursuit have protected the public?
Or would allowing suspects connected to armed robbery and gun violence to escape have created a different danger somewhere else?
There are no easy answers.
The lawsuit took one position.
Law enforcement decision-making during a pursuit exists within policies, training, and rapidly changing circumstances.
The source does not provide a final public resolution of Norman’s claim.
So it would be wrong to declare one side legally correct based only on the available material.
What can be said is that the question existed because Sally died during a police attempt to stop a fleeing stolen vehicle.
That fact alone guaranteed scrutiny.
Police pursuits are examined precisely because the stakes are so high.
Officers may have only seconds to act.
But the consequences can last decades.
That phrase applies to nearly everyone in this case.
Seconds of driving.
Decades of prison.
Seconds of impact.
A lifetime of grief.
The moments before the crash would later be replayed through radio traffic, reports, and footage.
At the time, however, there was no narrator explaining what was about to happen.
An officer simply saw the Ford approaching.
He described it.
One headlight.
Around eighty miles per hour.
Swerving.
Coming toward another officer.
Then impact.
Those radio transmissions have a quality that written summaries cannot reproduce.
They show how quickly a situation evolves.
There is no long discussion.
No meeting.
No opportunity to stop the clock.
The danger appears.
The warning is transmitted.
Then the crash happens.
Afterward, everything becomes reaction.
Call ambulances.
Close the road.
Check the suspects.
Check the civilians.
Find the gun.
Control traffic.
Identify everybody.
Get firefighters.
Ride with the prisoners.
Notify investigators.
Find out what happened during the original carjacking.
Determine whether the shooting victim is alive.
A major criminal investigation can begin in complete disorder.
The job of police afterward is to transform that disorder into a timeline.
What happened first?
Who was driving?
Who owned the Ford?
When was it stolen?
How?
Who had the gun?
Who fired at the owner?
What role did the passenger play?
What happened in the November 29 incident?
What happened in the June drug case?
Why did the driver flee?
What speed did he reach?
Who deployed the stop sticks?
Where did the Ford swerve?
Which vehicle did it strike first?
What caused Sally’s fatal injuries?
Every answer can affect a charge.
Every detail can matter later in court.
The guns became especially important.
The source describes officers securing a weapon with a full magazine and a round in the chamber.
That is not an unloaded object tossed casually into a vehicle.
It was capable of firing.
For officers who had just learned about the earlier shooting, the discovery reinforced why they had treated the suspects cautiously.
Imagine how differently the first traffic stop could have unfolded.
The officer initially did not know everything.
He knew the Ford was stolen during an aggravated robbery.