Murder: True Crime Stories - SOLVED: Gianni Versace 2

Episode Date: June 25, 2026

In Part 2 of Murder: True Crime Stories, host Carter Roy follows Andrew Cunanan's cross-country killing spree from Minneapolis to Miami Beach. After murdering two men he knew personally, Andrew killed a wealthy Chicago real estate developer and a New Jersey cemetery worker before driving south to Florida, where he spent two months hiding in plain sight just miles from Gianni Versace's Ocean Drive mansion. On the morning of July 15th, 1997, Gianni stepped out for magazines and coffee. He never made it back through his front door. What followed was a massive manhunt, an eight-day standoff that ended on a houseboat, and a death that left every question about motive unanswered. Andrew Cunanan took his reasons with him, but Gianni's legacy endured through the sister who refused to let it die.Head over to our Murder True Crime Stories YouTube channel to WATCH our video episodes: https://www.youtube.com/@MurderTrueCrimeStoriesJoin Crime House+ to binge a special limited series on Murder: True Crime Stories for America’s 250th: The Crimes That Built America. These are the cases that created the FBI, gave us Miranda rights, sparked criminal profiling, and gave us America’s Most Wanted. Join at crimehouseplus.com or if you’re listening on Apple Podcasts, tap “Try Free” at the top of this show’s page. You’ll also get both parts to every Murder: True Crime Stories case released at once ad-free.🎧 Need More to Binge? Listen to other Crime House Originals Clues, Crimes Of…, Serial Killers & Murderous Minds, Crime House 24/7, and more wherever you get your podcasts!Follow me on SocialInstagram: @CrimehouseTikTok: @CrimehouseFacebook: @crimehousestudiosYouTube: @murdertruecrimestories

Hi listeners, it's Carter Roy. Happy America 250. If you want to binge all four parts of our limited series about the crimes that built America ad-free, subscribe to Crime House Plus. With Crimehouse Plus, you'll get all four episodes right now instead of waiting. You'll also get every episode of murder, true crime stories, and the rest of the crime house shows ad-free and released early. To join, go to CrimehousePlus.com. listening on Apple Podcasts, tap try free at the top of this show's page. This is Crime House. For some people, life is an act of creation. Peace by piece, choice by choice, they build something that didn't exist before. An identity, a body of work, a legacy that

outlives them. Every part of Gianni Versace's life revolved around that idea. He designed He designed clothes that were art, fabrics stitched together in a way that no one else could quite replicate. It had taken decades of hard work to get where he was, time devoted to a craft that made him famous. But not everyone has the same respect for that act of creation. Some people want notoriety more than purpose. And on the morning of July 15, 1997, one man came to... a dark realization. It's faster to destroy something beautiful than it is to build it. 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. A 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 on Apple Podcasts. Please note, this episode contains descriptions of murder, violence, and suicide. Please listen with care. This is the second of two episodes on the murder of Gianni Versace.

In July 1997, the 50-year-old Italian fashion designer was shot and killed on the steps of his Miami Beach mansion. It was the kind of crime that stopped the world in its tracks. And to this day, people are still trying to make sense of what happened. Last time, I introduced you to Gianni, a kid from southern Italy who built one of the biggest fashion brands on the planet. and I introduced you to Andrew Kunanin, a 27-year-old con artist whose life was falling apart. By the spring of 1997, Andrew had started killing, and his path was leading straight to South Beach. Today, I'll take you through the murders that put Andrew on the FBI's most wanted list, Gianni's final morning, and the manhunt that gripped Miami Beach for weeks.

The FBI had his name, they had his face, but some had, how he kept slipping through their fingers, and by the time they finally caught up to him, the one person who could explain why it all happened was gone. All that more coming up. In April 1997, 50-year-old Gianni Versace was on top of the world. He was in Paris, putting the finishing touches on his latest Couture collection. After that, he planned to head back to his mansion in Miami Beach for a few weeks of rest. Maybe some time. time by the pool, coffee on the patio with his partner Antonio, the usual routine. He had no idea what was coming. Because thousands of miles away in Minneapolis, Minnesota,

27-year-old Andrew Kuhnan had just committed his first murder. On the night of Sunday, April 27th, Andrew called his friend, 28-year-old Jeff Trail, and asked him to come to the apartment of their mutual friend, 33-year-old David Mattson. All three men were connected through Andrew. He'd known Jeff from his years in San Diego and David from a relationship that started in San Francisco. Andrew once called David the love of his life. At some point, Andrew attacked Jeff and bludgeoned him to death with a hammer, likely in front of David. But Andrew didn't leave after that.

