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Welcome to a bonus episode of Happy

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Face Presents to Phase. In episode

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nine, we mentioned that Diane Downs wrote a

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letter to her defense attorney Jim Jagger

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after conviction, which changed her version

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of the story and retold the events of the night of

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the shooting quite differently than she presented

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them for months, both in the press and in

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court. The letter does not in fact

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line up with the version of the story she tells today.

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Though it's impossible to know which version of the

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events is true, we present the letter

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as an interesting artifact in the case. November

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seven, Cela Origan,

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Dear Jim, I am not really

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sure how to start this letter, but I guess the best

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way to make an apology is to say I'm

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sorry. Now you're probably

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wondering what this is all about, and when

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you are through reading, you'll probably drop this

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letter and say damn you, Diane,

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like you have so many times before. Your

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blood pressure will go up. And I'm

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sorry about that too. I'm sorry

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about a lot of things. Really, I

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only hope you will forgive me for not being

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totally honest with you. It's

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just that it's so hard for me to put myself

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in someone else's hands. I

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find it hard to fully trust anyone

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not to hurt me. I needed

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to control myself and my situation,

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and I've been that way for a few years. It

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has been a hard lesson to learn, and

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I can't guarantee that I'll be cured forever.

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But I know now that I should

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have placed this whole problem in your

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hands and let you deal with it. But

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I was afraid. Silly, maybe, but

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I was afraid you would lose respect for me.

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And well, let me explain.

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Hopefully by the time you finish reading

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this, you'll have an understanding of me, and

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I'll have your forgiveness. I

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had no right to hire you as my attorney

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and then expect you to represent me without

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telling you everything I could. I

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really am grateful for your representation

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and support these past seventeen months,

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and because of that, I cannot be comfortable

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with myself unless they come clean with

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you again. I am sorry

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for thinking I had to handle things myself.

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I should have let go for once in my life and

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let someone else take over for a while. Please

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understand and forgive this.

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Let I make it lengthy, but please bear

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with me. I have a lot of conscience

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to relieve, perhaps it's

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best to start with the night of the shooting. I wasn't

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totally honest because I was afraid of what else could

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happen to me at the hands of the

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police. I had marijuana

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in my car when I stopped on Old Mohawk,

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and I was afraid if I told the whole truth,

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I would lose my job with the Post Office

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because of the drug charge, and I couldn't

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afford that. So I told

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as much of the truth as I could without

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seeing the things that would make me look like the

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creep. I had also

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hoped that by eliminating certain facts

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that the police would not find out that I had

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rather loose morals. I

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did not want people that I respected to think poorly

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of me, so when I got to

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the hospital, I couldn't tell the police

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I opened the trunk because they would want to know

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what I removed, and it

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was pot. But while

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I had the trunk open, I didn't

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see him remove the black case. Yes,

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the black case with Steve's gunn

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in it. I'm sorry I lied, but I

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couldn't explain the presence of

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the gun without telling you about the

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pot. So while it

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is very possible that an officer can

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make one mistake and an effort to

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trap a criminal. I don't think

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it happened this time, and

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just all seemed so harmless. In the beginning,

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Jim Dickens and I were

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coming back from Heathers and when we

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turned around the south side of Sentiman Road, a

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guy started playing catch up with me. I

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was driving slower than most people do, so

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he passed me. Then he pulled

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in front of me and slowed down, so

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I passed him. It was a game,

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just a flirt. We pulled off Marcala

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on Old Mohawk. Why

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just because the

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kids were asleep. He was a man, and I

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wasn't really tired yet. I like

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man and I love to flirt. Maybe

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some would say it's because she's just a

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tramp. Anyway, I

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pulled over on Old Mohawk and he stopped

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behind me. When I get

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out of the car, I checked the kids and they were

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all asleep. I did take the keys

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off of the ignition and had them hung on my

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finger, and we talked for a couple of minutes,

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and I looked at the kids. They were still

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asleep. He asked if I had

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any smoke, and even though he

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wasn't exactly my kind of guy. I figured it

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would be better to placate him rather

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than offend him, so I

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opened the trunk and removed the bag. I

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had to dig under a couple of things to get

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it, and I did not see him remove anything

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from the trunk. When I straightened

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up and closed the trunk, I saw what he

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had in his hand. I don't recall

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our conversation verbatim, but we

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discussed the reason he had taken the gun

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and that time he had removed it from

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the case. He started acting

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a little strange, and that's when I

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started to get scared. What I rarely do. He

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made sexual advances, and I

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handed him the pot and tried to get his

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mind on another subject. Honestly,

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Jim, all I did was trying to

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discourage his advances, and he flipped.

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He tossed the black case and

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the pot on the hood of his car and grabbed

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my left arm. It made me mad

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and scared at the time, so I pulled my

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arm fright and said no. That

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was when he went to open the door of my car.

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I moved toward him, but looked

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in the little wing window as he shot

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me. Christie, she really was

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asleep Jim, but she woke

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up and raised herself before he shot

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her again. I really don't know who

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he shot next, and I don't see why it matters.

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I don't know if he got in the car or

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not. All I do know is I

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saw my daughter, my Chrissie, leading

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I just stood there, paralyzed. Chris

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and I are empathic, and I couldn't separate

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myself from her pain in terror.

