this morning #820.

this morning, as i drove down a long, dirt driveway on my way to chat with the older brother of the victim, i was once again questioning what right i had to be the one to tell his sibling’s story. feelings such as these had been coming to me more often lately. it always happened when i was at the start of an investigation. i just had to push the distractions away, remind myself that i was here because i knew how to turn the right questions into the right answers. in a perfect world, everyone could tell their own story. in this case though, if it wasn’t me, it’d be some less-qualified journalist, some hack unconcerned with facts who would use what they learned to abuse the privilege they’d been given.