Murder In America - EP. 234 - CALIFORNIA: THE KILLER COP: MARVIN MORALES

Episode Date: February 20, 2026

Marvin Morales took an oath to serve and protect. The Sacramento Sheriff’s Deputy was a shining example of his department… until he wasn’t. A drug scandal. A hidden addiction. PTSD. A series of horrible decisions culminating in the end of his career, and a violent death that no one saw coming. Sources:⁠⁠https://docs.google.com/document/d/1eTYeCoYyxm58DXXdoFbHQyWHlWbcH9iKGIefFcQToW4/edit?tab=t.y2yayotxnlcb⁠⁠ Listen to our new show, "THE CONSPIRACY FILES"!: -Spotify -⁠⁠ https://open.spotify.com/show/5IY9nWD2MYDzlSYP48nRPl⁠⁠ -Apple Podcasts -⁠⁠ https://podcasts.apple.com/us/podcast/the-conspiracy-files/id1752719844⁠⁠ -Amazon/Audible -⁠⁠ https://music.amazon.com/podcasts/ab1ade99-740c-46ae-8028-b2cf41eabf58/the-conspiracy-files⁠⁠ -Pandora -⁠⁠ https://www.pandora.com/podcast/the-conspiracy-files/PC:1001089101⁠⁠ -iHeart -⁠⁠ https://iheart.com/podcast/186907423/⁠⁠ -PocketCast -⁠⁠ https://pca.st/dpdyrcca⁠⁠ -CastBox -⁠⁠ https://castbox.fm/channel/id6193084?country=us⁠⁠ - Stay Connected: Join the Murder in America fam in our free Facebook Community for a behind-the-scenes look, more insights and current events in the true crime world:⁠⁠ https://www.facebook.com/groups/4365229996855701⁠⁠ If you want even more Murder in America bonus content, including ad-free episodes, come join us on Patreon:⁠⁠ https://www.patreon.com/murderinamerica⁠⁠ Instagram:⁠⁠ ⁠⁠⁠⁠http://instagram.com/murderinamerica/⁠⁠ Facebook:⁠⁠https://www.facebook.com/people/Murder-in-America-Podcast/100086268848682/⁠⁠ Twitter:⁠⁠ https://twitter.com/MurderInAmerica⁠⁠ TikTok:⁠⁠ https://www.tiktok.com/@theparanormalfiles⁠⁠ and⁠⁠ https://www.tiktok.com/@courtneybrowen⁠⁠ Feeling spooky? Follow Colin as he travels state to state (and even country to country!) investigating claims of extreme paranormal activity and visiting famous haunted locations on The Paranormal Files Official Channel:⁠⁠ https://www.youtube.com/c/TheParanormalFilesOfficialChannel⁠⁠ - (c) BLOOD IN THE SINK PRODUCTIONS 2026 Learn more about your ad choices. Visit megaphone.fm/adchoices

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This Friday, Psycho Killer, the new film from the twisted writer of 7 and 8mm, and the producers of Barbarian and a producer of weapons, arrives only in theaters. Psycho Killer is a heart-pounding and twisted slasher film

told from both ends of the knife, where every kill brings you deeper into the mind of the psycho-killer and the police officer tracking him, keeping audiences on the edge of their seat in a big screen event. Don't see it alone. Meet your new nightmare. Psycho Killer only in theaters this Friday. Get tickets now rated R. Warning, the following podcast is not suitable for all audiences. We go into great detail with every case that we cover and do our best to bring viewers even

deeper into the stories by utilizing disturbing audio and sound effects. Trigger warnings from the stories we cover may include violence, rape, murder, and offenses against children. This podcast is not for everyone. You have been warned. It was Tuesday morning, December 2nd, 2025. Christmas lights and decorations lined the rooftops of Elk Grove, California, setting the scene for the jolly holidays ahead. At the Morales House, 11-year-old Mara-Reeze and a six-year-old sister were home with their dad, a former Sacramento County Sheriff's deputy.

Their mother, Elle, had already left for work. She was at her desk chatting with a coworker, sipping her coffee, when her home security system dinged. She opened the app expecting to see her kids filing off to school. It's always nice to get one last glimpse of them before the long day ahead. But as she looked at her phone, the camera came into focus. Her husband was on the screen. So was her son.

At first, it looked like they were playing, roughhousing. But something seemed off. She turned up the volume, and that's when she heard the screaming. Not play screaming. Her 11-year-old son was screaming for his life. Her daughter was sobbing in the background. She zoomed in closer on the screen, and that's when she saw the blood. A pull of it forming beneath her little boy,

as the man she had loved and trusted stood over him a knife in hand. This is the story of Officer Marvin Morales. I'm Courtney Browen and I'm Colin Browne. And you're listening to Murder in America. Area is a place of endless opportunity, a thriving community where people from all over the world can come, settle down, and achieve their dreams. Marvin Ray Salas Morales parents were one of thousands

who decided to do just that. The two immigrated from the Philippines after college, settled into a cozy home in Daily City, and decided to start a family. His mother was a teacher, and she always had dreamt of raising children of her own. When she held Marvin in her arms for the first time in August of 1985, she saw a bright future for him.

Little has been revealed about his life growing up, but by all accounts, he seemed to have a loving family who pushed him to do his best, and were always there to love him. He entered high school during a time of expansion, a time where computers and tech were skyrocketing, offering job opportunities and an exciting new world. But in an instant, the future changed.

Because it wasn't just a tech boom on the horizon, there was something else. For the first time in about 30 years, the reality of going to war was staring our young men and women in the face. We just got a report in that there's been some sort of explosion at the World Trade Center in New York City. One report said, and we can't confirm any of this, that a plane may have hit one of the two towers of the World Trade Center. my God. Oh my God. That looks like a second plane. So this looks like it is some sort of a concerted effort to attack the World Trade Center

that is underway in downtown New York. When Marvin went to bed on September 10th, he was like any other junior in high school. He was thinking about prom, about the upcoming SATs, about how to get the girl in his class to smile his way. But when he awakened the following morning, everything had changed. He was a world away, safe in his home in California, getting ready for school on a dreary September morning, but he didn't feel safe. No one did. The thoughts of college, the SATs, the future, they were all changed as the footage of United Airlines Flight 175 colliding with the second tower played over and over on screens across the country.

It was really hard at the time to really understand the magnitude of 9-11, of what it meant. It wasn't just the horrific loss of 3,000 people. It shattered the idea of a peaceful future. It was the first large-scale foreign attack on American soil since Pearl Harbor, and as a result, it drove the largest number of people to join the military since then as well. A quarter of a million people joined the armed forces in the aftermath of 9-11, and as soon as he was old enough, Marvin followed suit. His own parents had fought like hell to immigrate to America from the Philippines,

and now, like so many others, he wanted to fight to defend it. The fight, of course, wouldn't be easy, and he picked a more difficult path than most. Marvin joined the 101st Airborne, an Army division dedicated to air assault operations. Their training in Fort Campbell, Kentucky, is widely regarded as one of the most challenging the Army has to offer, with 50% of soldiers dropping out before completion.

But Marvin pushed through. through helicopter repelling, artillery training, and 12-mile courses designed to break even the toughest of soldiers. But he gritted his teeth, worked hard, and he got it done. He thought he had prepared for the worst. But nothing can prepare you for what war actually looks like. When Marvin was deployed to Iraq, he was entering a completely different world. There's no amount of training, no amount of stories,

and no amount of photographs that can compare to what it actually feels like. to be there, to feel the scorching dry heat and the whip of sand, to feel your nerves electrified at all times with the constant threat of death. For many soldiers, they feared walking down the street, unsure if the car feet away from them is rigged to explode. They had to think about entering buildings, fearful that someone could be lying in wait, ready to strike. You forget what a full night's sleep feels like what it is to hear a noise without flinching and seeing your life flash before your eyes. And perhaps the most horrible feeling of all, you begin to realize that the person standing next to you today might not be standing next to you tomorrow. The wars in Iraq and Afghanistan were brutal.

