"People wanted him to rot in jail," I said, and my guide finished my thought: "I think they got their wish," he said.
"If you really want to experience what life is like right now for Mr. Bernardo," said my guide, "you have to go inside a cell."
We found an empty one, similar to the cage where Bernardo lives 23 hours a day, 365 days a year, getting out only for his daily bit of fresh air in a small, fenced-in compound, or showering twice a week, always watched.
The cell was tiny. If you want the same experience, step into a small walk-in closet and close the door. There was a bunk on one side, a toilet at the far end.
The cell was about three paces long, and about as wide as Bernardo's arm span. Claustrophobia set in immediately. I felt trapped, and thought of animals in the zoo in small cages, and how horrible must be their existence.
"I've had enough," I said, turning to leave, just as the bars behind me shut. "What are you doing?" I asked my guide, now my jailer, standing on the other side of freedom.