Money Crimes with Nicole Lapin - SOLVED: Jeff German

Episode Date: August 27, 2026

Robert Telles was a rising political star in Las Vegas—until journalist Jeff German exposed the truth. In Part 1, we uncover Telles’s history of manipulation, sexual misconduct, and the paranoia that turned one reporter into a threat he couldn't ignore.Follow Murder: True Crime Stories for Part 2 of this episode: https://pod.link/1745145932If you’re new here, don’t forget to follow Scams, Money, & Murder to never miss a case! To hear episodes ad-free, subscribe to Crime House+. Join at crimehouseplus.com or if you’re listening on Apple Podcasts, tap “Try Free” at the top of this show’s page. Scams, Money, & Murder is a Crime House Original Podcast, powered by PAVE Studios.🎧 Need More to Binge? Listen to other Crime House Originals Clues, Crimes Of Reddit, Crime House 24/7, Serial Killers & Murderous Minds, Murder True Crime Stories, and more wherever you get your podcasts!Follow me on SocialInstagram: @CrimehouseTikTok: @CrimehouseFacebook: @crimehousestudiosX: @crimehousemediaYouTube: @crimehousestudios

Hi listeners, it's Vanessa. Are you the type to fall down an internet rabbit hole and not come up for hours? You'll love Crimes of Reddit, a new crimehouse original with Sabrina Deanna Roga and Alexis Linkletter. Every week, one host brings real true crime stories from Reddit, while the other reacts completely blind. No prep, no spoilers, then they swap. It's the feeling of sending your group chat a threat at 2 a.m. that starts with, You have to see this. Except Sabrina and Alexis. are in the chat with you. Follow Crimes of Reddit on Apple Podcasts and Spotify or subscribe

at Crimes of Reddit Pod on YouTube. This is Crime House. Every community has someone whose job is to ask the questions nobody wants asked. To sit through the long, boring meetings, to read the fine print, to knock on the doors that don't open easily. We don't always know their names. We don't always thank them. But when they're gone, we feel the hole they leave behind. For more than 40 years, that person in Las Vegas was an investigative reporter named Jeff German. He built a career shining a light into the darkest corners of Sin City.

The mob, crooked politicians, the money that moved in the shadows. He got punched by a gangster once and shrugged it off. He got threats from mobster. and kept reporting. So in 2022, when a group of frightened county workers came to him with a story about their boss,

Jeff treated it like any other. He had no way of knowing it would be his last. People's lives are like a story. There's a beginning, a middle, and an end. But you don't always know which part you're on. Sometimes the final chapter arrives far too soon, and we don't always get to know the real ending.

I'm Carter Roy, and this is Murder, True Crime Stories. The Crime House Original powered by Pave Studios. New episodes come out every Tuesday, Thursday, and Friday, with Friday's episodes covering the cases that deserve a deeper look. Thank you for being part of the crime house community. Please rate, review, and follow the show. And for early, add free access to every episode, subscribe to Crimehouse Plus. You'll get part one and part two at the same time, plus exclusive bonus content.

To join, go to crimehouseplus.com or tap try free on the Murder True Crime Story show page on Apple Podcasts. This is the first of two episodes on the murder of Jeff German, an investigative reporter who spent 44 years exposing corruption in Las Vegas. Today, I'll introduce you to Jeff, a kid from Milwaukee, who became one of the most feared reporters in Sin City, spending his life chasing mobsters and crooked officials. And I'll tell you about the small, strange story he picked up in 2022, the one that seemed like the least dangerous thing he had ever worked on. Next time, I'll take you through where that story led. It set off an investigation that moved fast and pointed somewhere no one expected, and it

would end in a trial that echoed far beyond. Las Vegas. All that and more coming up. Starting in the late 1970s, if you worked in or around Las Vegas, you were bound to get a phone call from Jeff German. And he started almost every one of those calls the same way by asking what was new. Then he'd listen, take notes, and right before he let you go, he'd ask if there was anything you wanted to add. That was the whole man really in two little questions. He was gruff, he was relentless, and once he decided a story was worth telling, he was almost impossible to shake. One of his editors compared him to a little dog that grabs onto your pant leg and just won't let go. For more than four decades, that stubbornness

made Jeff one of the most trusted journalists in Nevada. His own executive editor called him the gold standard of the news business. He cultivated sources, spent years earning their trust, and then worked them for everything they knew. To the younger reporters in the newsroom, he was a kind of institution. Some of them just called him the Germando. But before all of that, he was just a kid from the Midwest. Jeffrey Michael German was born in 1953 in Milwaukee, Wisconsin,