Millions of people lost their lives. They saw things that no one should ever have to see. Around 90% of soldiers reported being shot at. Many watched. their friends die, and many came home with invisible wounds that would never fully heal. One veteran described it this way, quote, we were trained to use an M-16 assault rifle to kill our enemies, but we were never shown how to treat our own wounds, end quote. Another said, quote, it isn't in my past, it's in my every day, end quote. Between 11 and 20% of Iraq and Afghanistan veterans experienced PTSD. That's hundreds of thousands of men and women who came home and couldn't stop reliving the worst moments of their lives. Couldn't feel safe. Couldn't be the

person they were before. And tragically, 20 veterans take their own lives every single day. Over 30,000 veterans from these wars alone have died by suicide, with the numbers continuing to climb every passing day. Marvin was one of those soldiers who came back different. And given what he experienced in his deployment to Iraq, it would have been nearly impossible not to. In a formal interview he stated through tears that he saw the unimaginable, saying, quote, my best friend who's from the same hometown got blown up in front, blown up in front of me, end quote. One moment, they were walking through the destroyed streets of Iraq, weapons in hand, trying to ease each other's tensions with stories of life back home, with jokes, with reminders of the

humanity, no matter how far away that humanity seemed. But in the next moment, there was a flash and an ear-splitting explosion. A field of shrapnel surrounded them, deafened by the unrelenting ringing in their ears. It was an IED explosion. Marvin didn't know if he was hit, if he was dead or alive. All he could think of was the smoke in the air, the panic racing through him, and the ringing, so loud, that it burnt away at his nerves, and there in front of him was his best friend in pieces. It's not something that any amount of training can prepare you for, and sadly, not something that any amount of mourning can wash away. When Marvin came home from the war, sometime after 2005, he was a changed man.

He couldn't sleep for days on end. When he did finally sleep, he'd be battered by nightmare after nightmare full of horrible images of war. He either ate too much or ate nothing at all. Though his life became one of extreme black and white, his day-to-day was nothing but gray. He felt disconnected from his body as if he was floating above himself, watching himself go about his daily tasks.

In 2008, after swallowing that feeling that something was wrong, he finally went to a doctor where he was formally diagnosed with PTSD. He was told that the VA, Veterans Affairs, could help him, but something about speaking with the VA filled him. with anxiety. He had heard horror stories of veterans being treated poorly or committing suicide. He didn't trust that working with the VA would help, so he never consistently went for treatment. Now, we just want to make it clear that we aren't saying the VA isn't helpful or something that should be feared. But the fact of the matter is, treatment is scary. Talking about your feelings

and the horrible things you've seen can feel like you're experiencing it all over again. In the U.S., it's estimated that only 26% of people who have been dieted. diagnosed with PTSD seek treatment. That's not because they don't want to get better. It's because getting treatment can, at times, feel like a Herculean task, one that can feel embarrassing, demeaning, and more trouble than it's worth. Sadly, though, had Marvin gotten help and proper support, we probably wouldn't be talking about him right now.

Martin's return was a lonely time for him. He went from being surrounded by his brothers and sisters in the army to being back in a world where people didn't understand. him, a world that didn't feel safe. For a lot of veterans coming home means struggling to connect. The people around them don't understand what they've been through. They feel like outsiders in their own lives. Relationships can fall apart. Marriages end. Some never let anyone close again. But sometimes, they'll meet a person who sees past all of it, someone who doesn't try to fix them, someone who just stays. While mourning the loss of the loss of the person who sees past,

of one of his friends, Marvin met the woman who did that for him, a nurse who we will be referring to as Elle. In a later interview, Marvin disclosed that he met Elle soon after he returned, while he was honoring his friend who was killed in front of him. Whether that was at a memorial, a service, or through friends or family, we don't know. What we do know is that as soon as Elle and Marvin met, they both felt like they had found their missing peace. Before long, they were spending all of their time together, getting to know each other, and rapidly falling in love. She saw something in him that maybe he couldn't see in himself anymore, and he felt safe with her, like he could finally exhale and be in the present. One day, Marvin got down on one knee and asked her to marry him.

Elle said yes. And just like that, Marvin had something to look forward to, a future, a partner, someone to build a life with. At their wedding, they vizabeth. to love and protect and support one another. Sadly, only one of them would keep that sacred promise. Throughout their first year of marriage, they were tested. They learned what it was like to be husband and wife, and that's not always easy. Navigating a new marriage, especially when one of you is carrying the weight of war, is hard work. But they made it through. For Marvin, his wife made slipping back into civilian life easier, and soon enough, they think they found themselves dreaming of making their family bigger.

In late 2013, Marvin heard the words he wasn't sure would ever come. You're going to be a dad. The couple was overjoyed. Marvin spent the next several months imagining what it would be like, what it would mean to hold his child for the first time, what it would be like to show him all his favorite things, to watch Star Wars together to go to their first 49ers game to visit the Philippines where his ancestors were from.

Life hadn't been easy for Marvin, but now he got a chance to rewrite what life looked like. He got to see the beauty and excitement of the world through his son's eyes. And maybe, just maybe, that would make everything okay. When that day came, every part of him was electrified with fear and excitement. It was July 19, 2014. Marvin paced in the hospital room, nervous, excited, terrified. His wife laid in the bed, squeezing his hand and putting on a brave face.

And then, after what seemed like forever, there was a cry. That first cry that lets you know, your baby's here. That they're okay, and that now you're a parent. The sunshine glistened through the window as Marvin took his son into his arms for the first time. He was even more precious than he could have ever imagined. He was tiny, wrinkled, his eyes barely opened. But through it all, Marvin could see that he was his spitting image.

They had the same nose, the same thick black hair. He was a symbol of Marvin and Elle's love, wrapped up in a little. tiny bundle, depending on them to show him the way through life. They cradled their baby in their arms and told the nurse their baby boy's name. He was Marr Arise Antelan Morales, little Marr. And now Alan Marvin's life revolved around him. He was the center of their universe. With that responsibility came the realization that most parents face.

Your life, your home, your finances. All of that translates to what your baby's childhood looks. like. Marvin and Elle wanted their son to have the safest, best life possible, and that meant bolstering their careers and making a comfy home for themselves where they could grow. A nice home in Elk Grove, California offered them the place to do just that. It was a spacious 2,500 square foot home on a street lined with other family homes, well-manicured lawns, and safe parks nearby. Instantly, it felt like home. And the Morales family settled in quickly. even making friends with their neighbors and introducing little Marr to his future classmates.

At the time, Elle was excelling in her nursing career. She worked tirelessly in nearby Sacramento, where she initially worked in pediatrics. Meanwhile, Marvin was on the hunt for something new. After leaving the military, he bounced around between jobs. But now, with his son to support, he wanted something more stable. So it's here, where he decided to pursue a career. and law enforcement. Now, he enrolled into the police academy, but he failed out. We don't know the specifics. Whether he failed to test, didn't meet a requirement, or if he just wasn't ready, but

he was rejected. He was sent home, essentially told he wasn't good enough, which had to have hurt. Marvin had served his country. He had been to war. He had seen things that most people can't imagine. And now, he was being told that he couldn't be a person. police officer. That night, he went home to his wife and baby boy. Little Marr was nearing a year old. Most people would have given up, but Marvin didn't. He came back again, completing his training.

And finally, on July 23, 2017, he was officially hired by the Sacramento County Sheriff's Office as a deputy sheriff. And for the most part, he was good at his job. He was assigned to the X-ray unit, a patrol force specifically focused on curbing drugs and prostitution in Sacramento. It's not a particularly pleasant unit to work in. It's one where you consistently see people at their worst and have to deal with them as they navigate addiction. But Marvin's superiors, at least for a time, believed he was handling it better than most. He never had a single documented disciplinary issue and received two letters of appreciation, one for his professionalism during a robbery call and another from a citizen he had helped.

his coworkers and superiors respected him. They described him as reliable, hardworking, and trustworthy. He was the kind of cop you wanted on your side. When they went out on calls together, his colleagues knew Marvin had their back. That's everything in law enforcement. You're relying on the person next to you to keep you safe, to make the right call, to be there when things go bad. Marvin was that person.

