Murder: True Crime Stories - UNSOLVED: Julia Wallace 2

Episode Date: September 24, 2026

In Part 2 of Murder: True Crime Stories, host Carter Roy follows the trial and turbulent legal aftermath of the murder of Julia Wallace. Convicted largely on circumstantial evidence, William Herbert Wallace was sentenced to death, only for his case to make British legal history when an appeals court overturned the verdict, ruling it could not be supported by the evidence. But clearing his name in court did nothing to settle the question in the public mind. For decades, writers, detectives, and armchair sleuths have argued over whether Wallace was a wronged man or a brilliant killer who got away with it, and a later theory pointed to a different suspect entirely. Nearly a century on, the murder of Julia Wallace remains one of the most analyzed and fiercely debated cases in British criminal history, a puzzle that may never be solved.Head over to our YouTube channel to WATCH our video episodes: https://www.youtube.com/@crimehousestudios If you’re new here, don’t forget to follow Murder: True Crime Stories to never miss a case! Want all 2 parts of every case all at once? Join Crime House+ and get both parts of each case dropped at once ad-free. Join at crimehouseplus.com or if you’re listening on Apple Podcasts, tap “Try Free” at the top of this show’s page. Murder: True Crime Stories is a Crime House Original Podcast, powered by PAVE Studios.🎧 Need More to Binge? Listen to other Crime House Originals Clues, Crimes Of Reddit, Serial Killers & Murderous Minds, Crime House 24/7, and more wherever you get your podcasts!Follow me on SocialInstagram: @CrimehouseTikTok: @CrimehouseFacebook: @crimehousestudiosX: @crimehousemediaYouTube: @crimehousestudios

Hi, everyone, it's Carter. Real quick before two days' episode, I want to tell you about another show I think you might like hosted by Vanessa Richardson and forensic psychologist Dr. Tristan Ingalls. It's called Serial Killers and Murderous Minds. Every Monday and Thursday, they take you deep into the psychology of the most chilling murderers and uncover what drives them to kill. Follow serial killers and murderous minds available wherever you listen to podcasts. This is Crime House. There's this old idea that there's no such thing as a perfect murder, that every killer slips up somewhere and leaves something behind. A fingerprint, a witness, a motive, something that sooner or later gives them away. The murder of Julia Wallace is the case people point to when they want to argue the opposite. it. In 1931, 69-year-old Julia Wallace was killed in her own home in Liverpool, England, while her husband was clear across the city, chasing a business appointment that turned out not to

exist. The police were sure they knew who did it. The trouble was proving it. They had no murder weapon and no motive to point to. All they had was a strange phone call and a nagging sense that one man's story didn't quite add up. So what do the police do when they're certain they've got their guy, but can't prove a thing? 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. You'll get part one and part two at the same time, plus exclusive bonus content. To join, go to CrimehousePlus.com or tap try free on the murder. True Crime Story Show page on Apple Podcasts. This is the second of two episodes on the murder of Julia Wallace, and one of the strangest unsolved cases in British history.

Last time, I introduced you to Julia and her husband, William, an ordinary, devoted couple living a quiet life in a working-class corner of Liverpool. Then on the night of January 20th, 1931, Julie was beaten to death in their front room. Before long, the police had started to suspect the one man who'd been closest to her, the husband who found her body. Today, I'll take you through the rest of it, the investigation, the arrest, and the trial that would make legal history. It's a case where almost a century later, most people agree on the facts, but they still can't agree on what they mean. All that and more coming up.

On the night of January 20th, 1931, 69-year-old Julia Wallace was beaten to death in the front room of her home in Liverpool, England. Her husband, 52-year-old William, found her body at around 8.45 p.m. after getting home from a business meeting that never happened. The night before Julia died, a stranger called William's chess club and left a message asking William to come talk about an insurance policy the next evening. The caller gave the name R. M. Qualtrough and an address in the south of the city, 25 Menloved Gardens East. When William went looking for it the next night, he found out the address didn't even exist. So the detective started where anyone would, with the mystery caller. Their first theory was simple. Qualtrough, whoever he was, had used a fake address to lure William out of the house,

then killed Julia once she was home alone. There were a couple of problems with that idea, though. The first was Julia herself. She had no enemies, or at least none the police could dig up. By all accounts, she was a quiet, reserved woman who spent her day's painting, playing piano, and looking after a husband whose health was always failing. If you went hunting for someone with a reason to want Julia Wallace dead, you came up empty. But if detectives had dug into her past, they'd have found she was hiding a few things.