Two parents, Max, and June, and he grew up at a time when journalism felt like it could change the world. He was a college student in the early 1970s, right as two reporters at the Washington Post were pulling on the thread that would eventually unravel a presidency. Watergate showed a whole generation of young people that the press could hold the most powerful man in the country accountable. Jeff was one of those young people. and he never really let go of that idea. To him, journalism was never really about bylines or awards. It was about a simple, stubborn belief that the public has a right to know what powerful people are doing

behind closed doors. That conviction would shape the rest of his life and the way he chased every story that came after. He went after it. He earned an advanced degree from Marquette University, then landed an internship at the Milwaukee Journal. Most of what he wrote there was fluff, the kind of small local stories a new intern gets handed.

But one of them caused a stir. It was about Milwaukee bars offering all you can drink happy hours. And it annoyed the local do-gooders just enough to land Jeff on the front page. He didn't mind the controversy one bit. He had found something he was good at. And there was just one problem. When the internship ended, the journal wasn't going to keep him on. So, Jeff made a call that changed his whole life.

He reached out to an old contact named Sandy Vogel, who had moved out west and was working at a paper called the Las Vegas Sun. As luck would have it. The son happened to be looking for reporters. Vogel handed the phone to the paper city editor, a woman named Chris Crystal, who talked to Jeff for a few minutes and basically hired him on the spot. Within weeks, Jeff was in Las Vegas starting his first real job in journalism.

He was about 25 years old, and he had just found the city he would spend the rest of his life writing about. Back then, Las Vegas looked glamorous on the surface. Neon lights, showgirls, high rollers, the whole postcard. But Jeff was always more interested in what? was going on underneath all that. He spent more than three decades at the sun, covering the courts, politics, labor unions, and above all, organized crime. In those years, the mob's money and influence still ran through the veins of the casino business, and Jeff made it his job to follow that money wherever it went. It wasn't a beat for the faint of heart. The people he wrote about

but didn't send angry letters to the editor. They had other ways of letting you know. Before Jeff, there was another Vegas muckraker, a man named Ned Day. He was also a Milwaukee transplant, and he also dug into the mob. In 1986, someone firebombed Ned Day's car. Every reporter who covers that world makes a quiet bargain with a danger. You tell yourself, it won't be you. Jeff made that bargain young, and he never once looked back.

The stories kept coming, and Vegas in those years gave Jeff no shortage of things to write about. He covered the deadly 1985 fire at the MGM Grand, one of the worst disasters in the city's history. Together with a fellow reporter named Kathy Scott, he was first to break the story of the 1997 killing of a mob associate. yet everyone in town knew as fat Herbie Blitzstein. He traced the bribes taken by Clark County Commissioners in a sprawling FBI corruption probe called Operation G-string, connecting the developers, the consultants, and the officials who were on the take. But his biggest story came at the end of the 1990s.

When the casino air Ted Binion was found dead in 1998, Jeff owned the story, including the investigation and the murder trials that followed. The case had everything a crime writer could ask for. Mob ties, a family fortune, and even a stash of silver rumor to be buried somewhere out in the desert. In 2001, Jeff took all of it and turned it into a true crime book called Murder in Sin City. It became a definitive account of one of the strangest deaths in Las Vegas history, and it cemented his reputation as the reporter who knew where all the bodies were buried,

sometimes literally. Chasing stories like these was risky, and Jeff knew it. He once got punched by a gangster. Back in the early 1980s, during a stretch when people around Las Vegas had a way of quietly disappearing, he got veiled threats from mobsters. None of it stopped him. The friends who knew him best said the same thing. Getting to the truth mattered more to Jeff than being safe and a lot more than being liked.

Away from the byline, though, there was a whole other Jeff. He never married and never had children. He poured most of himself into the work, but he also had a life he loved. He spent Friday afternoon shooting pool with the same tight circle of friends. He was a fierce competitor in the Newsroom Fantasy Football League, and more than once the champion. there was even a character of him hanging on the wall of a restaurant at Caesar's Palace. To the people who had known him the longest, he wasn't even Jeff. He was just German. And by every account, he was exactly the same man in print as he was in person,

honest to a fault, fiercely loyal to his friends, and completely happily married to the work. That devotion carried him a long way. By the late 2000s, Jeff had spent 30 years, making powerful people uncomfortable. But even a legend couldn't outrun the brutal economics of the newspaper business. In 2009, the sun laid him off in a wave of cuts, but he wasn't out of work for long. In 2010, Jeff joined the city's other major paper, the Las Vegas Review Journal, and he picked up right where he left off. If anything, he got better.

