In the early 1870s, there were a handful of harrowing crimes in New York, which were believed to be committed by a single person. Soon, a clergyman from Westchester, who had been acquainted with most of the victims, was arrested and charged with murder in four cases. Convinced by the indications of the evidence, the Grand Jury had concluded that he was guilty on all counts. He spent two years in prison until his death.

More than five decades later, an elderly woman in her eighties gave herself to the police in Hell's Kitchen and declared that she indeed was blameworthy for those felonies from the previous century. A young detective took this unexpected visitor routinely into his office and offered her a chair to take a seat. As the officer sat down on the other side of the desk, she asked him politely in her clear voice, if she could begin with her testimony.

While the woman was describing her sins and sufferings with meticulously chosen words, he listened to her attentively, only to look down to take occasional notes. What she had depicted in greater detail mostly corresponded to the known fact, and even suggested some significant information, that only a couple of people could possibly know. Other parts of her story, however, turned out to be contradictory or simply did not match to the filed records.

Shortly after her confession, she passed away, leaving behind quite a few books of diary she had kept for herself; the only remarkable belongings she had owned and probably cherished. These old pages, some illustrated, others carefully decorated with dried flowers and small objects, seemed to be a witness of the misdeeds. When the officer got to see them, he knew at once that she was telling him the truth, or at least, her own truth.

— May 2023