My Favorite Murder with Karen Kilgariff and Georgia Hardstark - MFM Minisode 32

Episode Date: July 10, 2017

On this week’s My Favorite Murder minisode, Karen and Georgia read your hometown stories including EMTS, London escapes, a follow-up to the Berkeley hostage crisis, and more.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. Hey Karen. Don't know.

Tell me not to do that. Don't cut that out. I just want everyone to know what I was like at one point. It was like you were trying to get me to come back over to what like I was a little duck or a dog. You were like, hey, come over here. I was like baby talking. Kind of wide eyes.

Wide eyes, but not wide forehead because I have Botox. So you can't really. Yeah, that's right. It was just the eyes. Welcome to my favorite murder mini-soad. We read to you your hometown stories of murder, mayhem, and what we'll call other. Because we're now getting a lot of emails for other, which I love. Which is great.

Listen, someone doesn't have to die for it to be fun. Look, we enjoy it, but certainly exactly the truth, if not more so. I wouldn't say that in a real, in a normal episode, but I think the people who are like dedicated are listening to the actual mini-soads like know what they're getting into. We don't have to explain it. No, you guys. It's almost been a full fucking year. They get it.

You guys are the solid fucking believers. You guys are the achievers. Believers, but come on, achievers, believers, the skevers, skevers, mosquitoes, you know. Ready? Yeah. You go. Subject line is my EMT story, lighthearted. Hey, Stephen, Karen, and Georgia, I would go ahead and reverse that order.

Stephen is not the first person. You're getting him a point, a point away from him every time. This is one of those things where we slowly give Stephen the power and the assignments and this and that, and suddenly people are only talking to Stephen. People are calling it my favorite Stephen podcast. The next thing you know, you and I are fucking out. We don't have a podcast anymore. Yeah, that's right.

It's all cats and Stephen. Okay. Hi, Stephen, Karen, and Georgia. I love the podcast too bad it wasn't around in 1997 because it would have saved me from this mistake. Oh, no. Back in 97, I was a very young, naive and sheltered new nurse who had been working in the local ER for a minute or two.

I instantly became fascinated with the paramedics that brought us patients. So I signed up for a six week EMT class at the community college. Since I was already a nurse, they assured me I already knew everything I needed to know. And the educational standards for EMTs back in the day were not as strict as they are now. We spent most of the class listening to our instructor tell us stories about all the fucked up shit he saw throughout his career. Sign me the fuck up.

For real. Los Angeles City College, we're coming for you. Come on. Okay. Then we took a very basic test and boom, I'm an EMT driver's license. I immediately took my card to the volunteer fire department and signed up to be on a medical first responder. They handed me a t-shirt, a pager, a map book and a red light for my car and boom, I'm

on duty. Absolutely. No training. I would sit because she was a nurse. I would sit all day at the house waiting for the pager to go off and then a race out into the unknown all by myself, a 22 year old blonde girl with a medical bag. Just to orient you to my reality at the time, I didn't have the internet. It didn't have many good crime shows on basic cable, didn't have a cell phone, lived in

a town that had two traffic signals. So one afternoon, our fire department and the sheriff's department got paged about an unconscious person suspected DOA at a house that was very close to where I lived. I knew I'd be first on the scene. I was extremely excited. So what did I do? I jumped in my car and sped to that house alone. Did I wait on the sheriff's deputy to get there before I ran into the house?

Hell no. When I got there, a man standing on the porch pointed to the front door of the house and said she's in the bedroom. I wandered around the house by myself, found the bedroom. There's a woman who's obviously dead, propped up in the bed with a night shirt on, no underwear. It was my first potential crime scene. So what did I do? I touched everything in the entire room.

I walked over to the patient, made sure she was unresponsive. I put down my medical bag to get my stethoscope, but there was too much stuff on the nightstand, so I moved it all around to make some space, including a glass with a drink in it. Then I got concerned I would knock the drink over, so I moved it again for safe measure. Then I noticed the TV was really loud and I wasn't going to be able to listen to heart sounds to confirm death, so I walked over and turned the TV down, then off. About this time, my fire chief walked in. He was very kind, patient man, and he was like, honey, how about we make sure she's

dead and then we get out of here and stop touching things? So I spent that evening downtown at the Sheriff's Department giving them my fingerprints and DNA swabs and receiving a lot of side eye and nasal flares. Lesson learned so hard. SSDGM, especially in my fire district in 1997, K in North Carolina. Wow. Oh, honey. I mean, I feel like, you know, before the 90s, that's how it was done, though.

