Mind of a Serial Killer - MURDEROUS MINDS: The Two-Faced Killer Pt. 2

Episode Date: July 24, 2025

After murdering his entire family, John List vanished without a trace—beginning one of America’s most infamous manhunts. In Part 2, we follow the chilling aftermath: the gruesome discovery, the decades-long search, and the primetime TV show that finally caught the killer hiding in plain sight. Killer Minds is a Crime House Original Podcast, powered by PAVE Studios. Listen wherever you get your podcasts. For ad-free listening and early access to episodes, subscribe to Crime House+ on Apple Podcasts. Don’t miss out on all things Killer Minds! Instagram: @killerminds | @Crimehouse TikTok: @Crimehouse Facebook: @crimehousestudios X: @crimehousemedia YouTube: @crimehousestudios To learn more about listener data and our privacy practices visit: https://www.audacyinc.com/privacy-policy Learn more about your ad choices. Visit https://podcastchoices.com/adchoices

Hi, it's Kaitlyn Moore. Crime House is home to the most gripping true crime shows, and you don't want to miss what's coming up on my show, Clues, that I co-host with Morgan Apture. We are digging into the chilling details of Amy Archer Gilligan, a nursing home proprietor whose trail of natural deaths turned out to be anything but. Join us as we examine the evidence one clue at a time.

Listen to Clues every Wednesday on Apple Podcasts, Spotify, Amazon Music, or wherever you listen to your podcasts. This is Crime House. As a devout Christian, John List was brought up to believe in second chances. Whether it was Jesus forgiving our sins or Lazarus rising from the grave, John's religion taught him the value of a fresh start. In the fall of 1971, John was in need of one himself. But instead of asking for help, he decided to take matters into his own hands. And his solution was more terrifying than anyone could ever imagine. The human mind is powerful. It shapes how we think, feel, love and hate.

But sometimes it drives people to commit the unthinkable. This is Killer Minds, a Crime House original. I'm Vanessa Richardson. And I'm Dr. Tristan Ingalls. Every Monday and Thursday, we uncover the darkest minds in history, analyzing what makes a killer. Crime House is made possible by you. Please rate, review, and follow Killer Minds.

To enhance your listening experience with ad-free early access to each two-part series and bonus content, subscribe to Crime House Plus on Apple Podcasts. Before we get into the story, you should know it contains descriptions of extreme violence and violence toward children. Listener discretion is advised. Today we conclude our deep dive on John List. His upbringing in a strict religious community gave him a very specific

vision of what a suburban American family should look like. When his loved ones failed to live up to his impossible expectations, he killed them one after the other. Then he vanished without a trace. As Vanessa takes you through the story, I'll be talking about things like how some killers convince themselves they're actually helping their victims, John's binary thinking and his ability to compartmentalize his violence, and how tenuous a fabricated identity can be and what it takes to preserve one. And as always, we'll be asking the question, what makes a killer?

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Terms and conditions apply. Visit bmo.com slash VI Porter to learn more. No frills delivers. Get groceries delivered to your door from No Frills with PC Express. Shop online and get $15 in PC Optimum Points on your first five orders. Shop now at NoFriills.ca. On November 9, 1971, John List sat in his basement study examining his budgeting notebook. The 46-year-old had been working as an accountant for more than two decades, but the numbers he was looking at did not paint a picture of a man who was good with money. For starters, he was three months behind on the mortgage for his palatial home in Westfield, New Jersey. There were also bills for his wife's health care and unpaid utilities. He had no savings or retirement,

and his three children would be going to college over the next few years with no way to pay for it. John had spent a lot of time worrying about the contents of this notebook, but now it didn't bother him because soon all of it would go away. About a month earlier, John had decided that in order to save his family, he needed to kill them. And today was the day. His twisted logic went like this. He was convinced their finances would never recover, and it was better to end their lives

now than force them to live on welfare. But also, his family had strayed from the strict Lutheranism that he'd been raised in, and many of them were no longer religious. He believed if they kept going down this path, they'd be unlikely to get into heaven. John is able to justify this because he's not viewing himself as a murderer, he's viewing himself as a savior. So let's break that down. First there was the financial ruin. In John's mind, going on welfare wasn't just embarrassing, it was morally degrading. He believed that a respectable, God-fearing man should be able to provide, and if he couldn't do that, then he had already failed.

