A victim-centered newsletter exploring cold cases, forensic science, investigative genetic genealogy, eyewitness memory, and the evolving pursuit of justice.

You probably have an image in your mind.

It’s the same one I had for years, painted by shows like Law and Order (and all its spinoffs) and Bones and the various flavors of CSI:

A Raiders of the Lost Ark-sized warehouse, filled with dusty, crumbling cardboard banker’s boxes. Each one stuffed to overflowing with evidence and case files. All of them just sitting there, waiting for someone to care enough to remove the lid and look inside. 

That’s how we’ve been conditioned to think about cold cases. 

It’s evocative, to be sure. You can so easily imagine each of those boxes holding the leftover stuff of a single life, each representing another life tragically lost or upended, scales unbalanced, bones crying out for justice, ignored, forgotten … 

Except that’s wrong. 

The real reason a case goes cold isn't because the police stop caring, or never cared in the first place. 

It's because investigators run out of answers. Simple as that. 

Sometimes science hasn't caught up to the evidence yet.

Sometimes witnesses remember nothing for years, only for a memory to pop up when least expected.

Sometimes laws change.

Sometimes an investigator asks one new question.

Sometimes a victim makes one more phone call. 

More than thirty years ago, I became part of a cold case.

For years, I thought my story was about surviving a violent crime. Eventually I realized it was also about science, memory, evidence, and the slow evolution of justice.

There are any number of reasons a case might grow cold. To understand how it happens, we need to understand how law enforcement defines “cold case.” 

Simply put: it’s a case where investigators have exhausted all viable leads. There’s nowhere left to go. It’s not because the police lose interest. It’s because they lose runway. There’s no space left to launch, no known witness they haven’t interviewed (probably many times). There’s no physical evidence that hasn’t been combed over, tested, analyzed within an inch of its existence. 

While there are lots of specific reasons a case might grow cold, we can boil it down to roughly five different categories. And a change in any of them can bring a cold case roaring back to life. 

(I know this. It happened in my case.) 

1. Evidence changes.
Crime lab technicians examined every bit of physical evidence and biological samples from the scene but even though they extracted a viable profile, that profile has no match in CODIS. 

And now, suddenly, that match is there. Maybe the suspect reoffended or for some other reason finally got entered into DNA databases. Voila — a new lead. 

2. Memory changes.
Minds impacted by violent trauma can sometimes feel like a 5,000 piece puzzle in an unopened box: you know what it’s supposed to look like, but it’s just a jumbled mess at first. 

But then … suddenly … you realize you do remember salient details that were never analyzed by investigators. Or an eyewitness who was cowed into silence years ago now feels safe enough to speak. 

3. Technology changes.
IGG.

SNP sequencing.

AI-assisted genealogy.

Digital enhancement.

None of this was available in 1990 when I was attacked. But it is now, and it’s on the verge of being integrated into routine workflows in crime labs across the country.  It’ll mean IGG takes far less time. Degraded DNA that we now can’t use suddenly starts speaking to us years later, revealing the identities of criminals and victims alike. 

4. Law changes.
Criminal justice in the U.S. is a creature of statutory and case law (that is, opinions issued by courts).  Those laws change, meaning what used to be inadmissible in a court of law now may well form a crucial part of a successful prosecution. Statutes of limitations get extended, meaning more victims can seek justice through prosecution. Funding gets increased, meaning cutting-edge technologies that were otherwise out of reach can now turn cold cases into solved ones. 

5. People change.
Investigators retire. Families who survived the loss of a loved one find strength and courage in continuing to push for answers. New detectives inherit old files and bring a fresh perspective to them. 

Sometimes a victim wonders “what if …” and picks up a phone after almost 30 years of nothing. 

And then, mere months later,  there’s an arrest. Then an arraignment. Then a guilty plea. 

I’ve been researching and writing my memoir about my story for several months now, and I’ve learned so much over that time, but here’s the main thing I take away from this experience: 

Every cold case contains two mysteries.

The first is who committed the crime.

The second is why it took so long to find the answer.

This newsletter is about both. 

Here you’ll find a short list of what I’m reading and watching this week. Content warnings throughout. If you’re struggling with trauma from violence, please exercise caution and reach out for help if you need it.