My Favorite Murder with Karen Kilgariff and Georgia Hardstark - MFM Minisode 141

Episode Date: September 23, 2019

This week’s hometowns include a show-and-tell story and a body in a window. See Privacy Policy at https://art19.com/privacy and California Privacy Notice at https://art19.com/privacy#do-not-sell-my-info.

This is exactly right. We at Wondery live, breathe, and downright obsess over true crime. And now we're launching the ultimate true crime fan experience, Exhibit C. Join now by following Wondery, Exhibit C, on Facebook and listen to true crime on Wondery and Amazon Music. Exhibit C, it's truly criminal. Hello. Hello.

And welcome. To my favorite murder. The mini-soat. That's Karen Kigeris. That's George Hart. Hi. Hi. A hyphenate.

Welcome. This is where we just read you your shit. It's really great. It's emails you send us and because it's squad gourd season, we're getting more and more spooky emails and Halloween themed emails, which I'm really enjoying. I don't have any of those. Really? Did I get them all?

That's funny. Okay. Yeah. You want to go first? I have a really long one to start and then I have, okay, it doesn't matter. I just realized. We need to get this figured out. You don't need to tell you the fucking timetables.

What do you think? Go. Ro. Sham. Wait, wait. Ro. Sham. Bo.

That means you. I cover your rock with this paper. So do you want to go first? You want to go second? Oh, shit. We didn't decide what to man. The one more time. Go first.

There we go. Like clockwork. Like German clockwork. That's the best. This show. The subject line of this one is the one time I lied convincingly and it saved my life. Hi, I'm FM Fam. I was recently introduced to your podcast.

I've been listening daily for a couple of months have had only two murder inspired nightmares, so no regrets. My hometown murder happened in 2005 when I was 17. I'm from Long Beach, California, the part that borders Compton. So I definitely have more than one hometown murder. But this is the one that impacted me directly. It was three days before my senior year and I had just picked up my textbooks from school. I was walking down the sidewalk, middle of the afternoon, mind you.

I was approached by a man, probably in his 50s. We said hello. He asked me if I was a teacher at the school. I had grown up with people telling me that I seemed mature for my age, so the 17-year-old me didn't think there was anything strange. The 31-year-old me knows otherwise. I told him no. I was just about to start my senior year.

But he had too much information. Yep. Doesn't need to know anything about you. Doesn't need to know shit. You owe him nothing. He seemed so surprised by this, but there was something in that response which set me on edge. He told me that he thought that I was very beautiful, which was uncomfortable, but also

dangerously flattering because I had incredibly low self-esteem. Dude, I get it. Right? Me too. And pointed out the by-the-hour motel down the street scumbag. After knowing that she's a senior in high school. Yes. Yes.

He said he wanted to take me there. It's 14 years later, and I will never forget every detail of the moment when he said, I'll make you feel real good. I won't hurt you at all. There are bad men out there, but I'm not one of them. Blowing right past that invitation, I said, oh, I know. There are definitely bad people out there. My dad, he's a cop, will always drive around when he knows I'm out to keep an eye on me.

Dude, dads who are cops actually do this. I don't know. My dad's an electrician. Oh. Oh. God and the whole damn universe was on my side in that moment because I had never before and never since lied so smoothly. I laugh when I'm nervous and I trip over my words if I'm making anything up.

But that just came out like it was as nonchalant as the guy was. His response was, your daddy's a cop. I have to go. I turned around and to head in the opposite direction. I ran the rest of the way home as soon as I turned the corner, glancing over my shoulder to be sure I wasn't being followed, afraid of this guy knowing where I lived. Very smart. I told my mom about what had happened and she wasn't happy about the experience.

Was almost a surprise by me, by my sudden ability to lie, and that was that. A few days later, after dinner, my non-police officer dad was watching the news. I was reading, so only half paying attention. My eyes flicked up and on the split screen was a video of that very motel with crime tape across one room door and a mugshot of the man who had approached me on the street. My mom shouting gibberish to distract me leapt to the remote to change the channel. She wouldn't answer me when I asked what was being said, but I can guess. Anyway, fuck politeness, learn to lie enough to save your life, stay sexy, and don't get

murdered. Aubrey. Aubrey, you should be so proud of yourself. Yes, Aubrey. Genius. And don't, and you're wrong about you tripping over your words and not being able to, like, that was you. Yeah, yeah.

You know? Exactly. We all have that strength within ourselves. Yeah. You can trust yourself enough to know that you can protect yourself in those moments, and that she, and you know she could because she had that instinct. The second he started talking to her, her insides were like, get the hell out of her. Out of here.

