tipper
Former Member
http://www.pulitzer.org/year/1996/feature-writing/works/smith.html
He had to hold her together even as he and other investigators picked her story apart, had to coax and soothe and even pray beside her, until he sensed that the time was right to confront her and try to trick her into confessing.
And he had to shield her from others, who might push too hard. Once, on Oct. 27, a state agent accused her outright. She cursed loudly and stormed away.
After that, the people who had contact with her were limited. With the assistance of Pete Logan, a warm, grandfatherly former F.B.I. agent now with the state police, Mr. Wells asked for her help in finding the boys, but did not accuse her.
The whole time, her family, her hometown and much of America were following her story, sharing her agony.
"She couldn't turn to her family, she couldn't ask for an attorney," said Mr. Wells. "She painted herself into a corner where no one could help her."
On Nov. 3, he told her, gently, that he knew she was lying, that by coincidence his own deputies had been undercover on a narcotics case at the same crossroad where she said her babies had been stolen, and at the same time, and that the officers had seen nothing. Actually there had been no such stakeout.
He prayed with her again, holding her hands, and she confessed. "I had a problem telling the lie," he said as his story unfolded in his living room the other day. "But if that's what it takes, I'd do it again."
After the confession was signed, as she sat slumped over in her chair, there was still one thing he had to know.
"Susan," he asked, "how would all this have played out?"
"I was going to write you a letter," she said, "and kill myself."
He had to hold her together even as he and other investigators picked her story apart, had to coax and soothe and even pray beside her, until he sensed that the time was right to confront her and try to trick her into confessing.
And he had to shield her from others, who might push too hard. Once, on Oct. 27, a state agent accused her outright. She cursed loudly and stormed away.
After that, the people who had contact with her were limited. With the assistance of Pete Logan, a warm, grandfatherly former F.B.I. agent now with the state police, Mr. Wells asked for her help in finding the boys, but did not accuse her.
The whole time, her family, her hometown and much of America were following her story, sharing her agony.
"She couldn't turn to her family, she couldn't ask for an attorney," said Mr. Wells. "She painted herself into a corner where no one could help her."
On Nov. 3, he told her, gently, that he knew she was lying, that by coincidence his own deputies had been undercover on a narcotics case at the same crossroad where she said her babies had been stolen, and at the same time, and that the officers had seen nothing. Actually there had been no such stakeout.
He prayed with her again, holding her hands, and she confessed. "I had a problem telling the lie," he said as his story unfolded in his living room the other day. "But if that's what it takes, I'd do it again."
After the confession was signed, as she sat slumped over in her chair, there was still one thing he had to know.
"Susan," he asked, "how would all this have played out?"
"I was going to write you a letter," she said, "and kill myself."