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revolver.news
Well, well, well... CNN (inadvertently?) resurrects gruesome skeleton from Merrick Garland's closet...

There’s the old joke that a “gaffe” is when a politician accidentally tells the truth. In a similar vein, we might say that a “limited hangout” is when the media accidentally tells the truth, or otherwise draws attention to a deeply subversive and forbidden topic.
There are few topics darker and more uncomfortable than the full account of the Oklahoma City Bombing. For a long time, many in the know believed that the American people simply couldn’t handle some of the disturbing questions that arise when one scrutinizes the dubious official account of that tragic day in America’s history — at the time, the worst terror attack on American soil.
For a primer, we invite readers to consult the documentary “A Noble Lie.” We don’t vouch for everything in the documentary, but it is as good a place to start as any:
One of the many gruesome aspects of the Oklahoma City Bombing saga is the tale of Terrance Yeakey, a police officer and first responder to the OKC attack, who died under very mysterious circumstances — a likely case of an American hero who was “suicided” for knowing too much.
Discussion of the OKC bombing in a critical context, and especially discussion of the dark and mysterious fate of Terrance Yeakey, has long been relegated to the underground realms of the alternative media — those alleys where you may find completely crazy information, but you also just might find the truth (which may also happen to be crazy). But then something strange happened—CNN of all places did a long profile of Terrance Yeakey that at least entertains the idea that he was murdered as part of a larger cover-up of the truth of OKC.
This story is about one of those people. His name was Terry Yeakey. He was an Oklahoma City police officer and a military veteran. Yeakey saved at least three people from the ruins of the Alfred P. Murrah Federal Building on April 19, 1995, the day a terrorist attack killed 168 people and injured hundreds of others.
Something happened to Yeakey in those hours in the wreckage. He was badly shaken, and his worldview seemed to change. In time, he grew suspicious and afraid. He ran afoul of his supervisors. He went on secret missions, withholding his motives and plans from fellow officers. He seemed to be conducting his own investigation.
And then, 385 days after the bombing, his body was found near some trees in a field off a country road.
His wrists were cut.
His neck was cut.
He’d been shot through the head.
The authorities said it was suicide. But among those who knew Terry Yeakey, not many believed he had killed himself.