Nonfiction | September 01, 1995

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There are images sharply fixed in my memory from my youngest sister’s disappearance in 1980, though most of them are things I never actually saw.  One is the face of her murderer, who in the weeks before her death stopped his car twice to offer me a ride as I walked the mile and a half home from the bus stop.  Another is a confused vision of this man dragging Doris off her bicycle into his car.  Nobody saw this happen, but it comes to me when I try to understand her death, to comprehend an essentially senseless act of violence.

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