But instead of seeking help or finding alternatives, John defaulted to the black and white thinking. Either they live with dignity or they don't live at all. Then there was the religious angle, and this is critical. John had grown up in a deeply conservative Lutheran household where salvation was conditional. When he saw his children and wife drifting away from their beliefs like skipping church or expressing doubt, he didn't just feel disappointed, he likely felt spiritually responsible somehow. In his distorted logic, killing them now while they were still quote, redeemable, meant he could guarantee their entry into heaven in his mind.

He saw this as a brutal and distorted kind of mercy, but it was internally consistent with the belief system he built his life around. And truly, although he thinks he's being merciful and heroic, it's really more about him and releasing him from his emotional discomfort than anything else. As John sat in his study that morning, he prayed, then listened quietly as his family gradually woke up and got ready for the day. Patty, his 17-year-old daughter, was the first to leave the house. John pulled his window curtain back just slightly to watch her walk down the hill outside.

She kept her head low and her blonde hair fanned out around her. She might have been tired. She'd barely been able to sleep after their bizarre family meeting a few nights before, when John asked his three children if they'd rather be buried or cremated. Her friends in the drama club would later say she seemed unfocused in rehearsals for their upcoming production of A Streetcar Named Desire. They also thought she looked like she'd been crying for days. Just the night before, she'd actually called her drama teacher, asking him to come over as soon as possible. It was clear she needed help and didn't know who else to turn to.

But the teacher didn't want to cross a boundary with the teenage girl, so he just tried to calm her down over the phone. It was a choice he would regret for decades. John didn't know about Patty's call to her teacher. It's possible it didn't even occur to him that she would ask for help. His children had kept quiet about all of the family's other problems, like their mother's terminal health issues. It was easy to assume they'd treat his threats the same way.

So as John listened to his kids get ready for school for the last time, he wasn't worried. His two sons, 15-year-old Johnny and 13-year-old Fred, likely clattered around the kitchen, grabbing their book bags and sports equipment on their way out. The house went quiet again as they stepped outside in their bulky coats and went to wait on the side of the road for the carpool van. When it arrived, they climbed in. Just before 9 a.m., John heard his wife, Helen, enter the kitchen and put a tea kettle on the stove.

The sound of the burner told him, it was time. So we've already talked about how John convinced himself that this was a form of salvation. So the question now becomes, how does someone actually go through with it? Because it's one thing to think about it, and it's entirely another thing when you actively plan it. So how does a person murder, not strangers, but their wife, their children, and even their own mother? So it boils down to moral disengagement. This is when someone temporarily suspends

their usual moral standards in order to justify or excuse harmful behavior. And John had spent weeks, maybe even months, rehearsing that justification. In his mind, this wasn't murder. It was a tragic necessity. We also see something called emotional compartmentalization. That's when someone mentally separates

parts of their experience so they don't have to fully feel the emotional weight of what they're actually doing. So instead of facing the unbearable horror of what was about to happen, John focused on the mechanics, the sound of the kettle, the timing, the logistics. That allowed him to stay emotionally grounded, emotionally numb, even detached. And let's not forget, John believed his family would go to heaven. That belief was crucial. It allowed him to bypass the guilt, to frame this as a spiritual act of mercy rather than violence. And that level of psychological distortion is rare.

But when it happens, especially in someone with a rigid worldview, with no emotional flexibility, it can be very dangerous. And the fact that he systematically watched his other children leave for their day first shows just how calculated and strategic he was about this. And it's truly heartbreaking. A lot of killers we've covered so far try to protect their families from their urges, it seems. And here, John is doing the opposite. Is there a different mentality to this

than killing a stranger? Yes, excellent question and a very significant distinction. John wasn't just a killer, like we cover. He was a family annihilator. Family annihilators have an entirely different psychological profile and motive structure. They don't kill strangers. They kill the people closest to them,

