By Josh Mankiewicz, Dateline Correspondent

The guy reminded me of my grandfather. Same western shirt, same cowboy boots, same Brylcreem in his hair. Except that I never saw my grandfather cry.

Now, this fellow wasn't blubbering, but he'd choke up every so often and a tear would form, which he'd dab away with some Kleenex wadded up in his fist. And I just sat there and did nothing. Normally, when someone starts crying in the middle of a conversation, your urge is to get out of your chair and put your arm around them, or at least tell them how sorry you are. But this was television, so I just soldiered on.

He was talking about his daughter, who'd been killed by her husband. And sadly, he was one of six straight interviews I'd done for Dateline in which the person sitting across from me was crying. We cover a lot of murder cases at Dateline, and in each case, the person I was interviewing was telling me about the worst thing that had ever happened to them; the sister, the best friend, the wife taken from them suddenly and through violence.

Television is pretty good at showcasing emotion, and there was a time when getting someone to cry on-camera was hugely desirable. "Did she squirt?" one high-profile TV doctor used to ask his producers after they returned from an interview. I suppose there are still people who seek out the tears, but I'm not one of them.

One disclaimer here: Whenever people I'm interviewing start to cry, I almost always ask them if they'd like to take a minute to compose themselves, and sometimes they do. The problem comes when virtually the entire subject you're discussing is so wrenching that tears start flowing every 15 seconds, which makes stopping and starting a poor option, and may actually prolong the interview and thus, your subject's agony as well. So in those situations, I just go on and ask the next question.

The problem with doing that is that to ignore someone else's tears, you have to shut off part of yourself, that part that makes you want to reach out to an adult so shattered by the memories you're provoking that they start to cry. And whenever I do that, I always wonder if that part of me will automatically turn back on when the interview is concluded. So far, it always has. If I sense someday that it hasn't, I'll be facing a tough choice about continuing in this line of work, which has paid my rent for 34 years.

All of that brings me to Tom Richardson, convicted in court of murdering his wife Juanita by pushing or throwing her off a cliff on the shores of Lake Superior, 140 feet to her death.

Richardson gave me an interview not long after his conviction, and under Dateline's lights, we went back over the details of the day Juanita died. At different times in the interview, he would suddenly start to sob, his voice cracking. Seconds later, he'd be composed again, speaking in that flat Michigan accent that made him sound like a homicidal Sonny Bono.

I never saw any actual tears, which made me wonder -- just as Park Rangers at the Pictured Rocks National Lakeshore wondered when Tom first reported that his wife was missing. One minute, they reported, he was sobbing with his head in his hands; the next, he was perfectly composed. Add to that the three different stories he told police in the first 12 hours after Juanita's death and you have grounds for the suspicion that put Richardson at the center of a murder investigation, and eventually led to his conviction. He is asking for a new trial.

I'd love to cover some stories in which I don't have to ask anyone if they'd like to take a break and dry their tears.  I can ask. But I'm sure not counting on it.

Click here for the whole story of what happened at Pictured Rocks.

By Sara James, Dateline Correspondent

Being a network reporter means having the opportunity to travel to some places which are, to say the least, out of the ordinary -- such as the Washington State Penitentiary in Walla Walla.

I made the trek there on a bright, sunny day, and as I waited in the prison yard for the interview subject to show up,  I leaned back against a 30-foot wall festooned with concertina wire.  A guard beckoned me over. "Hey, ma'am, that's a No Go Zone," he informed me.

"I beg your pardon?"

"Move away from the wall, please.  It's a shoot-to-kill zone."

I didn't waste any time following instructions.

If such precautions seem extreme, it's worth remembering that this prison is home to some notorious prisoners, and I was there to interview one of them.

When I met Kevin Coe, it was easy to see the handsome man he would have been in his 30s. He has blond hair, blue eyes, and a chiseled jaw. He seemed like the last person anyone in Spokane would have suspected as the terrifying figure from a nightmare which lasted for years.

But police say that Kevin Coe was the South Hill Rapist, a rapist who is believed to have been responsible for dozens of attacks.  A rapist whose brutality would leave his victims in terror from the day when they were thrown to the ground, a hand shoved down their throat, and raped, until now.

Indeed, one victim told us she was so traumatized, she never told her children about her attack all those years ago until she agreed to be interviewed by us. 

As we sat down there in the prison, where Kevin Coe agree to speak publicly for the first time in a decade, he insisted, again and again, on his innocence.  And yet, as those blue eyes locked onto mine, never flinching, I knew that Coe has also been labeled a psychopath,  and for a psychopath, a lie in the service of self-preservation is easy. 

What is the truth about what happened in Spokane, all those years ago?  Should Kevin Coe be freed, having served his time, or is he a danger to society?  After you watch his interview, I think you'll find you have an opinion.

Click here for the full report on "The Case of the South Hill Rapist."

