My Favorite Murder with Karen Kilgariff and Georgia Hardstark - MFM Minisode 165

Episode Date: March 9, 2020

This week’s hometowns include a John List connection and a murder van. See Privacy Policy at https://art19.com/privacy and California Privacy Notice at https://art19.com/privacy#do-not-sell-my-info.

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 and welcome to my favorite murder, the mini-soad, the coronavirus special. No, no. Oh, no, that's a different thing. That's a different show. That's this podcast will kill you. That's right. Please buy their soaps. This is where we read you back yourself that you've written us. We've gotten some really good ones. Oh, amazing. What's exciting about having a podcast is the response time where you ask for a thing and then people are like, I got you. Here you go.

And that's what happened. And here it is. I said this year. That's what happened this year, 2020. It's March of 2020. Finally, you guys got it together. I do have one corrections corner from last week, mini-soad. I didn't know how to pronounce the Irish word. It's crack. Oh, is that a place or what? I don't remember. No, it's, I believe it's, oh, I don't have the email, but I think it's the slang word for like booze. Oh, okay. Like, right? Yeah. Stephen. God damn it. But anyway, I said crake because that's how it's spelled. And several people tweeted and said, girl, it's crack. But that just changes the party story when you're, it's not like you're not saying. Oh, the email's from Linz. And what's the crack is kind of like what's happening?

Oh, what's the crack? Oh, well, you just look up and see if it has anything to do with booze, because I always read it as it was a booze thing. But look, what I like to do is take a correction corner and triple down on it and just keep on being wrong. And then guess the origin. Remember the thing I was wrong about? Well, I'm right about how wrong I was about it. Oh, okay. For Urban Dictionary is Irish word for fun and enjoyment that is bought when mixed with alcohol and or music. Oh, I was half right. Can we start using that? Yeah, I like it. What's the crack? What's the crack? Love it. And then everybody does a shot. Anyway, well, so thanks Linz. Right. And everybody that corrected me nicely. Yeah. Do you want me to go first? Yes. The subject

line of this email is that time I wrote in a serial killers van before it was seized as evidence. Oh, dear. I wonder what this is about. Hi, MFM team. Back in 2000, my cousins were starting an upholstery business and needed a company van to get started. They were broke 20-somethings. I love that 20-somethings are starting an upholstery business. That's like, so what's the word? Like, ambitious. Yes, very ambitious. And it's like ambitious in a business that I think is usually for 50-year-old, like... Hilsin and Stranglers? Yes, exactly. I was going to say Navy Veterans. They were broke 20-somethings. So the best option was to scan the nickel ads for a good deal. They ended up purchasing a 1979 Ford van with a tiny round window in the back. They were pretty excited

about it. They came by to my house to show my parents, parentheses, my dad was a car guy, and took me for a ride in it. I was 13 at the time, so there are things about this van that should have struck me as odd, but didn't. Most notably, stains in the back that my cousins had been told by the seller were blood from hunting. Okay. Yeah, the hunting van? You know how we just throw fucking deer into the back of the van? Yeah, it's like, look, I'm a hunter. I'm very interested in that. But I also like conversion vans. About two weeks later, the van was seized by our local sheriff's department in connection to suspected serial murders occurring in our hometown of Spokane, Washington. As it turns out, the seller of the van was none other than Robert Lee Yates, Jr.,

who would soon be arrested and later convicted of killing 18 women in Washington state. Holy shit. They really do have their fair share of serial killers up there. Yates was very active in the time leading up to his arrest, with bodies being discovered sometimes less than 24 hours apart. Why don't I know this story? I don't know. I'm gonna write this down. No, it's fine. I call it. I call it. Dibs, dibs, dibs. His primary dumping ground was in an undeveloped area near my friend's house. We would occasionally ride our bikes around it in hopes that we would catch the serial killer murdering start young. Guys. Right? Don't do that. Don't do that. If you're on a bike, no one expects you to catch a serial killer. My aunt went with my cousins to purchase the van and

met Yates. Fuck. She said there wasn't anything that seemed unusual about Yates and that the stains in the back didn't disturb her because she was a hunter herself. Yeah, it's Washington state. I feel like a lot of people probably are. Yeah. It's a family tradition for some. My cousins never got the van back. Not that they would want it, but the Sheriff's Department did pay them most of what they had purchased it for. That's nice. We can give you 70% on this murder van. We're trying to make a deal on a murder van. Yeah. Yates, on the other hand, is now currently serving a 408 year sentence in Walla Walla estate penitentiary. Moral of the story, trust no van, especially with one with hunting related stains and especially if you were in Washington state. Co-author credits