investigators later pieced together what happened for two days they remained in that apartment Andrew David and the body of a man Andrew had just beaten to death whether David stayed out of fear coercion or some kind of shock we don't know a neighbor saw the two of them in the elevator the next day another saw them walking David's dog from the outside nothing looked wrong. His family would later insist he'd been hostage that Andrew had forced him to stay. Others weren't sure. David had opportunities to leave. He could have called for help when they were walking the dog. He could have run. The truth probably lies somewhere in between, a man frozen by fear, trying to calculate the safest way out of a situation that had no safe exit.

trapped in the same apartment as his friend's body with the man who killed him sleeping in the next room. Then on April 29th, Andrew decided it was time to move. He forced David to leave with him. They got into David's red Jeep Cherokee and drove north out of Minneapolis. Whatever happened during that drive, it ended badly for David. At some point, Andrew pulled over and shot him. On May 3rd, David's body was found near Rush Lake, about 65 miles north of the city. By the time, authorities discovered David, the Jeep was gone.

And so was Andrew. What nobody knew yet was that Andrew was already in Chicago. He'd driven David's Jeep straight there and set his sights on his next victim. 72-year-old Lee Miglin. He was a wealthy and well-known real estate developer who, lived in the city's Gold Coast neighborhood. Lee was a self-made man, the son of a Lithuanian immigrant coal miner. He had worked his way from door-to-door salesman to one of Chicago's most prominent developers. Lee's wife, Marilyn, cosmetics, entrepreneur, and a regular on the home shopping network

was out of town the weekend Andrew showed up. There were no signs of forced entry anywhere in the house, which meant Lee either opened the door willingly or Andrew charmed his way inside. Whether the two men knew each other beforehand has been debated ever since. The Miglin family has always insisted they'd never met. Some investigators believe otherwise, and the FBI investigated but never confirmed a connection. Either way, what happened next was Savage. If you don't want to hear it, I recommend skipping ahead 30 seconds. Andrew bound Lee's hands and feet,

wrapped his head in duct tape, leaving only a small hole for his nose, and tortured him with a screwdriver and a garden saw. Then he stabbed Ali more than 20 times with a screwdriver before cutting his throat with a saw. Lee's body was found in his own garage. Then Andrew stayed the night in the mid-year, mingland's home. He ate a ham sandwich from the kitchen. He used Lee's razor to shave. He slept in

their bed. He watched television. He went through Lee's personal belongings. For hours, he lived in this man's house as if it were his own, surrounded by family photos and wedding pictures and evidence of the life he just ended. He even made phone calls using the minglin's landline. And when he was done, he stole Lee's green Lexus from the garage, leaving David's red Jeep parked on the street outside. He was on to another car, another city. By this point, detectives in Minneapolis had zeroed in on Andrew as their prime suspect. They'd found his duffel bag and toiletry kit in David's apartment, along with blood splattered jeans that were Andrew's size. Friends of both Jeff and David confirmed that Andrew was the link between them.

When David's Jeep turned up in Chicago, investigators connected Andrew to Lee's murder, Andrew's third. The case was no longer local. It was crossing state lines and multiple jurisdictions were struggling to coordinate. On May 7th, the FBI formally joined the investigation. agents started contacting anyone who'd ever known Andrew, friends, former partners, family. They tried to figure out who he was, what was driving him, and where he might be headed next. They got more questions than answers. Andrew's friends painted a picture of a charming, intelligent man who had been unraveling for months. Someone who lied about everything, his money, his background, his relationships.

Some described a person who could walk into any room and own it. Others said the cracks had been showing for a while, the weight gain, the drug use, the growing desperation. None of them could explain why he'd started killing. The only thing the authorities did know was that there was a terrifying efficiency to Andrew's movement. Every murderer came with a vehicle swap. Andrew was shredding evidence as he went, making it a terrible. harder for law enforcement to track him in real time. And he was already on the move again. He drove east in Lee's Lexus heading toward New Jersey. Whether he had a specific plan or was

just moving, nobody knows. But once he got there, he decided it was time to swap vehicles. Alexis was too traceable. He drove around looking for an easy target. Someone isolated, someone vulnerable. Eventually, he passed a remote cemetery. Finns Point National Cemetery in Pensville, New Jersey. His fourth victim was 45-year-old William Reese, a cemetery caretaker who happened to own a red Chevrolet pickup truck. William was a husband and father. His son was just 12 years old. On May 9th, Andrew walked into the cemetery office and showed. shot William in the head. William's wife came looking for him that evening when he didn't come home for dinner.

