Killer Stories with Harvey Guillén - The Chicago Tylenol Murders Pt. 1

Episode Date: October 3, 2022

Forty years ago, cyanide-laced Tylenol capsules led to the deaths of seven people all around the Chicago area. America was gripped by paranoia and fear. Why was this happening? Who would be next? Police grasped for suspects who might be the so-called “Mad Poisoner.” We’re joined by Carter Roy from Conspiracy Theories to tell the story. Learn more about your ad choices. Visit podcastchoices.com/adchoices

Hi, listeners, it's Vanessa. Every week, I take you into the minds and madness of serial killers. But sometimes we need to widen the scope and look beyond our initial suspect because the story told by the police isn't always the truth. That's where I come in. I'm Carter Roy, host of conspiracy theories. For the next three episodes, Vanessa and I will explore Chicago's Tylenol murders, which happened 40 years ago this week.

We'll dive into the psyche of the FBI's suspects in the killing spree. We'll also discuss some of the more outlandish ideas about who was really responsible for masterminding one of the most terrifying times in the country's recent history. Due to the sensitive nature of today's episode, listener discretion is advised. This episode includes discussions of poisoning and homicide. We advise extreme caution for children under 13. It's October 1st, 1982. After a long day working the phones at your death, desk job, you return home. A dull pain pulses through your head, but it's no big deal. You open a medicine cabinet and pop a pain reliever. Done. You grab a frozen meal from the freezer and toss it in the

microwave. While you wait, you switch on the news, though you're barely listening. It's white noise more than anything. You plop yourself on the couch and your legs melt into the seat. Finally a chance to relax. But as you take a bite of the warm, spongy chicken, the news anchor catches your attention. People are dropping dead all over Chicago, a 12-year-old girl, two newlyweds, some sort of terrorist thing, you assume, bombs maybe, you start to lose your appetite. The story grows stranger because it's not explosives, it's not guns. The anchorwoman reveals the suspected reason. Each victim took a dose of Tylenol, and within minutes they collapsed. Nobody knew why.

You shake your head, wondering what the world has come to. But then you remember the tablet you swallowed right after you got home. You rush back to the bathroom and fling open the medicine cabinet, sitting on the shelf as still as a death sentence, a white and blood-red Tylenol bottle stares back at you. A hollow pit opens in your stomach. You start to feel dizzy. And as the walls seem to inch closer and closer,

you realize there's nothing left to do but wait, wondering if you're about to be the next face on the nightly news. This is a special series presented by conspiracy theories and serial killers, Spotify Originals from Parcast. I'm your host Carter Roy. And I'm your host, Vanessa Richardson. This week is the 40th anniversary of the Tylenol murders. So for the next few episodes, we're taking a deep dive into the grim series of homicides that swept Chicago in 1982.

The wave of panic and paranoia brought on by the Tylenol murders changed our relationship with over-the-counter drugs forever. So this time, we'll start at the beginning. Go back to the day that residents across Chicago land began feeling ill. We'll follow the FBI as it tries to uncover who's behind the deaths and why. Then we'll examine the ransom letter that sent officials into a tizzy and where it led investigators trying to solve this unprecedented crime. We have all that and more coming up. Stay with us. This episode is brought to you by Shopify.

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Your next obsession is waiting. Watch only on Prime. Acetaminophen, the generic form of Tylenol, is an ingredient in over 500 medicines, from common cold remedies like Dayquil to more serious opioids like Vicodin. The drug was brought to market in 1955, and by 1979, it was the number one branded product in the health and beauty aid category. From headaches to cramps, no discomfort was too small to be remedied by the product.

There was no plastic seal, just a cardboard cover over the top, and a couple cotton balls inside. Everyone, from children to the elderly, dutifully trusted the wonder drug. Which is what made it the perfect weapon? In late September, 1982, in a sweet suburban town outside Chicago, 12-year-old Mary Kellerman woke up with a sore throat. Understandably, her parents told her to stay home from school and rest. At around 6.30 that morning, she went to use the bathroom. Her father, just rooms away, heard something drop.

