It’s one of the downsides associated with a couple of decades as a crime writer: I have all kinds of stories in my head and images, places I’ve been, the voices of people I’ve interviewed, many of whom have suffered from horrific crimes or lost a loved one to violence, most often rape or murder. So when sensational cases hit the news, I’m often propelled back, my mind on someone I met somewhere in the past, a victim who suffered a similar fate.

The result is that, for me, the victims aren’t faceless. I’ve been in their living rooms, sat with them in courthouse hallways, listened as they’ve talked in haunting, painful sobs describing the worst days of their lives. They exist and they suffer and the tragedy is compounded when there are children involved.

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