Or at least, he seemed to be. Soon after he joined, Sacramento decided. decided to try a new approach to drugs. Namely, supervisors urged their patrol units to seize drugs. And rather than charge users with a serious crime, they were told to just write them up for misdemeanors. The idea was to traffic main parts of town, consistently confiscate the drugs of users

in an effort to push them away from populated areas. The goal was to make their neighborhoods in downtown area safer, a place where families could live without being exposed to drugs. use. And while most officers weren't particularly interested in doubling down on this like their supervisors wanted, Marvin took a very active role in confiscating and issuing citations for drug users. Those in charge of him were impressed. They were marked that out of all of their deputies, Marvin seemed to be the most dedicated to getting drugs off the streets. At the time, it seemed like he was pursuing a noble cause. However, in retrospect, he was doing anything but. You see,

Marvin's goal wasn't to get the drugs off the streets. It was to get those drugs directly in his pocket. Now when that truly began, we'll never know. Because at home, things were busy, and he was keeping up with what was expected of him. In 2019, his daughter was born. Now his family was complete. He had a wife he loved, two beautiful children, a home in a safe neighborhood, a career he was proud of, life was good, at least from the outside. Marvin posted photos of him and his family constantly as his children grew. Photos of them on cruises, laughing in the sun. Photos of him, his son and daughter, gazing over at Bay in the Philippines on vacation. Photos of him and his wife at 49ers games, cheering on the team they had both grown up watching.

And photos of his pride and joy, Little Marr, practicing. jujitsu with his father at a local school. It was something that he and his boy could connect over and spend time doing. Throughout Mar's whole childhood, he practiced alongside his dad, laughing, getting stronger, and getting smarter every day. Time flies when you have kids. One day, Mar was a baby that his dad was holding in his arms. The next, he was nine years old.

He had a mind of his own, was dedicated, funny, and kind, and was a friend to everyone who knew him. Any father would be lucky to have a son like Marr, but for Marvin, it was hard to truly feel that. Not because Marr had failed in any way, but because inside Marvin there was a disconnect. Now, everything that we're about to say comes from Marvin's own testimony in late 2023. Whether all of this is true, we can't say. Though, given where the story goes, it doesn't seem unlikely. According to Marvin in February of 2023, he began to spiral. into a pit of depression.

The color in his life began to fade away. Nothing brought him joy like it used to. He lost interest in his hobbies in being an active participant in his life. He was exhausted all the time, not just in his body, but his mind as well. Getting out of bed every day felt like a horrific task. When he talked to his family,

he felt like a ghost pretending to be a human. PTSD is a lifelong condition, and it seems that, after years without treatment, it was beginning to tug at the frayed edge of the end of the same, of Marvin's mind. He was losing himself, losing his passion, losing his ability to think clearly. If you've never experienced it, there are no words to truly describe what that feels like. And at the same time, he wasn't the only one dealing with the pain that comes with the crushing weight of depression. Sometime in the summer of 2023, Marvin reached a breaking point.

Remember, this is according to him. His wife Elle never spoke publicly about this incident, or anything regarding her husband. So we have to take his word for what occurred. But according to him, on a warm, hazy summer afternoon, Marvin and Elle got into an argument. What began as simple words of concern, soon spiraled into a full-fledge battle. Marvin was yelling, slamming things around, stomping through the hall.

What the alleged fight was about will never know. What we do know is that unwilling to continue the conversation, Marvin stormed out of the house, got in his car, and took off down the road. He didn't know where he was going or even what he was doing, but there was something whispering to him inside his vehicle. It was like a siren song, beckoning to him, promising to end the pain. His mind wasn't right. And in that moment, it seemed like the only option. So he grabbed his pistol and set it in his lap.

He stared at it. tears pouring down his cheeks as he gasped for breath, and he thought to himself over and over. Am I really going to do this? Will this make it stop? Marvin's thoughts were shattered by a loud knocking on his window. Through his tears, he looked to his side to see his wife Elle standing there. Her eyes were pleading, terrified.

It's impossible to imagine what that moment feels like, unless you've been there. She was staring at the man she loved, the father of her children. knew he was loving, kind, and funny. She knew that his life was worth living. But in the haze and pain of his depression, he couldn't see that. In a lot of cases, there is nothing you can do for someone who is sitting in that horrible suffocating fog, except to sit with them. So, Elle did that. She opened the door and she took her husband's hands. She promised him that things were going to be all right. She knew he was hurting, but she was there for him. they would get through this together.

From that heartbreaking moment, it seemed like maybe, just maybe, they would be on a path to healing together. Unfortunately, Marvin found a different way to deal with the pain. We don't know when it truly began. However, we do know when it started to spend out of control. On August 9, 2023, Marvin responded to a call at a homeless camp on Samson Boulevard. It was a usual beat for him,

He knew the man, the area, and the situation he was facing pretty well. Marvin pulled up to find the man sitting in a lawn chair on the sidewalk. Behind him, a tarp was draped over a shopping cart, creating a makeshift shelter. In his report, Marvin wrote this. I saw his hands were inside both of the front pockets of his shorts. He appeared he was holding on to something as his hands were balled up inside. From my training and experience, I know subjects unconsciously hold onto hidden. contraband when confronted by law enforcement as a sign of nervousness. I asked him if he had any

drugs on him. He told me no, but he had a pipe on him. Marvin confiscated the glass pipe, the kind used for smoking meth, and from there he issued the man a citation for misdemeanor possession of drug paraphernalia. In his report, he wrote that he, quote, safely disposed of the glass pipe at the central area station, end quote, except he didn't. He kept the pipe. He hid it in the back of his vehicle and then brought it home with him to the same house where his kids did their homework at the kitchen table, the same house where his wife was sleeping down the hall after a 12-hour shift. The pipe still had residue inside, left over meth from the man at the homeless camp, but it was more than enough to get him high.

Maybe Marvin told himself that he just wanted to see what it felt like. Maybe he told himself that it was just this once. But at some point, he pulled out the pipe, the one he had confiscated, the one he was supposed to dispose of, and he lit it. He inhaled. And for the first time in a long time, the weight was lifted. The exhaustion that had been dragging him down for months, it was gone. The fog in his brain that made everything feel impossible was cleared.

The anxiety, the dread, the heaviness in his chest that never seemed to go away. It all just quieted. This was the very moment that Marvin Morales crossed a line. He could never uncross. That very inhale changed the course of his life and his family's lives forever. A week later, on August 15th, another call came in. The caller stated that there was a suspicious man on the sidewalk of a public road. When Marvin and another deputy arrived, they asked if he had any weapons or illegal drugs on him.

The man pulled a glass pipe out of his pocket, and once again, Marvin took it. In his report, he described it in detail. I recognized this glass as a means for narcotics users to smoke methamphetamine. The glass pipe was made from a glass cylinder rod with a bulbous end with openings on both sides. The interior of the glass pipe was covered with white residue and burn marks, which I suspected was used to smoke methamphetamine. He photographed the pipe and wrote that he, later safely disposed of the glass pipe, the Central Area Station. But again, he didn't. Marvin would later admit that over the next two months, he smoked the meth residue three or four times. He said, I had no energy. I was experiencing

a lot of depression. I'm procrastinating hard. And if I had an in-custody report and I couldn't get it done, I would just take one hit, get my energy back up, and then I would knock out that report. But it wasn't working. At least, not really. His procrastination got worse. After dropping his kids off at school, he'd drive home and take a nap instead of reporting to work. He started showing up late, something completely out of character for a man with a military background. Marvin had always prided himself on being the kind of person who was always a half hour early. He was never late.

