My Favorite Murder with Karen Kilgariff and Georgia Hardstark - MFM Minisode 108

Episode Date: February 4, 2019

This week’s hometowns include a dispatcher rescue and a prison ‘found in walls’ story. 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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Hello. Welcome. Welcome. To my favorite. We remember. The Minnesota. The Minnesota. Quit it.

The whole time we do that. Just speak at the same time, but we're guessing. I thought we could do it. Yeah. Let's not. Let's do it. No, let's not. No, let's not.

I turned it around on you. Okay. This is this. Where did you shit? Here we go. Karen. Are you ready? Karen, do you want to go first?

Hey, do you want me to go first? Yes, please. Would you love it if I went first as the way I should have asked? Yeah. Would you love this? The subject line of this is dispatchers help catch a murderer on the run. Yeah. Dear Karen, George, Steven, and colleagues.

I love it. I was a dispatcher in a local city for about 10 years. During that time, we took so many crazy calls, but one really sticks out for me. A woman had been killed execution style in the parking lot of an apartment complex by her estranged boyfriend. This happened overnight and her boyfriend fled the scene and went to another city. He ended up calling our dispatch center and was playing the concerned boyfriend card asking about her status.

Apparently, he didn't know that she actually died. Out of nowhere, I just came up with an idea to tell him that I couldn't release any information on her medical condition, but I would transfer him to the hospital where she was and let him speak to the nurse in charge. I placed him on hold and told my fellow dispatcher to be the charge nurse. Can you do this? Is this legal? Who knows?

I would transfer this guy to him. I think first, if you start by murdering your girlfriend, how about if you call 911, they can do whatever they want. Be warned. Okay. My fellow dispatcher did a fucking amazing job of getting information from this guy and convinced him to come back to our city to see his girlfriend in the hospital. The other dispatcher working that night was my best friend and she was coordinating our

responses. To make a very long story short, we had our officers waiting for him at the hospital and he was arrested. Wow. We got commendations from our lieutenant for the quick thinking and the work we put in that night. So yeah, it's legal. It was such a great feeling knowing we had a small part in getting this guy off the streets.

I'm no longer in law enforcement and I don't know what happened to that guy in court, but it's still one of my proudest moments. Stay sexy and don't be an idiot murderer and an overall shitty person. That's our new tagline. It's time for a change. Stay sexy and don't be an idiot murderer and an overall shitty person. Thanks for all you guys. Do you Amy?

Wow. That's incredible. That's the best. Good job. Are you good at like, if someone's like, pretend to be this, like I couldn't do it. I guess it just depends. I mean, like, I think I'd be okay at it, but I have that thing where like, even if it was something just like a real life thing, like I'd want to be a really good, I would want

people to think I did good acting and then I'd overthink it and be bad. I would never do it. Yeah. I just can't. I would start giggling even if I was serious because I just can't do shit like that. Okay. This one's a little long, so I'm going to go first with it. Reason 101 why you shouldn't ever scare the shit out of your grandma.

Lighthearted. Hi, KGS and fur. So back in the day, so back in the day, ever since I can remember, my sister and I love to hide and jump out and scare the shit out of our grandma. God rest her soul. And before being judged, she would do the same to us. Yes. Fuck yeah, grandma.

Oh my God. I know. So very weird. However, it was just one of the many crazy things we did with our grandma since she was quite the character. One day my sister was at my grandma's house waiting for her to get dropped off by my mom. She had been in the front of the house and had come to the back where she heard my grandma fumbling with her key in the lock at the door.

She then got the fantastic idea, you guessed it, to scare the shit out of my grandma. She crept as quietly as she could, grabbed the inside door handle, and even bent over at the waist so she could be eye level with her and get her real good. Then as swiftly as she could, she turned the handle really fast, threw the door open and still crouched, screamed to the top of her lungs, boo. However, to her ever living fucking horror, it was not my grandmother. It was a creepy man with a screwdriver that was trying to pick the lock. Oh fuck.

I don't know how old the sister was, but I'm picturing seven. I mean she's a drop off age. Nine. Yeah. Ten. Yeah, eleven. Twelve. They were literally an inch away from each other and mind you, face to face since he

was bent over hard at work breaking into the door to get into the damn house. She said they both froze for what seemed like five minutes, but was probably not probability about probably about five seconds. He was so shocked and equally horrified that this crazy bitch screamed boo in his face that he dropped the screwdriver, fell backwards, couldn't get it fast enough because he kept tripping and took off around the corner of the house and down the driveway in a mad dash. My sister was so shaken up, obviously, that it took her several minutes to move, close the door and lock it and dial the rotary phone for help.

Yes. We're old. Yes. I mean, what could have happened? I mean, too many ways this fucking story could have ended and I could be telling y'all about it in an entirely different way. We never found out who it was or caught him, but we also wonder if this could have possibly been his fucking wake up call to never try that again.