He and the paper's investigative team spent years digging through more than 32,000 pages, of receipts to expose corruption at the tourism agency behind the famous slogan, what happens in Vegas stays in Vegas. He can move fast, too. When a gunman opened fired on a country music festival on October 1st, 2017, killing 60 people in the deadliest mass shooting in modern American history, Jeff was on it immediately. He was the first to report that the shooter had fired on jet fuel tanks

near the festival grounds before turning his weapons on the crowd. His reporting led to a safety review of the fuel system. He worked the quieter tragedies too. Alongside a colleague named David Ferreira just meant years on the death of a woman named Susan Winters whose parents never accepted the official ruling that she had taken her own life. That was Jeff in a nutshell. If something didn't add up,

He just kept pulling on the thread until it did. Colleagues, cops, and conmen all knew the same thing about him. Once Jeff German caught your scent, he wasn't going away. Late in his career, he even taught himself a whole new medium. He wrote and hosted the second season of a true crime podcast called Mobbed Up, all about the FBI's long fight to break the mob's grip on the Vegas casinos. For that project, he teamed up with an old colleague, Jeff Schumacher, who had gone on to help run the Mob Museum in downtown Las Vegas.

Together, they walked listeners back through stories Jeff had covered as a young man, including the history of the Aladdin Hotel. He was in his late 60s by then, an age when a lot of people start counting down to retirement. Jeff had absolutely no interest in that, as he told a younger colleague near the end, quote, this is what I do. So in early 2022, when a group of county employees quietly reached out and asked him to look into their boss, it wasn't a hard call. They worked in an obscure little government office.

Their complaints were about workplace bullying, not buried bodies, not mob money, not treasure in the desert. It was about as far from Jeff Germans' usual beat as you could get. but someone needed help. And Jeff had spent 44 years answering exactly that kind of call. So he took the story, thinking it would be one of the tamer ones he covered. He didn't know he was about to walk into a ticking time bomb. Some mysteries have haunted us for centuries. Others are unfolding right now.

How does a modern airliner with 239,000, people on board disappear from the sky without a trace. This is History's Greatest Mysteries, a history channel original podcast brought to you by Rewind Studios. Adapted from the hit TV show, every episode dives into one of the world's greatest enigmas, the vanishings, the myths, the lost relics, and the unexplained. With contributions from top historians, authors, scientists, and researchers, we separate fact from folklore. and evidence from rumor, from unsolved crimes to buried treasure, to the deaths and disappearances

of famous figures. These are the stories we think we know, but dig beneath the legend, and the truth gets far stranger. Follow history's greatest mysteries, available now wherever you listen to podcasts. In early 2022, veteran reporter Jeff German agreed to look into a complaint from the workers at the Clark County Public Administrators' Office. office managed the estates of people who had died without a will and without any family around to sort out what they left behind. It was quiet, unglamorous work, but it touched people on the worst days of their lives, deciding what happened to the homes, the belongings, and the savings of the dead. The man who ran that office was an elected official named Robert Tellis. He was an

attorney who had built a career in probate and estate law. He'd won the seat in 2018. He took over for a well-liked, long-time administrator named John Cahill, who wasn't seeking re-election and had actually endorsed Tellis. To most of Las Vegas, Robert Tellis was completely unknown. Honestly, most people couldn't have told you what a public administrator even did. But inside that small office, something had gone very wrong. The first person to reach out to Jeff was an estate coordinator named Alicia Goodwin. She contacted him in March of 2022 and she didn't come alone. Several of her coworkers stood with her, including the office's assistant public administrator,

a woman named Rita Reed and two other estate workers, Jessica Coleman and Noreen Pogdenyanyan. By the time they found their way to Jeff German, they were desperate. According to the staff, their boss was a very bad one. They described a workplace built on bullying, favoritism, and retaliation. It had ground down most of the office over more than two years, taking a real toll on their mental and even physical health. In an office of just eight people, there was nowhere to hide from it. They said that at the center,