She was way older than she let on by about 17 years, and she'd remade herself after rough childhood. Still, none of that gave anyone a reason to kill her. A little money was missing about four pounds from a cash box in the kitchen, but there were no signs of a break-in, and the attack had clearly. caught Julia off guard. Whoever killed her, she'd let them in herself. Put that together with a phone call and one thing was obvious. This murder had been planned and that's what pushed the police toward a second theory, the one they'd chase all the way to a courtroom. What if the fake meeting wasn't meant to get William out of the house at all? What if it was meant to give him an

alibi. In other words, what if William set the whole thing up himself? He calls in a fake appointment, spends the evening, chasing it across town in front of as many witnesses as he can, then comes home to discover the body with a rock-solid story about where he'd been. The problem was the detectives couldn't say why. There was no secret affair, no money troubles, no big blow-up argument they could find. But the more they talked to the people in Williams' life, the more they started to wonder if there was a darker man hiding under the surface. The picture they put together was all over the place, and it's about as close as anyone ever got to a motive. A doctor who treated both him and Julia told police he'd always had a feeling

that their marriage wasn't a happy one, though he admitted he was just guessing. A few other people who knew them said similar things, little hints that William could be cold or hard to warm up to. On their own, none of it amounted to much, but the harshest words came from a guy named Alfred Mather, who'd worked with William for years. When detectives asked him for a character reference, he didn't hold back. He called Willard Mather. He called William. William, the most cool, calculating, despondent, and soured man he'd ever met. He said he was a bad, tempered guy who thought he was too good for insurance work and barely bothered to talk to his own co-workers. That was the kind of thing that made a detective lean in. It would take a cool,

calculating man to invent an alibi and beat his wife to death on a schedule. And if the marriage really was miserable behind closed doors, well, there was your motive. Except almost nobody else saw William that way. A Mather's description was so harsh and so out of step with everyone else that it kind of sounded like a man with a personal grudge because just about everybody else who'd known William or Julia said the same thing. They were a quiet, devoted, unremarkable older couple. His other co-workers called him hardworking and decent.

and most people saw the Wallace's as harmless homebodies, and barely anyone thought the marriage was in trouble. So by the end of all those interviews, the police were left with a mess, no smoking gun, no clear motive, just a handful of unkind opinions, and a whole lot of ordinary ones. What they didn't have was a better suspect. They checked the local pubs, inns, and train stations, and nobody had seen a blood-soaked stranger running off that night. Whoever did this had just vanished into the city. The one thing everyone agreed on was the weapon. Sarah Jane Draper was sure a heavy iron bar had gone missing from the fireplace,

and the pathologist agreed that Julie's wounds were a perfect match for exactly that kind of heavy object. But the bar was gone. The killer must have taken it with them because it never turned up. With no weapon and no witness, the detectives kept circling back to the one solid thread they had, the phone call. If William was guilty, then he'd made that call himself. So they went to the phone company, and they got lucky. The caller had botched his first try and had to redial, which left a clear record. The message had been called in at 7.15 p.m. the night before the murder from a public phone box out in.

Anfield, and that box sat only a few hundred yards from William's own front door. Now, William had an answer for that. He said he didn't leave the house until around 715 himself, which would have left no time to make the call. And when he walked detectives through the exact route he'd taken to the cafe that night, he made a point of describing a path that kept him clear of that phone box. But to the police, that was a little too tidy. William had a chess match set for 7.45. And by all accounts, he showed up with only minutes to spare.

Old man in that big a hurry should have taken the fastest way. Instead, the route he described was the slower one, the one that just happened to curve around that exact phone box. he'd lived in the neighborhood for years. He knew the shortcuts. Two detectives who already had their eye on him, it sounded like a lie, a man carefully editing his own movements to keep himself out of the picture.

Or maybe it was nothing. Maybe they were building a murder case based on the fact that a hired man took a right instead of a left on his way to a chess game. Either way, that one detail was about, to become the story of William Wallace's life because the police were done circling. They were ready to take his alibi apart minute by minute. I'm Scott Weinberger, investigative journalist and former deputy sheriff.