But now his partner was texting him, asking where he was. Over time, Marvin stopped caring. But his partner, well, he didn't seem terribly alarmed. When you're an officer, you see horrible things every day. Sometimes people go through dark periods, periods where they need a little more sleep, a little more grace. Perhaps his partner thought that maybe this was one of those times for more. Growing up, my mom was always the best at handling sticky, stressful situations. I mean, we have so many crazy family memories, so many things that stick out to me, so many trips that we took and just funny moments.

I mean, I remember specifically one just crazy time when we had jet skis and we took them out. We had rented them for the day and we took them out on this lake. And somehow something got on the engine of the jet ski. Mine stalled. My dad stalled. And my mom and sister had to come rescue us because we floated to shore on the other side of the lake. We've got some hilarious pictures from that day. But it's just one of those memories that I don't want to let die.

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in just three to six months with Nutraful. For a limited time, Nutraful is offering our listeners $10 off your first month subscription and free shipping when you visit Nutraful.com and enter promo code M-I-A. That's neutrofoil.com, spelled N-U-T-R-A-F-O-L dot com, promo code M-I-A. Marvin. On October 24, 2023, Marvin clocked in for another shift, another day of calls, another day of dealing with the worst of what Sacramento had to offer. At 5.43 p.m., he and another deputy responded to a call at a Shell gas station on Stockton Boulevard. A citizen had reported that a man behind a building was dancing erratically, appearing to be under the influence. When Marvin got there, he recognized the person the caller was referring to. He was the same man from the homeless camp

two months earlier. When Marvin approached the man, they chatted for a bit. Then he noticed something. It was a piece of tinfoil sticking out of the man's pocket. Marvin's body camera captured everything. Here is part of that interaction. You were about to pass out for the other night though last week you was on that fettie oh oh yeah yeah is that what that foil is right there in your pocket or even be real with it just be real yeah just be real yeah yeah could be is it could be is it i think it is oh not sure yeah yeah not for now so you could either hand it over or i could put your in cuffs and take it out your pockets up to you oh just no it's uh

It's not the legal person. No, the one in your little drug pocket. No, no, you hit it. Huh? You hit it, though? I'll give you the chance just to hand it over. So instead of writing the man a ticket, Marvin says that all the man has to do is hand it over,

and he won't get in trouble. And that's exactly what happened. Marvin confiscated the tinfoil, along with the plastic straw, a red lighter, and a handful of change. He patted him down and asked what drug was in the foil. The man said it was crystal meth. Using a black glove, Marvin picked up the tinfoil and placed it in a secured compartment in the back of his cruiser.

He then issued the man a citation, warned him that drug activity was the neighborhood's top complaint, and even offered him information about housing and resources. By all accounts, Marvin Morales seemed like he was just a cop doing his job. At 5.55 p.m., Marvin hopped into his car and started making notes. about the stop. He wrote that he had originally believed the drug to be fentanyl due to the black mark on the substance, but the man stated it was methamphetamine. He described the contents as a small chunk of an off-yellow crystalline substance. At 6.08 p.m., he issued another update. Foil with meth was collected and secured in hatch of patrol vehicle we'll book for evidence

later. However, once again, he never booked it as evidence. At some point, Marvin opened up that secured compartment, took the tin foil, and slipped it into the cargo pocket of his uniform pants. Around 8.26 p.m., surveillance cameras captured Marvin walking back into the central area police station. He swiped his key card and strolled down the hallway scrolling through his phone, casual, like it was any other night. He walked past his colleagues, past the desks, right past the poster on the wall, advertising mental health resources, and drug abuse hotlines. And from there, he headed towards the restroom. Now, by that time of night,

the public bathroom was locked, so only employees could use it. Marvin would be all alone. So he walked into the handicapped stall and locked the door behind him. It was quiet. Outside that door, deputies were filing reports,

answering calls, doing the job that Marvin had sworn an oath to do. But in there, it was just him. It was quiet, even if his thoughts weren't. He unbuckled his gun belt, the belt that symbolized everything he was supposed to be, everything he'd sworn to uphold, and he placed it on the baby changing table. He reached into his cargo pocket and pulled out the tinfoil. Then he pulled out the pipe.

The same glass pipe he had taken from that man on Samson Boulevard months ago, the one he was supposed to have disposed of, the one he had been using ever since. Marvin then unfolded the foil he had confiscated earlier that day. He loaded the pipe, and he told himself, just one hit, just to take the edge off. He lit it. He inhaled. And he waited for that similar feeling. The weightlifting, the fog clearing, the relief washing over him.

But this time, something was wrong, heavier. His body started to slow down. His thoughts started to blur. His legs gave out. And then, Marvin collapsed onto the bathroom floor. This wasn't meth. The man at the gas station had been wrong. Or maybe he lied.

What Marvin had just inhaled was fentanyl. And now, Marvin Morales was dying on the floor of the police station back. bathroom. A glass pipe inches from his body, his gun belt hanging on a baby changing table, and no one knew he was in there. But luckily, a few minutes later, another deputy walked into the bathroom. When he opened the door, he froze. I see terror shot through his body, threatening to take him down. His legs turned to jello, because there, in clear view, was Marvin Morales, unconscious, his lips turning blue. He had fallen into a fold. with his legs pinned beneath his torso, and his head smushed against the edge of the bathroom stall.

His eyes were rolled back in his head. His chest was still. He wasn't breathing. This was Marvin, a guy he knew, a guy he worked with, a guy he served with. He knew his wife, his kids, and now he was on the ground, gray-faced, not moving. Still gripped in his right hand was a red and orange torchlighter, the same one he'd confiscated from the man at the gas station just hours earlier. The deputy ran out of the bathroom, called for help on his radio.

and sprinted to his cruiser to grab Narcan, the medication used to reverse opioid overdoses. He thought maybe Marvin had accidentally been exposed to something. It happens sometimes. You come into contact with street drugs, you don't even realize it, and suddenly you're down. Narcan in hand, he knelt beside Morales. The footage you're about to hear is from the body cam he was wearing.

He began to shake Morales, desperately. No amount of shaking stirred Morales. His breathing, if you could even call it that, was strangled. It sounded like someone sucking up water. With shaking hands, the deputy administered a dose of Narcan into Marvin's left nostril. Marvin should have gasped. He should have reacted, but he didn't. His body jolted for just an instant, and then it stilled again. Terrified, the other deputy yelled for help, desperate for the ambulance to arrive. He continued to shake Morales. He He pressed on his chest hard, but Marvin wasn't moving.

His eyes were still rolled back in his head. His chest wasn't moving. His lips were getting more and more blue. The responding deputy yelled to the others as they entered the room. Another deputy pulled Marvin's legs out from beneath his body. It looked painful. His body was so rigid already, like death was starting to take hold. It's a terrible sight, one that you don't want to see anyone go through.

let alone someone you know, but his body was dead weight. Three officers worked together to drag him out of the bathroom cell and into the hallway, where paramedics would be able to quickly treat him. Though, they didn't know if they had long to wait. They administered more Narcan, and more. They pressed their fist on his chest hard, trying desperately to revive him. Here is more of that interaction. There you go.

from the getting him like this because you can't breathe in you got come on mar come on bud come on marr come on bud yeah stern and i'm gonna help him one more what don't snap out of it

come on mar yeah how however long i could keep talking to them come on mark man Yeah. We're here, okay. We're in strong poles.

Yeah, we're worried about that. We're worried only about the best. There we go. There we go. Come on, Mark. Come on, Mark. There we go. Hey, hey, take this.

I'm going to hand this, Mark. Come on, Mark. Come on, Mark. There you go. Hey, breathe. Stay with us. You're good. You're good. Keep breathing. Come on.

