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| Writing and Righting Wrongs |
When a writer friend recently asked why I write mysteries instead of other forms of fiction, I realized for the first time that the reason has more to do with a young murder victim named Deborah Sue Williamson than the fictional girl detective Nancy Drew.
Like many, I initially became intrigued by the mystery genre when I discovered the adventures of Nancy Drew and the thrill of being able to solve puzzling cases along with her. But after carefully contemplating my writer friend's question, I know my first real murder mystery had a far greater impact.
I was a young police beat reporter at a newspaper in Lubbock, Texas, when beautiful blonde newlywed Deborah Sue Williamson was brutally stabbed 17 times on August 24, 1975, and left to die inside the carport of her new home. Her husband found her body when he returned from working at the pizza restaurant he managed. Deborah Sue's wedding dress lay on the guestroom bed inside the house, and her purse was missing along with their wedding album.
She was only 18 years old.
The murder, which remains unsolved today, shocked the West Texas city of 225,000. My editor vowed the Lubbock Avalanche-Journal would carry a front-page story every day until her killer was found. By the time he gave up almost four months later, I knew more about Deborah Sue Williamson than anyone had a right to beyond her immediate family.
For more than 35 years, her murder has haunted me. When a crazy drifter named Henry Lee Lucas confessed in the 1980s to her slaying and over 500 more – crimes he later recanted – I knew it wasn’t him. Her parents did, too, and even sold their home to finance an investigation to prove it so police would continue looking for the real killer.
And it is a grave injustice and an unspeakable tragedy that her murderer still walks free today.
I am a relative newcomer to the mystery genre, having spent decades focused on writing non-fiction articles and books. A few years ago, I decided to try writing a mystery, thinking it might be an interesting challenge and also possibly help exorcise some of the demons from my police beat days.
As such, I was a far too frequent witness to the devastating aftermath of crime. And with each new crime story I begin and every day that I work on my coninuous-novel-in-progress, I think about Deborah Sue and the other victims. I imagine the terror they felt. I remember how desperate Deborah Sue's parents were to see the crime solved, sharing everything possible with the police and a reporter in the hope it would lead to her killer.
These tragedies never leave me. I am grateful to be able to put pieces of these heart-breaking tales into my own work, where fiction allows us to right wrongs, to make sure the killer is caught, and there is justice for the victim.
I only wish someone could do the same for Deborah Sue Williamson, her family and so many others.
Why do you write mysteries? Are you trying to right any wrongs?