I'm Anna Sega Nikolazi, former New York City homicide prosecutor. And we're back together with a brand new podcast. Homicide 360. It's a show that exists. examines every angle. Every life. This is Homicide 360. Subscribe now on Apple, Spotify, or wherever you get your podcasts.

Two weeks after Julia Wallace was murdered, the Liverpool police had made up their minds about her husband. Their working theory was that 52-year-old William had staged the whole thing. He'd called in a fake appointment to give himself an alibi, then killed Julia and raised up. to chase that appointment across the city. But there was one big problem with that theory, and it never went away. The head of William's chess club, Samuel Beattie, had taken the Qualtrov call, and he swore up and down that the voice on the phone sounded nothing like William. But by now, the police were all in.

William was the only suspect they had, and they weren't about to let him go without a fight, so they did the one thing left to do. They went through his story of that night step by step to see if it held up. It started out ordinary enough. After a regular day of work, William got home around 6 p.m. and had a quick dinner with Julia. Not long after, a boy came by with the milk and talked to Julia at the door around 6.30, which made him one of the last people to see her alive.

William said nothing seemed off. Julia was Julia and the house was calm. He said he left around 6.45 and headed for the tram, and this time taking the fastest route to the stop without the little detour he'd apparently taken the night before. The address he was chasing was 25 men love gardens east. Once he got on the tram, William told the conductor and the ticket collector exactly where he was headed.

And either one of them could have set him straight right there. there because there was a Menloved Gardens north and south and west. There was no east. But neither man corrected him. They both just figured he meant Menloved Gardens west and pointed him that way, which was strange because William made a point of telling them he was new to the area. When the police later asked the tram staff why they hadn't caught the mistake, they couldn't really say, maybe the whole thing just happened too fast. The ticket collector told him to switch trams for Menlove West. Once he did, William struck up a conversation with a second conductor and got the same result.

He said he didn't know the neighborhood and got pointed toward Menloved Gardens West all over again. When he got off, he realized he was in the wrong spot. So he stopped a guy walking by a man named Sidney Green and asked for help. Sidney was the first person to just come out and tell him there was no Menloved Gardens East at all. Still, William didn't give up. Figuring maybe the message had a typo, he walked over to 25 Menloved Gardens West, knocked, and asked for Qualtrough. And the person who answered told him, nobody by that name lived there.

A few minutes later, William wandered over to a little square where the third. three Menlove Gardens meet. This was near Green Lane, and it just happened to be a stone's throw away from the home of his own boss at the Prudential, a man named Joseph Crew. William had been to Cruz's house before. He'd taken violin lessons there a couple of years earlier,

which meant that whatever he'd told those tram conductors, William wasn't really a stranger here. He'd lived in Liverpool for 16 years, And he'd been to this exact district before. When the police pieced that together, the alarm bells got louder. William did knock at his boss's door that night, but crew was out at the movie, so no one answered. Then he flagged down a passing cop, who told him the same thing he'd already heard twice. The address didn't exist.

then William asked the officer for the time. It was 7.45. He was already 15 minutes late to a meeting that was never going to happen. That most people would have quit right there. And the meeting time had come and gone. Qualtrough had left no way to reach him. And now three different people, including a cop, had told him he was chasing a ghost. But William kept going.

He walked to a nearby post office. and looked the address up in a local directory, basically an early phone book, confirming for a third time what he already knew. Then he stopped at a newsstand and asked the woman working there, who became the fourth person to tell him the address was fake. And that apparently was when it finally sank in. William said he gave up and caught the 8 p.m. tram home, though the woman at the newsstand was sure they'd spoken sometime after 8. However you slice it, he got home around 845 and found Julia dead on the parlor floor. Step back and the maddening part was this. On paper, Williams' whole night checked out.

The tram conductors, Sidney Green, the man at 25 Men Love West, the policeman, every clerk he'd stopped. They'd all backed up his story. And somehow the fact that every piece held up only made him look guiltier. It was all a little too clean. Like the phone box the night before, you could read it two ways. To the detectives who already suspected him, it was a man planting an alibi, making sure witnesses would remember the poor lost insurance agent. To everybody else, it was just a nervous man worried about missing a rare new client, asking for directions like anyone would. After days of picking apart his story, the detectives ended up right where they started.