She found the office door open and the radio still playing inside. By then, Andrew had already ditched Lee's Lexus near the cemetery and driven off in Williams' pickup, another clean switch, another step further from where he'd started. The FBI found Lee's Lexus and quickly linked Williams' murder. or two Andrew. That made four victims in less than two weeks, and the gun Andrew used to kill William was the same 40-caliber pistol he'd used on David Madsen, a weapon that was originally stolen from Jeff Trails home. Investigators tried to find a pattern. Jeff and David have been personal, people Andrew knew and felt betrayed by. Lee Miglin might have been personal, or he might

have been a target of opportunity, but William Rees clearly random, killing for his truck and nothing else. That randomness was the most frightening part. If Andrew had started killing people he didn't know people who were just in the wrong place at the wrong time, then nobody was safe. The FBI circulated Andrew's photo to every field office in the country. They contacted gay bars, clubs, bathhouses, and community organizations in every major city on the eastern seaboard. They talked to Andrew's former roommates, his old classmates, people he dated years ago. They were casting as wide a net as they could. But Andrew kept slipping through it.

While the FBI scrambled to track him down, Andrew disappeared into New York City. He spent several days in Greenwich Village, the heart of Manhattan's gay community. community. He went to bars. He walked the streets. He may have stayed with someone he met. What exactly he did there, nobody knows. But for a man who just killed four people in two weeks, he must have seemed remarkably calm. After all, he was moving through one of the most densely populated cities on earth without anyone recognizing him. By the time investigators figured out he'd been in the city, he was already gone, driving south in Williams' pickup truck. When he reached South Carolina, he stopped just long enough to steal a new set of license

plates and swap them onto the truck. One more small step to stay ahead of the people looking for him, because by then, Andrew had a destination, and he wasn't stopping until he got there. On May 12th, he checked into the Norman. Plaza Hotel in Miami Beach, a cheap spot near the water, $29 a night paid in cash. He was four miles from the home of Gianni Verasace. For Andrew, Miami was the end of the road. He'd driven more than 1,200 miles from New Jersey, winding his way down the coast. It crossed half a dozen states, switched vehicles three times, swap plates, and left a trail of

bodies behind him. Somewhere along the way, he'd stop being a person and become a name on a wanted poster. And whatever he was planning to do next, this was where he'd do it. By mid-1997, 27-year-old Andrew Kuhnan had murdered four people across three states. His name was circulating getting through every FBI field office and police department along the eastern seaboard, and yet he was somehow hiding in plain sight on South Beach. In Miami, Andrew fell into a routine that looked almost normal. He went out to nightclubs, he ate at fast food joints, he picked up magazines at adult bookstores. He even went to some of the same clubs Gianni was known to frequent.

whether Andrew ever saw Gianni Versace during those weeks is unknown. But he was circling the same world, living just a few miles away from one of the most famous men on Earth. And nobody stopped him. For two full months, Andrew Kununan lived openly in one of the most watched cities in America. In the pre-digital chaos of 90s South Beach, one more young man in a crowd was invented.

visible. But the FBI was pulling out every tool it had to find him. On June 12th, a full month after Andrew arrived in Miami, the Bureau added him to its 10 most wanted fugitives list. His face ran on America's most wanted. Federal agents across multiple states worked the case. Tip lines lit up. Investigator suspected Andrew was somewhere along the eastern seaboard and distributed thousands of flyers along the coast, in hotels, bus stations, shelters, anywhere they thought he might turn up. Despite all of that, Andrew stayed just out of reach, which was baffling, because Andrew wasn't being careful, not really. On July 7th, he walked into a Miami-area-pond shop and sold a gold coin he'd taken from Lee Migglund's home, a $50 gold piece. When the shop, he walked into a Miami-area pawn shop,

asked for identification, Andrew didn't hesitate. He gave them his real name, Andrew Koonanan. He signed the receipt, pocketed the cash, and walked out the door. That should have been the break that ended everything. His name was on the FBI's most wanted list. His face was all over the news, and he had just written his own name on a piece of paper that was going directly to police, but it wasn't enough. At the time, pawn shop transactions were logged on paper and submitted to local police once a day. The system was designed to catch stolen goods, but there was no centralized database, no automated way to cross-reference names against active federal warrants.

somebody had to physically review every slip by hand. Andrew's transaction was recorded, filed, and buried. Sitting unnoticed in a stack of paperwork on someone's desk, the information was right there, but no one caught it in time. It was exactly the kind of systemic failure that would haunt investigators long after the case was closed. Then on July 11th, there was one more close call.