It seems like it. From the 1600s right up until 97, it seems like. How are you supposed to know? Oh, from 98, we were like, don't touch it. Hey, I've seen a show called Forensic Files. Don't touch anything. Okay, oh, you know what I was thinking how cool it would be to have the unsolved mysteries and theme song as your fucking ringtone.

Oh, would you like every time I heard my ring, I would like get chills. That's such a good idea. That must be available. That's gotta be a thing that has Stephen. Seven is already writing it down. All right. Okay. All right.

Amazing friends escape from intruders. What? Here Karen, Georgia, Stephen, Elvis, Mimi, Frank, and George, who is a girl. I love it. Roll call. Yes. My name is Ollie, and I'm from the southeast of England about an hour south of London. And my belief is that you all equal awesome.

I'm particularly happy because I recently got my husband to listen to my favorite murder. And now he's hooked because, well, you all are awesome. Hey, thank you. Thank you. One of my amazing friends has horrific or had a horrific ordeal back in 2008. She was chilling at home on a Saturday evening with a glass of wine in her flat in London. Sounds amazing. I mean, but then she heard the front door open.

She naturally assumed it was one of her two flatmates flatmates flatmates. So didn't think of it much, didn't think much of it. The next thing she knows, two people, a man and a woman burst into the room and dragged her from room to room, forcing her to fill bags with valuables, all the while shouting at her that they were going to fucking stab. She didn't write fucking. And I just, she wrote, she wrote F star, star, star, ING. Come on.

Fucking. Stab her if she didn't fill the bags. They went on to tie her up to a chair in one of her flatmate flatmates room. And every time she looked at them, she was trying to remember their faces in case she got out. The woman would smack her across the face and tell her that if she looked at them again, she would kill her. Good God.

These two oxygen Steelers then took all her jewelry and bank cards. The guy demanded what her pin was and warned her that if she gave him the wrong number, he would come back and kill her. She very bravely, question mark, exclamation mark, gave the wrong number to him and he left the flat, leaving the woman to keep watch of my friend. The woman then carried on going through all the other rooms and my friend managed to loosen the computer cable they had used to tie her up and decided to make a run to the front door.

Thankfully, she managed to get out onto the street barefoot and eventually wave someone down to help her remain sexy and not get murdered. Good job. These two were arrested two days later at a West London hotel. The man pleaded guilty and was handed an indefinite jail sentence for the protection of the public. Wow. Can we do that now, please? I mean, you need to move to England.

Dude, I do. That's your jam entirely. Seriously. He was told that he must serve at least four years before he can be considered for release. The woman who had denied the charges of robbery and burglary with violence was given a nine-year jail term. Wow. Well, just in case you want to check it out, these two were called Michael Rowe and Susan

O'Brien. I don't really care. I love you guys so much. Please stay awesome, carry on shouting, Stephen, and please come to London SSGM, Ollie. So awesome. Yeah. God, that's... Imagine you're like at your most relaxed couple of glasses of wine in you and the surprise

of that. How many times must... Well, I guess we couldn't go back and tell her. Lock your fucking doors. Got to lock that door. Not victim-blaming or anything or shaming. No, it was the 90s. Start with basic precautions.

Got to do it. Why not do it? What's the negative of locking your door? Your shitty fucking flatmate forgets her key. She can knock. Yeah, she knocks and you get up off that couch. You work the wine around your system a little bit, get even drunker. And then eventually you'll get to the door and let her in.

You'll stop at one of your side tables to look at a coffee table book that you haven't looked at in a while. This is beautiful. I forgot. I love Angettis. Gettis? Looking for a better cooking routine? With meal planning, shopping and prepping handled, HelloFresh has you covered.

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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. The subject line is my dad was in the dorm next to the Berkeley hostage crisis.

So that's the story that I did a couple ago that happened in Berkeley. I was crazy. Okay, so dear MFM fam, well put Katie, hi guys, I'm a huge fan of the pod and the community has that has grown with MFM. When I heard episode 73 in Karen's story, I audibly gasped with excitement on Bart back from the city. These are all San Francisco terms, Bart is the subway, San Francisco, we call this San Francisco the city.

