My Favorite Murder with Karen Kilgariff and Georgia Hardstark - MFM Minisode 105

Episode Date: January 14, 2019

This week’s hometowns include a cooking oil-filled arrest and a Machete Murderer connection.See Privacy Policy at https://art19.com/privacy and California Privacy Notice at https://art19.com/privacy#do-not-sell-my-info.

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Welcome. To my favorite murder, the mini-so. Will we read your shit back to you? Are you ready for some emails from your co-listeners? Yeah, your friends, your best friends. Your best friends that are here to tell us wonderful long-lost family stories, personal stories, total made-up lies, whatever it is. Hometown murders.

Oh, hometown murders, right? That's what it was all based on. Mm-hmm. You know, fun stuff. Here we go. Are you ready? I'm ready. Do you want to go first this time?

No. I don't want to screw this up for everyone. God forbid. Let's not break it, but it's already fixed. Right? It's so fixed this way. It's a fixie. The subject line of this one is, my dad found one of the victims of the machete murder, but

fucking didn't tell me for 26 years. Dad. Hello, from the airport. Hi. Hi. I flew home from New Year's to spend some time with my family one night. Some friends from college came to my parents' house for dinner. My friend and I talked about different serial killers we love in parentheses.

You know what I mean. For a solid 45 minutes at the dinner table before my dad decides to chime in. He asked, has the podcast that you like done Juan Corona? You did that one, right? Which one was that? Juan Corona. Was it? I think you did.

Okay. We said that we didn't think so. As it didn't sound familiar, I asked why. He asked about this one specifically. He talked for a full few minutes about the guy before casually mentioning that he found one of the bodies. Oh, I know. This was on, this was.

Ibrannum's. Hometown. Yeah. I have to stop saying that now. That's the name of our company. Correct, Georgia. He then carried on with this conversation without going into any detail. I sat there shell shocked for a few seconds before shouting, hold up, start from the beginning

and tell me everything. Apparently in the early 70s, my grandfather was testing the water in aquifers below orchards in Northern California and my dad helped him dig holes in said orchard. One day my dad was digging a hole and came across a human hand. My dad and grandpa apparently were more annoyed than freaked out because they had to stop digging for the day. Oh, yeah. They went home.

That's, so they're fronting. They went home and called the police who came and dug up the rest of the body. It turns out the body was one of the 25 farm workers that won Corona, aka the machete murderer killed in a four month span in 1971. Oh my God. That's the guy that he would kill the migrant workers and bury them in the orchards and nobody could trace them. Took their money and shit.

Yeah. Yeah. My grandpa then made up joke business cards with, quote, sorry I missed you, won Corona. Oh my God. On that. I have no idea who he gave these cards to, but it's the only funny thing my grandpa has ever done. My dad swears, he's told me this story, but I guarantee I would have remembered my dad

finding the body of a serial killer victim. Stay sexy and never dig holes in an orchard, cat. No. Oh my God. Sorry I missed you. Won Corona. I wonder how many untold dad stories there are waiting to be told to murdering those right at this very moment.

There's I think bottomless goal minds of them. That's right. Dads are so quiet. That's men are raised to keep it all inside. Yeah. Which they should. We appreciate it. Yeah.

I mean, shut up. No one cares. But however. Okay. Share your feelings. Okay. This is called when a beauty school student encounters a serial killer. Okay.

Greetings all. My name is Sarah and I live in San Diego. I actually just got tickets for your January San Diego show for Christmas a couple days ago and I'm so excited. I'll be going with my mom who this story is about. Guess what happened last week, the other day? It was so much fun. It was really, really good.

It's up San Diego. We could feel her presence. We could. Even though I was born and raised in San Diego, half of my childhood was spent driving up the California coastline and spending entire summers in Northern California. North of Napa Valley, where my mother is from, it sounds like Petalona Bay. I'm sorry. What's up?

She had quite a few crazy stories about her time in Northern California and my favorite one is this. When my mother was 17 or 18 years old, she went to beauty school in Napa Valley. It was a small school that was located on a small one way street. And if you've ever been to a beauty school, you know that nine times out of 10, they have a huge one of those huge glass windows that are floor to ceiling so people walking by could look in, see a student doing hair and possibly come in as a three month beauty school dropout.

I agree with all of this. You get this. I'm here to cooperate this. What did you learn? Did you learn anything that you still remember? A little bit. I learned how to do finger waves because it was the 1920s apparently and they never updated their beauty school shit.

Right. And start with the basics. Right. And then just a little bit. I can still cut my bangs pretty well, but that's about it. Nice. Okay. My mother was always positioned at the very last chair right next to the window.

Well, one day in the middle of a sunny afternoon, what seemed like the entire Napa Valley police force and surrounding counties forces descended on this very small, very tight little one way street from all directions. There are cars pulling up onto the sidewalks and sirens blaring. Across the street from the beauty school less than 40 feet from where my weather was standing next to the window, there was a phone booth. 20 minutes earlier, the Zodiac killer had called the police from that phone booth. Oh my fucking God.