A thud. He called out to Mary to see if she was okay. but there was no answer. Worried, he barged through the bathroom door. His daughter was lying on the ground unconscious, still in her pajamas. When the paramedics arrived, they tried to heal Mary with every drug they could to revive her, but at the hospital, just three hours later, she was pronounced dead. There was nothing they could do.

The Kellermans were in shock, but so were the medical examiners. It's not often that a relatively healthy, young, girl suddenly collapses to the floor and dies shortly after. Was it her sore throat? Just north of Mary's house in the neighboring suburb of Arlington Heights, 27-year-old Adam Janice felt like he was coming down with a cold too, so he took the day off from his postal service job. Later that morning, after telling his kids he needed to lie down, Adam staggered into the kitchen. There he collapsed on the floor in front of them. At 11.54 a.m., he slipped into a coma.

Though the paramedics were called to the house, there was nothing they could do. Once Adam's entire family, his parents, his brothers, and their wives had arrived at the hospital, hoping for the best, they faced staggering news. Adam had passed in just minutes. Adam's niece, Monica Janice, was just 10 years old at the time. Just like everyone else, she was heartbroken and confused. One moment her uncle Adam was fine, the next he was gone. Afterwards, Monica and the family drove back to Adam's place where they comforted each other. They made coffee, shared tears, and ate some canned peaches, offsetting their sorrow with a touch of sweetness.

Monica's uncle, Stanley Janice, and his wife, 19-year-old Teresa, were there too. As they grieved together, Stanley's chronic back pain started acting up. Stanley was about to smoke a cigarette when in front of his brother, parents, and young Monica, he grabbed his chest and careen to the floor. His eyes rolled to the back of his head as a soft white foam oozed from his mouth. The room descended into chaos and his parents stood in horror. First Adam and now Stanley. The family was in pure shock, as were the medics that came to help Stanley.

Upon arriving at the Janus house for the second time that day, the same paramedics who'd helped Adam looked at Stanley in disbelief. As they loaded Stanley onto a stretcher, things went from bad to worse. His wife Teresa's head began to throb, like a balloon slowly expanding inside her skull, and then she collapsed to the floor. After witnessing her uncle and aunt writhe on the carpet, Monica ran to her mom in pure terror.

She pleaded with her not to die too. Unsure what to do, the family kneeled to the ground and prayed for a miracle. Unfortunately, the horror in store for that day was just beginning. A few hours earlier, about a half hour away in the town of Winfield, Mary Reiner, who went by Lynn, felt her body ache. She had recently given birth to a fourth child, just a week old. She was the same age as Adam Janice, 27, young and healthy, but that afternoon, Reiner hit the floor comatose. After her husband found her body and called the paramedics,

her eight-year-old daughter watched from an upstairs window as Lynn was whisked away on a stretcher. To the east, 31-year-old Mary McFarland was at her job at the Illinois Bell Phone Center. She told her coworkers she had a splitting headache. Then, minutes later, just like the other victims, she went comatose and fell to the ground. Back at the Janus home, police evacuated the family and put them into quarantine. At the time, they suspected the sudden deaths might be due to a toxic gas leak. But a gas leak didn't account for the other deaths.

Residents in towns across Chicago's suburbs were dropping like flies, and no one knew why. Mary's sore throat, Adams cold, and Teresa's headache. It was like an invisible killer plague, each manifesting different symptoms. By 8 p.m. that evening, Stanley Janus was dead, and Teresa was barely hanging on. No one knew how the three Janus incidents were linked, but if the officers and medical investigators on the case could figure it out, then perhaps Teresa stood a fighting chance. Once the house seemed safe, the investigator, Nick Pishos, police officers and a public health nurse named Helen Jensen, returned to investigate. They expected to see some kind of obvious clue, but nothing stood out.

