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t am on April 15, the phone rang at the home of Golden Kirk, Sarah’s father. There were attachments of similar confessions made to her principal and superintendent. She tried calling her superintendent and principal to explain what was going on, but they both were out of town during the break.It was Susan Regan calling, one of Sarah’s best friends and a Sunday School classmate. Her vacation was ruined, but it was about to get worse.There are other complex, disjointed, tangled reasons that have to do with rejection and pride, anger and retaliation, upbringing and honor—reasons buried deep in Randy Cope’s psyche.But none of them truly explains why Randy was willing to give up everything to assassinate the woman he professed to love.Sarah was back in Benton visiting her father during spring break, and Randy noticed her car in the driveway. “If you give me five minutes,” he said, “we can work this all out.” She hung up. Where he came from, men make the decisions regarding relationships, and if he couldn’t get her back by being nice, then he would get even. I don’t have my computer with me.” “Sarah,” Regan interrupted. A few weeks earlier she’d given Sarah a book on identifying obsession because she thought the patterns it outlined matched Cope’s behavior.At a.m., as Sarah got ready for church, Randy sat at his computer, breaking into her Internet account for the first time. The e-mail fit perfectly as well: it was a “confession,” ascribed to Sarah, that she’d had sex with her students. “I don’t want to hear any more.” She hung up and immediately called AOL and cancelled her account, as well as the police and the Secret Service, which handles Internet crimes.

Others were written to look like confessions from Sarah, claiming she had been having sex with her students, both male and female, for the last 10 years and she was now pleading for forgiveness.

She took a formal dress to wear to the event but noticed at the last minute the invitation said the attire was semi-casual.

She called a friend and told her that she wasn’t going, but her friend talked her out of it. So Sarah pulled an outfit out of the dirty clothes, ironed it and headed out.

He was tearful at first, she says, but then he became annoying. He sent so many cards it created a stack six inches high.

He called so often she finally started hanging up as soon as she heard his voice. On the morning of April 12, 1998—Easter Sunday—he tried again. The anger overtook heartbreak, and that meant that it was now time for revenge. “Then you won’t believe what Randy just did.” Regan had no doubt as to who sent the e-mail.

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