As a cold case comes to light, two lives changed forever

SUFFOLK

An old man, a fixture for years in the state prison system, once gave a young man sage advice.

"If this is what you want to do, this is where you're going to be," the old man said.

Those few simple words made a difference. Alim Naqi An'nur, already plastered with prison tattoos but still a youngster, knew he had to change.

That's the story An'nur told his wife, Aimee, when the two first met and she asked about the tattoo with a watch tower and chain-link fence.

When the old man spoke to him, An'nur was in prison serving nine years and seven months for a robbery in Chesapeake.

A few years before that, on a frigid February night in 1994 near downtown Suffolk, a teenager banged on Betty Goodman's front door. Her 15-year-old grandson, Domoniky Mizzelle, had been shot.

As he did most every Saturday night, Domoniky was going to a dance that night, said his mother, Sharon Wilkins. He and several neighborhood boys went together to city-sponsored dances downtown, in the old Safeway grocery store.

When the knock at the door came, Domoniky's mother and grandmother went running out of the house. They saw the boy before police and rescue squads could get to him.

"There was a trickle of blood coming down the side of his face," Wilkins said. "His eyes were wide open."

Goodman went to Sentara Norfolk General Hospital with her grandson. When it was allowed, she held his hand.

"He never did speak," she said. "At 1:30 that next afternoon, he died."

Domoniky was a small boy, his family said. At 15, he weighed about 130 pounds. He loved to play video games, liked to draw and enjoyed cooking for his family. He liked to tease and play tricks.

"We were horrified when it happened," Wilkins said. "Who could have done it? We've been wondering for so long."

In late August, they were visited by a cold case murder detective in the Suffolk Police Department. They had a suspect.

When they heard the name, Goodman said, nobody knew who it was.

Alim An'nur, 32, had once been known as Shane Whitfield. He was arrested on Oct. 7, while he was at work in Alexandria as a computer analyst for a government contractor, earning a top security clearance for the Department of Defense.

An'nur's mother, Sandra Whitfield, said her son came out of prison in 2005 with the goal of bettering himself.

"I paid my dues and learned my lesson, and now I must make up for lost time," she recalled her son telling her.

He grew up near Driver. He'd been involved in a string of petty crimes until the robbery that put him in prison.

Then, according to court records, the man who later became An'nur was uncooperative and rebellious.

But in prison, An'nur became another person, his attorney said in court recently. He embraced the Islamic religion and went after an education.

But was he the man who shot and killed Domoniky Mizzelle in 1994?

Suffolk police say they have witnesses who say he is. An'nur says he isn't.

Mizzelle's family believes he is.

An'nur's family doesn't believe it. He may have been a different man back then, they say, but never a man capable of murder.

In court records, a former professor called An'nur "extraordinarily intelligent."

"His work ethic, attention to detail and high standards are his calling card left wherever he works," said Air Force Lt. Clarence Augurson.

Tami Ferrell, a former co-worker, said An'nur "came to work every day with a smile. He was dedicated to his wife and family. He's very kind and has made a difference in the lives of many."

"He has defeated the odds, a former inmate who had carved a peaceful and positive life," Matt Ross, of Capital Heights, Md., said in a letter to An'nur's attorney. "He's a man of good character, a good person. The situation he's been charged with seems not only unlikely but impossible."

Aimee An'nur said she saw her husband's good character as soon as she met him, when they attended the same technical school. In a bad situation with her daughter's father, Aimee said she wanted to leave the man, but had nowhere to go.

"Alim had an apartment in Washington, but he stayed most of the time with his mother," she said. "He told me I could have the apartment, said he wasn't using it."

But it was in a bad neighborhood, she said. When Aimee found out she was afraid to go home late at night after going to school and working at Target, An'nur started showing up, usually about 11 p.m. He made sure she was inside the house and the baby was all right. Then he left.

"He does everything his religion tells him to do," Aimee said. "He works hard. He prays. He donates. I knew he had a criminal background, but he's different now."

When the couple was living in Woodbridge, An'nur left for work at 5:30 each morning and, by 3:30 in the afternoon, he picked up their daughter at day care.

"He's the only father my daughter has ever known," Aimee said.

Whatever An'nur has done with his life since, Deputy Commonwealth's Attorney Will Jamerson, who is prosecuting the case, said he believes they have the man who killed Domoniky Mizzelle in 1994.

"Life is not a candy bar," Jamerson said. "If somebody stole your candy bar 15 years ago, eventually, you'd forget it. If somebody takes a life, that's not something you're going to forget."

Domoniky's mother said she has always believed that people who die violent deaths don't rest until their killer has been found.

As soon as the family heard about the arrest, they went to the cemetery on Carolina Road, where Domoniky is buried at the top of a hill, surrounded by family members. They took a purple mum, and they told him what had happened.

A judge denied bond to An'nur. He is being held at the Western Tidewater Regional Jail. His family is paying for his lawyer, Mufeed W. Said of Richmond, his wife said.

Things aren't easy for Aimee An'nur, a chiropractic assistant and a native of Trinidad. She has been forced to give up the apartment she shared with her husband and is struggling to keep up car payments and care for her daughter.

"I am sorry for the boy's family," she said. "They've lost family, but Alim has lost a lot, too. They need to understand what we're going through. I don't believe Alim did this. He would tell me the truth."

A jury will decide in February.

Linda McNatt, (757) 222-5561, linda.mcnatt@pilotonline.com