At 8.46 p.m., the 911 call went out. Officer down at 7,605th Street. Within minutes, the scene at Central Area Station was chaos. Officers, paramedics, first responders rushing to save one of their own, yellow crime scene tape went up. The Sacramento Metropolitan Fire District arrived. By 8.53 p.m., the fire department had taken over. A first responder shining. a flashlight into Marvin's eyes. His pupils were constricted, no response to the light. His skin had turned to purplish color. He made occasional snoring sounds, but he was still breathing. He still had a pulse. They loaded him onto a gurney and transported him to Kaiser South Sacramento Hospital. During the ambulance ride, Marvin started to come too. His eyes fluttered open. He looked around, disoriented. And through his scattered, labored breathing, he asked repeatedly, where am I? Am I still on active duty? Do I still have my uniform on? He had no idea what had just happened. No idea how he'd ended up here. He said the last thing he remembered was walking

into that bathroom stall. Back at the Central Area Police Station, one of the janitors was interviewed regarding if there was anything suspicious found in the bathroom prior to Marvin's arrival. The janitor admitted that he had cleaned the bathroom earlier in the evening and found no narcotics and no paraphernalia. He said, between 8 and 8.30 p.m., I cleaned the front bathrooms and emptied the trash. I did not see anyone inside the bathrooms, and I did not see anything laying around. I cleaned it and took out the trash. Deputies also searched Marvin's cruiser, trying to find the drugs he'd confiscated earlier that day.

His partner said they'd responded to 10 calls that afternoon. Only one involved seizing narcotics. But when they went through his trunk, the drugs weren't there. What they did find were citations. One from August 9th, one from August 15th, both misdemeanor drug paraphernalia citations. Neither one had been properly booked. At the hospital, the deputies checked Marvin's pockets. Inside his cargo pants, wrapped in a black plastic glove, they found the tin foil with drug residue.

At first, everyone assumed it was an accident. Maybe Marvin had put the drugs in his pocket at the scene and forgot about them. Maybe he reached in later without a glove and made contact. Officers are taught to be very careful around fentanyl. Even a small amount can be dangerous. Accidental exposure happens. That's what his colleagues thought. That's what made sense.

Because no one ever suspected Marvin had a drug problem. Over the years, there had never been any suspicious behavior. No red flags. His colleagues trusted him. But there was one deputy that remembered something. He'd known Marvin for over a decade. They met at the police academy. He and Marvin had hung out a handful of times outside of work.

Up until one incident, he had never seen anything unusual. But he would later say, quote, we had stopped at a gas station. And when he was talking, his mouth was moving abnormally. His eyes were very shifty. And I don't remember that behavior from the academy, but again, it's been several years. So I figured he may be developed.

My mind went to Tourette's from stress. on the job, because it was apparent, you know. He couldn't control certain motions of his mouth and eyes, end quote. Now, he never asked any questions. He never suspected drugs. After all, the job they shared was high stress. And sometimes, stress shows up in unusual ways. Back at the hospital, Marvin was finally alert.

By 10.42 p.m., his wife, Elle, was there by his side. She rushed to the hospital the moment she found out, dropped everything and raced to be by his side. Now she sat in a chair next to his bed, watching him, waiting for answers. Marvin spoke slowly, his mind was foggy. He looked around the room trying to piece together what had happened. His wife had been through a lot with him, the PTSD, the depression, the distance that had grown between them. But this? She probably never expected this.

Over the next few days, Marvin submitted to drug tests, blood, urine, hair. His urine came back positive for amphetamine, methamphetamine, and fentanyl. His blood showed amphetamines and methamphetamine. But it was the hair test that told the real story. Hair tests don't just tell you if someone used drugs recently. They tell you if someone has been using over time. Hair grows about half an inch per month. So when a lab takes a one and a half inch sample, they're looking at roughly 90 days of your life. Everything you put in your body during that time gets trapped in the hair follicle, like a timeline, a record, there's no hiding from it. Omega Laboratories tested Marvin's hair, and it came back positive for amphetamines and methamphetamine.

This wasn't an accident. This wasn't a one-time mistake. Marvin had been using drugs for at least three months, and not just sparingly. The report indicated that he was likely a habitual user. The conspiracy files is the most explosive show on the internet. I'm your host Colin Brown from the paranormal files on YouTube, and I'm inviting you to take this twisted journey down the rabbit hole with me. Together, we will dive deep into some of the world's

most dangerous and disturbing conspiracy theories, from suspicious suicides to hidden pedophile rings and high-profile cover-ups. On my show, no story is off limits and no detail will be spared. And trust me, after listening to just one episode, you will never look at the world the same. So, if you like conspiracies, mysteries,

true crime, and chaos, then this is the show for you. Listen to The Conspiracy Files Now on all streaming platforms or wherever you get your podcasts. On October 25th, Marvin was released from the hospital and returned to Central Area Police Station to pick up his phone, keys, and wallet. While talking to his supervisors, he asked nervously,

Am I in trouble? By this point, rumors were already circulating. People were whispering that Marvin had intentionally smoked drugs from the pipe found beneath his body. One officer said he heard a rumor that Marvin's wife had told him while he was lying in the hospital bed, quote, that's why you don't smoke that shit. Now later that day, Chief Deputy Matt Peterson recommended an internal affairs investigation. And for a police officer, there is nothing more serious.

Internal affairs investigates misconduct within the department, everything from policy violations to criminal behavior. Once they open a case on you, your career is on the line. Everything you've ever done gets put under a microscope. Every report you filed, every arrest you've made,

every piece of evidence you've ever handled. And if they find you violated your oath, you're done. Marvin knew it was coming. For the next few weeks, he sat at home, waiting. His career was over. He knew that. Everything he had worked for,

the academy he'd failed, and gone back to, the years on the force, the letters of appreciation, the respect he'd earned from his colleagues, all of it, gone. His wife knew the truth now. His coworkers knew something was wrong. The whispers were spreading. And soon enough, investigators would come asking questions. Questions he'd have to answer. In December of 2023, the investigation officially launched. Investigators with the Bureau of Internal Affairs sat Marvin down for an interview, and Marvin confessed. He admitted to smoking the drugs he had confiscated on October 24th.

He admitted that he knew they contained fentanyl, and he said something that no one expected. He said he did it on purpose to end his own life. According to Marvin, he had been battling severe depression, something that had plagued him ever since returning from his deployment to the Middle East years earlier. He said it had gotten so bad that he cried every day before reporting to work. He started distancing himself from his family. He stopped doing the things he loved.

He said, throughout the year, it's getting worse and worse. I stopped going through my hobbies. I stopped going to jujitsu that I love to do. I used to train three to five times a week. I just stopped going. I stopped playing video games, end quote. Marvin opened up about what it was like to be a cop while battling PTSD. the anxiety before every shift, the constant fear of what he might see next.

He said, quote, and the night before my work week I fucking cry, because I'm so, I'm having so much anxiety. Okay, what's going to happen this week? Who's going to shoot themselves? Who's going to get shot? Or am I going to have to do chest compressions on a gunshot victim when a crowd of people say fuck you or fuck the police?

I'm getting so much anxiety and my depression is getting worse and worse and worse throughout the year, end quote. Some days he'd be in his cruiser, parked somewhere, and he just couldn't hold it together anymore. He'd break down crying, alone, in uniform. A cop who was supposed to have it all together, sobbing behind the wheel of his patrol car. At home, things weren't any better. He and his wife were sleeping in separate bedrooms.

He'd completely distanced himself from her and the kids. On his days off, Saturday, Sunday, Monday, he didn't spend time with his family. He slept as long as he could, just trying to recover for the week. He described it as being disconnected from them. He said, this job has affected me and my family. My wife has suffered and I feel bad for her. I'm getting mad at myself for that. I never knew this job was going to do this to me.