of it all was Talas and one particular subordinate. Her name was Roberta Lee Kennett and she was one of several estate coordinators. According to her co-workers, Tellis was carrying on an inappropriate relationship with her and it was poisoning the entire office. They said Lee Kennett got obvious special treatment and that she had started acting like a supervisor with way more authority than her actual job called for. The staff had already complained up the chain for months and gotten absolutely nowhere. So they decided to get proof. On several evenings, a few of the employees followed Tellis and Lee Kennett after work. They weren't doing it for drama. They wanted something concrete, something they could put in front of county officials that nobody could just wave away. What they got

was a video. Footage of the two of them slipping into the back seat of Lee Kennett's Nissan Rogue parked in the shadows of a garage directly across the street from the Clark County Government Center. Alicia Goodwin gathered all of it, the accounts and the video, into a detailed 19-page complaint, and filed it with the county's Office of Diversity. And then, nothing happened, Because Talas was an elected official, the county claimed it had no real power to discipline him. The deputy county manager who oversaw the office wouldn't even agree to sit for an interview, and a county spokesman brushed the whole thing off as a personal matter. Tellis' predecessor, though, John Cahill was alarmed by what he was hearing.

He worried about the toll the alleged bullying was taking on people whose whole job was to deal with grieving families. and he was blunt about the county's failure to step in. The way he sought, these workers were being harassed and the county just didn't seem to care. So Alicia and her colleagues went looking for a reporter, and they found Jeff German. They were relieved and grateful when he agreed to take it on, in Alicia's own words, quote,

he did something and he fought for us. Jeff did what Jeff always did. He worked it. He interviewed current and former employees. He got hold of those secret videos and watched them himself. And then he did the things that separated a real reporter from a gossip columnist. He went straight to Robert Tellis and gave him a full chance to respond. Tellus denied all of it. He blamed the complaints on the longtime staffers, the old-timers, as he called them, who he said resented the changes he had made. He insisted his newer hires were perfectly happy,

and that he had nearly doubled the office's productivity. As for Lee Kennett, he said she was just someone he could lean on. And those meetings in the park car, Tellis claimed they were completely innocent and that the strange location was chosen out of, quote, paranoia because of all detention back at the office. Lee Kennett agreed and denied the affair. Jeff put all of it into the story.

Both sides of it. On May 16, 2022, the Review Journal published the article under the headline, County Office in Turmoil with Secret Video and Claims of Bullying Hostility. The timing couldn't have been worse for Tell Us. The article landed just weeks before a Democratic primary election, and Tellis was on the ballots running to keep his job. Within days, the county took the rare step of bringing in an outside consultant, a former Clark County coroner named Michael Murphy to try to calm the office down.

Jeff kept reporting on all of it, following the story with a run of articles about Tellis and the fallout inside that office. Tellus fought back the only way he really could. He posted a campaign video insisting that he had cleaned up, up a broken office and asking the voters to trust him. But the damage was already done when the primary was held on June 14th, Tellis lost. And he didn't just lose to some stranger. He lost to Rita Reed, his own deputy, one of the very women who had gone to Jeff

German in the first place. Conceding the race, Tellis said he was looking forward to getting back to practicing probate law. It seemed like he was ready to move on. He wasn't. Over the following weeks, Tell Us went after Jeff Sherman on Twitter again and again. He said the reporter was obsessed with him.

He called him a bully and a one-trick pony. He accused Jeff of digging through his family's trash. In one post he wrote, quote, I think he's mad that I haven't crawled into a hole and died. He posted screenshots of him. what he said were there text exchanges and even accused Jeff of making a veiled threat, claiming the reporter had warned him about some website after the election. As usual, Jeff wasn't phased.

This was a man who'd been threatened by actual mobsters. An angry stream of tweets from a defeated county bureaucrats wasn't going to slow him down. And Jeff wasn't done with the story. Not even close. He still didn't have hard proof. of the relationship between Tellis and Lee Kennett, so he kept digging. He filed public records request for their government emails and text messages. He was already working on another article, and he was just days away from receiving a fresh batch of Robert Tellis' records.

Tellis knew those records were coming, and he didn't want anyone to see what they might show. Friday, September 2nd, 2022 was an ordinary late summer morning in Jeff's quiet northwest Las Vegas neighborhood, a cul-de-sac on a street called Bronze Circle. That morning, as Jeff stepped outside, someone was waiting for him. The attack was sudden and violent, and by the time it was over, the 69-year-old reporter was dead. The next morning, Saturday, September 3rd, a neighbor walked over to check on him and found Jeff's body on the side of the house. He had been dead for roughly 24 hours. The neighbor called 911, but there was nothing anyone could do. The man who had spent his whole life telling this city's stories had just become one of them.

