Sarah Koenig

I asked him what he meant.

A prosecutor I was talking to said, of course Adnan can't ever admit to this crime.

After all his parents have been through, the fear and the money and the anguish, how could he ever turn around and say to them, I did it?

Adnan took issue with that.

I can't say what would truly be easier for his family, knowing their son had murdered someone or feeling as if he's been taken from them unjustly.

But it is true that Adnan has always been fine in prison.

He's adaptable.

He pointed out to me that he'd never been independent anyway, first a word of his parents, then a word of the state.

He spent the initial part of his sentence at a prison in Jessup, about a 30-minute drive for his family.

It was a looser place than where he is now, at North Branch in Cumberland, a maximum security prison more than two hours away from Baltimore.

In Jessup especially, people got away with all kinds of craziness.

That prison's closed now.

Anand's only had one infraction his entire time, which a guy at the DOC told me was impressive for anyone.

After I asked about his prison record, Anand sent me a stack of copies, 21 different certificates and awards for completing this program or helping with that activity.

In 2005, he got one called the Distinguished Gentleman's Award for your consistent display of character, mannerism, self-control, and ability to manage adversity, signed by the warden.

Adnan's one infraction was for having a cell phone, which he had for five years.

Actually, he had a couple of different cell phones.

A new one he got, he couldn't figure out how to make it work.

At Jessup, Anand had a good job.

He was a clerk in the chaplain's office, which gave him access to a computer and to a printer and copier.