Technically, every word of it held up. Nobody could catch William in a lie. But that was exactly what bugged them. Everyone described William as reserved, even shy, the type who kept to himself. And yet on the one night his wife was murdered, he'd acted like the friendliest man in Liverpool, chatting up strangers and going miles out of his way to confirm something he could have figured out in minutes. On the other hand, the police still had nothing solid, no fingerprints, no confession, nobody who could put William at the scene. And with the crude forensics of 1931,

the pathologist couldn't even nail down a solid time of death. What they needed was a witness, someone who could look at William's story and prove he was lying. That's where a woman named Lily Hall came in. Lily knew Julia. She didn't know William nearly as well, but she'd met him and she knew his face. And she told police something that if it was true, blew a huge hole in his story. She said that on the night Julia died, around 840. p.m., she saw William standing near a passageway by a park talking to a man she didn't recognize.

And that was just minutes before he claimed he'd gotten home to a locked house and an empty street. One detectives asked William about it. He said it never happened. He also said he'd never met Lily Hall in his life. On that second point, at least, he was wrong. Lily picked him out of a police lineup without hesitating. Whether or not she'd really seen him by the park, she clearly knew exactly what William Wallace looked like. But that was as far as it went. The police tried everything to identify the mystery man Lily described, but never could. By February 2nd, almost two weeks after the murder, Superintendent Hubert Moore felt like he'd chased down every lead there was. The case had hit a wall, and the pressure to charge somebody had only gotten worse.

The mysterious phone call, the harmless elderly victim, the total lack of an obvious suspect. It was exactly the kind of story the Liverpool papers couldn't get enough of. One early headline in the Liverpool Echo, one of many splashed across the city's papers that winter read, baffling Liverpool murder non-pluses police. And every day without an arrest made the police look worse. more felt like his own reputation was on the line. So he made a decision. He'd go with what he had.

That night, William Wallace was arrested and charged with the murder of his wife. A few months later, his trial would make history. Eight years, hundreds of episodes, and we've barely scratched the surface of true crime. I'm Mark. And I'm Bethen. and this is Seeing Red. Every Wednesday we bring you another extraordinary case. And our huge back catalogue has everything from notorious murders and baffling disappearances.

To scams, scandals, survival stories and crimes you won't believe actually happened. If you're new to Seeing Red, you've got a lot to catch up on. Search Seeing Red a true crime podcast wherever you listen. On February 2nd, 1931, the Liverpool Police arrested 52-year-old William 1. Wallace for the murder of his wife, Julia. His trial opened at the end of April, and the stakes couldn't have been higher. If the jury found him guilty, William would be hanged. The trial lasted four days at St. George's Hall in Liverpool, and from the public gallery, reporters found William almost impossible to read. He sat through all the testimony about his wife's death, calm and still,

and when he took the stand in his own defense, he came off cold and distant. It was about the worst impression you could give a jury that's trying to decide whether you could beat your wife to death. For a case this famous, the trial itself was oddly quiet. One of the strangest things about it is that the prosecution and the defense agreed on almost every single fact. Both sides agreed the killer was whoever made the Qualtrough call, and the only question was whether that person was William. The Crown's lead lawyer, a barrister named Edward Hemmerdie, argued that William had set the whole thing up, that in the 15 or so minutes between the milkboy leaving and his own dashed for the tram,

he'd killed Julia, ditched the bloody clothes and the murder weapon, and headed out, building an alibi with every step. The timeline the crown laid out was tight, not impossible, but tight. When his illness wasn't flaring up, William was in decent enough shape for his age, so the jury wasn't really being asked to sort out the facts. They were being asked to pick the story, the prosecutions or the defenses. And there were a few points that were still up for debate, ones that could tip them one way or the other. The biggest was Lily Hall.

She told police she saw William talking to a stranger near the park right before he got home. But on the stand, she was a shaky witness. She got mixed up about which way she'd been walking, and she didn't seem sure of herself. Nobody thought she was lying exactly. It just didn't seem like she was certain of what she'd seen on a dark January night. The second dispute was almost comically small, and it mattered way more than it should have. Police said that the front door lock was defective, but William said it had worked fine that morning, and the cleaning lady backed him up, testifying the front lock was fine.