Out of here. And her. Her insides were like, let's get out of her. Hey, her. Let's get out of here. Let's get out of here. This might be one of the craziest ones I've ever gotten. Oh.

That's really saying something. Yeah. It's kind of long. Okay. But I promise it's worth it. Okay. Okay. It's called My Dad.

Urban legend or true life vigilante? Mmm. Okay. It's intense. Okay. Greetings from the Pacific Northwest. You're right about the insane amount of bizarre crimes and murders that happen near the Washington and Oregon coast.

In our small town we have dozens of unsolved disappearances and crimes and I swear to God last year my neighbor cut off his own head with a chainsaw and then it says hashtag crystal meth. Oh, fuck. How do you do that? Ah, you got it. Could you start but then you have to keep going. Yeah.

Oh, maybe you. No. Okay. Throw yourself down. We'll have to Google it. The hometown story I'm sharing with you has started really quick. Were you suggesting he threw himself down onto the chainsaw? Yeah, that's how you do it.

No, that's terrible. Take all of that out. It's all horrible. Okay, go ahead. The hometown story I'm sharing with you is circulated throughout our small community for nearly 40 years. In the early 1980s my mother was attacked and raped at our home while my brother and I were at school.

Our mom, an easygoing, neighborly hippie, heard a knock at the door and hollered, come on in. Thinking it was one of her girlfriend's visiting for morning coffee. She was brutally beaten, raped, and the attacker hit her hard enough to break bones in her cheek and eye socket. Oh, my God. Before he left, he warned her not to call the cops and he threatened to hurt her children if she did and he called us by our names as he had obviously been stalking her for some

time. Fuck. I warned you. My mom called my dad as soon as the attacker left and my dad rushed home and brought mom to the hospital. There, she agreed to contact police and because of the man's threat to us kids, our grandparents were called to pick us up from school and be brought to their house. Of course, we wouldn't be told these details for many years.

I was in kindergarten and my brother was in middle school at the time, so we were told my mom had an accident at home and would be in the hospital for a while. When police had mom look through photos of known perps, she instantly recognized her attacker. He had been arrested and convicted of attempted rape and assault in prior years, but was currently serving a jail sentence in a county jail hours away. My mom was adamant, however, that the man in the picture was the man who raped her. Our small town police officer argued with her and said it's impossible that he was the

guy. A few days later, however, my parents received a visit from the local sheriff. A mistake had been made and the man that my mom had ID'd was in fact not just out of jail but had failed to report to his parole officer for the last few days. How are you fucking instead of arguing, check into it first. My mom was devastated, scared and hysterical, but when she looked up at my dad, he had a smug, tight-lipped look on his face and he said, we don't have to worry about him. Of course, most of the story has come to me from friends and relatives and bits and pieces,

but rumors went around for years that as soon as mom had recognized the man in the photograph lineup, dad had driven hours away to the town he lived in, questioned and investigated anyone he could and took care of business that very next day. My brother has hinted to me that dad opened up to him one night when they were having a heart-to-heart and confessed to it. Several drunks have started rumors about my dad burying the body in the woods, sinking it in the river, using it in crab pots as bait or hiding it in the car and pushing it over a cliff.

I do remember my mom's car being stolen about that same time. My dad passed away in 2017. He was a lovely, kind, funny, compassionate man who was endlessly in love with my mom and who everyone in our small town looked up to. I certainly never asked him about the attack on mom and in the back of my mind I wondered if the guy really did just skip town or if dad had got to him before the police did. About a year ago, I was sitting with mom when an old friend stopped by. It was the sheriff from our town, long since retired.

We all chatted about things for a bit and he brought up the subject of the attack. He must have assumed that I knew all the details because he started talking in depth about an Oregon state prison inmate who had confessed to multiple rapes and attacks in the 1980s before dying in prison a few years ago. He looked at my mom and said, he confessed to being in town, he knew the details of your attack and he even named the street you lived on. My mom's face was stoic but she didn't make any comments, just nodded and kept drinking coffee.

After our friend left, I was still sitting there dumbfounded. I asked her, but dad, what about the guy? Was this the guy or did dad really, my mom didn't give me any answers? So a few different scenarios could have happened. One, dad killed the wrong guy, two, dad killed the right guy, three, dad didn't kill anybody in the rapist who died in prison was my mom's attacker, four, dad didn't kill anybody in the rapist who died in prison was not her attacker but had been given our street address, yikes, or five, our sheriff friend wanted to squash any rumors of dad being a murderer so he pinned

this crime on a dead convict. My brother's in his mid 40s now and still adamantly argues that dad really did murder the man who mom I did in the photo. He said to me about it, sis best case scenario, two rapists are dead. Thanks for reading. I might be the only fan who listened to your book on Audible before even knowing about the MFM podcast. I just spent the last few months catching up on all the episodes.