By Fred Rothenberg, Dateline Producer

The next decision in the Michael George murder case -- the so-called "Comic Book Murder" -- could be a game-changer and and hugely controversial.

On Thursday, May 15, Judge James M. Biernat will hear oral arguments as the defense asks the judge to overturn the jury's unanimous guilty verdict. In legalese, the defense has asked for a directed verdict. Lawyers for both sides, who already have submitted written briefs, say the judge could make a decision immediately after the oral arguments, or days later.

It appears he has three choices, two of which would be remarkable.

First, the judge could reverse the March 17 verdict, when jurors found George guilty of first-degree murder for the shooting death of his wife, Barbara, in their suburban Detroit comic book store on Friday the 13th, July, 1990.

Second, he could order a new trial, also highly unusual for a trial judge to do.

Third, he could deny the motion for directed verdict and leave any decisions on the case in the hands of an appeals court.

On the issue of the directed verdict, it's deja vu all over again.

After the prosecution rested its case, the defense asked the judge to throw out the case for lack of evidence. Generally, this motion for a directed verdict is pro-forma, and so is the response by the judge.

"You're almost always ... rebuffed within about 10 to 15 seconds," said lead defense attorney Carl Marlinga.

But Judge Biernat's response was anything but ordinary. He took nearly five hours to mull it over. Had the prosecution not met its burden? Had prosecutor Steve Kaplan not offered enough evidence for the jury to believe that the defendant was in the comic book store with a gun at the time of the murder? (The prosecution acknowledged this was a largely circumstantial case with no gun, no eyewitness, and no DNA, but believed it had dug up enough evidence to get a conviction in this cold case 18 years later.)

As a producer for "Dateline NBC" covering the trial, when the judge took one hour, then three, then five, I was thinking this trial might end at halftime.

Other reporters agreed. Something special might be happening here.

"This was taken to lengths that I've never seen before," said Edward Cardenas, veteran courts reporter for the Detroit News. "I thought the longer that it went, there was the possibility that the judge was going to throw the case out."

And if the reporters were thinking that, what about the lawyers?

For the defense, Carl Marlinga was growing more confident by the hour.

"I remember walking outside with my client and saying, 'This is obviously good news. I cannot lie to you. Judges don't take this long to decide these motions.' "

For the prosecution, Steve Kaplan wouldn't even dignify an overturned verdict as a legal possibility. When he's not running the Macomb County cold case unit and prosecuting cases, Kaplan is a part-time law professor. His keen knowledge of the law is well-known and he seemed to see this delay as the judge's ruminations and not a valid legal option.

After Dateline correspondent Dennis Murphy noted the judge's considerable time pondering, Kaplan replied in an interview that "Some judges spend more time reviewing motions than others."

Murphy asked, "But, did you have to worry, when you guys were on break, the judge is going over this thing? Did we not meet the test here, we're going to lose this thing?"

"In our county, we have not had a murder dismissed during a jury trial," said Kaplan.

But Kaplan's boss, county prosecutor Eric Smith, let us in on what, he said, was really going on in the prosecutor's office.

"We were fit to be tied," Smith said. "After five hours, you start to worry."

After those five hours, when the judge returned to the bench, he made points for both sides. Tension was high. Would he dismiss the case?

In the end, he didn't.

"This is in many ways a classic murder case," the judge said out of the presence of the jury. "If the evidence is believed by the jury, then the jury could reach a finding of guilt." And then he added, " So the court, at this point, cannot substitute its judgment for that of the jury."

One source who spoke to Judge Biernat said the judge actually had prepared a written order granting the directed verdict. Then he re-read the case law and changed his mind.

But now, the stakes are even higher. A jury has weighed in, confident in its decision to convict Michael George for first-degree murder, insurance fraud, and a felony firearms charge. It would be a controversial step for any trial judge to overturn a murder conviction in his own county, especially after he's said in open court that there was ample evidence to go forward.

But this is a thoughtful judge who had second and third thoughts on the original motion for directed verdict. Sources around the courthouse say that Judge Biernat has been talking to his fellow judges about his options and it appears he may want to do something, if possible.

But could he be hemmed in by his previous ruling? Or, could he say that he was mistaken then and wants to set things right now? Or, could he do nothing and let an appeals court decide?

Predictably, the lawyers are divided.

"The odds of a murder conviction being overturned by the trial judge, less than one percent," said Kaplan for the prosecution.

"I believe that we have a strong shot with this judge to be able to get a reversal -- either an outright reversal or a new trial," said Marlinga for the defense. "And if it doesn't happen in this court, I believe that we have a decent shot at the court of appeals."

Whatever the judge does next week or later, expect to see "The Comic Book Murder," that aired on Dateline Friday night (May 9), on the docket next TV season as fodder for one of the prime-time courtroom dramas. As often happens, life will imitate art -- and vice-versa.

For more information on this case, click here. Watch an Express version of the Dateline episode below.