She said it was the back door that stuck. Either way, if the locks really were that dodgy, it helped explain how the house could be shut up tight with no sign of a break-in. The third fight was over how well William really knew the Men Love Gardens area. The prosecution said his endless, pointless search for Qualtrough made no sense unless it was an act. Any normal person would have given up long before the fourth stranger told him the street didn't exist. The defense, led by a barrister named Roland Oliver, said the opposite. it. William was desperate for a new client and the commission that came with it, so he kept at it way past the point of good sense. And sure, he'd been to the area years earlier, but really,

he barely knew the place. Then there was the problem the prosecution could never quite crack. The blood. A beating like Julia's would have left her killer trenched. And yet there was no blood on William, None on his clothes, no sign he'd washed up. To explain it, the crown floated a pretty wild idea. They argued that William had stripped down and held up his raincoat like a shield before he started swinging, which is how his own McIntosh ended up tucked under the body. The defense thought that was ridiculous. They were asking the jury to picture a naked, middle-aged man, calmly beating his wife behind a raincoat,

then getting dressed and slipping out in minutes without leaving a trace. The judge himself wondered out loud whether Julia, feeling sick, had simply been wearing the coat for warmth. Nobody could prove any of it. So, the jury was handed a case with no weapon, no fingerprints, and no clear motive. Everything the Crown had was circumstantial. On paper, that should have been a strong defense. but there was a trap buried inside it, and it's the thing that makes this case so unsettling. Because if William Wallace didn't kill his wife, there was no good explanation for who did.

William himself admitted Julia had no enemies. Her friends and family couldn't name a single one, and yet this clearly wasn't a random killing. Whoever did it knew enough about William's job and his job. routine to invent the perfect fake appointment. Think about everything the killer would have had to pull off. They had to know they could reach William at the cafe. They had to count on him getting the message and acting on it. On a night William had almost stayed home. They had to get Julia to let them in. They had to fake a half-hearted robbery, grabbing four pounds and leaving the valuables without leaving a mark. And then they had to vanish. Weapon and all without one single person.

in spotting a blood-soaked figure in the streets of Anfield. Well, laid out like that, you can see a William looked guilty even with nothing hard against him. And that's how the jury saw it too. Even though the judge, Justice Wright, summed up the evidence in William's favor, the jurors just couldn't imagine who else could have done it. So by process of elimination, they sided with the police. police. After a little over an hour, they came back with their verdict. Guilty. William was stuck. He was convinced the newspapers had turned the whole city against him,

and that the jury had made up their minds before the trial even started. Not that it mattered now. The sentence for murder was fixed. William Wallace was sentenced to death by hanging. His one hope was an appeal, and that was a long shot. The Court of Criminal Appeal had been around for more than 20 years, but it had never once thrown out a murder conviction just because a jury's verdict wasn't backed up by the evidence. To win, Williams' lawyers would have to convince a panel of senior judges that his conviction was, in the language of the law,

a substantial miscarriage of justice. Williams' lawyers went all in, and their argument was bold. The case never should have gone to a jury in the first place, because the prosecution had never produced any real evidence for a judge to hand them. Over two days on May 18th and 19th, 1931, William's fate was in the hands of three of the most senior judges in England, led by the Lord Chief Justice, Lord Hewert. and during the trial something unusual happened. After hearing the arguments, Hewert chose his words really carefully. He said he wasn't declaring William innocent. He didn't weigh in on the Crown's theories one way or the other. But he said the court could not let a man hang on suspicion alone. No matter how strong the suspicion, when there was no real proof behind it.

He ruled that the verdict cannot be seen. supported having regard to the evidence. For the first time in the country's history, a panel of judges overturned a jury's murder conviction. William Wallace was spared the rope and walked out a free man. Years later, William's own solicitor, Hector Monroe, tried to explain to a radio audience just how huge that was. He said that for the appeal court to throw out a jury's murder conviction back then, there couldn't have been so much as a shred of real evidence against the suspect. He should have walked out of there, feeling reborn. Instead, William walked out of that courtroom into a city that had already decided he was a killer. The verdict may have freed him, but it didn't

change many minds. His insurance company let him come back to work and a few loyal friends stuck by him, but most people crossed the street. They whispered. They stared. William tried to ignore it because he'd never had money and now he needed the paycheck more than ever. He couldn't keep it up. Then his kidney disease flared again and left him too sick to work at all. So he did the only thing he could, he left Liverpool for a small house across the river in the village of Brombera, and to pay the bills, he gave interviews to the papers and published pieces of his private diary. There were no bombshell confessions in any of it, but William did finally put a name to the man he believed had ruined his life. A 22-year-old former co-worker from Prudential named

