So I'm out biking the other day, cruising around in some neighborhoods near my house, when I happen upon a bunch of people milling around down one of the side streets.
I turn to check it out. "Maybe its a block party or something," I think to myself.
Turns out that the street is blocked by sheriff cars, about a hundred people are standing around looking at a house as people with "FBI" written on the backs of their shirts are loading vans with boxes. Several TV cameras on tripods are pointing at the house. Reporters are milling around, talking on cell phones.
I walk up to one of the neighbors, and ask, "What happened?"
"Oh, that's the house of that policeman - the boyfriend of the pregnant woman who has been missing. I hope he's not guilty."
I felt like a dope. Here, about 3 miles from my home is the house of now-arrested Bobby Cutts, Jr., the suspect in the death of Jessie Marie Davis. At the time, they still had not found the body and had not charged Cutts.
How surreal it seems to have this national murder story happen in our town.