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Authors: Barbie Latza Nadeau
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grandfatherly man who was well known and respected in Perugia. A former soccer star and communist politician, Ghirga is friends with all the judges and prosecutors in town, which is certainly an advantage, but he doesn’t speak English. So Edda also asked the U.S. Embassy for recommendations and selected Carlo Dalla Vedova from its alphabetical list. Dalla Vedova is a well-known civil lawyer in Rome, whose clients include some of the big multinational firms and U.N. agencies, but he had never tried a criminal case.
Before the attorneys had a chance to meet each other or their new client, Amanda asked her prison guards for paper and a pen. Then she wrote a five-page
memorandum that would seal her fate by essentially confirming the statements in her late-night interrogation:
I also know that the fact that I can’t fully recall the events that I claim took place at Raffaele’s home during the time that Meredith was murdered is incriminating. And I stand by my statements that I made last night about events that could have taken place in my home with Patrick, but I want to make very clear that these events seem more unreal to me [than] what I said before, that I stayed at Raffaele’s house.
I’m very confused at this time. My head is full of contrasting ideas and I know I can be frustrating to work with for this reason. But I also want to tell the truth as best I can. Everything I have said in regards to my involvement in Meredith’s death, even though it is contrasting, are the best truth that I have been able to think.
In this spontaneous statement, Amanda placed herself at the scene of the crime, and she was never able to convincingly remove herself in further testimony. Amanda had always been a prolific writer, and she
continued this habit in prison, rambling on, incoherently at times, in what she called “My Prison Diary— Il mio diario del prigione. ” The police took every page and used it against her, painting a picture of a disturbed, sometimes delusional young woman. Among other things, Amanda wrote:
I only know I’m safe when I’m with the police or alone, although this is only the kind of safety I feel for my body. Alone, and with the police, I fear my mind. Alone I imagine the horrors my friend must have gone through in her final moments. My imaginations become more and more precise the more the police ask me questions. For instance, I know my friend was raped before she was murdered. I can only imagine how she must have felt at these moments, scared, hurt, violated. But even more I have to imagine what it must have felt like when she felt the blood flowing out of her. What must have she thought? About her mom? Regret?
By November 7, Meredith’s parents had also arrived in Perugia, and they visited the makeshift shrine on the steps of the duomo, where the giant picture of their daughter still stood among the red votive candles. John
placed a red rose in front of the picture and wrote a note on a piece of paper he had in his pocket: “Love you forever Meredith. All my love, Dad XXXX.”
Meredith’s parents were not allowed to take their daughter home on this trip. Two further autopsies were ordered, and it would be six weeks before her body was released and laid to rest at the Croydon Parish Church in South London in a service attended by hundreds. A wreath of yellow chrysanthemums on her casket spelled out “Mez,” as she was known to her friends. Amanda’s family never offered any condolences to Meredith’s parents, who struggled to understand what had happened to their daughter. As headlines screamed the morbid details of her murder, Meredith’s parents became reclusive, refusing to talk to any press. Only Meredith’s sister Stephanie gave sporadic interviews, describing their faith in the Italian justice system. The Kerchers’ lawyers, Francesco Maresca and Serena Perna, drip-fed the worst details to the family in the most delicate way they could. The only thing Meredith’s family
Before the attorneys had a chance to meet each other or their new client, Amanda asked her prison guards for paper and a pen. Then she wrote a five-page
memorandum that would seal her fate by essentially confirming the statements in her late-night interrogation:
I also know that the fact that I can’t fully recall the events that I claim took place at Raffaele’s home during the time that Meredith was murdered is incriminating. And I stand by my statements that I made last night about events that could have taken place in my home with Patrick, but I want to make very clear that these events seem more unreal to me [than] what I said before, that I stayed at Raffaele’s house.
I’m very confused at this time. My head is full of contrasting ideas and I know I can be frustrating to work with for this reason. But I also want to tell the truth as best I can. Everything I have said in regards to my involvement in Meredith’s death, even though it is contrasting, are the best truth that I have been able to think.
In this spontaneous statement, Amanda placed herself at the scene of the crime, and she was never able to convincingly remove herself in further testimony. Amanda had always been a prolific writer, and she
continued this habit in prison, rambling on, incoherently at times, in what she called “My Prison Diary— Il mio diario del prigione. ” The police took every page and used it against her, painting a picture of a disturbed, sometimes delusional young woman. Among other things, Amanda wrote:
I only know I’m safe when I’m with the police or alone, although this is only the kind of safety I feel for my body. Alone, and with the police, I fear my mind. Alone I imagine the horrors my friend must have gone through in her final moments. My imaginations become more and more precise the more the police ask me questions. For instance, I know my friend was raped before she was murdered. I can only imagine how she must have felt at these moments, scared, hurt, violated. But even more I have to imagine what it must have felt like when she felt the blood flowing out of her. What must have she thought? About her mom? Regret?
By November 7, Meredith’s parents had also arrived in Perugia, and they visited the makeshift shrine on the steps of the duomo, where the giant picture of their daughter still stood among the red votive candles. John
placed a red rose in front of the picture and wrote a note on a piece of paper he had in his pocket: “Love you forever Meredith. All my love, Dad XXXX.”
Meredith’s parents were not allowed to take their daughter home on this trip. Two further autopsies were ordered, and it would be six weeks before her body was released and laid to rest at the Croydon Parish Church in South London in a service attended by hundreds. A wreath of yellow chrysanthemums on her casket spelled out “Mez,” as she was known to her friends. Amanda’s family never offered any condolences to Meredith’s parents, who struggled to understand what had happened to their daughter. As headlines screamed the morbid details of her murder, Meredith’s parents became reclusive, refusing to talk to any press. Only Meredith’s sister Stephanie gave sporadic interviews, describing their faith in the Italian justice system. The Kerchers’ lawyers, Francesco Maresca and Serena Perna, drip-fed the worst details to the family in the most delicate way they could. The only thing Meredith’s family
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