Needless to say, the police went in every shop and questioned all the people inside, but no one remembers seeing anything or anyone of significance. I always tease my mom that it was the one lone male beauty school student who snuck out the back door and went around to make the call. Maybe. She said that they have a scene similar to this scenario in Karen's favorite movies, Zodiac. Though that doesn't mean much since he was always calling and taunting police, so I'm

sure that was an amalgamation of different phone calls. Looking forward to seeing you next month. Already happened. I can't wait to hear what stories you come up with. Already did them. Did them. Always. Sarah.

Ugh. God, I don't know why that's so exciting to me. Because if she hadn't looked up at the phone booth, which she probably didn't, just didn't. There was nothing. I was normal. It's a dude with a crew cut and those army-issued black franglasses. Right.

How do you go? Amazing. Yeah. Write this down. Yeah. You wouldn't. I was in the city of Napa in, she said it was the 70s, right? I think so, yeah.

Yeah. So it was like a tiny town. Well, we have to be. Tiny, like this is pre-wine boom. So Napa is just another little burg over a hill. Yeah. Like it's not big at all. I just can't, it's like I'm weirdly starstruck.

It's not healthy. Okay. That's what this podcast theme is. It's not healthy. To be starstruck. To be starstruck. Okay. The subject line of this is FBI raid at my neighbor's house two weeks ago.

Oh my God. Hello. My name is Claudia and I am a 16 year old listener. Claudia. Go to bed. Hi, Claudia. Hi, Claudia. I love Taylor Swift too.

I have always been interested in true crime and while listening to this podcast wished I had a hometown murder I could share. That all changed two weeks ago when my neighbors had their house raided by the FBI. Holy shit. That all changed. Okay. I live in Raleigh, North Carolina in a typical suburban neighborhood. Two streets down from me is the most expensive house in Raleigh.

The houses in my neighborhood are very modest and nothing fancy. So this mansion is out of place being at the end of the street with old dirty townhomes. Here's the story. An older Russian couple lived in the mansion with their also Russian housekeeper, housekeeper's husband and son. The wife was having an affair with the housekeeper's son. Oh my God. The husband found out and hired a hit man to have the son be kidnapped, taken into the

woods, forced to admit he was having sex with the wife on video and then be killed. Holy shit. There's a lot of other info that isn't important, but basically the murder plot never went through. The FBI found out and raided the house and the couple got busted for money laundering and a ton of other charges. My dad also told me that they had an apartment downtown filled with guns, like a little pietta tear downtown. Yeah.

Sorry if this doesn't make sense. My neighborhood is full. It was perfectly written. It was perfectly written. Honey, I know 16, you're always doubting yourself, but you nailed it. My neighborhood is full of other crazy white people like the cute young couple. Everyone loved who are busted for having a secret 12 year old daughter locked in the basement that they had been physically and mentally abusing for years.

Holy shit. Holy shit. She buried the lead. She went Russian first when this is the fucking, oh my God. My next-door neighbor's car has also been broken in two, three times while everyone was sleeping. So maybe it's time to move. Please don't move away without your parents.

Claudia, don't do it. Love the podcast and sorry this email was so long. I have other fun ghost stories that I will send in a separate email if you're interested. We are. Stay sexy and move out of your country club neighborhood. Claudia. I love it. Amazing.

You can kind of stay at the pod office if you want. That's right. Okay. That was great. 16 year olds, send us your stories. We want to hear from you. That's right. And go to bed.

No, go to bed. Tased and covered in cooking oil, a first responder story. Oh, no. No. Yes. Dear Karen, torture, seated, and animals, my boyfriend was a first responder for some time and among the numerous wild calls he's encountered, this one by far is my favorite. My boyfriend worked as an EMT at an ambulance company in Milwaukee, Wisconsin.

One day he was stationed downtown and he received a call for a tased person. On arrival, he soon came to realize there was a bit more going on than just a tasing. In the entrance of an apartment building, there was a female lying face down, wearing a crop top and booty shorts, arms handcuffed behind her back, and covered head to toe in cooking oil. No. No. What a sight to see at eight in the morning.

For some reason, I feel like dousing yourself in cooking oil would be a nighttime activity. Hey, to each his own. That's right. Everybody has a different jam. Or oil. Well, she had just been tased and first responders called to transport her to the hospital for medical clearance before she could be arrested. Okay.

So the handcuffs were from the cops. Oh, good. Okay. She had been tased by them. Right. And now she had to be checked out. This was all a city ordinance-based tasing. Yeah.

The cooking oil is the thing that probably wasn't by the cops. Yeah. That happened before. The oil dousing was personal. And it's probably reason why she was tased, I'm sure. Yeah. There was those that interplayed with the reason. Exactly.

Let's see. This brought up the task of moving her to a cot to transport her in an ambulance. Good luck. This is normally an easy task. However, the woman refused to move and was covered in cooking oil. The boyfriend said their gloves were just sliding off her body. They needed a few extra hands to move her. And it turned into a porn.

It ended up taking six oil-covered individuals to get her on a cot and strap her down. They essentially had to yank her up by the handcuffs. Ow. Yeah. After this ordeal, the first responders' hands, uniforms, and everything in the back of the ambulance was coated in oil. My boyfriend said they had to return to the station and switch out equipment before their next call because they couldn't use any of it due to being so greasy.