Thanks for all you do, sis. Wow. Is that the most intense fucking one? Fuck. I know. I mean. And there's no, you can't tell who it is or where it is or any of those details and dad's dad's so like.

It's all history. It's all history. But at the same time, it's that kind of thing where it's, I don't know, it's family stories and family rumors. And it's hard not to absolutely cheer a vigilante in a situation like because rapists get let out of jail all the time, their sentences are not long enough, especially when they're repeat rapists and it's like after a while, what are you supposed to do? So I knew your children's names.

I mean, it's crazy. I don't know. Yeah. I know. We don't have to take, we don't have to have an opinion about it. Not at all. I'm all for it. It's a great fucking story.

It was really well written and it's so fucking personal. And I'm all for it. Okay. I 100% support it. Okay. This just says hometown in the subject line. Hi spooky friends. Yes.

Yes. Yes. Oh, that's it. That's from Schitt's Creek. That's Moira's quote. Oh, is it? Schitt's Creek. Remember when she goes, when she, when she's telling Stevie to take, um, naked pictures

of herself, she was, oh, and I know you think, oh, I'm too spooky. Remember that? I didn't watch the whole thing. It's my favorite line of every, any television show of all time when she's like basically giving her like a self-esteem, like you're hot now, take pictures. Do what you want. Live your life. Yeah.

The way she said it. Oh, and I know you're thinking, oh, I'm too spooky. Oh. Yeah. That's good comedy when you want to beat yourself up over it. Okay. Okay. Hi.

Hi spooky friends. Moira's writing to us. Love, love you all. Let's get started. It's Halloween 2004 in the suburbs of Chicago. For the first time, my friends and I were allowed to go trick-or-treating alone. That's a big, that's a big year, big, big deal. It's just past sundown.

Love it. The sky is a blood red turning blue. We were told not to loiter. Don't forget to check in on our Nokia phones and above all else, not to say out past sundown. So of course that's exactly what we did. But soon it got dark enough to freak us out and we started back towards my house for the requisite deep dish and candy counting. Yes.

What a life. That's amazing. Candy and like three inches of melted cheese. Chicago fucking deep dish. So good. I just read something somewhere where a person from Chicago was like, I think people need to know that we don't eat this all the time. It's special occasion food and made me laugh.

Okay. Cut to my parents' pacing. I haven't checked in. It's dark and they're grappling with letting me have independence versus turning the whole neighborhood upside down. Cut back. Middle schoolers walking on a dark street and I'm the only one who's paying attention. This is my entire life.

My parents' south side fear-based parenting had me on alert when I locked eyes with an adult man walking toward us, head down, big hood over his head, hands shoved in his pockets. Even at 11, my baby murdering herself knew that I had to herd our little group forward and watch for stragglers. Bless your heart. Once we passed him, I looked over my shoulder. Good job, baby Sarah, to make sure he wasn't following us. He was.

We turned to see him stalking after us in the scariest mask we've ever seen. Only eight 11-year-old girls are shrieking, crying, screaming at the top of their lungs down the block. It is to this day the fastest I've ever run. I whipped out my Nokia to call my parents. Page two. Cut to. My mom, already on edge, gets a phone call.

She answers it and all she can hear is hysterical crying. Oh my God. So, thinking about that now, that's so scary. Sorry, mom. We finally make it back to my house where we weepily explain what happened and my mom quietly goes, everybody in the van. Oh my God. My mother, Virginia, is not to be messed with.

She is tough as nails when she has to be and there's no one else I'd want with me in an emergency. She got everyone in our DodgeMini van and drove straight to where we said we saw the masked man. Oh my God. I love this. As we pull up, we see the man on the corner and shrieking, crying and screaming commenced once again.

This man sees our car, walks over to it and has the nerve to put his hands on the window and stare into the back seat. I will never forget the image of my mother, Virginia, looking back at the window, throwing that DodgeMini van into park right in the middle of the goddamn street and getting out of the car. Next thing we know, she is verbally slicing this man in half as he panics, backs up and takes off his mask. Turns out it was some idiot dad from our class who was pulling this prank in front of his

house to make this kid's kids laugh inside. Oh my God. My maybe five-five mother came for this man's whole life right in front of our eyes as this much taller man fell over himself apologizing and wincing and backing up slowly. He stayed inside the rest of the night and never pulled that shit again. Even though we were having a really bad night at the time, getting the scare of a lifetime and then watching my mom just obliterate this dude makes it my favorite Halloween to date. Stay sexy and don't stay out later than your mom asked you to, Sarah.