I promised myself I was going to put my family before this job and I didn't. I take great pride in my work. So I just worked harder, worked harder and worked harder. It just made me more depressed. I literally have part of my house empty because I was getting rid of shit. Marvin said there was no joy in his life anymore. and he started making plans to end it. He sold off his belongings, his expensive couch,

a car he'd spent years fixing up. He paid off all his credit cards, but the rest of the money into a high-yield savings account, so his family would be okay if anything happened to him. Every day was harder than the last, the weight of it all, the job, the depression, the distance from his family. It was crushing him. He had tried to end it before

and the parking lot after the fight with his wife the previous summer, but this time he wanted to do it where no one. one could stop him. He knew fentanyl would end the pain. At least, that's what he told his superior. But Chief Deputy Matt Peterson wasn't buying it. In his report, he wrote, quote, it is essentially impossible for Deputy Morales to have known the narcotics he confiscated contained fentanyl. When Deputy Morales contacted the man, he stated the substance was methamphetamine, and Deputy Morales subsequently issued him a citation for possession of methamphetamine. end quote. He continued with, quote,

it is implausible to believe Deputy Morales then determined the suspected methamphetamine contained fentanyl, and upon somehow determining that, he decided to ingest it a few hours later with the intent to kill himself, end quote. Peterson pointed to the surveillance footage. Marvin had walked into that bathroom casually, looking at his phone. His gun belt was removed and placed on the changing table. His pants were unbuttoned and unzipped. none of that matched the behavior of someone trying to end their life. And then there was another problem with Marvin's story. He'd been smoking drugs for months.

This wasn't a one-time desperate act. It was a pattern. When investigators asked if he ever reached out to anyone about his mental health, his wife, a colleague, a friend, Marvin said he had put up a, quote, strong front. He never wanted anyone to know his weakness. But the Sacramento County Sheriff's Office had, resources. They had a full team dedicated to mental health and well-being. There were posters all over the station advertising help for drug abuse, PTSD, and mental health issues. They were the

same posters Marvin walked past on his way to that bathroom. Marvin claimed he didn't know they existed. He also confessed to falsifying his report from August of 2023. The two pipes he claimed he discarded at the station. Now, he admitted that he took. He said, he took a little bit of the station. He said, took them home and smoked them. He said he never bought drugs on his own. He claimed he only smoked what he had confiscated. Investigators interviewed Marvin's colleagues. All of them were shocked.

Some had to go to therapy after watching him nearly die in front of them. But when they found out that this wasn't an incident of accidental exposure and that he had actually done this on purpose, everything changed. One colleague said, I think he should be terminated. I can never trust him as to when he makes any content. finds narcotics, finds money, finds anything. I could not trust him that he would do the right thing

to do what he's been trained to do to do what all of us have sworn an oath to do. Another said, working with him is going to be a problem. It's a big trust thing right there. Yeah, I'm not sure if I could. He's still a friend. I'll still be his friend.

But yeah, it's a problem. And another. I personally would never trust him at work. Just the severity of showing up to work intoxicated, not only are you putting the public in jeopardy because you're not of sound mind, but, you know, I may rely on you as well as cover. And if I can't trust that 100%, you're going to have my back in any kind of situation that I don't want to work with you.

Sheriff Jim Cooper said Marvin had tarnished the badge. Others called it a horrible embarrassment. Marvin hadn't just ruined his own reputation. He'd damaged the entire department. When asked how he felt, Marvin said he was disgusted by his own actions. Some of Marvin's colleagues kept in touch with him after the overdose. Despite everything, they wanted him to know that they were there if he needed someone to talk to. But Marvin wasn't the same.

One officer said, quote, he did talk about how he felt he was on an island, and people were still texting him, but nobody was really talking to him in the same way anymore. So he felt isolated at home, stir-crazy kind of thing. End quote. That same officer admitted that he was seeing a counselor. He kept thinking about his interactions with Marvin. replaying them in his mind, wondering how he missed the signs. He felt like his intuition had failed him. And in this line of work, that was everything.

Marvin claimed the incident changed his life. He said, I've been going to therapy. My fifth session is tomorrow. I've been speaking to the chaplain. I've been open about my depression. I've been talking to a lot of other first responders, cops, not in our department, veterans, civilians, and just talking about depression. I've started working out again, started going to jujitsu trying to be more productive, and I'm trying to be more productive at my house. I'm finally doing some projects that I haven't been doing all year, trying to work on myself as a person, trying to fix myself. He said some of his military buddies convinced him to give the VA another chance. They told him it was better now, that he could even do treatment online from the

safety of his home, with his wife and kids nearby reminding him of what truly mattered. But when it came to his career, Marvin knew it was over. As for the colleagues who saved his life that night, Marvin wanted to make amends. He said, quote, I want to apologize to them so bad, but I can't. I'm not that strong, bro. I know that they're traumatized. I didn't realize that I was going to put them through this much trauma. To see one of their partners on the ground like that, I feel fucking horrible. I wish I never put them in that situation. If I ever have the opportunity, I just want to like, apologize from the bottom of my heart for putting them through that, end quote. Marvin stuck with his story about wanting to die.

He said he picked the bathroom at the station because it was closed to the public in the evenings. He didn't want some random person to find him, and he didn't want his wife or kids to discover his body. He stated, I did it at the station because I didn't want my wife to find me dead. So I went into that bathroom and I'm like, hey, this is the sheriff's station. Someone's going to find me eventually. That's how messed up I am. I did it in the bathroom because I didn't want the public to see me. I did not want them to find a deputy in their fucking.

bathroom. Someone was going to find me, and God sent a deputy to find me. Unfortunately, he saw what he saw. And like these past four weeks, I've been really open about my depression and my mind is clearing up. He said he chose drugs instead of his gun because he didn't want someone to find him with his brains blown out. After surviving, Marvin said he found strength in his wife and his children, called depression a motherfucker, and admitted what he did was inexcusable. On January 1st, 2004, Chief Deputy Matt Peterson reviewed all of the evidence, and he recommended that Officer Marvin Morales be terminated. But before any action could be taken, Marvin resigned. On February 2nd, 2024, he submitted his resignation letter, citing, quote, personal reasons.

And just like that, Marvin Morales was no longer a Sacramento County Sheriff's Deputy. No criminal charges were ever filed. The sheriff's office said there wasn't enough evidence to pursue drug charges. But they did note the irony. Marvin had used his authority as an officer to confiscate drugs from people and hold them accountable. And then he smoked those same drugs himself. It was a dishonor to his badge, to his coworkers. And while they built to repair the trust within the community and between one another,

life for Marvin moved on. He was out of a job. He spent his days at home. What he did with his time, we don't know. But we do know that his wife stayed by his side. She had rushed to the hospital that night. She had been there through it all. They had been together for nearly 20 years. Marvin said that they had always been best friends, and his kids adored him. Marvin said, quote, they're so about me. They're always in my arms. They're always giving me attention. End quote.

Almost two years passed. Two years between the night Marvin overdosed on that bathroom floor and the morning of December 2nd, 2025. Two years. That's a long time. Long enough to get better or to get worse. Long enough for something to build inside you, something dark, dangerous, until one day it explodes.

What did Marvin do with that time? time, well, we don't really know. He was 40 years old at this point, a former soldier and cop, the career he'd worked so hard for, the academy he'd failed and gone back to, the badge he'd earned the years of service, all of it was gone. He was home all the time now. We don't know what those days looked like, whether he tried to be a better husband, a better father, whether he was getting better or getting worse. His wife probably thought the worst was behind them. He was getting help, going to therapy, talking to the chaplain, giving the VA another chance. Maybe she thought they'd turned a corner. Maybe she thought the man she married was coming back to her.

His kids had no idea what their father had done. They just knew he was home more, that he wasn't wearing the uniform anymore. But he was still dad, still the man that played with them in the front yard. Mar-Arise was getting older now, 11 years old, maybe starting to notice things and ask questions. his little sister was six, still young enough to believe everything was okay, young enough to trust her father completely. Whatever was happening inside Marvin's head during those two years, he kept it hidden. No one saw it coming. Not his wife, not his neighbors, not the colleagues who still checked in on him. But from the outside, Marvin still had a decent life.

A beautiful home, two kids who adored him, a wife who worked hard to support her family and to show him he was loved. But in reality, something was still broken. inside, and it was only a matter of time before he could no longer hide it. By early December 2025, the house on Farrow Way was decorated for Christmas. Red, green, purple, and white lights flashed along the roofline. An inflatable Christmas tree, an elf, a dog wearing a festive wreath around his neck sat in the yard. The family had just returned from a weekend getaway. The kids played in the front yard like they always did. Neighbors waved and everything seemed normal. On the morning of Tuesday, December 2nd, 2025, Marvin's wife woke up and got ready for work.

