"I need to know"

By Shannon

My first capital murder trial begins on Monday.  This is a major milestone in an attorney's life.  I've agonized a bit over the case here and here and here with you.  Later this month we should have a verdict very near the 17th anniversary of the murders of this man and this woman.  Today I met with the female victim's best friend and roommate.  It has been almost 17 years since she last heard the victim's voice or saw her face, but her grief has not diminished.  As soon as we began talking about the victim, she began tearing up.  She pulled it together and did a great job.  She will be a fantastic witness.  I let her hold her best friend's 17 year old day planner and journal.  I watched as she caressed both without even realizing it as she told me about her friend.  As soon as I handed her the day planner, she smelled it hoping I guess to feel her friend near her one more time.  I tried to prep her for trial, but she had only one thing on her mind.

"What happened to her?"  she asked me.

I cannot explain or express the deep affinity I felt for this woman who still mourns her friend.  I gave her a glossed-over cliff notes version.

"But what happened?"  she asked when I was done.

I must have looked confused because she began to explain.

"For 17 years people have said that I don't need to know - that knowing could cause nightmares.  I've had nightmares for 17 years!  I kept waiting for her to come back.  I took care of her pets and paid what bills of hers I could.  I kept waiting, but..."  There was a long pause as the tears welled up in her eyes.  "I need to know.  I need to know exactly what happened."

I told the story again with more details this time.  "She didn't suffer," I promised at the end.

"Now I know,"  she said with gratitude.

"Does that help you?"  I asked truly concerned for her emotional well-being.

"Yes.  I always dreamed she'd been tied up and tortured..."

"NO!"  I interrupted.

"...or raped..."

"NO!"

"...or held against her will..."

"NO!"

The woman paused.  I could see the 33 year old in the 50 year old who sat before me.  I could also see one last question brewing.  I waited to see if she could muster the courage to get it out.  Finally she did.

"Was she afraid?"  she asked.

"She didn't have time to be," I lied. 

She didn't need to know.