Andrew stopped at a sandwich shop in Miami Beach. An employee recognized him from America's Most Wanted and called the police. It was exactly the tip investigators had been hoping for, confirmation that Andrew was right there in the city. But by the time officers arrived, he was gone again. It had been two months since Andrew's last known murder. Nobody in law enforcement believed he was finished, but they had no idea who he'd go after next. Four days later, they got their answer. On the morning of Tuesday, July 15, 1997, Gianni Versace started his day the way he always did in Miami.

He'd been back at Casa Caswarina for just five days, fresh from presenting his latest couture collection in Paris. The trip had gone well. He was in good spirits. His partner, Antonio D'Amico, was inside getting ready for the day. That morning, Gianni dressed simply a white t-shirt, black shorts, and sandals. Around 8.30, he stepped out the front door and headed south along Ocean Drive toward the news cafe, a spot he went to regularly, about 10 minutes away. He was picking up his morning magazines.

he'd be back in 20 minutes. Then he and Antonio would have coffee on the veranda. It was a beautiful morning. The sun was up. South Beach was already warm. Gianni said hello to people he recognized along the way. He was a familiar face in the neighborhood. People knew his routine.

No entourage, no security. Just Gianni, the sun, and the familiar walk home. When he got to the cafe, he, picked up a stack of magazines, Vogue, the New Yorker, People, Entertainment Weekly, Business Week, and turned back toward home. He reached his front gates around 8.45 a.m. He fished out his keys, stepped up to the ornate iron gate, and put one into the lock. Then two gunshots rang out. Two bullets struck Gianni, one in the back of the box. of the head, one in the face.

He collapsed onto the front steps, the magazines falling beside him. The 50-year-old fashion designer died instantly. Standing behind him was 27-year-old Andrew Kuhnan. He held a 40-caliber handgun, the same weapon he'd used to kill David Madsen and William Reese. For a brief moment, Andrew stood there on the steps, just feet from Gianni's body. Then he turned and ran. At least one witness saw Andrew flee and followed him at a distance. Andrew moved quickly toward a parking garage a few blocks away. Inside, he ditched the

clothes he'd been wearing, a gray t-shirt, black shorts, and a white baseball cap. He left them near William Reese's red pickup truck, which had been parked there for weeks, and he vanished. Back at the mansion. The scene was chaos. A man from a nearby skate shop heard the shots and ran over, only to find Gianni on the steps. A woman on the street screamed that she'd seen the gunman. Antonio DiMico rushed out of the house, saw Gianni on the ground, and had to be pulled back inside by staff. There was nothing anyone could do. Gianni Versace was gone, just like that. For the people who witnessed it, the moment didn't feel real. Gianni had been part of South Beach for years.

Crowds gathered outside the mansion within minutes. By mid-morning, hundreds of people stood behind police tape watching as detectives worked the scene. A county worker was brought in to scrub the dried blood from the steps. When the police tape came down, people turned those same steps into a memorial with flowers, candles, handwritten notes and drawings. Across the world, people who had known Gianni expressed their shock. Giorgio Armani, Valentino Garavani, Jean-Frank-Ferre. Each of them said the same thing.

The loss was sudden, senseless, and almost impossible to process. While the world was grieving, investigators were already connecting the pieces. Evidence at the scene, combined with intelligence already circulating within the FBI, pointed to one person, Andrew Kuhnan. His pickup truck was found in the garage where the gunman had fled. His pattern of violence was well established. FBI agents were certain. On the evening of July 16, the day after the murder, authorities went public.