 

By Josh Mankiewicz, Dateline Correspondent

It's been a long road for Cindy Sommer. Her U.S. Marine husband died in February, 2002, and she just got out of jail last week after being convicted by a jury of his murder. Now here's the hitch: she's innocent. Officially.

Cops and prosecutors will tell you, somewhat derisively, that the jails and prisons are just full of innocent men and women, that everyone behind bars comes armed with a story about how they got jobbed by the system. I don't know how often that's true, but it's certainly true for Cindy Sommer.

Her husband dropped dead on the bedroom floor that awful night, and although Cindy tried to do CPR, Todd Sommer died at only 23. The official cause of death was a heart attack.

A year or so later, Naval investigators (NCIS) were about to close the case when they decided to send Todd's tissue samples to a lab for heavy-metals analysis. That lab test came back showing more than a thousand times the amount of arsenic in Todd Sommer's tissues than should have been there.

NCIS began looking at Cindy as a possible murder suspect, because she received a life-insurance payout of $250,000 after her husband died. Never mind that she put more than half the money into a trust for her four kids, never mind that she paid off a number of family debts with what was left over (military families are always scraping to make ends meet). It was what Cindy did with about $5,600 of that money that raised both eyebrows and suspicions. She got breast implants.

She also comported herself somewhat oddly in the days and weeks after her husband's death; she hooked up with other Marines and went to Tijuana for a wet T-Shirt contest. In a vacuum, that conduct wouldn't have merited more than some eye-rolling and disdain. Against the backdrop of arsenic poisoning, it looked sinister -- as if, as the prosecutor said, she were celebrating. In truth, there was nothing to suggest celebration in her libertine behavior, and none of it should have substituted for evidence of a crime. But all of it came into the courtroom via a lawyer's error, and jurors heard every sordid detail.

What no one listened to, apparently, was that there wasn't a single shred of evidence that Cindy Sommer had bought arsenic, asked anyone about it, handled it, or Googled it. Similarly, prosecutors couldn't find anyone who had heard her say that she had a bad marriage, was going to leave her husband, or wished she were single again.

But there was that test showing arsenic in Todd's tissues. During the trial, defense attorneys attacked the veracity of the test and some chain-of-custody issues, but ultimately the test stood up in court. In doing so, it made all her other behavior seem nefarious, like her inquiries about money immediately after Todd's death, like her short-term affairs, like her new breasts, like her attempts to perform CPR (prosecutors said she was faking it for the 911 tape).

In this country, we're taught, courtesy of all those forensic TV dramas, that when the lab boys say something is true, you can take it to the bank. But this time, on CSI-San Diego, the story ended differently.

It now seems more attention -- maybe a lot more -- should have been paid to that positive-for-arsenic test, because when other, untested samples of Todd Sommer's tissues were found a couple of weeks ago, prosecutors had them analyzed. They found no trace of arsenic. Criminal case over; Cindy set free. Except she spent two years and four months behind bars, away from her kids. She emerged from jail a few days ago having lost pretty much everything; while she's astonishingly chipper, she's about to embody the term "starting over."

Cindy told me that in hindsight, there were some things she'd do differently. I imagine we might soon hear a similar comment from the prosecutors, who somehow went after her without examining all the available evidence.

All of this makes you wonder about all those other people behind bars who insist they're innocent, that in their case, the criminal justice system failed. I was always inclined to disbelieve them – until now.

Click here for "A Trace of Suspicion," a special Dateline featuring Josh Mankiewicz's interviews with Cindy Sommer.

By Bob Gilmartin, Dateline Producer

I first met Eddie Locascio Jr. at the law office of a longtime friend of mine, Michael Band.     Michael, a former top Miami prosecutor, is now a successful private attorney who was hired to help steer Eddie and his aunt, Ursula Silveira, through the maze of the criminal justice system. Eddie struck me immediately as a brilliant young man. Looking in his eyes you could almost see his brain tracking the information minutes ahead of where you were in the conversation.

I first formally met his father, Ed Locascio Sr., in court during a break in the trial. We had seen each other many times in court before, but never spoke. He knew who I was from conversations with his brother, Al, and his sister, who I had spoken with in the hall. But the opportunity had never arisen to go speak with him. With the permission of a court officer, I approached him and introduced myself. Initially, there was some unease on my part about seeming too chummy with the defendant in a first-degree murder case -- especially in front of the victim's family.

But in this case, everyone in the courtroom seemed to be a family member of the victim, Silvia Locascio, either through marriage or through blood.  As usual, the courtroom was divided between the defendant's family and the victim's -- so Ed's immediate family was on one side of the spectator aisle and Silvia's immediate family was on the other. 

Every day, Eddie Jr., Silvia's mother, her sister, Ursula, and cousins came to court and listened to often gruesome testimony.  On the other side of the aisle, behind Ed Sr., was his brother, sister, Ed's girlfriend and his friends.

