Maggie Nelson

This is from Jane's journal in 1966. She writes to Barbara, Here's to the hope that you'll never stop growing up, not only for what you are, but what I am when I am with you, myself. Gratefully, your sister, Janie.

It was a terrible book to write. I had terrible nightmares. I mean, many times I thought I should abandon ship. Those nightmares began to haunt her. I had this phobia that Jane's killer might be alive and free. Little did she know.

It definitely was beyond the realms of anything I could have ever imagined.

My aunt was shot twice in the head and strangled.

For many years, most people thought my aunt was the victim of a serial killer. When I did my research, I was not convinced that Collins killed my aunt.

There were many mysteries. I had reasons to think that somebody was still out there.

Gary Lighterman is a loved person by many people. If he's found guilty, that will be a very deep tragedy for his family.

Parallel to the highway there runs a narrow gravel road that used to be a lover's lane. The cemetery opens out to grass, then the highway.

So much talk about the possible significance of the name on the headstone where her body was found. But here is just where he dumped her on a night of cold rain and where my mother and I stand today listening to the birds.

Jane was both an inspiration of many things I wanted to be, driven, disobedient, brilliant, independent. And I also knew that she died horribly.

It was just very emotional to think that these 12 people were saying, we believe this person killed your relative.

He was much more emotional than I've ever seen him At a certain point, he just completely had to say, I'm never going to know what happened here. And I just don't think he thought at 91 he'd be hearing a jury read a guilty verdict.

The horror of Jane's death made her a forgotten person. It was too hard to look at it. And in some strange way, she's come back to life. My family got to remember how much they loved her, you know.

I didn't feel as though I could ask anyone in my family the details about Jane's murder. What was it that you wanted to know, that you needed to know? The questions weren't so much. I mean, they were like, who was she? How did she die? But they were really also, why does this story haunt me so much? We didn't talk about what had happened to Jane.

You know, for a world that demands direction, I certainly have none. Will I be a teacher? Will I go to France? Really, I don't know how smart I am. And that, above all else, keeps me working and working hard.

He got very nervous, so he set out looking for her, driving in his car. There's only one freeway, really, you know, between Ann Arbor and where my grandfather lived. The idea that he could just encounter her on the road, wandering somewhere, needing help. So he drove, you know, several hours just looking on the road to see.

She had been shot once in the front and once in the back of the head. Here is just where he dumped her on a night of cold rain. Jane was a silent but very strong presence growing up. I had a lot of unanswered questions, both about Jane's murder, about who she had been. I look back to 1969 to find out.

There was a lot of hysteria when I grew up. There was a lot of barricading of the doors. Hysterical fear, you know, the kind of fear that just doesn't feel like it's going to do you any good to hold on to it.

It has poetry, prose, newspaper articles, journal entries. A book about Jane's life. She writes, I am happy. Tomorrow I may not be, yesterday I wasn't, but I am now, and that's all that matters.

I found her in the wild. Her name was Jane, plain Jane.