Waiting to Be Heard: A Memoir (35 page)

Kassin and others show that interrogations are intentionally designed to bewilder and deceive a suspect. Originally created to get highly trained, patriotic U.S. fighter pilots to sell out their country during the Korean War, one technique uses a tag team of investigators and tactics meant to induce exhaustion, agitation, and fear. It’s especially potent on young, vulnerable witnesses like me. The method was designed not to elicit information but to plant it—specifically tailored to destroy an orderly thought process. After some hours, the subject gives the interrogators what they want—whether it’s the truth or not.

In my case they’d put several interrogators in a room with me. For hours they yelled, screamed, kept me on edge. When they exhausted themselves, a fresh team replaced them. But I wasn’t even allowed to leave to use the bathroom.

These were strategic measures, many of which are described in Kassin’s report on police interrogation, “On the Psychology of Confessions: Does Innocence Put Innocents at Risk?” Reading it, I was flabbergasted to learn how by-the-book the police had been in their manipulation of me.

It had been the middle of the night. I’d already been questioned for hours at a time, days in a row. They tried to get me to contradict myself by homing in on what I’d done hour by hour, to confuse me, to cause me to lose track and get something wrong. They said I had no alibi. They lied, saying that Raffaele had told them I’d asked him to lie to the police. They wouldn’t let me call my mom. They wouldn’t let me leave the interrogation room. They were yelling at me in a language I didn’t understand. They hit me and suggested that I had trauma-induced amnesia. They encouraged me to imagine what could have happened, encouraged me to “remember” the truth because they said I had to know the truth. They threatened to imprison me for thirty years and restrict me from seeing my family. At the time, I couldn’t think of it as anything but terrifying and overwhelming.

That was exactly their point.

S
ometimes I went over things I wish I’d done differently.

Number one, I would have written to the Kerchers. I wanted to tell them how much I liked their daughter. How lovingly she spoke of her family. Tell them that her death was a heartbreak to so many.

Number two, I’d have written Patrick an apology. Naming him was unforgivable, and he didn’t deserve it, but I wanted to say that it wasn’t about him. I was pushed so hard that I’d have named anyone. I was sorry.

I didn’t write then because Luciano and Carlo said not to contact the Kerchers or Patrick. “They’ll think it’s a sympathy ploy,” they said.

This made sense in the months after my arrest, but as my appeal approached, I had to set these wrongs right. I wrote letters to both Patrick and the Kerchers.

I wrote to Patrick first.

Dear Patrick,

The explanation you’ve heard a number of times about my interrogation is true and I’m sure you understand well since you were arrested the same night without being told why.

I feel guilty and sorry for my part in it.

To the Kerchers, I wrote,

I’m sorry for your loss, and I’m sorry it’s taken me so long to say so. I’m not the one who killed your daughter and sister. I’m a sister, too, and I can only attempt to imagine the extent of your grief. In the relatively brief time that Meredith was part of my life, she was always kind to me. I think about her every day.

I showed the letters to Carlo. “It’s not the right time,” he said.

Disappointed and unsatisfied, I went back to my cell and came up with Plan B. I’d make a personal statement at the beginning of the trial. Unlike my declarations during the first trial, this one would be “spontaneous” in name only. I’d weave in Kassin’s work to explain why I’d reacted to my interrogation as I had. At the same time, I’d speak directly to Patrick and the Kerchers.

I spent over a month writing drafts. Alone in my cell, I paced, muttering to myself as if I were speaking to the judges and jury.

As I honed my statement, I decided it would be stronger to speak from my heart, without Kassin’s academic language. I’d tell the court about how I had been confused by the police and had lacked the courage to stand up to the authorities when they demanded that I name a murderer.

During the first trial, I believed my innocence would be obvious. It hadn’t saved me, and I might never again have the chance to approach Patrick and the Kerchers. This time I was determined to help myself.