The kitchen was like any other suburban house. It was eerily peaceful. But according to Jensen, one object caught her eye. A red and white bottle of extra strength Tylenol sat on a bathroom. shelf, which was packed with other over-the-counter drugs. She brought the container into the kitchen and poured out the pills before them. She and the investigator counted the pills strewn across the tabletop and compared that to the amount listed on the box, which made them realize that there were three doses missing from the Tylenol. Three doses for three people. Jensen insisted that the

medicine had to be the culprit, but others were skeptical. After all, Tylenol was over the counter and on every shelf across America. If that were the case, anyone could be next. However, Jensen's theory reminded the investigator of the little girl in Elk Grove Village, Mary Kellerman, who died earlier that morning. At the time, the paramedics on call had inventoried everything the girl ingested. And now, suddenly one item on that list seemed more important than the rest, Tylenol. Pichos had the paramedics ship in the container of Tylenol from the Kellerman's home. Once he had both packages, he called the Deputy Chief Medical Examiner, Edmund Donahue. He told Donahue that between the Janus's and Mary Kellerman, everything was different,

age, time of day, everything. There was only one link. The two, bottles of Tylenol, and both had the same control number, MC 2880. Donahue had an idea. He told the detectives to open the bottles and smell them. It was a long shot, but the investigator poured the capsules onto the table. Immediately, a sweet, dusty aroma wafted into the air. He leaned into the phone and told the pathologist, quote, you know, the first one smells like the second one, almonds. Donahue nodded gravely. They both knew that only one substance emitted this strange scent and was dangerous enough

to kill a person within minutes. Cyanide. Coming up, the mad poisoner terrorizes Chicago land. The floorboards creak. The walls. they moan. The house seems vacant, but you're not alone.

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When chemical labs ran tests, they found that some pills contained huge quantities of chemical asphyxient. After you've ingested cyanide, it does. It doesn't matter how much air you breathe, because it blocks your blood cells from using the oxygen. So in as soon as a couple of minutes, your brain begins to deteriorate, your spinal cord and lungs shut down. Finally, your heart stops beating. It's a potent chemical, and when the lab reports came back, scientists found that some Tylenol pills from the victim's houses contained enough to kill up to 1,000 people.

needed to get the word out before even more were doomed. Every pill was a time bomb, and there were no shortage of targets. After all, when dawn broke the next morning, people across the suburbs would likely wake up with headaches, colds, and muscle cramps, unaware that the remedy and their medicine cabinet might kill them. So that morning, Dr. Edmund Donahue held a local press conference to warn residents of Chicago and its suburbs, Tylenol was dangerous. do not under any circumstances so much as touch the pills. But since cops knew not everyone was watching TV at 10 in the morning, they took to the streets.

Police cars and ambulances cruised down suburban roads, blasting the message through bullhorns. Do not take the Tylenol. Beat cops went door-to-door, bags in hand, begging unsuspecting citizens to delicately hand over any bottles they had, as if they were unexploded incendiary devices. Slowly but surely, word of the poison trickled through the neighborhoods,

and as news spread, so did the fear. A medicine cabinet staple was now a deadly weapon, which drove concerned residents out of their homes and into police stations, sacks of Tylenol in hand as if disposing of hazardous waste. Doctors' offices and hospitals were flooded with phone calls. terrified people who'd swallowed the pill minutes before hearing the news called in to ask if they were about to die. The CEO of the Cook County Medical Examiner's Office spent the day on the phone with concerned residents,

but he took a more blunt approach. He told them, quote, The simple answer is, if you took it and you're calling me, don't worry. He knew that if cyanide was in their dose, they'd already be gone. At this point, the poison's reach had. seeped through Chicago's western and northern suburbs, but seemingly it hadn't breached city limits. Which would all change the following day, Friday, October 1st, when downtown Chicago got its first taste of the terror. At around 5 p.m. in the lively neighborhood of Old Town, cops broke into the apartment of 35-year-old flight attendant, Paula Prince. She was lying in the doorway to the bathroom, with moisturizers still still.

smeared on her face. A bottle of toxic Tylenol sat on her vanity like a still smoking gun. She died two days earlier September 29th, the same time as the others. Now that the killer had crawled inside city limits, Chicago PD realized it was time to tell the mayor. Only problem, she wasn't home. Mayor Jane Byrne had several engagements that night. She was an avid partygoer, but also a political Maverick. When she was inaugurated as the first female mayor in a major U.S. city, she cried out, quote, I beat the whole goddamn machine single-handed. But this invisible killer wouldn't wait for anyone. So while she was en route to another party, police superintendent Richard Brezek called Mayor

Byrne. He told her about the flight attendant who died in Old Town and the other victims out in the suburbs. She immediately understood the gravity of the situation. Once she arrived at the symphony center, Byrne huddled in the back room with her team. She decided to hold an emergency late-night press conference. She'd alert the news stations, and they'd broadcast it nationwide. At around 11 p.m., Vern stood at the podium. She mentioned Paula Prince and warned Chicagoland residents against the tainted medicine. And then she made a direct appeal to Johnson and Johnson. Mayor Byrne challenged them to recall every last bottle of Tylenol on store shelves.

