I feel it’s time for me to step away from my the cold cast of my eldest Aunt. For the good of the family and for my own mental health.

The Case Is Cold, But the Bitterness Is Fresh
Unraveled: Family Secrets, Missing Coroner’s Reports, and 67 Years of Lies

First, I want to thank all of you for your incredible help. You’ve been instrumental in uncovering many clues, which I’ve passed on to law enforcement. I’ve always relied on the kindness of strangers, and your support has meant the world to me. But it seems this case is still tearing my family apart 67 years later, and the trauma runs three and a half generations deep.

As a writer, even I struggle to find the words that convey the weight of this trauma and the fallout that followed. I feel compelled to share it. And while I know I’ll be accused of the worst by those who risk the least, I accept the challenge—ten toes down.

I’m writing this today with a heavy heart. Our documentary and film project are in trouble, and I need to step back. I began this journey not expecting to uncover much, but what we found changed everything.

What started as a quest to explore how my aunt, Rosetta Edwards, was objectified by the media—reduced to her beauty and labeled a “negro,” with aspersions cast upon her virtue—turned into something far more complex. I had hoped to spark conversations about media and police reform, not to solve a mystery.

And yet, here we are, having stumbled upon two new suspects—both likely long dead, but there’s still that 5-10% chance one of them is slurping down Ensures in a nursing home somewhere.

At this point, I’ll have to leave it to the police, the media, citizen investigators, and ultimately, God. I’ve reached my limit. All my support, especially public support, is gone. And I don’t feel as though I’m the only one who should be fighting for Rosetta in the public arena. Yes, Aunt DD and my sister Dot have been helpful, as was another sister early on. But in social media, I’m alone.

What’s been most disheartening is that even institutions like the NAACP, which should be interested in the case, haven’t responded to my repeated attempts to reach them. If the full truth came out, it could rewrite their history, too. It’s becoming clear that many people don’t want the truth as much as I had expected. Family emotions, trauma, bitterness, justified anger, egos—the police don’t care, and the media cares even less.

After six months of relentless work, I’m utterly depleted—physically, emotionally, and financially. We came away from the Albany CIU with zero data after 67 years and 20 years of asking for any shred of information. We handed over six months of research, and they wouldn’t even give us a timeline. I can only hope the investigators do their job. But if I’m honest, I won’t hold my breath. Still, I believe I’ve fulfilled my duty—both morally and ethically—as a nephew and a citizen.

It broke my heart when I had to tell my aunt the meeting didn’t go as well as she thought. The smile fell from her face, and we argued over it, but I’m hopeful we can mend this divide. We gave them six months of work, and they gave us nothing back. After 67 years of waiting, after 20+ years of asking.

This project has also cost me my relationship with my family. There’s a small but not insignificant family connection to the prime suspect, and though no one in my family was very close to him (as far as I know), it’s become a convenient excuse to turn their backs on me.

I see it clearly now: my family never really cared for me, though I loved them dearly. My grandparents raised 11 children, including my Aunt Rosetta’s kids after her death, and when my Uncle Eddie passed suddenly, the focus shifted. My mother and her children were in the shadows, and I—well, I was the black sheep of the black sheep.

Some in the family grew up thinking they were more anointed, better educated, more pious, or “couth” than the rest. So, when I stepped up to uncover the truth, it rubbed them the wrong way. Not one of Coreatha’s children… I didn’t realize we were in competition, but the most “righteous” made it clear. They threatened to cut off their children if they helped me. And help they did not.

They ignored me, broke their word, misled me, then ghosted me. Even my sister joined in, valuing their acceptance over the covenant of the womb. These relationships were already on life support, and now they’ve crossed the rainbow bridge into Valhalla (excuse the reference, I’m half Polish/Scandinavian).

I’ve always been different, and this was clearly a bridge too far for them. Even my one ally changed her tune. Apparently, I was supposed to tell this story without stepping on toes, especially the “nice people.” But that’s impossible. I wasn’t supposed to talk about how this fallout took my mother’s life or how it impacted those who lived in the shadows. I was supposed to do the work quietly, without hurting anyone’s feelings. The family will have to sit with that. I cannot—because it makes no sense to me.

