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But what happened聽in the home of Henry and Audrey Marie Kellie on Oct. 18, 1975, is far from forgotten,聽certainly not by聽those聽who survived one of Nebraska's most notorious mass murders; nor by the聽legal system it tested then and continues to challenge with complicated questions.

Yellowing news clippings and photographs fill four bulging scrapbooks in Audrey Brown's North Platte home, telling聽the story of the murder of her parents, her brother, two nieces and a nephew.

At the center of the story: Erwin Charles Simants, a 29-year-old neighbor arrested and tried 鈥斅爐wice 鈥斅爋n six counts of first-degree murder.

The first time, a jury convicted him, and Simants went to death row. The second time, following a successful appeal, a jury found him innocent by reason of insanity, and he went to the Lincoln Regional Center.

The crime shocked the western Nebraska town of Sutherland, and the聽trials reverberated far beyond, resulting in a landmark U.S. Supreme Court decision on First Amendment rights of the press and prompting changes in Nebraska's criminal insanity law.

The case raised聽issues the state still wrestles with today 鈥斅爐he death penalty, mental illness, protection of the public 鈥斅燼nd the fate of Simants is in the forefront聽once again.

Every year since 1979, a judge has reviewed psychiatric reports that concluded Simants聽remained mentally ill and dangerous, keeping him in the locked forensic unit at the Lincoln Regional Center.

That could change this year.

At his annual review last month, his attorney says,聽doctors agreed聽Simants is no longer mentally ill. And on Thursday, a judge is expected to rule whether Simants, now 67, should be released.聽

鈥淭he statute reads if you are not both mentally ill and dangerous, you walk,鈥� said Lincoln County Attorney Rebecca Harling.

* * *

Audrey Brown has driven to Lincoln for Simants' review hearings each year for more than three decades. She's done it, she said, to help the judge remember what's at the heart of the case.

鈥淚 think the courts need to recognize, and the public needs to recognize, there was a real family involved in this and somebody still loves them and cares about them,鈥� said Brown, 75.

In 1975, she was 37, married and raising four children. Three weeks before the murders, she and her family moved to Boulder, Colo., where her husband became minister of a church.

She knew Simants, who was staying with his sister next door to the Kellies. Her father had hired him to do odd jobs and, just days before he died, had bailed him out of jail after Simants was arrested for public intoxication.

In fact, Brown said, her father hired Simants to help her pack for her move.

鈥淗e was in our house,鈥� she said. 鈥淲ith me and my children.鈥�

Three weeks later, Simants carried a loaded rifle from his sister's house to the Kellie home next door, where their granddaughter Florence, 10, was alone.

He sexually assaulted and shot Florence dead, and he then shot the rest of the family as they arrived: first Henry Kellie, 66; then Audrey Marie, 57, who he sexually assaulted after he killed her; and then their son David Kellie, 32, and his children Deanna, 6, and Daniel, 5.

Sutherland residents locked their doors while authorities searched for聽Simants, who聽hid in a wooded area near the Kellie home. He was arrested at his sister's house the next day.

Brown still wonders what might have happened if she and her family had not moved.

鈥淲hen we lived here in North Platte we went to the folks' pretty often. I think if we'd still been living here we'd have gone up to visit,鈥� she said. 鈥淵ou know how it is when you live within 20 minutes.鈥�

* * *

While Brown buried her family and sold her parents' home and cattle, prosecutors charged Simants聽with six counts of first-degree murder.

Before long, the sensational case turned into a battle between the press and the judge, who issued a gag order barring reporters from a preliminary hearing for fear the publicity would make a fair trial impossible.

The fight that followed got national attention and ended with a decision by the U.S. Supreme Court finding the judge's order unconstitutional.

The jury found Simants guilty, and he was sentenced to die in the electric chair.

Three years later, in 1979, the Nebraska Supreme Court ordered a new trial because the sheriff, a trial witness, played cards with some of the jurors while they were sequestered.

When the聽second trial was moved聽to Lincoln because of pretrial publicity, Simants had a new attorney, a聽newly elected Lincoln County public defender聽who would go on聽to be one of the state's most respected defense attorneys.

Scott Helvie was just聽two years out of law school and had never tried a death penalty case. He worried his inexperience could hurt his client and he asked to be taken off the case. The judge refused but added Dave Schroeder, a more experienced attorney, to the team.

They decided to use a new defense theory,聽one considered risky and untried, at least in Nebraska.

They admitted Simants had killed the Kellie family and narrowed the focus of the trial to one issue: his sanity.

Defense attorneys in the first trial also had聽used the insanity defense, but their doctors' opinions shared space with the horrifying details of the crime.

At the second trial, defense attorneys worked to keep those details from being rehashed, arguing prosecutors' attempts to introduce bloody sheets and gruesome pictures were attempts to inflame the jury.

鈥淲e were a little worried about it at the time,鈥� Helvie said recently. 鈥淚t hadn't been done a lot.鈥�

The risk paid off: After deliberating for 18 hours, the jury found Simants innocent by reason of insanity.

The second verdict prompted calls for changes to Nebraska's insanity law, part of a movement in the legal world that gained national prominence when John Hinkley was found not responsible for shooting President Ronald Reagan in 1981.