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It was almost as if I was a part of her.

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Now you'll probably sit back and say,

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Yep, Diane's are real crazy.

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But if you do, it's only because you've never

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loved anyone or up

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your life as much as I did with my kids.

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It's hard for me to explain how much I love

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my kids and need them. Love

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seems like such an inadequate word. Perhaps

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if you ever want to talk to me again, I

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can try to explain it. Anyways,

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When he swung back toward me, I was startled.

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The guy hit my right hand and the

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keys did jingle, But he didn't

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ask for the car. He didn't see anything because

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I hit him, and I guess he was too mad for words.

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I'm sorry. I can't say why he didn't say anything.

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This letter is not for speculation, but

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I can say that he looks angry.

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He grabbed my left arm again and I tried

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to break free us. Then I heard the

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gunfire two times. My

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arm felt my side. It may sound strange,

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Jim, but in that moment I didn't

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feel fear or hysteria anymore. I

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was angry, and I guess motivated

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would be a good word for how I felt. He

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was looking at the gun and I pushed him.

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I jumped in and inserted the keys and left.

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I have no idea if he felt or what I

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wasn't looking at him. I remember

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very little of the trip to the hospital.

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I recall trying to help Chrissie and

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hearing Danny cry in telling Sherry

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to wake up. I remember blood

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in odors in a white fence. I

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recall opening the window, but the rest is

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black. I'm sorry I don't recall

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much more, or maybe

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I'm glad I don't recall much more. At

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any rate, my memory is gone. At

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the hospital, I can't say I was

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very reactive. Perhaps I looked

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cool, calm and collected to everyone.

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No me. My kids needed help in a

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way that I could not help, so I got them

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to the doctor. But it's

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hard for me to just turn my life over to someone else

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and like go. So I used all my strength

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to hold together so I would be ready

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when they needed me to help. I didn't

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want to become a basket case that the doctor would

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have to knock out, because I had to be ready and able

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to support my kids emotionally.

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Then, of course there was the police

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force. They needed answers, and I did

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tell them what I could. I couldn't

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tell them about my loose morals, which

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put us in a dangerous situation because I

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didn't want my parents and the hospital staff

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and the police to think I was a tramp. And

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I couldn't tell them about the pot, and

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therefore I couldn't tell them about the gun. But

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I told them where to look and two

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for for I know

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I sound very confused, and to

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be truthful, I was a mess. It

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didn't hit me and that when they found

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him they would find out about the first and

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the pot and the gun. I

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just knew that I could not tell them. As

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time passed, and not very much of it

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at that the police and everyone else found

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out about my attraction to men. But

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but then it was impossible for me to

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go back and retract my half truth. And

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as far as I was concerned and still am

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I, it doesn't really matter why I stopped,

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so I didn't tell them the rest, and everyone

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almost was saying that I was the one who shot

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my kids, and they said it was Steve's

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gun that was used, and therefore that

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proved I was guilty. Well, by

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that time, it wouldn't have mattered, because

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if I wanted to risk my job by telling

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about the pot and explaining what happened,

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because they would have used that gun against me. I

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was afraid, Jim, afraid of what people

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would think of me. Ironic, isn't

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it. I didn't want anyone to know

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I had loose morals, and now they think I'm a murder

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ress and it's all because they wouldn't own

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up to my real faults. Well, then I retained

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you to help my daughter and ended up

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needing you myself. But by the time

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I needed you, I respected you and looked

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up to you. I didn't want you to think of me as

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a liar or weakling. So what

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did I do to cover the lies? Lie

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some more? But I can't

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stand it anymore. You can

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only keep it up for so long before it becomes

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like in your throat. I've gotten

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to the place that I can't even look at myself

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anymore. You proved

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yourself not only a good attorney, but

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a friend, and I can't

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that I never confess the lies.

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Then I have used you, and I can't

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live with that on my conscience forever. So

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here I am asking you to forgive

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me for being a liar and

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a tramp. I am ashamed of myself

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and I don't deserve it, but I truly hope you

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can forgive me and put everything

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else behind. I know

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I've many things, and I've had all

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kinds of explanations for all the

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kinds of things, and I'm sorry. I

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wish I had never admitted part of the truth. I

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wish well

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it's all behind me now. I'm

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sorry it doesn't seem like now, But

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I am sorry, respectfully,

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Diane. Regardless

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of your thoughts on Diane's guilt or innocence,

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the letter paints a picture of a person whose priorities

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that don't align with what one would expect

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from a mother concerned about the well being of her

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children, regardless of her intentions.

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Claiming to pull over to floort with a man who's playing

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passing games with his car in the middle of

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the night with her children in the car is

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even more bizarre than the mainstream version of

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the story. She tells about the evening coming

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up next our final episode, Becky

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speaks to Michelle about her paternal lineage

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and we get her final thoughts on the process.

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Ben Boland is our executive producer,

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Melissa Moore is our co executive producer.

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Maya Cole is our primary producer.

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Paul Decant is our supervising producer,

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Sam T. Garning is our researcher, and

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Matt Riddle is our story editor. Featured

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music by dream Tent Happy Face

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presents to Phase. It's a production of I Heart

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Radio h

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