and they're not impulsive crimes of passion or compulsive killings. They're premeditated and methodical. The motive of a family annihilator is usually to eliminate shame, failure, or some form of loss of control. They often feel cornered, whether it's financially, socially, or emotionally. They have rigid thinking, perfectionist ideals, or unresolved emotional dependency on certain identity roles like a provider, a protector, or patriarch. Chris Watts is an example of a family annihilator, and he appears to have been motivated by feeling emotionally cornered or patriarch. Chris Watts is an example of a family annihilator and he appears

to have been motivated by feeling emotionally cornered or trapped. His marriage was deteriorating, he was having an affair and his double life was starting to collapse. Chris wanted to start over and he convinced himself killing his family was the only way. John is very similar. Tragically John was determined to go through with it. He opened his desk drawer, grabbed a pistol is very similar. Helen was suffering from a late-stage syphilis infection. Her physical and mental health were in rapid decline, and John had given up on caring for her. They'd been sleeping in separate bedrooms for months and hardly spoke to each other. She sat at the breakfast table with her back to the doorway, facing a pair of bright yellow

curtains. But something made her turn around, just as John pulled the trigger. The bullet shattered Helen's jaw and knocked her out of her chair. As she crumpled to the ground, John shot her a few more times, until she was completely still. Then, he headed towards a set of stairs that led up to his mother, Alma's apartment. He pushed her door open, gripping his pistol tightly. The 84-year-old woman had just woken up and put a piece of bread in the toaster. She looked up and asked about the commotion downstairs as her son entered.

John didn't answer. Instead, he raised the gun and fired. Alma collapsed, dying almost instantly. John hurried to wrap Alma's body in the room's carpet runner, then dragged her into the upstairs hallway. He tried to clean the floors by using the Sunday newspaper to sop up some of her blood. But he abandoned the task midway through

and went back to the kitchen to move his wife's body. He grabbed Helen's feet and dragged her across the main hallway and into the home's ballroom. Their path left a streak of blood, staining the herringbone floor. Once John got Helen where he wanted, he laid her on top of his son's Boy Scout sleeping bag and folded a towel over her disfigured face. Then he washed his hands and changed into a business suit. He glanced at his watch – it was barely 9.30, which meant he had plenty of time before the kids got home. And

John had a lot to do. He returned to his study and sat at his desk to write notes for each of the children's schools, saying their grandmother was sick and they needed to visit her in North Carolina. They wouldn't be in class for a while. He wasn't sure when they were coming back. The subtext was clear. Respect our family's privacy. Don't ask questions. After he was done with his correspondence, he made himself a sandwich and raked the leaves in the front yard. A neighbor waved from across the street, but he pretended not to see them. So let's talk about John's disturbingly calm behavior after brutally killing his wife and mother.

Only someone with profound emotional suppression, rigid binary thinking, emotional compartmentalization, and a total identification with control and image could murder their family and then worry about leaf piles and school notes. He wasn't unraveling. He was preserving the illusion of order. Falling back into a routine like nothing happened was because in his distorted thinking he had done the right thing and he still had more to do. So in the meantime someone like him is going to keep his current routine. So in the meantime, someone like him is going to keep his current routine. What does John's capacity to compartmentalize like that reveal about him as a person? Does that show that he just doesn't feel any remorse? So compartmentalization is a defense mechanism that we often see in people with rigid emotional

structures. It allows them to separate their behavior from their feelings to carry out actions without fully engaging with their emotional consequences. So does that mean John felt no remorse? That's actually a pretty complicated question because he wasn't experiencing remorse the way most of us would recognize it. But realistically, if John truly believed he was saving his family, whether it was spiritually, financially, morally, then in his mind there was nothing

to be remorseful for. Feeling guilt would mean acknowledging that what he did was wrong, and in that moment he couldn't do that because that's simply not how he saw it. He didn't see himself as a murderer. He saw himself as a savior. So instead of guilt or remorse, we're going to see justification. Instead of grief, we are going to see control. We're going to see him go back to orderliness and routine.

Well, everything was going according to John's plan until around noon when Patty called from school. She was sick and wanted John to pick her up early. John was annoyed. He had planned this day down to the minute, and this threw off his schedule. But he agreed and drove to the school to pick his daughter up. When they got home, John jumped out of the car and walked ahead of Patty so that he could enter the home first and hide. When she finally got inside, he snuck up behind her and shot her.

