Waiting to Be Heard: A Memoir
Amanda Knox
Language: English
Pages: 496
ISBN: 0062217216
Format: PDF / Kindle (mobi) / ePub
In March 2015, the Supreme Court of Italy exonerated Amanda Knox, author of the New York Times bestselling memoir Waiting To Be Heard. In an afterward to this newly issued paperback edition, Amanda updates readers on her life since 2011, introduces the individuals who helped her persevere as her case continued through the Italian courts, and shares her plans for helping others who have also been wrongfully convicted.
In November 2007, 20 year-old Amanda Knox had only been studying in Perugia, Italy, for a few weeks when her friend and roommate, British student Meredith Kercher, was murdered. The investigation made headlines around the world, and Amanda's arrest placed her at the center of a media firestorm. After an extremely controversial trial, she was convicted of murder in 2009. She spent four years in an Italian prison until a new court, which appointed independent experts to review the prosecution’s DNA evidence, affirmatively found her innocent in 2011. She returned home to Seattle, Washington.
But just when Amanda thought her legal nightmare had ended, it began all over again. In March 2013, Italy’s highest court annulled the acquittal and sent the case to the lower courts for further proceedings. Even though no new evidence was introduced against her, Amanda was found guilty and sentenced to 28½ years in prison in January, 2014. This decision was overturned by the Italian Supreme Court, which exonerated her of the murder charge.
In Waiting to Be Heard, Amanda speaks about what it was like to find herself imprisoned in a foreign country for a crime she did not commit, and how much she relied on the unwavering support of her family and friends, many of whom made extraordinary sacrifices on her behalf. Waiting to Be Heard is an unflinching, heartfelt coming-of-age narrative like no other—now with a new afterword, in which Amanda describes the heart-stopping final twists in her fight for freedom, and her hopes for the future.
unique to one person—or that person’s identical twin. Done correctly, the reading is more accurate than a fingerprint. During the pretrial, Stefanoni testified that she had tested enough DNA from the knife to get an accurate reading. But now, a year later, Dr. Gino had seen the raw data, including the amount of DNA that was tested. If there was any DNA there at all, it was too little to determine using the lab’s sensitive instruments, Gino said. Stefanoni had met none of the internationally
Judge Hellmann, did she finally comply. Now the independent experts needed more time. My lawyers said judges always grant leeway when experts ask. Before the court withdrew to decide whether to approve the delay, I made a statement. “I’ve spent more than three and a half years in prison as an innocent person,” I told the court. “It’s both frustrating and mentally exhausting. I don’t want to remain in prison, unjustly, for the rest of my life. I recall the beginning of this whole thing, when I
that,” she said. “We’ll have to hear what the magistrate says when he calls in three days.” When I repeated this conversation to my mom, she was concerned. “That doesn’t make sense,” she said. Later that afternoon, Mom asked, “Amanda, do you need me there?” Although it had been only one day since Meredith’s body had been discovered, I said, “I know I’ll be okay, but I’d really appreciate it if you came.” My chest loosened when she called back again with her flight information. She
closed door was barricaded behind police tape. Meredith, I thought. When we got back to the questura, just before 7 P.M., Raffaele was waiting for me with a pizza. I was wolfing it down, sitting in the same office as before, when my phone rang. Mom was leaving in the morning to start hopscotching her way from Seattle to Rome. There were no direct flights. Even though I’d first told her not to come, now I couldn’t wait for her to wrap her arms around me at the train station on Tuesday morning.
Argirò, the cops who came to Capanne to confiscate more and more of my things. I had no choice but to speak with them. Not being able to choose where I went and whom I saw made me anxious. It seemed as if everyone around me was trying to chisel their way into my head. Even the letters I wrote had to be turned over to the guard in an unsealed envelope—to be photocopied for the police, I later discovered. I felt I had to protect myself from invasion. Each morning, after the other prisoners had