Podcast Announcer (3:16)
November 7, 1984 Salem, Oregon Dear Jim, I am not really sure how to start this letter, but I guess the best way to make an apology is to say I'm sorry. Now, you're probably wondering what this is all about, and when you are through reading, you'll probably drop this letter and say, damn you, Diane, like you have so many times before your blood pressure will go up. And I'm sorry about that, too. I'm sorry about a lot of things, really. I only hope you will forgive me for not being totally honest with you. It's just that it's so hard for me to put myself in someone else's hands. I find it hard to fully trust anyone not to hurt me. I needed to control myself and my situation, and I've been that way for a few years. It has been a hard lesson to learn, and I can't guarantee that I'll be cured forever. But I know now that I should have placed this whole problem in your hands and let you deal with it. But I was afraid. Silly maybe, but I was afraid you would lose respect for me and. Well, let me explain. Hopefully, by the time you finish reading this, you'll have an understanding of me and I'll have your forgiveness. I had no right to hire you as my attorney and then expect you to represent me without telling you everything I could. I really am grateful for your representation and support these past 17 months, and because of that, I cannot be comfortable with myself unless I come clean with you. Again, I am sorry for thinking I had to handle things myself. I should have let go for once in my life and let someone else take over for a while. Please understand and forgive. This letter may get lengthy, but please bear with me. I have a lot of conscience to relieve. Perhaps it's best to start with the night of the shooting. I wasn't totally honest because I was afraid of what else could happen to me at the hands of the police. I had marijuana in my car when I stopped an old Mohawk, and I was afraid if I told the whole truth, I would lose my job with the post office because of the drug charge, and I couldn't afford that. So I told as much of the truth as I could without saying the things that would make me look like a creep. I had also hoped that by eliminating certain facts that the police would not find out that I had rather loose morals. I did not want people that I respected to think poorly of me. So when I got to the hospital, I couldn't tell the police I opened the trunk because they would want to know what I removed. And it was pot. But while I had the trunk open, I didn't see him remove the black case. Yes, the black case with Steve's gun in it. I'm sorry I lied, but I couldn't explain the presence of the gun without telling you about the pot. So while it is very possible that an officer can make one mistake in an effort to trap a criminal, I don't think it happened this time. It just all seemed so harmless in the beginning. Jim Dickens and I were coming back from Heather's, and when we turned around the south side of Sunderman Road, a guy started playing catch up with me. I was driving slower than most people do, so he passed me. Then he pulled in front of me and slowed down so I passed him. It was a game, just a flirt. We pulled off Marcala onto Old Mohawk. Why? Just because the kids were asleep. He was a man, and I wasn't really tired yet. I like men and I love to flirt. Maybe some would say it's because she's just a tramp. Anyway, I pulled over on Old Mohawk, and he stopped behind me. When I get out of the car, I checked the kids and they were all asleep. I did take the keys off of the ignition and had them hung on my finger. We talked for a couple of minutes, and I looked at the kids. They were still asleep. He asked if I had any smoke, and even though he wasn't exactly my kind of guy, I figured it would be better to placate him rather than offend him. So I opened the trunk and removed the bag. I had to dig under a couple of things to get it, and I did not see him remove anything from the trunk. When I straightened up and closed the trunk, I saw what he had in his hand. I don't recall our conversation verbatim, but we discussed the reason he had taken the gun. And that time he had removed it from the case. He started acting a little strange. And that's when I started to get scared, which I rarely do. He made sexual advances, and I handed him the pot and tried to get his mind on another subject. Honestly, Jim, all I did was try to discourage his advances. And he flipped. He tossed the black case and the pot on the hood of his car and grabbed my left arm. It made me mad and scared at the time, so I pulled my arm free and said no. That was when he went to open the door of my car. I moved toward him, but looked in the little wing window as he shot McCristy. She really was asleep, Jim, but she woke up and raised herself before