Dear Rosie Larson,
I'm sorry that I don't know who killed you. I really tried to find out, I swear to you. But I followed your innocent teacher for 3 straight days, when it turned out he had nothing to do with the kidnapping or murder at all, and it was a pointless, and mostly boring chase. Then I took a day to follow the two detectives investigating your murder looking for one of their children. Turns out he was with his father, who was married to a Cylon in another show. Also, that same detective's new fiancee was also a Cylon. This lady sure has a thing for toasters.
But believe me, Rosie, I wanted more than anything to find out who killed you. I wanted to know because of your father, who took this harder than anyone I've ever seen. When you watch Law and Order, you never see the devastating effects on the family that a murdered child has; your father showed me his soul. And it was crushing.
I wanted to find out because it always rains in Seattle. And that makes it depressing. And that makes me depressed, mostly because, Rosie, all I wanted to do was know who killed you.
I had so many ideas. Was it Senator Charles Widmore? His daughter, the assistant to the top Mayoral candidate? The slow and dimwitted associate of the Larson Moving Company? The janitor in the high school sex dungeon? One of the two detectives? Leoben? The Trinity Killer? It has to be someone, right?
I fully expected to find out in 13 days, because that's how long these things take. But apparently the Powers that Be had other ideas, and it was not to be so. We were instead forced to watch narrative incohesion at its finest, where not even a Willing Suspension of Disbelief was enough to keep me from thinking this was one of the worst creative decisions in recent television memory. It was not enjoyable to watch the search for your killer, Rosie. The only thing that kept me going was the knowledge there would be justice.
Now I'm hoping there will be justice done to Veena Sudd for wasting my time.