He dragged Patty into the ballroom, leaving her next to her mother on another sleeping bag. Seeing his two dead family members lying there together didn't seem to slow him down or give him any pause. Instead, he just washed his hands again and went into town to run a few errands. First, he took out over $200 in cash from his mother's account and emptied his safe deposit box. After that, he went to the post office to put a hold on the family's mail for the next

30 days. Letters piling up would bring attention to the house and he needed to stay under the radar for as long as possible. By the time John was done with his to-do list, the boys' school days were over. First he picked up Fred, the youngest, and brought him home. Once they got inside, John killed him just like he'd killed Patty. He snuck up behind him in the laundry room. Afterwards John took Fred to the ballroom and laid him next to his mother.

After that, the only one left was his son, Johnny. The 15-year-old came home from soccer practice around four in the afternoon and somehow got a bad feeling when he entered the laundry room. When his father crept up behind him with a gun, Johnny spun around before John could shoot. The boy tried to run, but his father eventually killed him and put him in the ballroom with the others. Once the family was all together, John moved Helen's hand so that it was touching one

of the boy's shoulders and then prayed over their bodies. Then he wrote a letter to his pastor saying he was sorry, but that this had to happen. John spent the night at home with the five bodies of his family members. The next morning, November 10, 1971, he took out the trash and set the thermostat to 50 degrees. He wanted it just warm enough so the pipes didn't freeze, but still cool enough so the bodies didn't smell. He also tuned the radio to a classical music station, and left it blaring in the house

as he drove to JFK Airport. He pulled into a long-term parking lot, locked his car, and walked away. After that, John List murdered his family, their neighbors could tell that something was wrong at the family's home. The Lists had been reclusive ever since they moved to Westfield ten years earlier, but no one had seen or heard from them for weeks, and the lights had been on in their 19-room mansion for roughly the same period of time. Then, at the beginning of December, the bulbs started to burn out, one by one. On December 7th, two of the family's neighbors heard a car drive up.

When they ran to their window, they saw a white Pontiac parked in front of the List's house, and heard a man yell that he was going in. The neighbors thought he was trying to break into the house, so one of them went out to confront the man, while the other called the police. When Westfield PD arrived, they quickly identified the intruder. It was Patty's drama teacher. He was there with one of his colleagues. They were worried about Patty.

She was supposed to take part in a production of a streetcar named Desire a couple weeks earlier on November 20th, but they hadn't heard from her. They were just trying to figure out if she was okay. The two officers agreed to do a wellness check, and they were able to gain entry to the house through an open basement window. When they got inside, the first thing they noticed was the smell. As they went up the stairs, the whole place seemed sour and musty. There was also classical music playing and dead fish floating in one of the fish tanks they passed. They could sense something was deeply wrong,

but nothing prepared them for the scene in the ballroom. The bodies of Patty, Helen, Fred, and Johnny were laid out on the floor where John had left them. By this point, they were heavily decomposed. And when the authorities eventually found Alma list upstairs, she was in a similar state. They searched the house, noticing the darkened blood streaks and sloppy fingerprints. Many of the picture frames were empty. John had ripped every photo of himself out of them. The fact that John took the time to rip himself out of every family photo is incredibly revealing. With the added benefit of it

making it more difficult for investigators to identify him. What this really was about at its core was erasing himself, figuratively, literally, physically, all of it. By removing his image from these photos, John was severing himself from the family. In his mind, he'd completed his mission, and now he no longer belonged there. It was no longer a part of his life. Again, black and white. He's either with his family or he's not. It's also worth noting that this mirrors John's pattern throughout his life. When something becomes too emotionally uncomfortable or doesn't align with the image he's trying to maintain, he doesn't confront it. He removes it. He quits jobs without telling

his family. He cuts off emotional intimacy. And here, in the most horrifying version of that pattern, he physically removes himself from the family's history, as if he were never there at all. It's not about guilt, necessarily. It's about control. Even after their deaths, John was curating the family story, like he's deciding who belonged and who didn't, while also in the same way covering his tracks.

