A Defendant Says he’s Going to Prison for Doing What His Domestic Violence Classes Told Him to Do

That’s what Criswell claims he thought he was doing when he had a confrontation with his ex-girlfriend, 52-year-old Helena Scholtens. And now he was about to go to state prison for a year and a half. Or rather, back to prison.

Criswell, 50, wanted to address the court in hopes of helping the next guy.

Defendants rarely contest their case in person, especially at a plea hearing when all has been decided. And those who do usually are throwing a hail Mary in hopes of lessening their punishment. Prosecutors–and a few public defenders–roll their eyes when they do, the facts of the case having been laid out already.

Criswell’s plea after his plea this morning was not that different. His past is nowhere near stellar. His long record includes three state prison stints in the last dozen years. This will be his fourth. Maybe he had nothing to lose, having already lost his freedom. So his motivation to further address the court is not clear. But what he said would not have sounded strange to the court, to the defense or to the prosecution, even though nobody might have wanted to hear it. Criswell is not the first one to think it, though he’s among the rare ones to say it in court.

“I mean no displeasure to the court,” he told Perkins. “There’s something I just wanted to bring up, maybe for future for people. I went to 22 classes for domestic on the probation in Jacksonville. And they said to me, and they beat this into us–in a non-literal sense–that if it doesn’t get better, if the drugs don’t stop, whatever, before it becomes physical, if they’re in your car, put them out.” Meaning put the other person out of the car. “If you’re in their car, get out. You’re in your house, walk out. And I did that.”




Criswell was describing the incident, almost a year to the day–January 15, 2022–when he was in an argument with Scholtens. They were both homeless, living out of a car, at a Circle K on State Road 100 in Palm Coast. Scholtens waved down a sheriff’s deputy as Criswell was driving away, and accused Criswell of stealing her cell phone.

“When the officer pulled into this parking lot–and I’m not saying to contest it,” Criswell stressed again, “he exited his car. I had no reason to sit there to talk to him because I asked her to get out the car. And I told her if you don’t, I will stop him and get you out. You have dope in my car. And so there’s nothing illegal about it. Then I drove off. It was approximately the officer takes six minutes before he even started to pursue. And there was no reason for pursuit. I didn’t do nothing wrong.

“But because she has the power to say oh, he touched me, here I am with no kind of defense. I just think in the future, some of these things need to be looked at and taken into consideration because if I came into trial with that statement, we all know an officer is going to be given the more latitude or the leeway in most cases. If I did something, I’d gladly admit it. But the relationship was over, I was trying to be done, and I wasn’t going to risk anymore, and here I am going to prison for doing what the classes taught me to do. Exactly what they taught me.”




It wasn’t a simple pursuit: the deputy had activated his lights and pursued Criswell as Criswell allegedly sped up to 100 mph, getting onto I-95 north. The deputy said he was never able to get closer than half a mile to Criswell’s car, who was later stopped in part due to license plate readers that had picked up his trace. He was on probation for battery from a case in Duval County. That aggravated the battery charge he now faced in Flagler to a third-degree felony, on top of a charge of fleeing and eluding, also a third-degree felony: it doesn’t matter whether a person feels to be in the right; when a cop is seeking to pull over a driver, the driver must comply regardless. Not doing so is usually a crime, regardless of what preceded it.

“I appreciate your comments,” the judge told Criswell. “As you know, and maybe this is a good example, every case is fact specific. No two cases are the same. No two defendants come before the court are the same.”

Criswell said he agreed, but “the only reason we couldn’t go to trial,” he said, was that in the end, it would be his word against the officer’s. Beyond that, he didn’t ask the court to alter his case, and did not clarify what he meant by perhaps helping the next guy facing the same situation, other than the implication that facts in a case are not always necessarily grounded in fact.

But Criswell has a long record, he has no money, he was represented by a public defender–all circumstances that in this criminal justice system don’t favor the defendant. A private attorney, had Criswell been able to afford one, might have veered the case toward another probationary term or a shorter sentence.




As it is, Criswell’s sentence will be brief: he’s been at the Flagler County jail since early February, giving him almost a year of credit that goes toward time served. His 17 months sentence may be reduced to under 15 months with gain time, leaving him with a net three months and change to serve. He’s not likely to be transferred to state prison for another two weeks.

Criswell tried to delay his stay at the county jail to the end of the month: his daughter was recently in a severe vehicle crash and is in critical condition in a hospital. The county jail has been accommodating him to see her, with a scheduled video link set up for January 16 and another one some time after that. But the judge couldn’t go that far. “We can’t keep you here forever,” Perkins told Criswell.