Yeah. Lesson learned from the boo screaming bitch, my sister. I can't wait to see you guys in Houston in May, stay sexy, and for God's sake, don't fucking play such a terrifying game of scaring the shit out of your grandma ever. Thanks for everything y'all doing, y'all rock. Susan. Susan. That was amazing.

Yes. Also, yeah, it's the argument of not every person breaking into your house is brave and psychotic. Right. Some of them are just desperate and as scared as you are, but that doesn't matter. Don't interact with them. Don't offer them coffee. Don't?

They're not better than you because they're breaking into your house. Are they brave? No, they're terrified too. You're as creepy as they are. You're the bravest person we've ever met. And the creepiest person. Go creep somebody else out. Go show them.

Yeah. But you take two screwdrivers with you. Yeah. Don't do any of this. Okay. I won't redo the subject mind of this. I just learned something interesting tonight after playing board games for the evening with my parents, husband and son.

I can't believe I'm learning this at 39. Apparently when I was two years old, my dad was nearly arrested for robbing a bank. He was at a gas station when a police officer approached him and told him he had to accompany him for a trip to the police station. My dad is the most passive kind elementary school teacher, man on the planet, and gladly obliged. Once at the station, he was handed a few photographs and asked, who does this look like?

My sweet angel father laughed and said, well, that looks like me. Oh my God. What was the picture you asked? It was a man robbing the local bank. My dad, of course, explained it wasn't him and then gave an alibi. Unfortunately, that alibi was nearly useless as he was getting a haircut at my great aunt's house. Oh my God.

What made matters worse was they checked his bank accounts and it showed he'd just moved all of his funds to an out of state bank. You see, my mom, pregnant with my brother, and I had just moved to Tacoma, Washington, where we were waiting on my dad to wrap up his side business of family portraits in Idaho. So it looked like he had moved his family closed his business, robbed a bank and was leaving town to start over. In the end, he was only saved because he grew up with the judge that was asked to sign the warrant.

And the judge laughed and said, that's ridiculous. There's no way that could be bill. Eventually, they did catch the real bank robber, thank goodness, because my dad was instructed not to leave town until it was resolved. He said he suffered some pretty sweaty palms for a while, but that it was all worth it for the cash. Dad jokes. Dad jokes.

Yeah. Say sexy and don't tell the police you look like the bank robber, Rachel. Well, that looks like me. Why? Oh, I know the answer. Oh, hey. Isn't that weird? What's us all about, officer?

Let's see here. I have two grandpa stories. Let's do, okay, let's do this one. Looking for a better cooking routine? With meal planning, shopping and prepping handled, Hello Fresh has you covered. Hello Fresh makes home cooking easy and affordable so you can stay on track and on budget in the new year. Hello Fresh meals are convenient, seasonal and delicious.

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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. Today, Prime members, listen to the Amazon Music Exclusive Podcast Killer Psyche Daily in the Amazon Music app. Download the app today. No, let's do this one. Hola, Karen, Georgia, Stephen and Fur Friends.

My name is DeNora and I'm originally from Puerto Rico, but I've been living in Nashville, Tennessee since 2010. Hola. Hola. My mom and I were leaving a Pilates class and listening to a mini-sode when she revealed that my paternal grandfather went to prison for murder. Back in the late 70s, my grandfather was a low-level drug dealer in Puerto Rico and one day he noticed that a weird car had passed by his house a couple times.

All of a sudden, the people from inside that car started shooting into my grandfather's house inside where my dad, his siblings and his mom. My grandfather took a gun from his illegal gun stash and started shooting. Yeah, I bet he did. Unfortunately, he ended up killing an innocent bystander that was trying to shield himself from the gunfire. Oh, God. My grandfather ended up being charged with involuntary homicide because he refused to

name the people who were shooting at him. Well, but that's kind of smart, yeah, that's right. My grandfather ended up going to jail with serial murderers in La Princesa Prison, which is located inside the El Morrow Fort in Puerto Rico. I'm sure it's a lovely place to summer. Well, that's where they imprison all the princesses. You know. La Princesa.

He recounted the stories of how prisoners would murder each other and cut people in pieces and hide them in walls. No, in prison? Pieces of people in prison walls. No. No. So this is basically a murder and finding things in a wall story. It's the worst one, yes.

He did eventually get out through drug court and help establish a drug rehabilitation program that, I'm sorry, I'm high on drugs, that is still going on today because he recovered and never committed a crime again. He got an official pardon from the governor of Puerto Rico. My grandfather died in 1995 due to liver cancer from his drug addict days. Oh, yeah. I was chewing when he died, so I don't remember that much about him. So imagine my surprise when my mom revealed this to me while leaving a fucking Pilates

class. I absolutely love the podcast and think y'all are hilarious. It's good to know I'm not the only person who finds murder interesting. SSDGM, DeNora. DeNora, that was really good. God, that's sad. And then there's redemption. Yeah, you're up, you're down.