All right, I remember my dad telling me about the hostage situation when I was younger because he was a student at Berkeley when it happened. Henry's bar is attached to Hotel Durant, one block from campus. There are tons of popular food places on the street and University Resonance Hall right next to the hotel. My dad lived there during his freshman year in 1990 and described the situation as that one time a guy brought a bag of guns into Henry's. He told me this story when we visited campus, I was around 10, and he understandably left

out the part about sexual assault of the victims. He remembered some of the people in Henry's running into his dorm when Doshgee started shooting and apparently everyone on his floor stayed up the entire night and watched the police outside of the bar through their dorm windows. I mean, how could you not? What stuck with him the most was the extremely loud noise from police shooting Doshgee at dawn, pretty sure he added the dawn for effect since it was after seven, but you know how dad's exaggerate.

Even after hearing this insane story as a kid, I ended up going to UC Berkeley too and I'm now a senior through the city, though the city still struggles with crime, nothing even close to this level of chaos has happened in my time here. Hopefully it stays that way, though I still have one more year. Thank you guys for everything you do say sexy. Don't get murdered. Katie. Nice.

I mean, there's a second separate one degree of separation. Yeah. Tell us that firsthand version. I love it. That's the best. Okay. Mom in law murdered a murderer. Oh, yes.

That's fun. Yes. That's a fun title. Okay. My husband's stepmother's. She just fucking gets right into it. Yeah. Love it.

Yeah. Appreciate it. No messing. No. My husband's stepmother's first husband. My her husband's stepmother's. So her mother-in-law. Her mother-in-law's first husband who's not related.

Her father-in-law. Right. I know. Who knows. It was a real piece of shit. Oh, hello. Maybe he wasn't around. Okay.

She had been planning to leave him and one afternoon she had all her stuff packed and was ready to leave prior to him returning from work. Uh-oh. She went to open the door to make her escape and there he stood. Those are all periods that I didn't put in. Oh shit. There he stood. In her panic, she remembered she had put her pistol in her bag and she was packed as

she was packing up, whipped that shit out and pulled the trigger. She ran to her neighbors and told them to call 911. As she waited in the cops' behind to arrive, she kept asking where the ambulance was. One of the police officers informed my mother-in-law that the coroner was on his way. Her husband was dead. She had shot him in the torso and apparently hit some vital organs with her small 22, which tends to ricochet through someone's body rather than going straight through causing more internal damage.

Damn, I didn't know that. That's rough. That's what, that's, now we know. Yeah. 22. Uh, upon search of his car, the police found in the trunk, oh Karen, this is your favorite ready for this? Yes.

They found duct tape, rope and black plastic bags. Maybe he was just going to clean up the, no. Clean up innocent people's lives. He was on his way home to murder my mother-in-law. My sister-in-law told me the story with my mouth agape and face white and she ended it with, how did you not know the story? I think show of hands of every murderer in it who's fucking been said that. I'm glad I know it now and I hope you're glad to give Elvis a cookie for me and literally

throw Karen's dogs a bone. Stay sexy, Hailey. Wow. Dude. That's crazy. But it's so cr- I mean, she didn't say if he was abusive or not, so like she must have not had a, she had a gun because she was scared of him, but she said he was a real piece of shit.

Yeah. I bet it wasn't like, cause he wasn't fun at parties, you know? Like I bet that's what he, that's probably what she meant, right? One hopes, you got a hope. He was a real bore. Yeah. So she shot him. All he did was what, drink diet Shasta and fucking eat all the maraschino cherries and

then. So embarrassing. Like stay away from the fucking shrimp cocktail. That's my diet Shasta for special occasions. Well, that was fucked up. Yeah. Those are, those are some good ones. Yeah.

You guys send us yours, get a good subject line going and Stephen will usually maybe click on it. Yeah. It's my favorite murder. Gmail. Send us your hometowns. You're not hometowns. You're college towns.

Your parents, college hometowns. You're Swiss cheese pervert style stories. If you want to hear them, if you don't know about that, go back and live in Google that shit and also stay sexy and don't get murdered by Elvis. You want to cook? Nope. Yes. He jumped his line.

Elvis. He was so ready. Oh, you're fired. Thanks, Stephen. Bye. Bye. Bye. Bye.