I was waiting for it to be the mom in the mask. Wow. I love it. Virginia. I love moms acting like moms. It's my favorite. Virginia. Virgy.

That's how you do it. Moms acting like moms. Yeah, mom's doing that mom thing. That's fucking right. All right. This one's called hometown story. And also, hello all. In the early 80s, my oldest brother was in kindergarten.

He had the stressful task every kindergartner faces, a picking out of what to share for show and tell. Just so happened that a murder had recently taken place at a local fast food restaurant. A murderer before his time, he decided this had all the ingredients for a story to tell the class. I'm unsure what details he actually shared. From what I've heard, it was mainly the location. I mean, a fast food restaurant, come on, almost any kid could relate to the setting.

And that a murder had happened. The real story is extremely sad. A 27-year-old woman was killed by a group of teens during a robbery. Having a flair for dramatics and wanting to make sure this was the best show and tell for his attentive audience of fellow kindergartners, my brother finished with a plot twist of four memorable words. And I did it. The teacher called my humiliated mom and was very concerned.

My mom explained they had been talking about the murder at home, and he wasn't a budding psychopath. We all laugh about it now, and my brother did not grow up to be a murderer, but he can still tell an engaging story. Stay sexy and don't let your kindergartners confess to murder for show and tell, Sarah. And I did it. And I did it. And I did it.

I did it. Did I get a fricker? When you first started and said show and tell, it immediately I flashed second grade and standing up and just bold-faced lying about something. I can't remember what it was, but it was the exact same thing where I was like, I have nothing. There's nothing going on. Like a plant.

And be like, this is my plant. Yes. And it's like, this is the plant that I poison every bit. I mean, that's the... I have zero memories of show and tell to a point that I want to say we didn't do it, which must mean I have terrible fucking memories of show and tell that I just have blocked out. Of just being miserable.

Yeah. It's so much pressure for a little kid to be like, get up and entertain a bunch of the kind of kids like they're the age where they can't pay attention. And they also can't articulate anything much like I can't these days, too. And I did it. And I did it. Oh, shit. That teacher was like, not paying attention, then there's like, doesn't double take, spits

her coffee. Man, that's amazing. Okay. And horrifying because he also told the story to a bunch of little kids. Yeah. Like at what point was she going to stop him? Yeah. Until he fucking admitted to it.

She's like, okay, that's enough. Because the lying. It's the 80s. And you can get, you can talk about murder, but you can't lie. Let's not go crazy and tell a lie. 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. Stay cozy all winter long with classic comfort foods available weekly. Why stop with just dinner? Now you can enjoy Hello Fresh's expanded menu of quick lunch solutions, weekend brunch, simple side dishes, and amazing desserts. Karen January is going to be my month for Hello Fresh. I am so sick of takeout.

I miss cooking so much. I haven't lifted a knife or a pan since like early fall. So I can't wait to get back in the kitchen and Hello Fresh makes it so easy and also makes it so that my food tastes good, which is hard to do on my own. It gives you everything, everything you need. So get up to 20 free meals with purchase plus free shipping on your first box at HelloFresh.ca slash murder 20 with code murder 20. That's up to 20 free meals plus free shipping on your first box when you go to HelloFresh.ca

slash murder 20 and use code murder 20. Goodbye. Hey, I'm Arisha. And I'm Brooke. And we're the hosts of Wondery's podcast, Even the Rich, where we bring you absolutely true and absolutely shocking stories about the most famous families and biggest celebrities the world has ever seen. Our newest series is all about the incomparable diva, Whitney Houston.

Whitney's voice defined a generation, and even after her death, her talent remains unmatched. But her incredible success hit a deeply private pain. In our series, Whitney Houston, Destiny of a Diva, we'll tell you how she hid her true self to make everyone around her happy and how the pressure to be all things to all people led her down a dark path. Follow Even the Rich wherever you get your podcasts. You can listen ad-free on the Amazon Music or Wondery app. Okay, I'm not going to read you the subject line of this.

Hi Karen, Georgia and Stephen. A classic opening. I have a true ghost story for you that will warm your soul. My grandma passed away in October 2012 in Rochester, Minnesota. My grandma has seven children, but my mom and her were especially close. In the days before her passing, my mom and my grandma, my mom asked my grandma to send her a sign that she's okay when she makes it to the afterlife. Being that my mom and grandma were both religious, I'm sure my mom prayed for safe passing and

a sign from her as well. On the day of the wake, my mom distinctly remembers turning her phone off out of respect. But during the wake, she heard her phone go off at full volume. She was really surprised by this, so she went outside to check and saw a voicemail from my grandma's church. An important detail for later, the church is affiliated with the Mayo Clinic because the church is in a Mayo Clinic retirement community. So it was a Mayo Clinic phone number that called.