In her mind, it was the only way to keep people safe. These days, we're used to seeing breaking news. The 24-7 news cycle floods our phones and computer screens at a blistering speed. But in 1982, CNN was in its first two years of cable news. It was rare to see a crisis like this beamed nationwide. And nobody could have predicted just how powerful it'd be. Mayor Burns' address caused a full panic. Other news outlets covered it breathlessly.

Americans combed every nook and cranny to rid their households of Tylenol. They wondered what else could have been tampered with. In the coming days, some were afraid to give their kids milk since there were no safety caps on cartons. Burns' challenge was ultimately effective in that it put all eyes on Tylenol manufacturer, Johnson and Johnson. Only they had the power to pull the pills from every single shelf in America. Based on the limited information they had at the time of the first conference, they established a hotline and used the media to alert people.

And four days after Burns' press conference, during the increasing nationwide news coverage, they recalled 31 million bottles of their product across the entire. United States at an estimated loss of $100 million. As part of the recall, Johnson and Johnson set up laboratories where they painstakingly examine the recalled bottles and tested many of the pills the public had turned in. The effort was worth it. The company found three unopened bottles packed to the brim with cyanide. Two were found in people's homes, and one had been sitting on a Chicago store shelf, waiting for its target.

This means that because of Mayor Burns' pressure and Johnson & Johnson's expensive recall, they both saved lives. Soon after, an army of federal, state, and local law enforcement agencies banded together to form the Tylenol Task Force. Their job was simple. Find the person who the press called the mad poisoner.

Investigators thought that the perpetrator bought bottles of extra strength Tylenol and emptied a handful of capsules. Then they replaced the acetaminophen with cyanide and screwed the lid back on. Then on Tuesday, September 28th, the murderer hit up stores across Chicago suburbs, sprinkling the boxes of pills on the shelves, like laying traps for unsuspecting prey. If this type of crime occurred now, we'd easily find the culprit. But in 1982, few stores had CCTV. There were no credit cards, and crucially, there was nothing but cardboard to keep the poisoner out of the pills.

All told, for eight bottles, investigators concluded that the entire process would have taken only seven hours. The lack of motive was haunting. Illinois Attorney General Tyrone Foner later said, quote, It made no sense. There was no clear and intended victim, but just a lack of it. anyone, anyone who happened to have the misfortune to buy a bottle of Tylenol. One theory that emerged was that it might be a disgruntled employee seeking revenge, so the cops interrogated every former Johnson & Johnson worker.

This was a lot of people. Detectives gave every employee where the contaminated Tylenol was manufactured, stored, or transported a once-over. Truck drivers were stopped. Custodians were suspected. They also received help from the media, including the Chicago area's three major newspapers, the Sun Times, the Tribune, and the Daily Herald. And day after day, each front page was devoted to the menace. Journalists published the schedule of victims' funerals, hoping to draw the killer out.

While the Janice family weeped at the memorial for their loved ones, undercover agents possibly hid in the background, scanning the crowd for anyone. who looked out of place. Time was ticking, and the task force still hadn't unearthed any real suspects. So they set up hotlines looking for any and all tips. And this is where the investigation went off the rails. Calls poured in day and night, and ironically, the task force now found themselves with too many leads. As the assistant U.S. attorney put it, it was like drinking from a fire hose.

