Be forewarned that I’m on a rant. This situation in Aruba is driving me crazy. It has really struck a chord with me and it’s making me nuts. Perhaps it’s because many moons ago I was an honors graduate who went to the Bahamas on a class trip, partied hard, met a boy and but for the grace of God I could have been Natalee. Maybe it’s because I have a daughter and the thought of ever knowing Beth Holloway Twitty’s pain first-hand terrifies me. Or it could be the larger scale, less personal indignity that van der Sloot’s political power and clout inflenced and botched the investigation.
Actually, I’m sure it’s all of the above.

I don’t think Joran van der Sloot is a monster like Dennis Raider or Scott Peterson, but I think things went awry that night and he knows what happened to Natalee, how it happened, and where her body is. This is the down side to having too much imagination — I can all but hear the elder van der Sloot telling his son to keep his mouth shut and wait it out because without a body, the authorities have nowhere to go. And the two Surinamese brothers do not have political clout and must be terrified of the repercussions of telling the truth.

I’ve even tried to put myself in Anita van der Sloot’s shoes. Her son is young, handsome, bright, with the rest of his life before him. His confession won’t bring Natalee back, so why should two lives be lost? Because, dammit, it’s the right thing to do. Because Beth Twitty deserves some peace and Natalee’s memory demands it.

As long as they maintain their silence, I hope Natalee Holloway haunts the van der Sloots to the point of madness.

Jen :plain: