I grew up in a funeral home. I helped out in the office. When I was about 15, we got a call from a man whose wife and infant baby had been murdered in cold blood.
There were very few clues. It made headlines. Cops set up surveillance at the viewing. It was heartbreaking, as the mother was holding the baby in her arms.
I was asked to take the flower cards and periodically get the husband and ask if he recognized the names. I then photocopied them and put them back. I did it because I was a "kid," people knew me, and I was unobtrusive.
I talked to the husband quite a bit. He seemed devastated and shaken.
The cops told me they had an eyewitness to someone leaving the house the day of the murder.
The witness was a three year old girl. She recognized the man leaving. It was the husbands best friend.
Turns out that the friend and the husband had made a pact to kill each other's families and run off with their secretaries. The little girl identified the friend, and I guess one of them cracked.
They both went to jail on multiple counts, all on the testimony of a three year old.
I still cannot believe to this day that that man stood right beside me, multiple times, and I had NO CLUE.
I don't think I ever looked at life the same way after that.