At this point in the trial, Ed Locascio was innocent until proven guilty. His claim is that he lost his wife to a mad killer (his brother, according to another jury who convicted brother Michael). His son's claim, and that of the prosecutor, was that Ed Sr. was responsible for the murder after putting his brother, Michael, up to the job. As far as Eddie Jr. was concerned, he had long since cut out the Locascio part of his DNA and wanted nothing to do with his father.

As we try to do in every case, Dateline wanted to interview with the father, Ed Locascio Sr. It was during this break in the trial, that I saw my first opportunity to ask him face to face. I was surprised to hear from his brother, Al, that he thought Ed would want to talk to us. And when I introduced myself to Ed Sr., it became quickly evident that he had a lot to say.

First impressions: Ed is a businessman, an accountant by trade, who did well with investments, especially real estate. He was soft-spoken and polite (calling me "Mr. Gilmartin"). Yet he seemed a bit agitated that his relationship with his son, he said, was being misrepresented in court. As proof of that, he showed me a folder with pictures of him and Eddie Jr. working on a humanitarian project (I believe it was Habitat for Humanity). He wanted to show that he was building some sweat equity in his relationship with his son, even pointing out how Eddie Jr. was smiling in one photo. In fact, from the photos, they seemed to be enjoying the work and each other's company.

Of course, Eddie's version of that story would be quite different. He said that he and his father rarely spent time together, much less quality time. He swore in court and in conversations outside the court that his father was abusive to him and even more so to his mother. He said that his father wouldn't pay for his college applications to Ivy League schools even though he surely would have won scholarships.

My conversation with Ed Sr. was relatively short in court, but he agreed to talk more and would talk to me after the verdict. Of course, the prosecutors -- who I know from a number of other cases in Miami over the years -- were later peppering me with questions about my conversation with Ed Sr. and what we talked about.    I borrowed a term of out their book and said that it was "privileged" conversation.

Much was made of Ed Sr.'s interest in sports and coaching and that he was disappointed with his son for not being more of an athlete. Yet he too had his own physical limitations. He has severe diabetes and would often come to court having medical issues. At one point during trial, he threw up. It was one of the most tense moments in the trial when the case was going to the jury.

After the trial, I wrote him in jail but at that point, I was not able to get the interview, because his attorneys had recommended he not do it, pending his appeals. However, he later dismissed his attorneys, and agreed to meet with me.

Before our meeting, we had an hour-long conversation over the phone from his new home at Jackson Correctional Institution, about two hours west of Tallahassee in northern Florida. During our phone conversation, he kept repeating over and over how he wanted to testify but his attorneys told him not to. He said he could disprove much of the evidence against him if only given a chance.

During this conversation and a subsequent one in person at the jail, I found Ed Locascio Sr. a master at  calling up fine details about the case -- probably his accountant training. However, I also found it at times impossible to get a direct answer out of him to a simple question. He would often change the subject and start referring to obscure documents from a foot-high stack of documents he brought with him for our meeting. I think if he had taken the witness stand, Gail Levine, on of the toughest prosecutors I've ever met, would certainly have  tried to push his buttons during cross-examination, but she never got the chance.

When correspondent Dennis Murphy finally sat down for an interview with Ed Locascio Sr., the prisoner looked -- by his own admission -- like hell. He had lost quite a bit of weight, couldn't eat a lot of the jail food because of his diabetes, and told us that for some reason he was not allowed to use a razor to shave. Thus his scraggly beard.

Still, he was very lucid, and enthusiastic to finally be able to tell his story. He said he wanted to take the witness stand, but decided to follow the recommendation of his attorney, Bob Amsel, not to testify.

Perhaps any concerns his attorney had about him testifying were well founded. When we asked if his brother might have been involved in his wife's murder, he changed his tune several times, saying he might have been involved and then later saying there was no way he could have been involved.

He even hinted that his brother might have been involved in some sort of conspiracy, dropping the bombshell that he thought his son, Ed Jr., was involved in some way in his wife's murder. He went on to say this his son may have even killed his mother himself.  Ed Jr. wouldn't even dignify his father's remarks with a response, but early on, prosecutors and detectives dismissed that possibility after conducting extensive interviews, DNA testing, and employing other investigative techniques that ruled Eddie Jr. out as a suspect.

As Dennis Murphy said to Ed Locascio Sr., people might think "how poisonous" for him to implicate his son in his mother's murder after Ed Sr. was convicted of the crime.  Locascio didn't flinch.    All he knew was that he, along with his brother, was a wronged man and innocent of the charges, saying someday he would be exonerated on appeal. 

Meanwhile he and his brother Michael sit in two different northern Florida prisons serving out life sentences.      While both escaped the death penalty for their first-degree murder convictions, unless they're successful on appeal, the only way out of prison for them is in a pine box. In Florida, a life sentence means life without the possibility of parole.

A Dateline special, "Murder in the Family," airs Friday, April 18, at 10pm ET on NBC.