A body of a man was found with Tylenol in his coat pocket. Psychics called about clues found in olive jars. One man led police on a series of solid tips until they asked him his source. A magic pen that gave him all the answers. But for all the eccentrics, it was clear that the public was terrified and saw evidence of death on every street corner. One housewife warned about a man selling a deadly concoction of apples. cider door to door. She knew it was poisonous because the liquid was eating straight through

the plastic. The lethal beverage was sent to the FBI lab for analysis. When the results came back, lab techs told her that when apple juice ferments, there's enough acidity to burn through some containers. The drink wasn't poisonous. It was just bootleg apple cider vinegar. At the end of the first week of the mad poisoner's spree, seven Americans had perished. And after all the tips, the stakeouts, and the wall-to-wall media coverage, Chicago police were still grasping for a real suspect. They were no closer to finding the killer as they were when Mary Kellerman hit the floor on Wednesday morning. Across the country, on October 6th in New Brunswick, New Jersey,

members of Johnson and Johnson's executive committee banded together in a conference room. They had another decision to make. The company's head of security had just delivered a photocopy of a letter to the room. The letter's handwritten block lettering was addressed to them. The note was from the killer himself. Coming up, the case of the closet chemist. Every outfit starts with a choice. What am I wearing underneath?

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Wind blasted down the alleyways, past street lamps, and parked cars. But inside a bar on Lincoln Avenue, 46-year-old computer programmer John Stinisha was drinking safe from the elements. A couple hours past midnight, Stinisha paid his bill and stepped outside into the thick, windy air. A man that Stenicia never met stood out front, waiting. And suddenly, the figure pulled out a handgun and shot in point blank. The bullet tore right through Stinisha's chest. Moments later, Stinisha, a father of three.

was dead. The shooter fled into the night. This senseless act of violence was horrible on its own. But what if I told you Stenicia, even though he was killed by a bullet, not a pill, was actually the eighth victim of the Tylenol poisonings? To understand how, let's return to the confession letter. Seven months Earlier, on October 6, 1982, the Tylenol Task Force failed to turn up any solid leads. But when Johnson and Johnson's corporate office received a mysterious note, from someone claiming to be the murderer, the entire investigation flipped on its head. The FBI now had a suspect.

And this wasn't just a confession letter. The writer had certain requests as well. Handwritten in all caps, the message read, quote, So far, I have spent less than $50, and it takes me less than 10 minutes per bottle. If you want to stop the killing, then wire $1 million to bank account number 8449-597 at Continental Illinois Bank. It was a ransom letter, and it intended to hold all of America hostage. Johnson and Johnson passed the letter that included a partial fingerprint from whoever wrote it along to the task force. However, technology wasn't on their side. Remember, this was 1982. At the time, the electronic database for fingerprints was in its infancy,

so authorities got more out of manually comparing the fingerprint found on the letter to those they had on file one at a time. The Bureau, quite literally, had its hands full. So they went public with a letter, hoping it would lead to more tips. The Mad Poisoner's identity was on the forefront of everyone's mind in Chicago. People imagined the killer skulking every street corner, every pharmacy, and every dingy tavern. In October 1982, just a short walk from Paula Prince's apartment, the woman who'd been found dead at home, a warehouse worker named Rodney, Roger Arnold walked into a bar. He was reportedly sharing his thoughts on the Tylenol victims to anyone who would listen.

The bar's owner, Martin Sinclair, couldn't help it overhear Arnold, and something he said alarmed him, though we're not sure what. The bar owner did what he could and phoned the police. Later on, Chicago police arrested him for a months old aggravated assault charge, handcuffed him to a chair, and interrogated him about the Tylenol murders. It was time to see if Arnold was the man behind the letter. The investigation revealed he was something of an amateur chemist, something he apparently would also tell bar patrons regularly. Arnold also worked in a packaging plant in distribution center owned by a grocery chain called Jewel Osco,

the same chain where Adam Janice bought the pills that killed him. And when cops poured through the employee roster at the way, warehouse, they also noticed another person of interest. Apparently, Arnold worked with the father of Lynn Reiner, the third poisoning victim. A new theory began to form. Arnold was the mad poisoner who swapped Tylenol for cyanide in bottles across the city. And yet another breakthrough was just around the corner when police got a search warrant. In no time, police cars screeched to a halt in front of Arnold's house, they filed into the doorway and searched the home. They found a makeshift chemistry lab spread across the home. Test tubes, beakers, and funnels

lined the walls. It was also a one-man weapons depot, complete with several unlicensed firearms. It was as if Arnold planned to go out with a bang. Last but not least, investigators found a library of dangerous reading material, including mercenary magazines and criminal instructional guides. Finally, they retrieved the plastic bag of white powder they'd anticipated would be there. The task force had found their man, and the media pounced on the story. But there was a problem. That bag of white powder, when it was tested, lab results revealed it was potassium carbonate. It was harmless.