She kissed her kids, said goodbye to her husband, and drove off like it was any other day. Marvin stayed home with their 11-year-old son, Mara Reese, and their 6-year-old daughter. It was a Tuesday, a school day. As she made her way through her morning, Elle sat at her desk and began her day like she always did. coffee, emails, maybe chatting with a coworker about the weekend getaway they had just taken. And then her phone buzzed, a notification from the home security cameras. She got these all the time. Usually she saw the kids running through the house, Marvin moving around.

Nothing unusual. But on this morning, she assumed that it was the kids finally leaving for school. It was a bit late, so she opened the app, wondering what had delayed them. Had Marr forgotten his backpack? Had his sister misplaced one of her favorite sparkly shoes? As the camera came into focus, she expected to see her kids rushing through the home, heading for the front door.

What she saw instead was something she couldn't comprehend. It looked like her son and husband were wrestling, horsing around, but something was wrong, the way they were moving, the look on her son's face. She turned up the volume and then she heard it. It was her son screaming, not laughing, not playing, screaming, screaming, screaming for his life. She watched her husband's arm come down, then again and again. Her son was on the ground.

She zoomed in on the screen, her fingers trembling. She was trying desperately to understand what she was looking at as she felt her soul disconnect from her body. and that's when she saw the blood. It was on the floor, on her son, everywhere. She screamed, right there at her desk in the middle of the office. She screamed at the phone in her hands, screamed at the image on the screen.

She screamed at her husband to stop, but he couldn't hear her. He was miles away, and he wasn't stopping. Her coworkers looked up. What's wrong? What happened? They rushed over. They saw the look on her face. They saw the tears streaming down her cheeks.

She couldn't speak. She just held the phone up, pointed at the screen. They soon saw what she saw. Her son wasn't moving anymore. Her daughter was crying somewhere in the background. She could hear her baby girl screaming for her brother, screaming for her daddy to stop, screaming for someone to help.

But there was nothing she could do. She was a world away, helplessly watching her family fall apart, through a four-inch screen. Call 911. Someone screamed, but she didn't hear it. She was gone, locked in her horror. Maybe a coworker grabbed her phone. Maybe she dialed it herself. She doesn't remember.

But somehow she got the words out. My husband stabbed my son. He's on the floor. There's blood everywhere. Please. Please send someone. Hurry. She grabbed her keys, her purse, whatever was closest, and she ran.

The drive must have felt like a blur. Every red light, an eternity, every slow driver in her way, a nightmare. The entire time she was crying, hoping with everything in her that her son would be okay. Shortly after 8 a.m., Elk Grove police officers swarmed Farrow Way. The quiet street where the neighbors waved at each other, the street where kids played in the front yard, now there were sirens, flashing lights, officers rushing toward the house. Inside, they found Marr on the floor. He was bleeding from multiple stab wounds. His tiny body was cold and contorted, but miraculously, he was still

alive, but barely holding on. Their six-year-old daughter was there too. She was unharmed, physically at least, but she had seen everything. Her father, her brother, the blood. She was screaming hysterically crying and confused. She didn't understand what was happening, only that it was very, very bad. She was swept up into the arms of a nearby officer who brought her to her mother's side. Still, nothing felt safe. Because something missing from the house was Marvin Morales himself. His car was missing too.

After stabbing his son, he left his two children at home. He slammed the door behind him as his daughter screamed for help, and his son, the one with his nose, his hair, his laugh, was bleeding out on the carpet of the home he bought to give him a good life. But for now, inside that home, first responders put all of their attention into 11-year-old Mar Aries. Neighbors watched in horror as he was removed from the home on a stretcher. Many of these neighbors were still in their pajamas, watching in disbelief. This is fair a way. This didn't happen here.

There had never been any signs of trouble. No police, no 911 calls, no disturbance. Everyone on that street would later say the same thing. They were a quiet, friendly family. They had just seen the kids playing in the front yard a few days ago. They waved at Marvin in the garage. They watched football with him and cracked jokes. So how could this be happening?

One neighbor had just returned from dropping his eight-year-old daughter off at school. The same school Marvin's kids attended. He pulled into the driveway and saw the chaos. Police everywhere. Paramedics running, and then he saw it. Eleven-year-old Mar-A-Ris being wheeled out on a gurney, paramedics surrounded him, performing CPR. They were fighting to keep him alive. His small body was covered in blood.

His eyes were closed as he was loaded into an ambulance and rushed to the hospital. There, doctors and nurses worked frantically to save him. They did everything they could, but the injuries were too severe. There was too much damage. At some point that morning, the doctor stopped. There was nothing more they could do. The machines were turned off, and the room went quiet. Mara Ries-untlun Morales was pronounced dead.

We don't know if his mother made it to the hospital in time. We don't know if she got to hold his hand. We don't know if she got to say goodbye. Or if she got a phone call while she was still driving, still praying, telling her it was too late. As words spread about the 11-year-old's death, the community, was heartbroken. Here's what some people had to say. Literally just dropped the girls off and came back and dropped them off at school when you heard the sirens and it's just, when you hear the story, you're like,

I assume they were going to be coming to school or should have been getting ready for school. For anybody and especially knowing that it was a deputy before or two, I mean, this is why we get in this job to protect everyone and to make sure everyone's safe and the last thing we want is someone hurting children. especially so it's been a tremendously hard day but where was Marvin Morales well after stabbing his son the police put out in all points bulletin for their ex-officer and his vehicle the Elk Grove Police Department also noticed that Marvin's gun safe inside the home was empty whatever weapons he owned he had taken with him and this

wasn't just a manhunt anymore this was a manhunt for an armed and dangerous ex-former law enforcement officer who had just murdered his own child a man who who knew police tactics, a man who knew how to evade capture, a man who was a good shot, a man who had nothing left to lose. An alert went out to every agency in the area, Sacramento County, Elk Grove, the California Highway Patrol. Everyone was looking for Marvin's SUV, but no one was ready for what they would find inside. And somewhere across town, Marvin was speeding away from the scene. He left his son bleeding on the floor, left a six-year-old daughter screaming, left the house on Farrow Way with the Christmas lights and the inflatable decorations in the yard.

Now, he was behind the wheel of his SUV, alone, heading south on the five freeway. The road stretched out in front of him, cars passed, exit signs blurred by. The world kept moving like nothing had happened, like he hadn't just destroyed everything. His hands were shaking, still covered in blood. It was on his clothes, on the same. steering will, evidence of what he'd done, what he could never undo. The knife, the screaming, his son's face, it was all still there playing on a loop in his mind. His decision was the moment everything stopped. Eleven years of birthdays and baseball games and bedtime stories. Eleven years of

watching his boy grow up, teaching him things, holding him when he was scared, telling him that everything would be okay. And then he stabbed him over and over as he begged his dad to stop. His wife had seen everything. She watched him do it. She would never look at him the same way again. She would never forgive him. How could she? And his daughter, she saw what he did. She heard the screaming. She would carry that with her forever. Marvin's gun safe at home was empty. He had taken the weapons with him on his drive. He knew what was coming, the sirens, the chase, the way this would end. Maybe part of him wanted it to end. Maybe that's why he kept driving. Not to escape, not to get away, but to make sure there was no coming back. Marvin kept his foot on the gas. The speedometer

climbed to 70, then 80, then 90. He wasn't going home. He wasn't turning around. Whatever was was left of the man he used to be, the soldier, the husband, the father, the cop. It was all gone now. There was only this. The sirens came up from behind him, and he knew it was all about to come to an end. Sacramento County Sheriff Jim Cooper was out cruising the streets when he got the call. His radio crackled with the news. One of his former deputies, Marvin Morales, was wanted for murdering his own son. Cooper knew Marvin. He'd been. been there for the overdose investigation, he'd read the reports, seen the body cam footage, and even recommended Marvin to be terminated. And now, just over a year later, Marvin had killed

his own child. Cooper got the vehicle description and license plate and started searching. He drove through neighborhoods, scanned parking lots, and checked side streets. And then, as he merged onto I-5, he saw it. Marvin's SUV, barreling southbound. His heart rate spiked. This was the man they were looking for, right there, just a few cars ahead. But Cooper didn't want Marvin to see him. If Marvin recognized the sheriff's vehicle, he might panic, he might do something unpredictable, he might hurt someone else. So Cooper hung back. He followed from a distance, kept his eyes locked on the SUV and radioed for backup. Cooper had been a cop for 33 years and had chased a lot of people in his career. But this time, it was different. This wasn't a stranger. This was Marvin.

