For Eliza Robertson, it started with an envelope left on her doorstep in Victoria in 2015.

Inside were some writings by a stranger named Krystal Senyk, and a note from Robertson's neighbour explaining how she used to work with Senyk in Whitehorse, decades ago. The note also explained how Senyk had been shot and killed at home near Carcross, Yukon, in 1992, and that the accused killer — Ronald Bax, the estranged husband of Senyk's best friend — had disappeared after the murder, and had not been seen since.

To this day, an RCMP warrant for Bax's arrest to face a first-degree murder charge is still outstanding.

Her neighbour's story about Senyk prompted Robertson to start digging. Eight years later, Robertson has just released a book, with Myles Dolphin, about Senyk's life and death, and the family's long search for justice.

Robertson spoke to Leonard Linklater on CBC Yukon's Midday Café about her book, I Got A Name: The Murder of Krystal Senyk.

You know, as a writer, when you literally receive an envelope on your doorstep, it does seem there's a certain level of urgency and import about that. It felt very important to me to understand more and to research more. And the more I dug in, the more I couldn't turn away from the story.

I wanted to find a way to put words to it, and to make sure that we don't forget about Krystal as well as others who have been killed at the hands of, you know, gender-based violence and who have fallen through the cracks of these systems.

Well, it remains a very live issue.

One of the concerns that I raised in the book is, Krystal knew that she was not safe. She asked for help in the weeks leading up to the murder. And that request for help was never taken seriously, it was never treated with the gravity that it warranted. And sadly, I know that that is still a very live issue now.

You know, just in my own personal circle of acquaintances, I've met people who have gone through very similar experiences and you know, thank God they have survived. But they've also been in these situations where the people who are tasked with keeping them safe — be they people in hospital institutions, be they police, be they government — they've been failed and largely because they weren't believed ... or they're just perceived as being un-credible.

I think that the question of who we believe and who we try and protect in our society is very, very pertinent.

Krystal was many things, and very indescribable from what I've heard talking to her friends and family. She was a champion arm wrestler, she was an engineer. Before her death, she worked at the federal land claims office in Whitehorse. But she was much, much more than that.

Her pride and joy was the cabin that she was reconstructing in Carcross. And she was doing much of this work by hand, much of it independently. And she was a very, very capable, very independent person. So many people described her to me as having a very big heart and always wanting to come to the support and aid of others, of her friends.

And it just sounds like she had a lot of joy, too. I heard so many stories of laughter, so many moments where she was kind of pointing out the humour in a situation and maybe gently making fun of a friend. And there was lots of anecdotes like that, that I learned while researching the story.

Yeah, exactly.

That's partly what I wanted to address in the book, because I think our notions of who is a victim can be very narrow, and I think that's informed by popular culture portrayals of true crime. Often we perceive victims of violence as being feeble or weak in some way. You know, there's this whole trope of the "damsel in distress," and I say that explicitly in the book: Krystal was not a damsel. She did not tick those boxes.

And I think that's partly why, potentially, people were reticent to help her. People didn't fully believe that she was at risk. You know, one person actually recommended that she sit Ronald Bax down, and just have a cup of tea, and that would calm him down. And that clearly was not what was called for here.

So it's true, she does defy those stereotypes of who we perceive to be a victim. And I think that's also part of the larger point I want to make, that these stereotypes themselves are actually really unhelpful.

Oh yeah. Just personally, as a writer, this book has stretched me and challenged me in every way. It's really tested my own limits and there's been a lot of just personal stuff that I think I wrestled with in researching and then finally writing the book.

But certainly in terms of more concrete things that I've learned a lot about, just the sluggishness of bureaucratic processes. How long it take to find resolution. In this case, there has been no resolution found for Krystal's family. You know, Bax is still missing. It's not clear whether he's alive or dead. No body has been found, one way or another. And no trial has taken place. So much remains unresolved.

A lot of this was recorded in real time by Krystal's father who was a meticulous note-keeper. So, watching his hopes rise as maybe more tips came in, or a new officer came onto the case, and then watching them crash as still no information was uncovered. People also just slowed down working on the case — understandably, because as the years pass other cases have to become priorities.

So I think understanding just how difficult it is to be a survivor of the violence, to be part of the victim's family or just to chase the the bureaucratic processes after — that, I didn't fully understand. I'm sure I still don't fully understand it.

I would say I learned and grew from writing this book, and in every way conceivable.

I think what I would most ideally like is probably difficult to achieve: I would love to offer Krystal's family some fragment of resolution.

I think that's beyond what this book can potentially achieve, but without a trial, I feel like this has just been so wide open and it remains so wide open, and that's been really, really difficult for the people who have loved Krystal and who are still sitting with this grief and this trauma.

So I would love, if Bax is out there, for this book's publication to perhaps stir up any more information. Or maybe someone who wasn't willing to talk about this 15, 20, 30 years ago, maybe now they're ready to come forward. I don't know.

I also just want to preserve Krystal's legacy. You know, myself and also my research collaborator Myles Dolphin, we spent many years in talking to Krystal's friends and family, tracing over old photographs, old memories, old home videos and included as much of those as possible in the book. So I would love for this to be a way that her own personhood can live on and have a life of its own, even after her death.

For me, it's my own personal belief that if we keep speaking of those that we have lost, they remain with us, you know, even beyond their physical lifespan.