In 1992, while working for the Tulare County Probation Department, assigned to the Tulare County Courthouse, I first ran across copies of transcripts of taped interviews with a murder suspect accused of murdering an ll year old girl. The case involved rape, sodomy, and brutal damage to the victim. The transcripts were captivating. Because of my duties, I couldn?t personally follow the trial which was still in progress, but I followed the case in the daily tabloids. Because of the length of the trials (and there was more than one) I eventually lost track of the proceedings until a conviction was finally rendered. It would take a decade and the ?Freedom of Information Act? before I gave thought to writing about April?s murder. The ?thought? would eventually give me reason to question my sanity. I had been doing research on April?s death for several months: death certificate, birth certificate, old newspaper articles, talking to old acquaintances at the Tulare County Sheriff?s Office. The work was interesting, but often tedious, boring labor. The process of compiling data is very impersonal and has no life of its own. Early in 2002, I decided to visit April?s grave at the Tulare District Cemetery, Tulare, California. I did my research prior to visiting the cemetery; April was located in the southeast section, marker 544. My daughter, Sheri, accompanied me for the purpose of photographing the site. We wandered around the approximate location with negative results, and decided to separate to cover more territory. After a short time, Sheri yelled out, ?Dad, her she is!? My knees almost buckled. I was shocked, what was going on? I didn?t move for a moment; it dawned on me slowly?April was no longer just an interesting story, set in black and white print, April was a person who had walked this earth. The steps I took towards the marker were small, and staggered. I looked down at the small marker bearing her name, pinched in tightly between two other headstones. APRIL HOLLEY-Apr. 24, 1977-Dec. 3, 1988 . You cannot etch in stone, ?Here lies a young child, taken early in her life by someone who decided she did not need to live any longer.? As I was getting ready to leave the cemetery, a couple of thoughts crossed my mind as I glanced down at the headstone one last time. On one side lay an uncle almost unknown to her, the other side a complete unknown. April would be forever alone. The second thought was a resolve to tell her story to the best of my limited ability.