Backfire

The Llewellyns absorbed the devastating news that their only children were dead.

"Was Ryan with them?" they wanted to know. Ryan Bek was Donna's boyfriend, a 25-year-old computer tech. Douglas took down the name. Soon he was notifying a parent for the third time that morning that his child was dead.

Anger demands answers, and anguish craves them. Dave Douglas told the families what he could:

Campus Walk was built to code and had passed inspection the month before. The units had working smoke detectors and fire extinguishers. The fire burned straight up the wall and the wind carried it, like a horizontal chimney. The building did what it was supposed to do, keeping the fire on the outside. Most of the residents did exactly what they should have, keeping doors closed and waiting near a window for help.

But those trapped in Apartment K decided to make a run for it. Overcome by smoke, all four died on the blistering-hot breezeway, which later collapsed. Whether it was quick, whether it was painless, whether they knew they would die -- these were the questions no investigator could answer.

Decisions

The prosecutor's decision to invoke the Felony Murder Rule touched a nerve in North Carolina. The law requires no proof of intent, motive or even direct involvement if a death occurs during the commission of another felony, in this case arson. Danahey was charged with first-degree murder.

"If it truly was a prank, a joke, as innocent as she'd have you believe, then why didn't she go back?" demanded the county's district attorney, Stuart Albright.

"She did not stab her boyfriend 73 times or commit a drive-by shooting," one woman wrote the Greensboro News & Record. Countered another: "She may, eventually, receive God's forgiveness. She will never receive mine."

Locked up, fed meals through a slot, Danahey dwelled on the hurt she had caused. She asked to meet with the devastated parents. "I wanted them to get mad, to show their anger. I would rather see everyone's pain because that helps me get over my pain. It would scare me. It's like correcting the wrong in a way," she explains.

Her own family was struggling to comprehend what had happened. It was six weeks before Dave Danahey could swallow his fury enough to face his daughter. Hiring a lawyer meant plundering funds for his approaching retirement. Fighting a death penalty if Janet were convicted could bankrupt the Danaheys. Janet's only sibling, Emily, tried to regard the crisis philosophically, intellect playing emotion's vigilante. On the verge of entering divinity school, 25-year-old Emily spent hours talking to Janet about faith, honesty and moral accountability.

"I didn't mean to do this," she remembers Janet sobbing. "There has to be some way this can be fixed. I can't believe this is real."

The district attorney was offering life without parole in exchange for a guilty plea. Danahey's two girlfriends had taken police to the dumpster where Janet's lighter fluid and smoky clothes had been tossed. They were willing to testify against her. Though the felony murder rule could hold them equally responsible, prosecutors chose not to charge them.