His entire career had been about keeping the powerful from acting in the dark, and now in the dark, someone had come for him. On the morning of September 3rd, 2022, a neighbor found 69-year-old Jeff German stabbed to death outside his Las Vegas home. Officers reached the scene a little after 10.30 that morning, and it told a brutal story. Jeff had been stabbed seven times in the neck and the torso, but those weren't the only wounds. there were defensive wounds on his arms and on his hands. That means that in the last moments of his life,

Jeff German saw it coming and he fought back. The Las Vegas Metropolitan Police Department immediately activated what it calls its major case protocol. The process it reserves for its most serious investigations. As Clark County Sheriff Joe Lombardo put it, Every murder is a tragedy, but the murder of a journalist is especially troubling. The first thing detectives had to rule out was the simplest explanation. Was this a robbery gone wrong? It wasn't.

Nothing had been taken. The house was untouched, and his car was still sitting in the driveway. It was clear that someone had come for Jeff because of something he'd written, which led to the obvious question, who would want Jeff? German dead. And that was the hard part. Jeff had spent 44 years making enemies of mobsters, hit men, and crooked politicians. The list could have been endless. But detectives didn't have to guess for long because it turned out the killer had been caught on camera. Jeff's neighborhood was full of home security cameras, including a neighbor's doorbell camera

and investigators pulled footage from dozens of them. Piece by piece, frame by frame, they began to reconstruct the morning of September 2nd. A man had been walking around the area wearing a broad straw hat that hit his face and a baggy, oversized orange long-sleeved shirt. At a glance, he looked like a construction worker, and there happened to be roadwork nearby,

but something about him was off. He kept his head down and his face hidden the whole time. And under that workman's get-up, he was wearing ordinary jeans and clean, casual sneakers. The cameras also caught a vehicle, a distinctive maroon GMC Yukon Denali. Every single window was tinted except for the front two. Investigators tracked that SUV across the whole morning. It left a home a few miles away at around nine, then for the best. better part of two hours, it just cruised, circling Jeff's neighborhood and drifting through the

surrounding streets. By 1026, it was near his house, and by just after 11, it was parked about a block away. Then the footage turned truly chilling. The man in the orange shirt slipped through a pedestrian gate into the side yard of Jeff's house and waited. At around 1118 that morning, Jeff opened his garage and stepped outside. The man attacked him immediately. And then he did something that would haunt every detective who watched the tape. A few minutes after the attack, he came back. He got out of the Yukon, walked over to where Jeff lay,

and appeared to look the body over, as if he was making sure the reporter was really dead. Then he climbed back into the SUV and calmly drove away. It was cold, it was deliberate, and it told the investigators something crucial. Whoever did this wasn't some panicked stranger who'd picked the wrong house. This was personal. But for all the cameras had captured, the police didn't have everything. They still hadn't found the murder weapon, and the clearest footage they had of the attack itself was distorted,

something their analysts were still working to sharpen, but they had enough to go public. On September 6th, police released the images of the man in Orange and the Maroon Yukon Denali. They asked the public for help identifying them. They had no idea just how fast the answer would come, because two very different groups of people looked at those images, both recognized him. The reporter who had lived by his sources, by people willing to step forward and tell the truth was about to be avenged by exactly that, by people who saw something and refused to stay

quiet. The first group was Robert Tellis' own former co-workers. They studied the way the man in the video moved, and to them, that walk was unlawful, unmistakable. It was Telas. And they were certain that the SUV was the same make, the same model, and the same color they had watched him drive to work every day. They picked up the phone and called the police. The second group was Jeff's own colleagues at the Review Journal. His death had gutted the newsroom, and his fellow reporters were determined to find out who had done this. They also refused to let his work. work died with him. In the days after his murder, they went through his notes and picked up the stories he had been chasing because, as one of them put it, you cannot kill a reporter and kill the story. And when they asked themselves who might have wanted Jeff dead, one name kept surfacing. The man Jeff had spent his final months writing about.