are due to my friend Shannon who introduced me to MFM and has really been on me about submitting this hometown. Smiley face, Sarah. 100%. Amazing. You know what, Shannon? You were right to encourage this because that was unbelievable. I just can't believe that this fucking cheap ass serial killer was like instead of like, I don't know, lighting the van on fire or something was like, no, I got to get some money for this. Right. Got to get some money for it and then just like kind of send it out into the world and hope nothing happens. Without even like fucking steam cleaning the carpet. I'm not trying to tell anyone how to serial kill. No. Don't do it. It sucks. Yeah. No one likes it. However, just give it at least one, a lightly damp rag. Sure. Wipe it down.

All right. This is called the woman who couldn't scream. Uh-oh. Hey, I've had this dream. Oh, Jesus. Oh, right. Hey, all. I was 13 years old when the murder of a graduate student from the local university rocked my small town in southern New Mexico. Katie Sepich was last seen in the early morning hours of August 31st, 2003, walking home from a party. The next day her body was found near the landfill. She was strangled, sexually assaulted, and partially burned. Oh my God. Las Cruces is a small city with a tight knit community so the news of the discovery quickly spread throughout our town, driving fear and panic. It was all a blur at the time for me and I'm sure my parents tried to shelter me from the gruesome details, but I remember seeing her story

all over the news. The image of her bright, smiling face seared in my memory. It wasn't until later in my life that I learned of what actually happened to Katie. When she didn't come home the next day, her roommate reported her missing. Authorities questioned her boyfriend after learning they'd gotten into an argument the night before. After further investigation, police discovered that she actually had come home that night because they found her shoe and would appear to be a struggle in her bedroom. Her case went unsolved for three years until a partial DNA match was made with a convicted felon, Gabriel Avila, in 2006. This fucker confessed to her murder by saying he almost ran her over with his truck as she walked home the night of her disappearance.

He pulled over to make sure she was okay and wound up following her until she made it home. That's when he attacked her. He pled guilty to multiple felonies and was given a 69-year sentence, who was only 27 at the time of her murder. Bright side of the story, because of her death, New Mexico passed a law called Katie's Law requiring anyone arrested of a violent crime to submit a DNA sample. Her parents have been pushing for this law in other states and have now expanded it to 31 of them. It's shocking to think about this happening in the town I grew up in where we felt safe. It makes me grateful to know that Katie's death wasn't ignored and drove change within the system in New Mexico and elsewhere for good. Stay sexy and don't let

motherfuckers get away without a DNA sample. Amanda. Amanda, wow. Wow, that's so sad. I mean, these all of these stories are so tragic and it's so nice when then you get to say and this family whose lives have been ruined, changed forever, like so impacted, take all of that pain and make change for other people. It's so beautiful. It is. The subject line of this is, the police questioned my grandma because she checked out the same library book as John List. We'll say no more. Okay, the end. Amanda. Ladies, Pets and Mustaches. Small talk sucks. I just listened to Minisode 164 where you asked for good old hometowns and grandma stories and it made me think it's finally time to write you with a story that I've been

sitting on for a while. But, you know, doing stuff is hard. Amen. Oh my God, you're so right. So my dad grew up in Westfield, New Jersey, home to the number one asshole family and I later John List. Quick refresher. In 1971, List killed his wife, mother and three children and left them to rot in their New Jersey mansion while he went off to start a new life before being identified 18 years later from an episode of America's Most Wanted. Beautiful encapsulation. Totally. So back in 1971, when the police found the bodies and started their investigation, my grandma was called into the local police station for questioning. The way she tells her story, she was pretty surprised since she'd obviously heard about the murders but had never met John List

or the family. When she got to the station, the police started asking her about her reading habits and that's when she found out that she'd been called in because she'd checked out the same book from the local library as List. My grandma loves to read murder mysteries, OG Murder Reno. And the investigators wanted her input on how the murder in the book she checked out might have inspired John List. Fuck. Although grandma wasn't able to help the investigation much, I can never get over the fact that she was called in for questioning because of a library book. My grandparents and dad always say the List murders had a massive impact on their town and I think it's kind of cool to have this bizarre connection to it. Thanks for all you do and say,