Though covering his tracks can only go so far for so long, because removing his picture really makes it obvious covering his tracks. Though covering his tracks can only go so far for so long because removing his picture really makes it obvious to investigators who's responsible if it wasn't obvious already. As horrifying as the case was, it was solved very quickly. John was the only family member unaccounted for and investigators found the confession he wrote

to his pastor within minutes. So they knew John List had killed his family, but they had no idea where he was. Authorities estimated John had committed the murders about a month earlier, which meant he could be anywhere by that point. So the local police knew they had to cast a wide net. After scouring the immediate area, they called other nearby jurisdictions and the FBI and eventually widened their search to cover the entire country. On December 9th, the investigators found John's green Chevrolet Impala in a long-term parking spot at JFK.

The detectives checked flight records but didn't find John's name on any of them. This made them worry that he was using a fake identity, which would make future tracking efforts much harder. After a few weeks of searching, investigators experimented with more unusual tactics. They dug into John's medical records and found out he was both nearsighted and prone to hemorrhoids. His description was then sent to every optometrist and pharmacist in the country on the assumption he'd need to buy new glasses and Preparation H at some point, but nothing came of it. The FBI also tried to hang wanted posters in Lutheran churches knowing that if John was alive he'd inevitably show up in a

house of worship soon. But they had to abandon this route after concerns were raised about the separation of church and state. The authorities searched nonstop for several months, but John List was nowhere to be found. It seemed like his 30-day head start had given him just enough time to outrun the authorities. While law enforcement searched for John, his mother's body was sent back to Michigan, and the rest of his family was buried

under a single gravestone in New Jersey. Their home was abandoned, and its reputation caused a steady stream of teenagers and thrill-seekers to break in to see the place. It was only a matter of time before these visitors got carried away. About ten months after the murders, in August 1972, the List family's house caught fire and burned to the ground. There was no investigation into the arsonist. The entire city

of Westfield seemed to agree that the home was not worth saving, and its destruction was a sign that it was time to move on. But as the case went cold and the community tried to put the massacre behind them, a few of the investigators kept John List in the back of their minds. He was hard to forget. He'd committed a brutal crime and had managed to escape punishment by disappearing into thin air. The Westfield police chief kept John's folded-up wanted poster in his back pocket for years and regularly sent officers to patrol the cemetery where Helen, Patty, Fred and Johnny were buried. He hoped that John would make a sentimental visit to

his family's final resting place, but every year he was disappointed. For most people, the emotional connection to life, especially one involving children, a spouse, and decades of routine, is strong. Even under extreme stress or guilt, there's usually something that pulls them back, whether it's remorse, nostalgia, or sentimentality. But not for John. He not only killed remorse, nostalgia, or sentimentality. But not for John.

He not only killed his family, but he left them behind. He didn't even ensure they got proper burials. That level of psychological detachment suggests he's a man who had fully split his internal world. In one compartment was the life he believed he had to destroy to, quote, save. And another was the new identity he would now inhabit. One where that past simply didn't exist to him anymore. It was no longer part of his routine and daily order

and therefore had no value. And for John, that emotional disconnection was essential to maintaining the illusion that what he had done was justified. And that's what's so unsettling. Not just that he annihilated his entire family and what was once his entire image and purpose, but that he moved on from it with such calloused ease. It seems clear that at this point, John List has completely severed any ties to both his

family and the crime he committed. What does this detachment and disengagement say about his personality and his mental state? So from a personality perspective, there appear to be signs of obsessive-compulsive personality traits, not to be confused with obsessive-compulsive disorder. Obsessive-compulsive personality disorder includes a preoccupation with order, perfectionism,

and moral rigidity. And as for his mental state, at the time of the murders and afterward, John wasn't psychotic, not in the traditional sense. He knew what he was doing. He planned it. He fled, he apologized in a letter. He covered his tracks.

So what it really says is that he was functional enough to go into hiding and to blend in. But his emotional world was so compartmentalized, so morally rigid and so devoid of healthy empathy that he could annihilate his entire family and then show up for work the next week somewhere new as someone else entirely. Investigators continued to look for John, but the case lost momentum throughout the 1970s and 1980s. The FBI regularly sent press releases with John List's name and description to newspapers across the country, and he was a mainstay at the top of the most wanted list. But new tips were rare, and authorities started to doubt if he was even alive.