A staff photographer named Kevin Cannon had shot pictures of Tellis back in May, when Jeff interviewed him at his office, including one frame of Tellis walking. When Cannon saw the surveillance video, he froze. The gate was identical. He dug back to his files and found the one and only photograph he had ever taken of Jeff and Tellis together in the same frame. Another colleague looked into the Maroon-Ukondin alley. An assistant city editor named David Ferreira typed Robert Tellis' home address into

Google Earth. And there it was, sitting right there in the driveway. It turned out the SUV was registered to Tellus' wife. One of the reporters actually drove out to Tellus's house to see for themselves. And they watched Robert Tellus. Ellis walk out onto his own driveway on a 110-degree Las Vegas afternoon and calmly start washing that very same maroon Yukon Valley. The newsroom couldn't print a word of it yet. They had a theory, not proof, but they had already seen unmarked police cars parked outside Tellis' home,

and Jeff's editor figured it was only a matter of time before a search warrant came down. As one of them put it, it was starting to look. like Jeff German may have been killed by the very last story he ever wrote. The investigators had been circling the same conclusion. They'd learned about Tellus's very public feud with Jeff, and they'd learned about those records Jeff was about to get. The ones Talus didn't want anyone to see. It was a clear motive.

On September 7th, police executed search warrants for Tellus's home, vehicles and himself. When they examined him, they photographed something telling, a fresh, nasty cut on his left fingertip. Inside the house, the evidence began to pile up

underneath a couch. They found a single gray Nike sneaker that matched the ones the killer had worn in the video. Its companion shoe had been cut cleanly in half. They also found a straw hat cut into pieces.

But the most important piece of all was one nobody could see. Because when Jeff fought back against his attacker, he had left something behind. Investigators had recovered genetic material from underneath Jeff Germans' fingernails, and they took a DNA sample from Robert Tellis to compare it against.

They now had the video, The hat, the shoes, the car, and the motive. It had been less than a week since the attack, and they were closing in fast. All they were waiting on now was the science. For the detectives and for the grieving newsroom watching from a distance, those were agonizing hours. They were all but certain they had their man, but being sure isn't the same as having proof.

In a case this serious, they needed the evidence to be absolutely airtight. And when the DNA results finally came back, they answered the question the entire city had been asking. Thanks so much for listening. I'm Carter Roy and this is Murder, True Crime Stories. Come back next time for part two on the murder of Jeff German

and all the people it affected. Murder True Crime Stories is a crime house original, powered by Pave Studios here at Crimehouse, we want to thank each and every one of you for your support. If you like what you heard today, reach out on social media at Crimehouse on TikTok and Instagram. Don't forget to rate, review, and follow Murder True Crime Stories wherever you get your podcasts.

Your feedback truly makes a difference. And to enhance your Murder True Crime Stories listening experience, subscribe to Crimehouse Plus on Apple Podcasts. get both parts of every story dropped on Tuesday, completely ad-free, no waiting for part two, plus ad-free and early access to every show across Crime House and bonus episodes every month. To join, go to Crimehouseplus.com, or if you listen on Apple Podcasts, tap, try free at the top of the Murder True Crime Stories page. We'll be back on Thursday. Murder True Crime Stories is hosted by me, Carter Roy, and is a great.

Crime House Original powered by Pave Studios. This episode was brought to life by the Murder True Crime Stories team, Max Cutler, Ron Shapiro, Alex Benadon, Natalie Pritzofsky, Lori Maranelli, Nicolette Tavallero, and Russell Nash. Thank you for listening. I'm Sarah Turney, and I'm Courtney Nicole. We're the host of the Crime House Original podcast, The Final Hours. Crime has impacted both of our families,

teaching us how the last conversations the missed-bred flags can change everything. On the final hours, we examine the moments before a disappearance, and the questions that never got answered, a podcast that puts the moments before it disappearance under a microscope. Listen to and follow the final hours, available now wherever you get your podcasts. Hi listeners, it's Vanessa. Are you the type to fall down an internet rabbit hole and not come up for hours? You'll love crimes of Reddit,

a new crimehouse original with Sabrina Deanna Roga and Alexis Linkletter. Every week, one host brings real true crime stories from Reddit, while the other reacts completely blind. No prep, no spoilers, then they swap. It's the feeling of sending your group chat a threat at 2 a.m. that starts with, you have to see this. Except Sabrina and Alexis are in the chat with you. Follow Crimes of Reddit on Apple Podcasts and Spotify,

or subscribe at Crimes of Reddit pod on YouTube. Thank you.