my Lexa Pro and I love how open you are about mental health and the daily struggles of being a human. Stay sexy and always carry a library card, Rachel. I wonder where the book was. I know. My sweet Adrina. I just love the idea that they're kind of like, yeah, we need to check you out. And then once they're like, oh, it's a grandma. They're like, okay, what happened in this book? Yeah, but they're like, we don't want to read it. Just give us a synopsis. As good as your granddaughter is. It's giving synopsis. Yeah, really? Then here you go. Okay, this one's called Pine Saw Saved My Grandma's Life. Greetings, friends and Steven's mustache. Let's get right to it. I was having dinner with my family not

that long ago when my grandma was going on about how dangerous being out on your own can be and how you should always make sure you're aware of your surroundings. Suddenly she casually says, you can never be too careful. After all, that's how that man followed me home. My obviously stunned expression prompted her to explain that a few years before my mom was born and when my aunt was only a toddler. So sometime in the late 60s, my grandma was working late one night as a bartender when a man she didn't know followed her home after her shift. How much do you love the idea of a grandma bartender? I know she's a young woman here, but the best. I mean, the idea of that where you're going into a bar, it's been a long day, you've got the troubles

of the world on your shoulders, and then there's a grandma type of person that's serving your beer, like, how you doing honey? I would cry. But this is a young woman, but still, I don't care. Our fantasy, grandma bartender. Grandma bartender. The house was dark, so my grandma thinks he must have assumed she lived alone and not with her husband and small child. Not long after she had gotten into bed, she and her husband, Roy, were awoken by a man climbing through their bedroom window. This is the part of the story where I tell you that my grandma is a bit of an obsessive cleaner and had just pine-soled all the floors before leaving her for her shift that night. Damn girl. Roy being startled by the grown man climbing through the window, jumped out of bed,

and promptly slipped head over heels on the slippery hardwood floors. Luckily, the sound of Roy falling flat on his ass scared the intruder, and he fled before anything else could happen. To this day, my grandma does not know who tried to break in, and is just thankful that the window to my aunt's bedroom was locked, because when the police arrived to check the scene, they found her window screen laying on the ground and knew that this is where they had tried to enter first. Stay sexy and don't forget to pine-sol your floors, Morgan. Morgan, great job. Pine-sol your floors and lock those windows. Lock the windows. Even second floor. Might as well. Might as well.

What's the benefit of an open window? Unlocked window. Nothing. It's the middle of the day, summertime. Throw that thing up. Enjoy yourself when you put it back down. Give it a little latch. Come on. 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 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 murder20 with code murder20. 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. Hey, I'm Mike Corey, the host of Wondery's podcast against the odds. In our next season, three masked men hijack a school bus full

of children in the sleepy farm town of Chautchilla, California. They bury the children and their bus driver deep underground planning to hold them for ransom. Local police and the FBI marshal a search effort, but the trail quickly runs dry. As the air supply for the trapped children dwindles, a pair of unlikely heroes emerges. Follow against the odds wherever you get your podcast. You can listen ad free on the Amazon music or Wondery app. The subject line is I work in one of Oregon's most haunted hotels. Oh, okay. Hi, gang. I work at a spot, McMenamins Edgefield in Troutdale, Oregon. Edgefield has been featured

on several most haunted hotels and Oregon lists. So I knew I was in store for some spooky fun things when I got a job there. I could write you an entire essay about the history of the place, but to sum it up, the grounds first existed 108 years ago as Multnomah County Poor Farm, a place to go for those who had nowhere and no one else. Homeless, poor, sick and dying, mentally ill, et cetera. Eventually it was converted to a nursing home and a home for emotionally unstable children. That's some layers. That's some layers of history there. The building is now used for the spa. So who was like, you know what would be great? This place is so relaxing.

We've got this haunted sanitarium. I think it needs to be a spa. Throw up some sound of the sound of waves and fucking wind chimes. Get that lavender going. There you go. Okay. The building that is now used for the spa was first a quote, diseased women's refuge, aka a women's prison for local sex workers. Oh my God. Cut to a couple decades ago, the grounds had been abandoned for some time before being bought and restored to a hotel, spa, brewery, golf course, concert venue.