By Chris Hansen, Dateline Correspondent

We'd been hearing complaints from senior citizens and government regulators across the country about the tactics some insurance salesmen are using to sell certain investments to retired folks. I'm a long ways off from retiring, but it's an important subject to me because my mom's close to that age and my aunts and uncles are already there. Given the turbulence we've seen on Wall Street, it seems like everyone is re-evaluating or repositioning their investments and would like to have their money in a safe place. And that's what a lot of salesmen are pitching these days.

The investments are called equity-indexed annuities. They may be appropriate for some, but not for everyone. Why are so many people trying to sell these to retired folks? Simple: that's where the money is. Seniors control more than $15 trillion in today's economy and for the salesmen, these annuities pay healthy commissions.

Dateline decided to use hidden cameras to find out what salesmen were really saying or not saying to seniors when peddling these investments. We attended some of those "free lunch" seminars put on for potential clients, classes where salesman are taught the tricks of the trade. We wired some houses in communities where a lot of retired people live, so we could see the one-on-one pitch play out in real time.

What we found in many cases was remarkable. Some salesmen are being trained to scare the elderly into buying certain investments. In our hidden camera homes, we saw that some agents were not disclosing how long the senior's money would be tied up, in some cases longer than the investor would live. We also saw some salesman not disclosing details about surrender penalties that would have to be paid if the senior had an emergency and had to access their money.

In order to carry out this investigation, though, we needed the help of some senior citizens who would invite salesmen over to hear the pitches. In Alabama, we met a 77-year-old semi-retired lawyer named Leon who fit the bill.

But we also needed help in Arizona. I had just seen my aunt Alice at a funeral in Chicago. She had come up from Arizona, where she lives part of the year. We had a nice chat and I expressed my condolences for her husband, my uncle Charlie, who had also recently passed away.

A few weeks later I wondered if Alice might be the perfect choice to help us in our investigation. After consulting my mom, I reached out for Alice who ultimately agreed to be a part of our story. She was perfect because she was exactly the type of person some salesmen seek: retired, widowed and in possession of a retirement nest egg.

She asked the right questions and as you'll see in our story she presents herself pretty darn well on camera. Now if I can only get the rest of my family working on my stories.

Click here for the full story and video of 'Tricks of the Trade.'

Click here to read more of Chris Hansen's behind-the-scenes looks at his investigations.

By Leonor Ayala, Dateline Field Producer

At 8:45 in the morning, I found myself zipping down a lonely, long stretch of road.  State Road 62 in Florida wasn't much to look at in that hour, just lots of open space and farm land (of course this from my city girl's point of view). This led me to second guess myself. Was I going in the right direction?

My mind was racing. I was en route to Hardee Correctional Institution for my very first meeting with a first-degree murderer.

When I thought about stepping inside a prison for the first time, my anxiety wasn't for my personal safety. It wasn't about the pat-down everyone had warned me about, or being a few feet from a convicted killer. It was about getting to the prison on time.

We only had an hour or so to set up our cameras for the interview.  I knew we had lots of camera equipment and gear to get through security, and the prison had a laundry list of do's and don'ts. Being late could make the difference between the interview happening or not. I had to get to the prison by 10:30 a.m.

It was only when I saw a water tower on the side of the road that I realized I was going to make it.  Jason Kent's parents had told me about a week earlier that this was their landmark on their drive to the prison to visit their son. I felt a huge sense of relief.

It was then I started to really think about what my mission was. I was going to hear Jason Kent's side of the story. Kent, 33, is serving a life sentence for killing his wife's ex-husband. He has been in prison since his arrest in 1999 and this would be the first time he would talk to a national audience about the day he committed murder.

The idea that Jason had gunned down a man in broad daylight eight years ago perplexed me.  His parents, Gene and Carol, were good, upstanding, God-fearing people and their description of Jason just didn't fit that of a killer.  He was by all accounts a conscientious child and a determined student. A devoted Christian and a naval officer.

I arrived late at 11 a.m. with my head abuzz with all of these thoughts. But I quickly went to the task at hand: setting up the shoot. I greeted the prison officers, who were all very cordial and pleasant but are quick to remind me and my crew that, just like any one else, we will have to pass all of their security screenings.  I went first. I was told I'd have to leave my cell phone in my car, along with my keys. Even my pen -- until I argued that I needed it to keep track of the interview. The officers relented.

Then it was the crew's turn. They had arrived at the prison armed with cases and cases of gear. The clock was ticking down to our interview but the guards went through each bag with a fine tooth comb. They asked tough questions about pieces of equipment they thought could double as weapons, in particular our grip gear, which consists of lots of odds-and-ends items like metal hooks.

The crew and I look at each other and puzzled, "How do you really explain grip gear?" Chris Bull, our sound technician, described it as all of the "stuff" we needed to finalize the set.  Nearly two (painful) hours later, we were about to get in when we were told we would all have to go into a back room for a pat down, one-by-one.  It was actually pretty benign, especially after having experience with extensive airport security screenings.