he shot her again. I really don't know who he shot next, and I don't see why it matters. I don't know if he got in the car or not. All I do know is I saw my daughter, my Chrissy, bleeding. I just stood there paralyzed. Chris and I are empathic, and I couldn't separate myself from her pain and terror. It was almost as if I was a part of her. Now you'll probably sit back and say, yup, Diane's a real crazy. But if you do, it's only because you've never loved anyone or up your life as much as I did with my kids. It's hard for me to explain how much I love my kids and need them. Love seems like such an inadequate word. Perhaps if you ever want to talk to me again, I can try to explain it. Anyways. When he swung back toward me, I was startled. The guy hit my right hand and the keys did jingle. But he didn't ask for the car. He didn't say anything because I hit him, and I guess he was too mad for work. Words. I'm sorry. I can't say why he didn't say anything. This letter is not for speculation. But I can say that he looks angry. He grabbed my left arm again, and I tried to break free. Just then I heard the gun fire two times. My arm fell to my side. It may sound strange, Jim, but in that moment I didn't feel fear or hysteria anymore. I was angry. And I guess motivated would be a good word for how I felt. He was looking at the gun and I pushed him. I jumped in and inserted the keys and left. I have no idea if he fell or what. I wasn't looking at him. I remember very little of the trip to the hospital. I recall trying to help Chrissy and hearing Danny cry and telling Sherry to wake up. I remember blood and odors and a white fence. I recall opening the window, but the rest is black. I'm sorry. I don't recall much more. Or maybe I'm glad I don't recall much more. At any rate, my memory is gone. At the hospital, I can't say I was very reactive. Perhaps I looked cool, calm and collected to everyone know me. My kids needed help in a way that I could not help. So I got them to the doctor. But it's hard for me to just turn my life over to someone else and let go. So I used all my strength to hold together so I would be ready when they needed me to help. I didn't want to become a basket case that the doctor would have to knock out because I had to be ready and able to support my kids emotionally. Then of course there was the police force. They needed answers and I did tell them what I could. I couldn't tell them about my loose morals, which put us in a dangerous situation because I didn't want my parents and the hospital staff and the police to think I was a tramp. And I couldn't tell them about the pot and therefore I couldn't tell him about the gun. But I told them where to look. And I know I sound very confused and to be truthful, I was a mess. It didn't hit me that when they found him they would find out about the first and the pot and the gun. I just knew that I could not tell them. As time passed, and not very much of it at that, the police and everyone else found out about my attraction to men. But then it was impossible for me to go back and retract my half truth. And as far as I was concerned, and still am, it doesn't really matter why I stopped. So I didn't tell them the rest. Then everyone almost was saying that I was the one who shot my kids. And they said it was Steve's gun that was used and therefore that proved I was guilty. Well, by that time it wouldn't have mattered because if I wanted to risk my job by telling about the pot and explaining what happened, because they would have used that gun against me. I was afraid, Jim. Afraid of what people would think of me. Ironic, isn't it? I didn't want anyone to know I had loose morals and now they think I'm a murderess. And it's all because they wouldn't own up to my real faults. Well, then I retained you to help my daughter and ended up needing you myself. But by the time I needed you, I respected you and looked up to you. I didn't want you to think of me as a liar or weakling. So what did I do to cover the lies? Lie some more, but I can't stand it anymore. You can only keep it up for so long before it becomes like in your throat. I've gotten to the place that I can't even look at myself anymore. You proved yourself not only a good attorney but a friend. And it can't that I never confess the lies than I have used you and I can't live with that on my conscience forever. So here I am asking you to forgive me for being a liar and a tramp. I am ashamed of myself and I don't deserve it, but I truly hope you can forgive me and put everything else behind. I know I've many things and I've had all kinds of explanations for all the kinds of things and I'm sorry. I wish I had never omitted part of the truth. I wish well, it's all behind me now. I'm sorry doesn't seem like enough, but I am sorry. Respectfully, Diane.
