In criminal law, words matter. Certain phrases carry not only legal meaning, but moral weight, shaping how the public understands an event long before courts finish applying the law. Few terms illustrate this more clearly than “fleeing the scene.”
In the prosecution of Rebecca Grossman, that phrase became central to public perception of the case. It appeared in headlines, commentary, and courtroom arguments as if its meaning were self-evident. Yet under California law, “fleeing the scene” is not a rhetorical description. It is a precisely defined legal concept with specific elements that must be proven.
A closer examination of the governing statute, binding appellate precedent, and the undisputed timeline of events reveals a significant disconnect between the narrative and the law itself. That disconnect matters, not only for Rebecca Grossman, but for the integrity of California’s justice system.
California Vehicle Code §20001 governs felony hit-and-run offenses involving injury or death. The statute imposes a clear duty on a driver involved in such a collision: to stop “immediately at the scene of the accident or as close thereto as possible” and to provide identifying information and reasonable assistance.
Those final words, “as close thereto as possible”, are not ambiguous. They reflect legislative recognition that collisions are chaotic events. Vehicles may be damaged. Drivers may be disoriented. Traffic conditions may make an immediate stop unsafe or impossible. The law does not demand an instantaneous halt at the precise point of impact. It demands a stop at the first reasonable and safe opportunity.
Equally important is the element courts have consistently emphasized as central to any flight analysis: intent. To constitute “fleeing the scene,” a driver must make a voluntary, conscious decision to leave the area in order to evade responsibility or identification. California law does not criminalize shock, confusion, mechanical failure, or compliance with emergency instructions. It criminalizes evasion.
No appellate decision illustrates this principle more directly than People v. Scheer (1998). In Scheer, the defendant traveled some distance after a collision before pulling over. Prosecutors argued that movement alone established flight. The Court of Appeal rejected that argument outright.
The court held that a driver who stops at the first reasonable opportunity, without intent to escape liability, has not fled the scene within the meaning of §20001. The ruling was explicit: distance without intent is not flight. Delay without evasion is not flight. Only the combination of movement and evasive purpose satisfies the statute.
That holding is not advisory. It is a binding precedent. And it reflects decades of appellate guidance reinforcing the same principle.
Another factor often absent from public discussion is that the crash scene was not experienced as a single, clearly understood event by those present. Multiple witnesses interviewed immediately after the collision described hearing or perceiving two distinct impacts occurring seconds apart. These accounts came from individuals with no connection to the parties involved and were given before any public narrative had formed.
At the time, the Iskander children were not walking in a straight line. They were on wheels, rollerblades, a scooter, and a skateboard, moving at different speeds. Witnesses described one child trailing slightly behind the others, nearer the center of the roadway, while others were farther ahead.
Compounding that complexity, two SUVs were traveling through the area in close succession, with a black vehicle ahead of a white one. A vehicle in front would naturally obstruct the view of events occurring directly ahead from the driver behind it. As a result, one impact could be heard but not seen, while another occurred in open view.
This context does not determine legal responsibility. But it helps explain why no single person, driver or witness, had a complete understanding of what had occurred in real time. California law accounts for this reality. Confusion and fragmented perception are not evidence of evasion. They are precisely why intent remains the controlling legal standard.
Against that legal backdrop, the undisputed sequence of events in the Rebecca Grossman case becomes especially relevant.
At the moment of impact, Grossman’s vehicle airbags deployed, an event known to cause sudden disorientation and temporary loss of control. Her vehicle moved forward before coming to a stop. She did not accelerate away. She did not abandon the vehicle. She did not attempt to conceal her identity.
Instead, her vehicle’s emergency telematics system activated automatically, connecting her to a Mercedes-Benz operator. Grossman, audibly confused, stated that she did not know what had occurred. The operator contacted 911. When Grossman spoke with emergency dispatch, she was instructed to remain with her vehicle and wait for law enforcement. She complied.
She pulled over. She stayed with her car. She waited for deputies to arrive.
Under Scheer and related case law, this conduct aligns squarely with lawful compliance. She stopped at the first safe location. She did not act with evasive intent. She remained present until authorities arrived.
From a legal standpoint, there is no plausible interpretation under which these actions constitute “fleeing the scene” as defined by California law.
Despite this, the phrase “fled the scene” was repeatedly invoked in public discourse surrounding the case. Over time, it became less a legal allegation and more a branding device, conveying moral judgment rather than statutory analysis.
This is not unique to the Rebecca Grossman case. Legal terms often migrate into public language stripped of their precision. But when that migration occurs during active criminal proceedings, the consequences can be profound. The phrase begins to do the work of proof, bypassing the elements the law actually requires.
Once embedded, the narrative becomes self-reinforcing. Each repetition assumes the conclusion rather than examining the criteria.
The broader concern raised by this pattern is not confined to one case. When legally defined concepts are stretched to fit emotionally compelling narratives, consistency suffers. The same conduct may be treated differently depending on public attention, media framing, or perceived symbolism.
California law is designed to operate uniformly. Statutes are not meant to expand or contract based on optics. The danger of narrative-driven interpretation is that it introduces unpredictability into criminal liability, where compliance with the law becomes secondary to how conduct is portrayed.
If a driver who stops, contacts emergency services, follows instructions, and remains present can still be labeled as having “fled,” the term loses its legal anchor. It becomes rhetorical rather than doctrinal.
The implications extend beyond Rebecca Grossman. Hit-and-run statutes exist to punish evasion, not to criminalize confusion, injury, or compliance with emergency directives. If appellate precedent like Scheer no longer constrains interpretation, then the boundary between lawful conduct and felony liability becomes dangerously malleable.
That malleability undermines public trust. It also places ordinary drivers at risk of criminal exposure untethered from intent.
The rule of law depends on adherence to definitions, not impressions. “Fleeing the scene” has clear elements. Those elements were not satisfied here. That conclusion does not minimize tragedy. It does not excuse harm. It simply applies the statute as written and interpreted by California courts.
When language overtakes law, justice becomes performative rather than principled. Appellate review exists to correct precisely that kind of drift.
The Rebecca Grossman case presents an important test, not of emotion, but of legal discipline. Will courts reaffirm that intent remains the cornerstone of flight analysis? Or will narrative shorthand be permitted to substitute for statutory proof?
California’s justice system cannot function if precedent is optional and definitions are elastic. The law must mean the same thing on quiet roads as it does under headlines.
In the end, this is not about excusing conduct or assigning sympathy. It is about preserving the distinction between what sounds culpable and what the law actually prohibits. When that distinction erodes, fairness erodes with it.
And in a system built on law rather than storytelling, that is a risk no case, however tragic, should justify.