They named their one and only suspect, 27. year old Andrew Kuhnanan. They outlined his connection to four previous killings across three states. They described him as armed, dangerous, intelligent, and capable of blending in without drawing suspicion. They warned that he could change his appearance and that he was comfortable in social settings, and the kind of person you might talk to at a bar and never suspect. But at that point, one question hung over everything. Had Andrew and Gianni ever actually met before that morning, or had Gianni been chosen simply because he was famous? Unlike Andrew's previous victims, Gianni's murder triggered a global response. He was a celebrity, a cultural icon, and his death

dominated headlines in a way that the earlier killings had not. News coverage was relentless, And without clear answers, people started filling in the blanks. Some speculated the killing was a targeted hit, that someone had paid Andrew to do it, others floated theories about ties between the Versace Empire and organized crime, or that Gianni's plan to take the company public the following year had made him a target. In the atmosphere of the late 90s, with public misunderstanding around HIV and AIDS still widespread. There were even rumors that Gianni's health or sexuality had somehow played a role. Investigators dismissed all of it. No evidence of a murder for hire, no ties to organized crime,

no conspiracy. But without Andrew in custody, they couldn't explain why. As long as he was out there, the questions kept multiplying. On July 15th, 1997, 50-year-old Gianni Versace was murdered on the front steps of his Miami Beach mansion. Within 24 hours, authorities had named their suspect, 27-year-old Andrew Kunan. The manhunt was on. But even as the search intensified, criticism started surfacing, especially from the queer community. Andrew had been linked to multiple murders months earlier. The FBI had put him on the 10 most wanted list five weeks before Gianni's death,

and yet he'd been walking around South Beach in plain sight, and nobody caught him? Ander's first two victims, Jeff Traill and David Madsen, were gay men murdered in late April. Their deaths made local news, but didn't trigger a national response. It took the murder of a world-famous designer, two and a half months. later for the full weight of federal resources to come down. For a lot of people, that said everything. The media didn't help. Reporters frequently emphasized Andrew's sexuality in ways that blurred the line between describing a suspect and painting an entire community. In a decade, still marked by widespread homophobia, advocacy groups pushed back hard. But right now, none of that mattered as

much as one thing, finding Andrew Kuhnan. While authorities swept across South Florida searching for Andrew, the rest of the world stopped to say goodbye. On July 22nd, one week after the murder, roughly 2,000 people gathered at the Duomo di Milano, Milan's Grand Cathedral for Gianni Versace's funeral. The service drew people from every corner of the world's Gianni had touched, fashion, music, film, international public life. Designers like Giorgio Armani and Carl Lagerfeld sat alongside close friends and collaborators.

Naomi Campbell was there, Madonna, Elton John, who had been one of Gianni's closest friends, was visibly devastated. Princess Diana came too. She and Gianni had been close. She had worn his designs on some of her most photographed outings. She walked into the cathedral that day, looking grief-stricken. It would be one of her final public appearances. Just six weeks later, on August 31, 1997, Diana herself would die in a car crash in Paris.

Gianni's siblings, Donatella, and Santo, sat together, surrounded by the weight of what had happened. Gianni's ashes had been returned to the family estate near Lake Como and would later be interred in the family vault. There were no answers yet, just loss, and the unbearable task of figuring out what came next. They came to honor Gianni's life, his creativity, his boldness, the world he'd built from nothing.

But an unsaid truth hung in the air. The man who killed him was still free. In the eight days since Gianni's murder, Miami Beach had become a city on edge. Police checkpoints went up on the causeways. Residents locked their doors. Business owners along Ocean Drive reported a drop in foot traffic. The idea that a serial killer was somewhere in their neighborhood turned the carefree energy of South Beach into something tense and watchful. Andrew, meanwhile, had found a hiding spot.

At some point, after the murder, he broke into an empty houseboat docked in the Indian Creek area. The boat belonged to a German national who was overseas. Andrew had apparently been trying to get a fake passport so he could flee the country. But time was running out. Every day, the search was tightening. His face was everywhere. on television, on flyer stapled to telephone poles, on the front page of every newspaper in South Florida. The circle was closing in.

On July 23rd, a caretaker named Fernando Carrera arrived to check on the property. He immediately noticed that something was wrong. Food was missing. Things had been moved. It looked like someone had been living there. When Carrera started looking around, he heard a gunshot. He ran outside, convinced someone was shooting at him and called 911. Officers responded within minutes.

The houseboat was surrounded. SWAT teams moved into position. Police boats sealed off the waterway. The location was just a few miles from the Versace mansion. Authorities were almost certain the person inside was Andrew Kunan. For nearly four hours, negotiators tried to make contact. They called out to Andrew. They urged him to surrender.

