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They used to call Prem Burns the “Black Widow.” When Burns launched her career in criminal law in the 1970s, women were rarely seen in the courtroom. Burns made history in 1977 as the first woman to try a felony case before a jury in East Baton Rouge Parish.

Worried in those days how a jury might react to distractions like makeup and stylish clothing, the assistant district attorney adopted black suits with no accoutrements, making a somber statement as she entered the courtroom to prosecute serial killers, rapists and other criminals.

Burns eventually brightened her appearance in court, but she has never changed her extraordinary commitment to the victims of homicide and sexual assault.

“Prem gives 110%,” says Shelia Gay, who relied on Burns to prosecute after the 1998 deaths of her in-laws Ann and William Gay. “She puts her heart and soul and everything else into her work. She pores over everything and misses nothing. And she takes nothing from nobody.

“But she’s not just a tough prosecuting attorney they call the Black Widow. She’ll put her arm around you, hold your hand, let you know it’ll be OK. She was my saving grace.”

Although Burns has been offered high-paying jobs in the private sector, she flatly refuses to go that route. “I don’t have that love of money,” she says. The emotional rewards of her job are so enormous that Burns insists she would pick the same life’s work again if given the chance.

That’s despite knowing the physical demands some cases exact. Burns made a name for herself in 1986 prosecuting the Colombian hitmen who killed drug runner Barry Seal. To this day, she’s not sure how she managed it. During that case, she worked 120 hours a week, flying to Central and South America and different U.S. cities to interview witnesses in protective custody and to meet with translators.

The federal government wanted to take over the case, but Burns prevailed. After a long, physically trying six-week trial in Lake Charles, she convicted.

“I stayed so busy that the magnitude and danger never caught up with me,” she says.

Although the Seal case represents a monumental professional turning point for Burns, she derives her greatest personal rewards prosecuting rape cases. These days, as she prepares to try suspected serial killer Sean Gillis for preying on prostitutes and drug addicts, she often thinks of her past conviction on behalf of five homeless women, four of them prostitutes.

Those women entered her office astounded that that someone would sit with them and prepare them for a trial. They’d say, “I’m a prostitute. Do you know what I do?”

“I replied, ‘What does that matter? You were raped,’” Burns says. “It’s a case I will always remember. I gave them some dignity. A fellow prosecutor sent me five roses, one for each of those ladies.”

In her job, Burns accepts she cannot undo the crime. “You can do the next best thing: restore the victim’s faith in society,” she says. “You really are a white knight on a white horse riding in with truth on your side.”