646: The Secret of My Death

So we begin today with a woman whose sister has died, and she has questions.

The woman's name is Nadia Bowers, and she wrote this to somebody who she thinks might be of help.

Here's Nadia.

"Dear Dealer, Hey, man.

What's up? I'm saying man because that's my guess as to what you are.

All the people blowing up my sister's phone offering and seeking drugs were men: Brian, Jerry, Eric, and my personal favorite, Baby Jesus.

I can make a graph charting the meeting of particular men with misfortune for my sister.

It's a safe bet you're just another data point, one among many, part of a pattern, but distinguished because you're the last data point.

You're the one who killed her.

And Dealer, it just seemed like the right title for you since I don't know your name.

We can be informal here, right? You don't have to call me Miss or Mrs.

Definitely don't call me Ma'am.

My sister called me Nad.

My sister, Sasha, who I believe you knew.

What did you call her? I hope you didn't call her Sash, because that's what a lot of people who loved her called her, and I find it hard to believe that you loved her.

Did you know her well enough to care for her, or did you hardly know her? [gentle music] When we were little, we sometimes called one another after the food we gave our cats.

She was Tender Vittle, and I was Chef's Blend.

Did you even call her by her name, or was it Lady? Or maybe you had a nickname for her like Purple, the color of her car, the one she was found in.

Keeping with our informal tone, I won't call you Mister.

I'll just call you my man because that is what you are.

You are my man, the one I want to talk to, the one I am seeking, the only one who knows some very important things about how my sister died.

You are quite possibly the last person who saw her alive, and I'm a little jealous.

As for me, you don't have to call me by my name.

You can just call me the sister.

[upbeat music] I think about you all the time, almost every day.