Nearly two decades passed without a break in the case. Then, a new TV show debuted on the Fox network, America's Most Wanted. It's since become a household name, but when it first premiered, the concept was a novelty. It used actors to dramatize the work of criminals who were still on the run, then asked the public for help with the investigation. Law enforcement agencies were were still on the run, then asked the public for help with the investigation. Law enforcement agencies were initially skeptical of the show, but within the first few episodes, it proved to be valuable. A team of 25 phone operators sat on set during every taping, ready to pass pertinent tips

to the FBI. Each episode reached millions of viewers and brought in an average of 6,000 calls. While most of these were useless, the scale was unprecedented, and in a case as cold as John List's, anything could help. When the Westfield Police Department approached the producers of America's Most Wanted, they described all of the strange, cinematic details of the story, from the herringbone floor to the classical music booming through the house, and they emphasized how unfair it was that this man had yet to see justice for cutting his family's

lives so short. The producer was convinced, but they quickly ran into a roadblock. Every America's Most Wanted episode ended with actual photos of the perpetrator. Because John had taken all of the pictures of him that were in the home, there was nothing to go on. They had an old FBI sketch from 1971, but if he was still alive, he would have aged since then. The TV crew got creative and hired a sculptor to make a life-size model of John List's face using the old sketch and adding wrinkles and jowls to follow the progression of time.

The artist also added a pair of thick, dark glasses and a permanent frown, guessing that even if 63-year-old John was still alive, he couldn't possibly be living a happy life. Let's talk about the artist's assumption that John couldn't possibly be happy or living a happy life, because I'm actually inclined to believe the same. For someone like John, functioning often substitutes for feeling. He didn't need to feel joyful or fulfilled. He needed to

feel in control and respected and morally justified. And as long as that self-image was intact, he could keep moving forward. But here's the catch. Compartmentalization is a defense mechanism, not a permanent fix. And over time, the psychological strain of maintaining such a profound secret like this will begin to show. So was he happy? Probably not. In truth, I don't think he ever was happy, and it's hard to imagine he could be when he was living his life entirely as a performance, always detached from emotion, driven by duty, and constantly managing the fear that his carefully constructed world could fall apart at any moment. And now,

being on the run like this, he was once again living in that same fear his life could still fall apart at any moment And although he likely reconstructed a new life of order and image was that enough to make him happy I think it was enough to make him feel safe and emotionally insulated But not happy or self-fulfilled because that requires self-awareness Emotional connection and the ability to live authentically and John lacked all of that but not happy or self-fulfilled because that requires self-awareness, emotional connection, and the ability to live authentically. And John lacked all of that. 22 million people watched the America's Most Wanted episode when it aired on May 21, 1989, 17 years, 6 months, and 23 days after the murders. One of those viewers was a woman named Wanda Flannery.

She lived in Colorado and had a reputation for being a nosy neighbor. This meant she knew everyone who lived around her and what they were up to. And as she sat at home that evening in May, watching the sculpture of John List's face on her television screen, she felt her blood run cold because she realized she knew John List and she also knew exactly where he was. Are you ready to dive into the unknown? Join me, Payton Moreland, on Into the Dark, the true crime podcast from Ono Media with a hint of horror and mystery.

Each week, I dive into a different case, breaking down the facts, and pondering the age-old question, why do people do what they do? Now, sometimes the answer isn't so clear, and that's why I'll also explore conspiracy theories, hauntings, and all things spooky. From the Green River Killer to the Mothman incident, we will unravel all of the questions

that keep us up at night. So don't miss out. Subscribe now on your favorite podcast platform. New episodes drop every Wednesday. Into the Dark, where true crime meets the eerie unknown. In May of 1989, a woman in Denver, Colorado named Wanda Flannery saw the John List episode of America's Most Wanted and thought the 63-year-old fugitive looked a lot like her former neighbor, Robert Clark.

Robert had moved to the neighborhood four years earlier, and Wanda found him odd from the jump. At first it was just small quirks, like the fact that Robert always wore a suit, even in a casual suburban neighborhood, or that he insisted on teaching Sunday school at the local Lutheran church even though he was terrible with children. But the oddities added up. It seemed like he couldn't hold down a job, and even though money didn't appear to be coming in, he made a lot of expensive purchases.