But that's that fucking thing about shooting, guns are bad and they kill innocent people. And that sucks. Okay, this one is simply entitled, Weird Milk Boy. I'm on board, I'm here for this. Lighthearted. Hi, MFM crew, once upon a night of chilling at my apartment after work, I heard a knock at my door. I was here on 10.30pm and I wasn't expecting anyone.

I was too much of a couch potato at that point that I just stayed sitting and thought they'll go away. After a few seconds, I heard another knock. This time it was louder. Internally grunting, I went to the door and looked through the people vaguely recognizing this guy. I knew he had lived in the same apartment complex because we had once had a fire alarm go off at 3am and had walked down the hallway together.

We probably exchanged a total of five words, though, and I didn't know his name or anything. I, for some reason, decided to open the door. He had an uncapped soda cup in his hand filled with water and he asked me, can I have some milk? What? I replied with, uh, and he said, you can just fill half the cup. At this point, my heart was beating fast because, one, this is technically a complete stranger asking me for something weird and two, it was somewhat late at night and I'm a small female

who lives alone. At this point, I started panicking thinking, what if he tries to break into my apartment or is he trying to scan my apartment so he can come attack me later? In any case, I grabbed the cup, closed my door, stupidly didn't lock it, poured out the water, poured in some milk, opened the door, handed it back to him, then he smiled and walked away and I never saw him again after that. I guess he just really needed some milk and I was the lucky target. I told the story to my coworkers who ended up lecturing me on never opening doors for

strangers, which I obviously know now. They also taunted me for a while asking, hey, Mary, can I have some milk? I'm the one doing that voice. I did that. I thought it was exactly like that. That's the fun way. I'm glad it ended the way it did though. Mary.

Oh, Mary, sweet innocent Mary. Stay sexy and don't give milk to strangers. Sorry, that was on the second page, milk, Mary. I love that because yeah, don't ever fucking open your door no matter who it is. I know like you think that's not a stranger because I've seen him before, but if you're a girl, a woman alone in an apartment, you don't need to answer the door to even like a friend who's a dude if it's late at night and there's no reason for them to be there. No, not at all, you know?

Yeah. And then if you think it's a situation where you're fine, definitely if you're going to grab the cup, lock the door behind you. But I feel like that's where the politeness, I get that because that's where the politeness comes in where you're like, I don't want to be rude and lock the door. So you don't, but you know, then work your fucked. So just don't even answer the door. Well, and also there's a bit of a manipulation playing on that like neighborly, oh, can I

just borrow a sugar thing, which is really weird and like, no, whatever you need milk for, you can have it in the morning. And who drinks milk anymore? What kind of, haven't you ever heard of lactate? Yeah, non-dairy fucking, everything, okay. This one is called grandpa interrupts a police helicopter chase and hello all in the eighties, my grandparents, my mother and her three siblings lived in a suburb of LA in a not so great area. My grandfather, a portly Syrian immigrant who loves Scotch was and is super paranoid

about being murdered and was always rushing to the door to see what was going on with sirens and such. One summer evening, my mom and her siblings were swimming in their backyard pool when someone scales their fence and jumps into their backyard. It's a woman who is seriously high and twitchy and she stands there staring at them. They all tread water and wonder what the fuck to do. Then they hear sirens on the street and a fucking helicopter swoops over their neighborhood. Mom and her siblings run inside soaking wet and watch through the windows as the strange

woman runs into the front yard. My mom says there are cops all over the street with guns drawn and the trees around my house are literally whipping with the wind from the helicopter. It is at this point that my grandpa in nothing but his very tight 1980s swim bottoms walks into the front yard to see what's going on. He literally walked into a helicopter chase. My mom says that at least 10 cops all with their guns pointing at him started screaming, sir, go inside.

My grandpa not one to be told what to do on his own property remained on the lawn until the woman had been tackled. He's a taxpayer. God damn it. This is my lawn. I pay these property taxes. That's right. To this day, we asked him what exactly he thought he was going to accomplish by walking

into a into guns drawn situation and he always replies, God damn it, I had to see what was going on. Grandpa. It's got stay sexy and don't interrupt helicopter chases Liz. God damn it. I wanted to see what was going on and send us your weird stories about your grandparents or helicopter chases or milk, milk stories, whatever it takes, whatever happens. Tell us.

We love it. Can I have some milk? My favorite murder at Gmail and stay sexy and don't get murdered. Goodbye Elvis. Elvis, you want a cookie? No.