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The movie, Longo said, felt like a punch in the gut. For years, he said, he'd sat in jail wondering how he could do anything worthwhile, anything at all to help even one person, rather than just rot away on death row. "Every time I turned around or rolled over, there they were staring at me," Longo wrote in a letter he mailed me on May 8, 2009, nine weeks after the call.He had vivid recollections of the moment the picture was taken.Check out the the latest members below and you may just see your perfect match. Our site has hundreds of singles that just can't wait to meet someone just like you!

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He was sick of prison and sick of himself, and he thought there might be a way to make his death meaningful.

So he was dropping his appeals, he told me, and would likely be executed, by lethal injection, in a matter of months.

Even though he was convicted of the four murders, he had never fully confessed nor provided some essential details about his motivation and what actually happened. Longo asked that I come to the penitentiary, where we could meet in person.

He'd tell me everything, he promised, if I helped with his plan. The first time I heard the name Christian Longo was in February 2002, when a reporter from the Portland Oregonian called and asked what I knew of the Longo-family murders. I soon learned that two months previous, the body of Zachery Longo had been found floating facedown in a muddy pond near the coastal village of Waldport, Oregon.

Longo was arrested at a beachfront cabana, where he'd been drinking beer, smoking dope, and sleeping with a young woman who had aspirations of becoming a professional photographer. Christian Longo entered my life at a moment of extreme weakness for me.

The woman thought she was sleeping with a fellow journalist — a writer who just happened to need a photographer for an article about Mayan ruins. And he told everyone he met that he was a writer for The New York Times. At the same time I learned that Longo had become Michael Finkel of The New York Times — I mean the exact day — I was officially no longer Michael Finkel of The New York Times.Police searched the Longo family's last known residence, a rented condo in the nearby town of Newport, where it appeared someone had left in a hurry.Divers explored the marina outside the unit and discovered a pair of large, dark-green suitcases.Inside one was the naked body of Longo's thirty-four-year-old wife, Mary Jane.A chain of fingerprint-sized hemorrhages encircled her neck — she'd evidently been strangled before she was stuffed in the suitcase. Eventually, his car was found in the short-term-parking garage at the San Francisco airport.Here was a chance, I believed, to extinguish Longo from my life forever. When police divers searched for clues, they found, beneath a low bridge, his sister, Sadie.