At 12:15 p.m., we arrived at our location. It was the visitation room where prisoners get to spend time with their families. With its tiny chairs and tables and the drab concrete walls, it looked very similar to an elementary school cafeteria. But the loud buzzing and ominous clearance door clanking away in the background served as a reminder you were in a high-security building.

Our interview was scheduled to begin at 1 p.m. and for a minute, a short sense of panic came over me. Normally, it takes two hours to set up a two-camera interview. We had less than 45 minutes. But somehow Fred Schuh, our lead cameraman, got it all done, which even impressed the guards -- who finally understood why we needed all of that "stuff" to make it happen.

At 1 p.m., Keith Morrison arrived and Jason Kent was called from his prison cell. We waited for him to be escorted to us and to tell his side of the story -- the murder that changed the course of his life forever.

The story of Jason Kent's conviction for murder will be told in a very special Dateline airing Friday, March 21 at 9pm ET on NBC.

Click here to read producer Liz Brown blogging on Kent's family's adjusting to 'a new kind of normal'  at what Kent' mother calls 'the Church of the Razor Wire.'

By Liz Brown, Dateline Producer

Carol Kent grew up the daughter of a preacher. Religion has always been her touchstone. That and her love of family. But this devoted Christian doesn't go to church on Sundays anymore.

Carol and her husband have a new Sunday ritual. They still put on their best clothes and pile into their car, minds filled with anticipation for what is ahead. When they arrive, they might chat with their fellow congregants, and nod to the staff as they take their places. But instead of a church, their new Sunday destination is a Florida prison. Their pews are plastic chairs, the congregants are visiting families, and the staff pack guns. Carol calls it the Church of the Razor Wire.

Photo: Jason Kent with his parents Carol and Eugene Kent.

How do you keep your faith when your only child has been convicted of first-degree murder and there is no doubt that he did it? Carol says she and her husband faced a stark choice. "Gene and I both had to decide: Are we going to live," Carol told us in a heartfelt interview, "or are we going to curl up in a ball and die?"  She says they chose life and describes it as "a new kind of normal," which happens to be the title of a book she's written that came out last year

Carol's book got me thinking. Everyone ensnared in this terrible tragedy has had to adapt to "A New Kind of Normal." Whether it's the father of the victim, Doug Miller, who was gunned down in a parking lot by Carol's son in 1999 (he can still barely talk about what happened to his son without breaking down). Whether it's Doug Miller's daughters who lost both their biological dad and their stepfather in that single act of death. Or whether it's Jason Kent himself. Once a bright-eyed Naval lieutenant, he is now an immaculately dressed lifer at Hardee Correctional Institution. What does normal mean for him and does it include accepting responsibility for what he did?

Jason Kent's new kind of normal is a waiting game. He has a tedious daily routine. He helps the prison chaplain. He works in the library. He takes exercise in the yard. But above all the man who wanted to make a difference to the world is now dedicated, he says, to making a difference to his fellow prisoners.

"Recognizing that I can't fix the past," he told us, "what I try to do is try to be a benefit or a blessing or an encouragement to the guys that I come in contact with."

Jason says he mentors and tries to comfort prisoners who are not lifers. Men who will be getting out. Even if he never walks in freedom himself, he says, he will at least have had some kind of impact on the outside world.

But that doesn't mean Jason has given up on the outside world. Jason may have exhausted all his legal appeals, but in April 2006 his lawyer, Reginald Garcia, filed a clemency petition on his behalf with the Governor of Florida, arguing that Jason's sentence should be commuted. It's a longshot. Garcia says that in the last 27 years only 133 commutation applications have been approved.

Even Jason's own dad admits his son doesn't deserve a "get out of free jail card." He just wonders whether Jason deserves to be in prison for the rest of his life. Because of mandatory sentencing guidelines, the judge at Jason's trial didn't have a choice about sending him to prison for the rest of his life. His parents argue that there is something wrong with our justice system when a man who says he killed someone to protect his family is given the same sentence as a serial killer. But then again who really is the best person to make those kinds of distinctions? A life lost is a life lost. Doug Miller's father has said he would fight any move to release the murderer of his son.

Clemency petitions can take years to be processed and until then Jason will live with his new normal. As will his mother and his father. That means spending more time at the Church of the Razor Wire.

The story of Jason Kent's conviction for murder will be told in a very special Dateline airing Friday, March 21 at 9pm ET on NBC.

Field producer Leonor Ayala blogs about going to the Florida prison to interview Jason Kent.

A special Dateline on the murder of American businessman Adam Anhang, "The Pink Skirt Murder," airs on NBC Friday, March 14, at 10pm ET. Click here for the full story with video.

By Sara James, Dateline Correspondent

I only wish I had met Abe Anhang under different circumstances.  I only wish I had met his son, Adam, at all.