Nebraska lawmakers changed the law that year, shifting the burden of proof from the prosecution to the defense and giving judges 鈥斅爊ot mental health boards 鈥斅燼uthority to decide when to release patients found not responsible by reason of insanity.

The law stands today.

鈥淚t really is a significant change,鈥� Helvie said. 鈥淏eyond a reasonable doubt is a difficult thing to prove. ...聽The outcome of that case could have been entirely different if we'd had the burden of proof.鈥�

* * *

In 1981, Simants was one of 12 patients in the regional center's security unit who had been found not responsible聽by reason of insanity. For many years, doctors came to the same conclusion: that he remained mentally ill and dangerous.

Lincoln County Attorney Harling said doctors have made numerous diagnoses of Simants over the years, including schizophrenia, alcohol abuse, pedophilia and a psychotic break caused by alcohol.

鈥淚t's just been such a long thing, and so many different doctors have seen him in the 40 years, it's hard to encapsulate,鈥� she said.

Today, Simants' attorney聽Robert Lindemeier says,聽doctors agree he does not meet the criteria of a pedophile.

And for many years, regional center doctors have discounted the schizophrenia diagnosis, for which he's never been treated, Lindemeier said.

The exception was Dr. Jack Anderson, once a doctor at the regional center,聽one of the first to evaluate Simants after the murders and a defense witness at the trials.

Once Simants was in the regional center, prosecutors hired Anderson to evaluate him for the annual reviews. He continued to find a diagnosis of schizophrenia, Lindemeier said.

Anderson died several years ago, and after that,聽Lindemeier said, he negotiated with prosecutors to gain freedoms for Simants, who was allowed supervised outings for several years. Those stopped after another inmate escaped from the center about three years ago.

Today, a panel of doctors at the regional center and an independent psychologist hired by the state agree Simants, who takes no psychiatric medication,聽is no longer mentally ill, Lindemeier said.

Harling, who was in kindergarten when the Kellie family was murdered, said she doesn't think it's that black and white.

鈥淚 can tell you I argued he's mentally ill and dangerous,鈥� she said.

But Lindemeier said the mental illness is聽based on Simants' alcohol abuse, which has been in remission聽since he has been in the regional center.

Harling agrees if the judge concludes Simants is no longer mentally ill, he will have to release him, regardless of the possible聽risk.

鈥淚 can tell you the docs find it hard to determine dangerousness," she said. "You're projecting into the future and you have to use past behavior as your only benchmark. I do think there are times when the statute may lead to unintended consequences, which is dangerous people out on the streets.鈥�

While no one can promise Simants poses no risk given the crime, he has been a model patient and has never been aggressive or acted out at the regional center, Lindemeier said.

All of the doctors who performed risk assessments found him to be a low or low-to-moderate risk, he said.

Scot Adams, director of聽the聽Department of Health and Human Services division聽of behavioral health, said regional center doctors recommended Simants be released to a facility with 24-hour care and that he wear an ankle bracelet.

But the law doesn't provide for steps to help ease patients back into society once they are found no longer mentally ill, Lindemeier said. Simants has some family, he said, but it would still be a difficult transition.

鈥淚t's an all-or-nothing situation,鈥� he said. 鈥�(The law) doesn't allow for gradual steps back into the community for someone who's been institutionalized.鈥�

Still, Adams said he has seen cases in which judges have taken such steps.

鈥淥bviously, these are highly individualized, highly emotionally charged cases," Adams said. "So different judges will take different approaches to solving the questions before them.

鈥淚t's not unheard of for a judge to take steps like we've recommended.鈥�

Simants, too,聽would prefer a gradual release because he鈥檚 been institutionalized for more than half his life, Lindemeier said.

Omaha Sen. Brad Ashford, chairman of the Legislature's Judiciary Committee, said the Simants case reflects a broader problem in the criminal justice system: how it deals with mentally ill people and offers support for inmates as they transition back into society.

鈥淚t underlies what is real in our prison system, and that is a very significant degree of mental illness,鈥� he said.

Ashford doesn鈥檛 see a need to change the insanity law, an important tenet of the criminal justice system. And just a fraction of people who commit crimes end up being found legally insane, he said.

Today, 33 of the patients at the regional center鈥檚 forensic unit were found not responsible by reason of insanity, including nine of murder charges, according to state officials.

The state does not track how many of those people have been released, although Ulysses Cribbs, who opened fire at an Omaha nightclub in 1977 and killed a sheriff鈥檚 deputy and injured 25 others, was sent to outpatient treatment in 2009.

Nebraska releases 1,200 to 1,500 prison inmates a year, Ashford said. Of those, 250 to 300 鈥渏am out,鈥� which means they have no structure such as parole.

That puts the public at risk, he said.

鈥淭he Simants case, just like any other criminal case, is a significant issue for the state,鈥� Ashford said.

Brown, who wrote a book in 1996 about surviving the murder of her family, worries that聽Simants will start drinking again if he鈥檚 released, that he'll start聽having hallucinations like he did before. She fears she could become a target. And even if he鈥檚 no longer mentally ill, she said, he needs to pay for what he did.

鈥淚 just hope the judge remembers there was family here and somebody loves them. I love them,鈥� she said. 鈥淚鈥檝e missed a lot of birthdays and holiday celebrations with them gone.鈥