When authorities questioned Arnold about all of the circumstantial evidence against, Against him, he insisted he was just another law-abiding citizen, and with no cyanide and no confession, the arrest wouldn't stick. Chicago PD had to let him go. Ultimately, the interaction with Chicago police was still dangerous because it sent Arnold into an extended rage. The next year, he'd prove that he was more than capable of murder. In the months following his detention and questioning, Arnold fixed him. on how he was treated by the news and by the cops. During one of the interrogations,

he'd allegedly told the cops he wanted revenge on whoever called the police on him. So in June 1983, after a night of drinking, Arnold waited outside a bar on Lincoln Avenue. Martin Sinclair, the bar owner who notified the police, was possibly inside. Sinclair stepped out of the tavern and Arnold yelled, you turned me in, and then he shot him. Sinclair fell to the ground and Arnold took off, but the revenge was so haphazard and the escape so quick

that Arnold didn't even get a good look at Sinclair. If he had, he'd have realized the man he shot wasn't Sinclair. This was John Stanisha, the computer programmer, and the victim of a tragic case of mistaken identity. The circumstances were heartbreaking. Stinisha was caught in the crosshairs of a lethal crime and a volatile suspect he didn't know. Without them, he'd probably still be alive. Instead, his death was another casualty in the brutal legacy of the Tylenol terrorist.

With enough eyewitnesses outside the bar that night, Arnold was soon arrested and sentenced to 30 years in prison. Clearly, Arnold was capable of killing and could have been the mad poisoner after all. When it came to evidence for the Tylenol murders, though, police were at a dead end with Arnold. He was suspicious, but they had no tangible proof to corroborate that he was the poisoner. Arnold was released after 15 years on parole and died in 2008. So they set their eyes on a new suspect. Using the ransom letter postage stamp, police were able to locate an accountant named Robert Richardson. Not everyone was convinced that Richardson was their guy.

They were sure he wrote the note, but he could have just been in it for the money. Richardson was just a tax man, not the usual profile of a killer. Still, the FBI issued an arrest warrant along with a picture. In the image, Richardson wore aviator glasses. the tops of his eyes disappeared into the black half-tone dots of the newsprint. A slight knowing smile stretched beneath the bushy brown beard. By that time, Richardson was long gone. He'd apparently skipped town, and investigators had no idea where he might have gone.

There was a big reason why no one could find Robert Richardson. And it's because Robert Richardson didn't exist. See, when police in Kansas City, Missouri learned about the suspect in 1982, they recognized his face immediately. It was James Lewis, not Robert Richardson, and local cops thought he was responsible for a gruesome homicide in the area a few years earlier. Now they might just have a serial killer on their hands. Thanks for tuning in to our 40-year anniversary special on the Tylenol murders.

You can find all episodes of conspiracy theories and serial killers and all other Spotify originals from Parcast for free on Spotify. We'll be back next time to dive into the mind of James Lewis and help evaluate the notion of his involvement with the poison pills. We'll see you then. Conspiracy theories and serial killers are Spotify originals from Parcast. Executive producers include Max and Ron Cutler, sound designed by Michael Motion with production assistance by Ron Shapiro, Nick Johnson, Trent Williamson, and Carly Madden.

This episode was written by Ben Carrow, edited by Amber von Schassen and McKenzie Moore, fact-checked by Kevin Johnson, researched by Bradley Klein, and produced by Travis Clark. This episode stars Vanessa Richardson and Carter Roy. A beloved 75-year-old man washing up getting ready for bed is brutally beaten and killed. Despite an exhaustive investigation, the killer avoids arrest and then strikes again. I'm Global News crime reporter Nancy Hicks. You might listen to a lot of true crime podcasts this year, but they're not crime beat. Search for and follow the award-winning podcast Crime Beat on Apple Podcasts, Spotify, Amazon Music, and wherever you find your favorite podcasts.

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