Abe Anhang is both razor sharp and resolute, a man crackling with integrity and brimming with love for his family. Adam Anhang was also known for his quick wit and equally ready smile, a magnet of a man. The kind of guy who would figure out the puzzle more quickly than you, but happily turn around and show you how he did it -- that uncommon blend of a brilliant mind and a gentle, generous spirit.

Like father, like son.  

But these days, Abe has no opportunity to see his own qualities reflected in his son, nor those uniquely Adam's own.  Abe has no opportunity to witness Adam's continued rise through the business stratosphere.  These days, Abe's sole mission is a brutal, solitary and devastating one, to answer the most terrible of questions: who took his beloved son's life?  What happened on that night in that darkened street near the Pink Skirt Restaurant in San Juan, Puerto Rico? 

Given that Adam was a man with thousands of friends and seemingly not an enemy in the world, it is a baffling, vexing, daunting question.  But Adam wanted to answer every question, even the hardest ones. And so does Abe.

Like father, like son.

In life, we do whatever we can for our children.  We love them, raise them, guide them.  We watch with pride as they step forward on their own, we long to be there if they stumble or falter.  But sometimes,  the only thing a father can do for a son is to find out what happened to him, and why.  

Adam was a man who stood up for his friends and for his family. The kind of man you could count on.  Just like his dad.  This gentle man has a fierce, innate determination honed by loss.  To meet him is to know that he will go the distance, surmount any obstacle, and never end his quest until his questions are answered.

Like father, like son. 

Producer John Block's blogged on meeting the Anhang family. 

Click here for the full story with video.

A special Dateline on the murder of American businessman Adam Anhang, "The Pink Skirt Murder," airs on NBC Friday, March 14, at 10pm ET. Click here for the full story with video.

By John Block, Dateline Producer

I have been tracking Adam Anhang's case for over a year and a half, along with the rest of the Dateline NBC team. In the course of it, I have come to know, like, and respect Adam's family as well as Adam himself. It may seem strange hearing that I feel as if I know and care about someone who has passed on, but I feel as if I do -- at least a little bit.

I've been introduced to him through his family's recollections as well as those of his many friends. I admire very much the kindness that he showed to them all, as well as many of his other strengths.

The family was initially very wary about telling their story to a television audience. They were, and continue to be, in a lot of pain. And like most of us, they are very private people. I think that they finally agreed to be part of our report because they hope it will somehow lead to more answers.

I think also it was a way to highlight some of Adam's substance.

From the beginning, however, I explained that our first priorty was to serve Dateline report and not them. I was not their producer. I told them that our agenda was to tell the story as best we could. All questions related to Adam and the murder were fair game, and we would track the facts wherever they would lead. To the family's credit, they did not back down.

Prior to the broadcast of any report, we screen it -- sometimes several times -- for various news executives. At the conclusion of the first screening of this report, I got a number of 'atta boys -- "good job," "compelling story." Certainly, that is music to this producer's ears. In this case, however, I nearly burst into tears. At that moment, I was just feeling especially bad for the Anhang family.

Dateline correspondent Sara James blogged about the similarities between Adam Anhang and his murdered son Abe.

By Luz Villarreal, Dateline Producer

It was an early Monday morning in late August 2004. I was the first one in the office that day. I warmed up some instant oatmeal and started reading some of our local newspapers.  One story jumped out at me. The headline read "Investigation into girl's disappearance leads to murder charges against mother."

The next day, I was sitting in Dick Pulsifer's living room. He's a simple, quiet man with a shy smile. He worked in security at a Las Vegas casino and also ran a karate school in town. He told me he grew up in San Diego and married young. I could tell he was trying to keep his emotions in check.

While we talked, his wife, Cathe, was fielding phone calls from media organizations across the country. I was the lucky one; when I knocked on their door that morning, they agreed to give Dateline the exclusive to their story.

The woman in the headline I read the previous morning was Dick's first wife and the girl was their daughter, Michelle Kelly Pulsifer. She was only 3 years old when she went missing in 1969.

During this meeting and all those that followed, I learned just how hard Dick Pulsifer tried to find Michelle after his ex-wife mysteriously fled California nearly 40 years ago. He contacted social services, the police and the district attorney's office. He said they all turned him away.

He searched on the Internet and telephoned a few people listed as Michelle Pulsifer. Every time Dick was in a crowd, he wondered if he could recognize the little girl who would now be an adult, possibly with kids of her own. He held out hope that someday she would walk up his home, knock on his door and surprise him.

But that would never happen. Investigators told him Michelle never left the state of California alive.

When police arrested the little girl's mother, Donna Prentice, they also arrested her former boyfriend, Michael Kent. Both entered not guilty pleas in Santa Ana, Calif.

I spent hours talking to friends, relatives and investigators trying to piece Michelle's life together. I also tried to interview Donna. Her attorney wouldn't allow it. I tried to interview Michael Kent, but he was in poor health and died in jail six months after his arrest.