He also looked older than he said he was, and according to Wanda, when she once asked him what brought him to Denver, he never answered. Once Wanda saw America's Most Wanted and learned about John List, she couldn't ignore all the similarities between them. Robert had the same scar above his right ear as John. He was also from Michigan, went to a Lutheran church, and worked as an accountant. And Robert showed up in Colorado in late 1971, around the same time John List disappeared. By the time Wanda saw the episode, Robert had moved out of the neighborhood with his new wife

to take a job in Richmond, Virginia. But even though he was gone, Wanda had the couple's new address. So she decided to act on her suspicions and called in her tip. On June 1, 1989, two federal agents drove into the suburbs of Richmond and knocked on the door of the address Wanda provided. A woman opened it, and they asked if she knew a man named Robert Clark. She said yes, Robert was her husband.

They'd been married for three years at that point after meeting at church in Colorado. Then the agents handed her John List's wanted poster. She could see the resemblance to her husband was uncanny, but she struggled to process it. She was sure there had been a mistake. Her husband was a hardworking, God-fearing man who spent his free time playing board games and listening to classical music. The agents likely agreed. Her description didn't sound like a stereotypical mass murderer, but it did sound like John List. Let's talk about what this might have been like for John's new wife. That kind of moment is extremely destabilizing. Psychologically, her brain is being asked to hold two opposing truths or conflicting beliefs. The first is that her husband's name is Robert and he's gentle and kind and God-fearing. The second is that this is an entirely different man with a different name and he may have

murdered his entire family and then disappeared. The brain isn't built to reconcile those extremes easily, so it goes into defense mode, like denial, confusion, or disbelief. We often try to buy time for our reality to catch up. That's why people in these situations often say things like, there must be a mistake, or he's not capable of that. And beyond the emotional trauma, this kind of revelation also triggers a loss of identity. Because if your partner isn't who you thought they were, then who are you in that relationship?

What does that say about your memories, your choices, your instincts, or worse, is your marriage even legal? Recovery from this kind of psychological betrayal isn't a linear one. It requires time, it requires therapy, and a lot of self-compassion. Because you have to grieve the loss of the relationship, not just the person, but the version of the life you thought you were living and the life you prepared your entire future

for. Does this lead to self-blame for her or anger towards the person who was hiding the secret? Oh, yeah. It's very common for someone in this situation to think, like, how did I not see this? Or was I naive? Did I ignore red flags? That kind of thinking can be very emotionally taxing because it doesn't just question

the other person's integrity, it attacks your own. So your ability to judge character, to trust, to feel safe, all of that becomes in question and may even cause the person to no longer trust their own instincts. And for many people that can lead to shame and a loss of confidence in future relationships. The woman wasn't sure she believed the officer's claims, but she gave them the address of her husband's office anyway. Around noon, they arrived at an accounting firm and asked the

receptionist if they could speak to Robert Clark. They found Robert clutching a stack of papers fresh from the printer. He looked like a meek old man, not a mass killer. But they immediately recognized his face. At this point, the agents took Robert Clark into custody. He seemed strangely calm about the whole thing. Even when they asked him point-blank if he was John List, he said he wasn't. But they didn't need his verbal confirmation. They ran his fingerprints against the ones they got from John's military records and the ones found at the crime

scene. They were a perfect match. After almost 20 years, John List had been found. Within a few weeks, John was extradited to New Jersey for a trial. At first, he insisted it was all a mistake, but he couldn't back up his claims with evidence. He had no proof that Robert Clark existed before 1971. No driver's licenses, photos or passports with that name. After several months in prison, he finally acknowledged his real identity. And soon he admitted to the murders too.

When he was in prison, he allowed Helen's sister to visit him, and he disclosed that he had indeed killed his mother, wife, and children. But he assured her it was a good thing they were dead. When she asked him to explain, he repeated the same twisted reasoning from two decades ago. The kids were losing their faith, Helen had health issues, their marriage was failing, and their finances were a mess.

He was adamant that he had needed to wipe the slate clean, even if that meant killing those he claimed to love. John Stonewalling continued in the courtroom, where his lawyers claimed he wasn't mentally healthy enough to make clear decisions, and that the mounting pressures of his life in the late 1960s had distorted his thinking. A psychologist brought in by the defense made the argument that he had obsessive compulsive personality disorder, which made it impossible for him to find realistic solutions for his hardships.

