“She didn’t murder Donnie Johnson,” I said, and the moment the words were out of my mouth, I knew them to be true. “Basic projection, right? The three murders in the MCI, the crimes we know the most about, all had motive: to protect. That’s Shana’s trigger. Someone stronger attacking someone weaker. In which case, she identifies with the weaker victim and is driven to intervene. Save this kid today, save the child she used to be. Even the attack on herself, the inmate she killed in self-defense, fits that pattern. It was in the early days of Shana’s incarceration, and that inmate was larger and more experienced. Again, someone strong assaulting someone weak.”

“Except Donnie Johnson wasn’t someone strong,” Phil said.

“No. In fact, Donnie Johnson represents the kind of person she’d be driven to protect.”

“So what happened?” D.D. asked.

I shook my head. “I don’t know. Shana claimed self-defense, alleging that Donnie had tried to rape her. Frankly, it’s never made sense, then or now. Not given the size difference between her and Donnie, and certainly not given their character references. He was cast as a kindhearted, socially awkward science geek, while Shana became the hardhearted street kid who manipulated him into meeting her just so she could slaughter him. The first thrill kill, so to speak. Given the heinous nature of the crime, the jury took less than a day to sentence a teenage girl to life in prison. It was that kind of case. Shana was that kind of defendant.”

“You’re talking thirty years ago,” Phil said cautiously. “Your sister was a kid. Impulsive, hormonal, reckless . . . Maybe the reason that murder is different is because your sister was different.”

“Triggers are triggers,” I said simply. “We only wish we could change them so easily.”

“Then why didn’t she protest it more?” D.D. asked.

“Because she’s Shana. Because she really does suffer from antisocial personality disorder, meaning she doesn’t relate to people well, whether they’re her lawyer, a judge or a jury of her peers. It’s possible she already suffered from depression back then as well. I don’t know. I didn’t meet her for another ten years, so I don’t know the fourteen-year-old Shana. But if that’s the case . . . she would’ve expected the worst. Then when it happened, what’s the point in fighting it?”

Phil nodded. He appeared troubled. Locking away my forty-four-year-old psychotic sister didn’t bother him. Contemplating who she’d once been, the young girl with a troubled past. That was harder. As it should be.

“What about her lawyer?” D.D. asked. “He must’ve put up a fight, a fourteen-year-old client.”

“The best no money could buy,” I assured her.

D.D. rolled her eyes.