Next, I turned to Michael's son, Jamie Kent. He was only two years old at the time of Michelle's death and had no memory of her but he did remember what his father told him in 2004 after he was arrested and charged with her murder.  Still, Jamie didn't want to share his story with us. He has a family of his own now and wanted to protect them. But he is the only person alive who could defend his father and speak on his behalf. After several calls, Jamie agreed to talk to us and tell us what he knew.

The case took nearly three years to work its way through the judicial system. Throughout the process, I kept reminding myself, "This is a story about Michelle."  To me, it's not about Donna Prentice, Michael Kent or even the people that loved her. It's about a little girl who never had a chance.

Dick never stopped loving his little girl. All he wants now are answers. Was it an accident? Was it malicious? How did it happen? He said to me once, "I have no clue what happened to Michelle.  That's the question, and that's the answer I'll probably never get.   I don't know what a three year old could possibly do to make this happen."

Dick Pulsifer hoped to find out in court. We all did.

A special Dateline on this case, 'The Girl in the Little Blue Dress,' airs on NBC Friday, March 14 at 9pm ET. Click here for the full story and video.

 

Elizabeth Shoaf, the brave high school girl who was held hostage for ten days in an underground bunker and managed her own rescue, speaks out in great detail for the first time to "Dateline's" Keith Morrison in "Into the Woods," a very special two-hour Dateline, airing Friday, March 7, at 9pm on NBC. Below she writes about the experience.

By Elizabeth Shoaf

Down in the bunker was hell.   When I first went in, it was very dark and cold. I couldn't see anything and everything looked creepy.  After Vinson turned on the lights, it was even creepier. It looked unreal, almost like I was in a really bad dream.

I saw a bunch of shelves made out of trees and rope, with food on them. Tables were made of coolers and plastic mini tables, along with a strange bedlike thing literally made out of trees, swimming floats and comforters. The toilet was made of a nasty bucket and a broken plastic chair over it with a hole in the middle.  Later on, I noticed more shelves with things like batteries and a lot of electronic stuff that I still don't know what they were. There was also a chimney made out of aluminum that went out to the ground that he would actually use to make fires.

When I was first down there it was chilly. It was always like that at night, but in the mornings when I woke up it was dreadful. It was muggy and hot and I had to sleep in a single person bed with him and me in it and I could never get comfortable. Down there it was very dirty.  No matter where you went in the bunker you would get dirt on you, so you couldn't stay clean.

While I was down there in the bunker I prayed all the time. Of course at first I prayed for him not to kill me. After a few days, when I had the feeling he wasn't going to, I started to pray about my family and for them to somehow know that I was OK.

When I started to try and escape I prayed for God to help me find a way to get out. Also I prayed for God to forgive me for whatever I did because I kind of thought I was being punished. I wanted God to forgive me and help me to get away and take me safely back to my family, boyfriend and friends. I also prayed a lot to God for him to help me to calm down and pretty much stay cool. When Vinson found out on the news that I sent a text message I of course prayed that he wouldn't kill me.  After he left I thanked God so much for everything and I still do a lot.  When I prayed it helped me to calm down more and to have hope. At the moment though, I sort of didn't believe that my prayers were being answered , because every time I prayed nothing would happen until finally the day Vinson left.

Without my family and boyfriend and friends and prayer I wouldn't have made it. I never really prayed a lot. I would only pray every so often whenever I was in need. And now it isn't any different I still pray the same, I also feel the same about God, too. I still worship him and believe in him like I always have.

I think that Vinson, the man that kidnapped me, is just stupid. He isn't crazy because if he was, he would have killed me or done something worse.  He knew what he was doing and he got outsmarted. Not to be snobby, but he thought he could get away with kidnapping and raping me for 10 days and I, 14 years old, outsmarted him -- a 36-year-old man.

He is a sore loser to me and I will never forgive him ever in my life. He doesn't deserve it. He changed sooo much that will never be fixed again.  He took my innocence. He took my trust in people. Now I get depressed. At one moment for a few months, I couldn't sleep. I had panic attacks and I still think about it all the time.  I can just walk around and see something and it will remind me of when I was down there, and sometimes it can make me sad and some times it can even put me into a panic attack. He pretty much scarred me and I will never forgive him for it.

I hope this haunts him the rest of his life. He deserves worse than he is getting and he better be thankful that the cops caught him and not the public. I haven't written him yet and I don't plan on it. I don't care for him and I couldn't care less if he knew about how I feel about what he did to me.

Click to read Elizabeth's mom telling how she first heard her kidnapped daughter was still alive.

For those interested in communicating with the Shoaf family, e-mail shoafs5@gmail.com.

Keith Morrison compared the relative strength of Elizabeth Shoaf and her captor Vinson Filyaw.

Click here for complete coverage of this case.