Family and friends described her as charming, caring. She worked hard.

Then strangers found her crumpled body along a roadside.

Ah, Eve Carson? you ask.

No, I'm referring to Latrese Curtis, a 21-year-old N.C. Central University student who was killed little more than a month before Carson.

Like Carson, Curtis was brutally murdered; prosecutors believe she was stabbed 40 times by a Pentecostal bishop from whom her family said she may have recently sought spiritual guidance.

But unlike Carson's death, which ignited a tsunami of public anguish, including mine -- Curtis' death barely stirred a ripple.

The same is true for Abhijit Mahato, the Duke University graduate student found dead in his apartment in January. He'd been shot between the eyes, through a pillow used as a silencer -- apparently for his wallet, cell phone and iPod.

But his death scarcely made the news -- until police determined that Mahato had been killed by one of the same young men they believe responsible for Carson's death.

On April 5, Duke established a memorial scholarship fund in Mahato's name.

Until then, Mahato and Curtis were mourned privately, by their own families, colleagues and faith communities -- while entire NCAA basketball teams wore ribbons for Eve, and moments of silence were observed in her honor.

Why the difference?

Is it the Natalee Holloway syndrome -- an extension of America's fascination with beautiful blonde victims?

No doubt, that's part of it. That, and the fairy-tale notion that violence ought never sully our Southern slice of heaven.

No doubt, Eve Carson was a remarkable person. She was, too, a public figure -- the student body president of the state's flagship university, a young woman as at ease with trustees and politicians as with members of her graduating class. Thousands gathered for spur-of-the-moment vigils on the day her body was identified. Tens of thousands attended a service in her memory at the Dean Dome.

She was special.

But Latrese Curtis, newly married and hoping to start a family, was special in her own way, too. She was a sharp-witted MBA student beloved by fellow employees at Sears. Need we know the details of her connection to the alleged killer before we determine whether she qualifies as the "perfect," albeit not blonde, victim?

Mahato, originally from India, had a ready smile and was months away from an advanced degree in computational engineering.

But there are many other murder victims as well. Too many to honor as fully as they deserve.

Those who are not students, I'm afraid, often get less attention still.

It shouldn't take two lifeless forms on Triangle roadsides to remind us that every life lost is precious.

Sadly, the similarities between the Carson and Curtis deaths have scarcely been drawn.

Carson's murder may yet change the way the state handles its probation and parole system.

But the deaths of Curtis and Mahato -- and all the other nameless, faceless victims who were not student body presidents, who did not hobnob with movers and shakers -- are just as tragic. Their losses just as profound.

Every single one.