Richard Gordon Perry. But William, wouldn't live to see it go anywhere. On February 26, 1933, barely two years after Julia, William Wallace died of the kidney disease that had followed him his whole life. He went to his grave insisting he was an innocent man. So, who was the man William had blamed? On paper, Perry made an interesting suspect. He was an amateur actor and, singer and his theater group met at the same cafe where William played chess. He'd also been to the Wallace's house more than once, singing along while Julia played the piano, which meant Perry knew things a random stranger never could. He knew William could be reached at the cafe. He knew William

was an insurance agent, and from a visit a couple of years earlier, he even knew where William kept his cash box. On top of that, Perry needed money around the time of the murder, and he had a minor criminal record for petty theft. Plus, when police later checked his story about where he'd been the night the Qualtrough call was made, it didn't hold up. His girlfriend, a young music teacher named Lily Lloyd, gave him an alibi, but the timing of when he got to her house left a gap, one that was wide enough for Perry to abduct into a phone box and made the Qualtrough call first. So why wasn't Perry charged? A few reasons back in 1931, the police did look at him before they settled on William, but they cleared him. For the night of the murder itself,

Perry had an alibi. Friends who said he was with them and detectives couldn't find a strong enough motive. If robbery was the point, it made no sense to murder a woman Perry knew over four pounds and leave the rest of the valuables sitting there. So Perry walked and he stayed a footnote for decades, but he never fully went away. Over the years, as researchers kept digging back into the case, his name kept coming up. And in 1981, a former garage worker named John Parks came forward with the wild claim. Park said that on the night of the murder, Perry had turned up wanting his car hosed out.

Park said there had been a blood-stained glove inside it and that Perry had been rattled enough to warn him to keep his mouth shut. It was explosive. It was also nearly impossible to prove half a century after the fact. And for a long time, and the researchers who kept the case alive were careful not to say Perry's name out loud. When the crime writer Jonathan Goodman tracked him down in the 1960s, he only ever wrote about him as Mr. X.

Perry's name didn't reach the public until 1981. By then, he was already dead. In the decade since, this case has never stopped pulling people in. Some of the best crime writers who ever lived from dorm, Dorothy L. Sayers to Raymond Chandler to P.D. James have picked at it. Each one sure they could name the killer. They never could agree. And the theories have only piled up since. Some people are sure William did it. Others spin the whole thing on Perry. A few think one of them set up the murder and hired somebody else to swing the bar, which would explain the airtight alibi

even while it leaves the motive a mystery. And some think it was just a robbery gone wrong. A thief Julia walked in on who panicked, killed her, and ran off into the night. Every one of those explanations fits the facts. Not one of them can be proven. Almost a century later, no weapon has surfaced, no confession has come, and no piece of hard evidence has ever pointed clearly at a single person. Somewhere underneath all the theories and the clever reconstructions is the fact that's easiest to forget.

A real woman who painted watercolors and played piano and never hurt a soul was beaten to death in her own front room, and nobody was ever held accountable for it. After all this time, it seems like the murder of Julia Wallis. maybe one mystery that's destined to stay unsolved. 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.

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We'll be back on Friday. Murder True Crime Stories is hosted by me, Carter Roy, and is a Crime House original powered by Pave Studios. This episode was brought to life by the Murder True Crime. Stories team, Max Cutler, Ron Shapiro, Alex Benadon, Natalie Pritzofsky, Lori Marinelli, Sarah Camp, Terrell Wells, Nicolette Tavallero, Mara della Rosa, Claire Swartzlander, and Russell Nash. Thank you for listening. Thanks for listening to today's episode of Murder True Crime Stories. If you're looking for another show to check out, listen to Serial Killers in Murderous Minds. Every Monday and Thursday, Dr. Tristan Ingalls and Vanessa Richardson dig into the most chilling murderers and uncover what drives them to kill.

Follow serial killers and murderous minds, available wherever you listen to podcasts.