Yeah, I touched on this briefly, but let's go into more detail. Obsessive compulsive personality disorder is vastly different from obsessive compulsive disorder. Obsessive compulsive disorder, or OCD, is an anxiety disorder. People with OCD experience intrusive thoughts, like fears of contamination or harm, and they perform repetitive behaviors or rituals to try to neutralize the anxiety that those fears and intrusive thoughts create. They typically know their thoughts are irrational,

but struggle to contain them. OCD is ego-dystonic, meaning they are not aware of their own thoughts. They typically know their thoughts are irrational, but struggle to contain them. OCD is ego-dystonic, meaning the symptoms are distressing or unwanted to the person. Obsessive-compulsive personality disorder, or OCPD, on the other hand, is a personality disorder, and people with OCPD don't typically have intrusive thoughts or rituals. Instead, they have a chronic pattern of perfectionism, rigidity, an excessive need for control, routine, orderliness, and a preoccupation with rules and morality. Unlike OCD, OCPD is ego-syntonic,

meaning the person sees their behaviors as correct and appropriate, even when those behaviors are harmful or alienating. OCPD doesn't cause someone to commit murder. But in John's case, it certainly contributed to a psychological environment where compromise was impossible. Flexibility didn't exist, and perceived failure felt like moral collapse.

And in that framework, quote, wiping the slate clean wasn't just an act of desperation. It was tragically his distorted version of restoring order. It doesn't make him less culpable and he's certainly criminally responsible. He knew what he was doing and he knew what was wrong. Otherwise he wouldn't have disappeared and created a whole new life with a whole different identity for 17 years. Throughout John's seven-day trial, the prosecution methodically touched on every point needed for the charge of first-degree murder. The killings had clearly been premeditated because there was evidence John started planning

them a month in advance. They'd been deliberate because he couldn't possibly have shot all five of them by accident. They'd been willful because John laid out his motivation in the letter to his pastor. And they'd been malicious. He had murdered his family. The jury took very little time to deliberate, and on April 12, 1990, 64-year-old John List was convicted of five counts of first-degree murder. He remained in prison for the rest of his life. During that time, he continued to evade responsibility and blamed the murders on his altered mental state. He even appealed the judgment, claiming he had PTSD from his time in the army and that

the letter to his pastor had been inadmissible evidence. Both were quickly rejected by the courts. He'd already gotten 20 years of freedom, which was much more than he deserved. When John List died of complications from pneumonia in 2008, no one came forward to claim his body. In his previous life, he'd been known as a family man. But in death, he was completely alone. Thanks so much for listening. We'll be back next time for a deep dive into the mind of another murderer.

Killer Minds is a Crime House original powered by Pave Studios. Here at Crime House, we want to thank each and every one of you for your support. If you like what you heard today, reach out on all social media at CrimeHouse. And don't forget to rate, review, and follow Killer Minds wherever you get your podcasts. Your feedback truly makes a difference. And to enhance your listening experience, subscribe to CrimeHouse Plus on Apple Podcasts. You'll get every episode of Killer Minds ad free, along with early access to each thrilling two-part series and exciting bonus content.

Killer Minds is hosted by me, Vanessa Richardson, and Dr. Tristan Engels, and is a Crime House original powered by Pave Studios. This episode was brought to life by the Killer Minds team, Max Cutler, Ron Shapiro, Alex Benedon, Lori Marinelli, Natalie Pritzovsky, Sarah Camp, Kate Murdoch, Sarah Tardiff, and Carrie Murphy. Thank you for listening. Hi, it's Caitlin Moore.

Crime House is home to the most gripping true crime shows, and you don't want to miss what's coming up on my show, Clues, that I co-host with Morgan Apshur. We are digging into the chilling details of Amy Archer Gilligan, a nursing home proprietor whose trail of natural deaths turned out to be anything but. Join us as we examine the evidence one clue at a time. Listen to Clues every Wednesday on Apple Podcasts, Spotify, Amazon Music, or wherever you listen to your podcasts.