A man who'd worn the same badge, a man who he had considered a friend, and someone he had once cared about. Other officers responded. Units from Sacramento County, Highway Patrol. They coordinated over the radio, setting up a plan. They needed to stop Marvin, but they needed to do it safely. Officers moved into position. They got behind Marvin's SUV, lights on, sirens blaring. They signaled for him to pull over.

Marvin looked in his rearview mirror. He saw the police cars and the flashing lights, but he hit the gas. The SUV accelerated. Marvin started weaving through traffic, cutting between cars, putting distance between himself and the officers behind him. It was now a high-speed chase through two counties, and dozens of officers were all pursuing one man. Other drivers pulled to the side, unsure of what was happening. and Marvin wasn't slowing down. He wasn't pulling over. He wasn't surrendering. As the chase approached Pocket Road in Lodi, about 22 miles from Elk Grove,

a California Highway Patrol officer was waiting. He had deployed spike strips across the highway, metal spikes designed to shred tires, to stop vehicles, to end chases. Marvin's SUV barreled towards them. He tried to swerve, but it was too late. The tires hit the spike strips and exploded in a splay of rubber and smoke. The SUV lurched. Marvin lost control. The vehicle veered off the highway, going down an embankment and slamming into a tree. Finally, the chase was over.

Within seconds, Sacramento County officers surrounded the wreck. Their guns were drawn as they were shouting commands. They didn't know what Marvin would do. They didn't know if he was going to come out shooting. And then Marvin emerged from the vehicle. Here is footage from a body-worn camera of a Sacramento deputy, a former co-worker of Marvin's. Put your hands in the air!

Everyone was on edge. Dogs barked, smoke filled the air on the hazy California highway. Marvin was wild-eyed as he looked at all of the officers facing him. There were men he knew, men he had cared about. but he no longer cared about himself. He reached for the gun at his waist, and with that, he cemented his fate. Marvin would end his life in a blur of gunfire, explosions, and smoke.

His finger touched the cold trigger, and then it was over. Three separate officers fired on Marvin, and the haze. They couldn't see what had become of him, but when the smoke cleared, it came into view. Marvin Morales had been hit. He collapsed to the ground bleeding from gunshot wounds. Officers rushed in.

They secured the scene, called for medical assistance. Luckily, no officers had been harmed in the shooting. From there, Marvin was quickly loaded into an ambulance and rushed to the hospital with life-threatening injuries. Sheriff Cooper later said he wasn't shocked when he learned that Marvin was wanted for a violent offense. after everything he had seen in that internal affairs file, the drugs, the lies, the manipulation, maybe this was always where it was heading. That day, Marvin left two crime scenes in his wake, one at the house on Farrow Way,

where his 11-year-old son had taken his last breaths, where his six-year-old daughter had witnessed something no child should ever see, where bloodstained the floors of the home they had decorated for Christmas, and one along I-5, where his SUV, where his SUV sat smash against a tree where bullet casings littered the ground, where traffic sat at a standstill for hours while investigators process the scene. His crime sent shockwaves throughout their community, and the Morales family would never be the same. 11-year-old Mara Ries was gone, and his mother, L, the woman who had stood by Marvin through everything, now had to face the unimaginable. Her son was dead, murdered by her husband, the man she loved, the man she trusted, the man she thought

she knew. Her daughter had been left to suffer with the same condition that had tormented her husband for years. A few hours later, word came from the hospital. Marvin Morales was dead too. In the span of a single morning, she lost everything. Her son, the boy she'd carried for nine months, the boy she'd watched grow up, the boy who was supposed to outlive her, gone. And her husband, the man she'd married, the man she'd stood by through the PTSD, the depression, the overdose, the investigation, he was gone too. And she would never get answers from him, never get to ask why, never get to look him in the eye, and demand to know how he could do this to their son.

She was alone now, just her and her six-year-old daughter, and a lifetime of questions that would never be answered. Because Marvin Morales died that day, he would never stand trial, He would never sit in a courtroom and face a jury. He would never answer for what he did, leaving all of us wondering why, what happened? What pushed him over the edge? Sadly, the questions that his wife, his daughter, his colleagues, his neighbors,

the questions they all had would never be answered. As the sun set on December 22nd, the house on Farrell Way lit up. The Christmas lights along the roof line flickered on. Red, green, purple, and white. The inflatable decorations in the yard glowed in the darkness. But now, yellow crime scene tape surrounded the property. Police car sat in the driveway. Investigators moved in and out of the front door.

There would be no celebration this year, no presents under the tree, no Christmas morning excitement, just grief and trauma, and a heartbroken community. parents shielding their children's eyes from the crime scene in their neighborhood. Following the incident, officers involved in the shooting were placed on administrative leave, while the State Department of Justice investigated. According to reports, the investigation could take months to complete. Following the incident, friends and neighbors started putting together a care package for Marvin's wife and daughter.

They wanted them to know that they weren't alone. The community was thinking of them, that they would get through this. somehow. But none of it could undo what happened. Marvin Morales had been a soldier, a husband, a father, a deputy. He'd served his country. He'd sworn an oath to protect and serve. At one point, the people in their community felt safer knowing that he was near. It was a sobering reality that even those in a position of power can sometimes fall. That was made clear when Morales was fired from his job after the drug scandal. But even then, no one could have ever imagined that he'd hurt his son. We may never understand what was happening inside Marvin's mind, the PTSD,

the depression, the drugs, the spiral. Was it building for years? Was there a moment, a single moment, when something snapped? Or was it slower than that? A gradual unraveling that no one saw coming? His colleagues said he'd tarnished the badge. His neighbors never said they saw any signs. His wife said they'd always been best friends. And his son, the boy who was always in his arms, always giving him attention, always looking up to him, trusted him completely. Elk Grove Mayor Bobby Singh Allen released a statement. This is a horrific and senseless tragedy. I am heartbroken to learn that this little boy was killed by his own father. It is hard to make sense of this violence. My heart goes out to his grieving mother. Sadly, because this case is so

fresh, we don't know a lot about the victim of this crime. 11-year-old Mara-R-Rees Eulaton Morales. All we know is that he was 11. He liked to play in the front yard. He went to school with other kids and the neighborhood. We know he was probably counting down the days until Christmas morning. But we also know that there was so much more to him that is yet to be discovered. And even though his killer is dead, we truly hope that more information will come to light, so the world can honor and remember his short life. Marr deserves to be remembered. Not as the son of his father, nor an extension of him, but as his own person, a person that he was never allowed to fully blossom into. For today's episode, we will be making a donation to the Wounded Warrior Project, which is a non-profit charity organization for veterans and active duty service members.

Hey, everybody, thank you so much for listening to this week's episode of Murder in America. Happy late Valentine's Day to all of you lovers out there who listen to the show. every week. We hope that you all had a great weekend last weekend. And it's actually Courtney and I's wedding anniversary. Tomorrow, it's February 18th is our wedding anniversary. So I felt like that's just something you guys should know that I should tell you all about. Anyways, if you love the show and you want to support what we do here, please consider joining us on Patreon. On Patreon, you can get access to all of our episodes early and ad-free. So if you don't like the advertisements, you want to help us grow the show and you want to listen to

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