Nothing came back, just silence. News helicopters circled overhead, broadcasting live. Reporters lined the waterfront, cameras trained on the houseboat. Millions of people across the country were watching, and dozens of law enforcement officers were stationed. and around a single boat, not knowing whether the most wanted man in America was about to give himself up

or come out shooting. Eventually, the decision was made. Officers fired tear gas and flashbang grenades through the windows. Then a tactical team moved in. They entered the houseboat room by room, weapons drawn, clearing each space methodically. When they found 27-year-old Andrew, It was already over.

He had died by suicide, a single gunshot wound. The weapon beside him was the same 40-caliber Taurus pistol that had killed David Madsen, William Rees, and Gianni Versace. There was no note, no message, no manifesto. Whatever drove him to kill five people in three months died with him on that. houseboat. The manhunt was over, but the questions were just beginning. In the years that followed, investigators and criminal profilers tried to piece together a motive, something that explained the pattern. One theory put forward by profiler John Kelly was that Andrew's life had been shaped

by instability and a desperate need for control. As his world fell apart in early 1997, the killings became a way to assert power over something, anything. From that angle, the murders formed a trajectory. They started personal, Jeff and David, people who had rejected or betrayed him and escalated toward the symbolic. Lee Miglin represented the well. Andrew had always craved, William Rees was purely functional, and Gianni Versace was the final target, the one that would guarantee Andrew a place in the public record forever, kill someone famous, and the world would have to remember you, too. Most investigators came to believe that Andrew was, at his core, a pathological liar who struggled with substance abuse.

issues. He killed his friends out of jealousy, killed Miglin and Reese out of opportunity, and killed Gianni Versace looking for one last act of infamy. It was a final act that fit the pattern of his entire life. Andrew had always been obsessed with how people saw him. He'd spent years constructing a version of himself that was smarter, wealthier, and more connected than the person he actually was. In the end, he chose the same approach to his death, controlling the story by making sure no one else could tell it. In the aftermath of Gianni's murder,

a lot of people wondered if the Versace brand could survive without him. He had been the brand, its creative engine, its public face, its soul. Gianni's sister Donatella stepped into the role of creative director. She had been Gianni's closest collaborator for 20 years. His consultant, his critic, his muse. But leading the company alone was something else entirely. Less than six months after Gianni was killed, Donatella presented her first solo collection at Milan Fashion Week.

She later said she'd felt overwhelmed. and that part of her wanted to run away and never look back. She couldn't imagine walking into the studio and not finding Gianni there. But she didn't run. She stayed. Under Donatella's direction, the Versace brand endured. The family decided not to take the company public as Gianni had planned. Instead, they kept it private for two more decades.

decades. In 2018, they ultimately sold it to Capri Holdings, the parent company of Michael Coors, for $2.1 billion. It was one of the largest fashion acquisitions in history, and a testament to how much the brand was still worth. Even after the sale, Donatella stayed on. She attracted new collaborators, new celebrity clients, and a new generation of fame. In 2017, 20 years after her brother's death, Donatella released the Versace tribute collection, a line that paid direct homage to Gianni's most iconic designs. Five of the original supermodels he'd worked with walked the runway. It was the first time Donatella had publicly revisited her brother's work in that way.

She called it a tribute to a great artist, and above all, to her brother. Johnny Versace once said, quote, in the past, people were born royal. Nowadays, royalty comes from what you do. He believed that, and he lived it, building something from nothing, turning fabric and thread into an empire

that changed the way people thought about fashion, beauty, and identity. Andrew Kuhnanan, wanted to be remembered too. But he couldn't create anything of his own. So he destroyed something someone else had built. In the end, it didn't work. Not the way he wanted it to.

Because when people think of Gianni Versace, they don't think of the man who killed him. They think of the dresses. And the runway shows, and the Medusa on the gate. they think of a boy from southern Italy who watched his mother so and decided he wanted to make the world more beautiful. And that's the thing about creation. It lasts.

Destruction doesn't. Thanks so much for listening. I'm Carter Roy, and this is Murder, True Crime Stories. Come back next time for the story of a new murder and all the people it affected. murder true crime stories is a crime house original powered by pave studios here at crime house we want to thank each and every one of you for your support if you like what you heard today reach out on social media at crime house on tic-tok 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,

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