They're doing it all in Troutdale. As you can imagine, with that kind of history, the grounds are haunted as fuck. Yep. Or just a capital F. Love it. But just say it. Room 215 in the hotel is notoriously haunted. When the McMenemen brothers began to restore the hotel, animal bones and pentagrams were found in that room. Chill. Super chill.

That's chill. This is the kind of solution that someone's drunk uncle would make up. They brought in bagpipers to play amazing grace in each corner of the room to cleanse it. That's not a thing. It is not a thing in any religion or any. I mean, it makes just as much sense as like sage, like all of that crazy woo woo bullshit that like maybe doesn't work. Bagpipes sound great. Well, I actually disagree. The bagpipes are disturbing and they need to be played on a

hill in the distance as opposed to inside a hotel room. In the corner. The ghost stayed, but every living human being left the area. Okay. But all the joy was sucked through the bagpipes. And blown out the roof. Okay. So amazing grace in each corner of the room to cleanse it. But people still report all kinds of things being held down.

Who didn't work. Yeah, exactly. All kinds of things from being held down in their sleep to seeing old poor farm residents in their room. Room 215 is often booked months out. Whoa, people are fucking crazy. People love that shit. They want to touch the other side.

One morning a few years ago, an esthetician came into the spot to find all caps, a whole goddamn molar sitting on her table. Not just a chip tooth, an entire molar. What the fuck? Yeah, then it says like what? The grounds also have a cat ghost. The poor farm had a black cat named Satan that lived there. People report Satan.

Sorry. It's S-A-T-I-N. Damn it. I know. Very close though. People report hearing a cat in their hotel rooms, feeling a cat run over them in bed at night and seeing something small and black dart across the room out of the corner of their eye.

Ghost cat. Can I just say when we go, when Mittinson and I are in any hotel, no matter how shitty it is, it's like at least there's not cats waking us up all night. So we get to a fucking hotel and there's a ghost cat. Oh my god. You're like, I pay good money to get away from cats for two days. I could write out endless more stories about this place, but no one likes super long emails.

Hell yes. Stay sexy and if you need a place to say the next time you come to Portland, check out Edgefield. We have ghost cats. Hell yeah. Let's have a murdering out like family vacation there and we'll all go. All of us. We'll all descend upon Troutdale.

The Troutdale. Yeah. That's amazing. Okay. This just goes, it's called a hometown story. Hey, you beautiful women and Steven. Oh, sorry. I used to be a party girl who lived alone in an apartment in North Springfield, Missouri.

M.O.'s Missouri, right? The shady part of town next to my elderly neighbor, Bill. Bless Bill for putting up with my bullshit because I used to come home at all hours of the night drunk off my ass. One morning I had an appointment to get you and since my mother was aware of my party life, she called me at 8 a.m. to make sure I was awake. Oh, nice. Still drunk and naked in bed, I made sleepy talk with her and could hear what I thought

were my downstairs neighbors talking very loudly. My mom said, they're being so loud, I can hear them too. Next thing I knew, there was a knock on my bedroom door. Holy shit mom, someone knocked on my bedroom door I shrieked as I left from my bed, completely nude. It was the police. My first thought was, oh God, what did I do last night? My second thought was, how the fuck did the police get inside my apartment?

They can do that. Yeah. My mom kindly stayed on the phone with me while I wrapped myself in a robe and emerged from my bedroom, still drunk and highly confused. Turns out, I forgot to latch the deadbolt when I returned home that morning. The cold winter air prevented my door from latching all the way and it blew open at some point. Sweet Bill called the police after he hollered for me and I didn't reply.

Hollered. He hollered. To this day, I thank Bill and God for not letting a murderer waltz into my apartment and kill my drunk ass. For real? Stay sexy, lock the deadbolt and sleep with clothes on, Abby. That's very true, Abby. That's a good point.

P.S. I always catch myself wanting to share your podcast with my students. Then I have to stop and remember that they're only seven years old and I teach first grade. No. No. Don't do it. Oh my God, Michelle, you would love this. Oh my God, Mackenzie, get over here. You have to hear all of these people saying fuck six times in a row.

No, Brooklyn with a Y, not the other one. Not Brooklyn. Oh yeah. Amazing batch. Good job, you guys. Keep sending them to my favorite murder at Gmail or on our website, myfavoritmurder.com. There's a what's it called? Submission thing.

We love these stories. Yeah, so good. Thank you guys so much and stay sexy. And don't get murdered. Goodbye. Elvis, do you want a cookie?