When she listened to the voicemail, it was just classical music playing for two minutes, specifically string quartet number 21 in D, K575, Prussian number one, five Allegretto. No, I don't remember this detail, but I did text her to ask. At the time, she brushed it off as a technical glitch. Then when we arrived home at the end of the weekend, she checked her landline voicemail and she noticed a voicemail from the same number at the same exact time as the voicemail on her cell phone. And guess what?

She listened to the message and it was the same song playing. While freaking out, she called the church and asked if they called her during the weekend and the minister replied that he didn't call her once. The church also never heard the song before and said that they'd never had that happen to anyone else. The minister said that must have been a sign from my grandma. Here's where things get even stranger. Remember how I mentioned that this church is from a Mayo Clinic phone number?

The only time she's gotten a call from the Mayo Clinic that resulted in music playing on a voicemail was on the same day that one of her close friends passed away. Coincidence or does my mom get voicemails from heaven routed through the Mayo Clinic? Love you all, love your podcast, and I hope you love my mom's story, Michelle. Oh my God. That is a weird little, you know, but the Mayo Clinic is pretty great, so I can see that. The Mayo Clinic does great work.

Heaven also apparently does great work from what we're told. Maybe they're cahoots. Maybe they're cahoots, friends. I love it. All right, last one. This is called The Body in the Window. As long as, no, they don't even talk about. No intro.

Thank you. As long as I can remember, my grandma has lived in the small town of Prescott, Arizona, and then says, pronounce Prescott. I know, I know, spell it like you say it. Back in the early 1900s, there was a traveling salesman who came through town about once every month or so selling pens, paper, and thread. He was well known around town, but people only knew him as Mike, no last name. Mike would come in on the train one day and leave the next afternoon.

In one of his visits in 1911, Mike was apparently attending an event in a local park. The next morning, his body was found dead, sitting under a tree. There's no sounds of foul play. There was no signs of foul play. He was taken to a local funeral home where it was determined that Mike had either suffered from a heart attack or stroke. A search of his belongings turned up no identification or signs pointing to where he was from. The funeral home decided to embalm Mike and place him in an open coffin in hopes that his

body would be identified. Then so the body sat in plain view and became something of a tourist attraction. People would come to town just to see old Mike as he became known. Well, nobody ever claimed old Mike or was able to successfully identify him until 1975 when state officials ordered that he be buried. That's right. Mike sat in the funeral home for 64 years before finally being put to rest. He's buried in a local cemetery with a headstone that simply says, Mike died August 21, 1911.

I attached a couple pictures of embalmed old Mike and his creepy painted on eyeballs if you're interested. Oh no, I am interested. Sidebar. My great-uncle Chester Hooker also lived in Prescott. He was brutally murdered in a hotel that he ran in 1997 at the age of 77. The crime still remains unsolved. SSDGM Kayla.

Kayla. Kayla. Kayla Kuhller. Kayla. Kayla. Kayla. Kayla. Kayla.

Kayla. Kayla. Kayla. Kayla. Kayla. Kayla. Kayla. Kayla.

Kayla. Kayla. Kayla. Kayla. Kayla. Kayla. Kayla. Kayla.

Kayla. Kayla. Kayla. Lids painted it looks like that his glasses. Yeah, his eyelids are painted. Yeah, it looks like over the top Oh, no, you know what it looks like is member in Game of Thrones where That yeah, the main dad from Game of Thrones when he was laying in state and they had rocks that had eyes painted on them Put on his eyes. I think that was a thing wasn't it? I think so they finally buried him in it They like stood him up near car and shit. Look at him poor Mike. I mean, yeah, wow

Well, I'm glad he got laid to rest. Also. I wish that Chester Hooker's murder would get solved from 1997. Let's look into that too. Yeah Well, send your letters guys, especially your spooky was spooky Halloween everybody Yeah, it's my favorite murder at Gmail or you can do it through our website my favorite murder calm Yeah, we want to hear all your stories Um, and your hometown fucked up or otherwise. Yeah, you're near misses and Halloween hijinks. We love it. Shit your mom has done. Yeah Do any time where your mom has like thrown the mini van into park and gotten out to yell at somebody we want to hear about it Right stay sexy and don't get murdered. Goodbye. Love us. You want a cookie?