The saddest part is that more sympathy and respect seem to be directed toward the prime suspect than toward my aunt. I know they don’t truly feel that way, but respectability politics is causing many to act like it. That’s how deep the dysfunction and patriarchy run. They didn’t even like him, but they didn’t want to hurt the feelings of his descendants. I told a relative, “Well, my aunt’s feelings were hurt too when she was strangled to death and left in an empty bathtub while one child cried and the other two slept.”

Since I’m the outsider, I have no such loyalty to anyone who may have killed my aunt. Though I never knew her—she was born 13 years before me—I’ve learned to love her and honor the space she left inside my mother’s heart.

This man was a step-grandfather; their grandmother just happened to marry twice to two men who shared the same last name. I don’t understand their reasoning—if my father’s stepfather had murdered my aunt, I would hand-deliver him to justice.

Yet the automatic assumption was that I was pointing fingers at him. That’s not true. While I believe Wesley Mallory, aka Willie Thomas, is the most likely suspect, another has emerged. It never occurred to them that I might clear his name.

I don’t judge my family too harshly; they were told the police were on it, and as Black folks with limited resources, there was little hope for justice. The police never got back to them.

But now, with technology and, hopefully, a new generation that’s willing to dig deeper, we might finally get answers. It’s cost me all my family ties, but I know my grandparents and my mother are with me, supporting me from above. And if this is why I lose them, it’s a good reason to let them go.

I got no public recognition, and it felt as though most were holding their noses when they dealt with me. With some exceptions—Aunt DD, my sister Dot, and early cooperation from another sister who has since ghosted me.

Through this journey, I’ve learned so much about Rosetta. She was a decent, hardworking, and generous human being—demure, with a simple way about her. Yes, she was beautiful, but her beauty came from within. In fact, her beauty was likely more a curse than a blessing.

This project taught me that you can love someone just by listening to their story. I had genuinely hoped this project would humanize her, sparking change in how the media and law enforcement treat women who are victims of violence—especially Black women.

But the biggest challenge hasn’t been the media or the police—it’s been my family. Guilt, shame, trauma, resentment, ego, petty jealousies… favoritism, bias… All of this must be dealt with before we can move forward, and I didn’t see that coming.

I lost my mother as a result of this family fallout, just six days after my 16th birthday. That left me with my own scars, and I didn’t realize this project would reopen them.

In the end, the media and the police are made up of humans—humans who belong to families just like ours. And something tells me that’s the most important thing to remember. Justice won’t come until we acknowledge the personal dynamics at play, do some self-reflection, and put in the hard work.

Nobody in the media, the police, or the public will ever care more for a victim than their own family.

I hope this story, in whatever way it’s eventually told, will bring about that change. And if you’ve lost a loved one to violence and can identify with this pain, I hope you know—you are not alone.

How You Can Help Bring Justice for Rosetta

While I’m stepping away from the public fight for now, this doesn’t mean I’ve given up completely. I’m simply waiting on law enforcement and the media to step in and lend a hand. But there’s still so much work to be done, and I need to make trips to Albany to conduct further research and uncover more answers.

We haven’t raised a single dime for our efforts so far, and everything we’ve done has been out of love and a deep sense of duty. Now, I’m asking for your help. If you believe in this cause, your contributions will help fund the research, travel, and continued push for justice. You can contribute directly at DiscoveringPie.com and please add a note specifying the project: Discovering Pie. We’ll be transparent with any expenses, ensuring that every penny goes toward this important mission.

We’re also planning to launch a behind-the-scenes monthly Patreon to gather support for a book and documentary, so we can keep Rosetta’s story alive and make sure it’s told in full. But I can’t do this alone—I need your support to keep this project moving forward.

If you have any tips, information, or leads, please contact the Albany Criminal Investigation Unit (CIU) at:

126 Arch Street, Albany, NY 12202
Phone: 518-462-8039

And don’t forget to copy any tips to [email protected]. The police haven’t shared any updates with us in 67 years, so every bit of information could be crucial in finally bringing closure to this case. Perhaps, one day soon, we will get the answers we’ve been searching for.

Please help by sharing this post, donating if you can, and spreading the word. Together, we can keep this fight for justice going.

Sincerely,
Edmund J. Janas, II
Son of Edmund J. Janas, Sr. and Coreatha Westbrook Janas,
Grandson of Eddie Westbrook and Adrilla Paschal Westbrook