Ew. Hopefully this woman got the help she needed and won't have to cover herself in oil again for who knows what reason. My boyfriend has no idea what she was getting arrested for or why she looked like she just came out of a deep fryer. Stay sexy and keep the cooking oil in the kitchen, Kelly. Oh, embarrassing. If you were just trying to do a super-moisturizing treatment conditioner treatment, everyone's

like, put coconut oil all over yourself. And she's like, the one time I do it, I get fucking arrested and tased. The one time I do it, I get into a fight with my neighbor while I'm doing it. Right, which would have happened at any time. I just happen to be my... But I was especially worked up because I was covered in oil. Right. Yeah.

Insane. I thought, my fear, it sounded so much more horrible, I thought they just came upon a woman who was handcuffed, laying in a doorway, having been tased, like that it was all separate and she was by herself. No, she got, no. Horrifying. Yeah. Yeah.

Okay. That's, yeah, it's not that. It's a best case scenario. Right. It was a self-oiling. It was. Be you, be proud. Yeah.

Oil it up. It was a, okay. Yeah. We're fine. We're fine. Don't have to talk about it anymore. Okay. Looking for a better cooking routine?

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That's up to 20 free meals plus free shipping on your first box when you go to hellofresh.ca slash murder20 and use code murder20. Goodbye. What makes a person a murderer? Are they born to kill or are they made to kill? I'm Candice DeLong and on my new podcast, Killer Psyche Daily, I share a quick 10-minute rundown every weekday on the motivations and behaviors of the criminal masterminds, psychopaths and cold-blooded killers you hear about in the news.

I have decades of experience as a psychiatric nurse, FBI agent and criminal profiler. On Killer Psyche Daily, I'll give you insight into cases like Ryan Grantham and the newly arrested Stockton serial killer. I'll also bring on expert guests to dive deeper into the details, share what it's like to work with a behavioral assessment unit at Quantico, answer some killer trivia and even host virtual Q&As where I'll answer your burning questions. Hey Prime members, listen to the Amazon Music Exclusive Podcast, Killer Psyche Daily, in the Amazon Music app.

Download the app today. On New Year's Eve, when I was 6 months old, my parents laid me down for bed one night and went on about their business. About two hours later, my dad heard this loud but beautiful whistling. It being the 80s, he was forced to get up and turn down the TV as we didn't have a remote in parentheses, which they still tell me to this day is the reason they had me to change the channel. As the whistling continued, my dad went to their bedroom to see how the hell my mom could

whistle like that, but he found she was dead asleep. Oh my god, you said dead and I was like, she was dead. That was a dramatic warning. She woke her up to ask if it was her and upon realizing it wasn't, then rushed to my room. They rushed to my room. Your daughter is an amazing whistler. A baby whistler. My room was ice cold, but I was drenched in sweat.

When they took my temperature, it was 105.4. Needless to say, I was at the ER in minutes. Once there, they did a spinal tap, ice bath and x-ray of my chest, which they found my lungs filled with pneumonia. The doctors told my parents how lucky they were to have brought me because I could have been dead within hours if not for them checking on me. Fast forward to the 4th of July, where our next door neighbors were throwing a pool party. My dad started talking to the wife who had lived there for 30 years and out of curiosity

asked about the previous tenants of the house. Her eyes lit up when talking about the mother who lived and died next door. According to my dad, her exact words were, quote, she was a beautiful woman with several children, everyone loved her. You see, back in the day, we didn't have air conditioning, so we would leave the windows open to let the breeze in and you could hear her whistling the most beautiful song to her children at night. Needless to say, my dad shit his pants at that point and probably had a look of shock

and horror on his face. Then she started to smile and said, she's still there, isn't she? Without knowing anything about our situation, she went on to explain that unfortunately she stopped whistling when her newborn daughter passed away from pneumonia. No, no, no. Stay sexy and let whistling old ladies go save your life, Laura. Oh my God, I have full body chills. I don't care if this is fake.

It's great writing and if it's real, even better. Oh my God. Isn't that, I mean. Dude. A hundred percent. Distant beautiful whistling in and of itself is insanely creepy, but then. Gorgeous. Also, a baby.

She's still there, isn't she? She's still there, isn't she? A baby having pneumonia and then 30 years later another baby having pneumonia is like maybe dismantle that side of the house. There's something in the, there's something in the walls or something. Absolutely. Right name. Put your baby to sleep in the kitchen from now on.

Yeah. Move that crib over by the microwave. Sorry. Then the microwave starts going on. Look at you and your whistle. Isn't that the most beautiful pneumonia whistling you've ever heard? I have a little one, but I feel like that is a great way to end it. Okay.

Your story. Whatever you want. Next week. That was beautiful. So beautiful. So beautiful. Touching. Touching, feeling.

Whistling. Whistling. Loving. Oil. Yeah. Send us your stories at my favorite murder at Gmail and you know, yeah. And stay sexy. And don't get murdered.

Goodbye. Unless you want a cookie. Bye. Bye bye. Okay.