She said it to her attorneys and to the chaplain and to the guards who brought her meals and, when there was no one else, to the ceiling of her cell in the dark.

The case against her had looked, to everyone who reviewed it, overwhelming.

Her fingerprints had been found on the murder weapon.

Blood matching the victim had been found on her clothing.

A neighbor had come forward to say they had seen her leaving the scene.

Any one of those facts might have been argued around; together they had formed a wall that no jury was willing to see through, and the verdict had come back the way everyone had expected it to come back, and the sentence had been the most severe the state could impose.

On paper, Elena Cole was exactly where she belonged.