Prime Crime: Solved Murders - Three in Chicago Pt. 1: Tragedy in Jefferson Park

Episode Date: November 2, 2022

In 1955, the quiet community of Jefferson Park in Chicago was known as a peaceful suburb. But its innocence was stripped away when three local boys went to a movie and never came home. Days later, their bodies were found. The case went cold for years before a seemingly unrelated crime provided the key to solving the mystery. Learn more about your ad choices. Visit megaphone.fm/adchoices

Due to the graphic nature of this murder case, listener discretion is advised. This episode includes discussions of violence, child murder, and sexual assault. We advise extreme caution for children under 13. The neighborhood of Jefferson Park is in Chicago, sitting right on the northwestern corner edge of city limits. In the 1950s, it had a much more suburban feel than the rest of the town. But for the people who lived there, that was precisely the point. Jefferson Park was close enough to the loop to feel metropolitan, but it also offered the kind of comforts that weren't as easy to come by in the other neighborhoods.

More space, better schools, and the general sense that the so-called dangers of city life didn't apply here. But that last part wasn't true. The fantasy of safety was just that, of fantasy, a lie that was far too easy to believe. And in 1955, two families would learn that in the worst way possible. That year, a horrific crime ripped through the Jefferson Park community like a knife, destroying any false sense of security that once existed. Our story will start here in 1955, but don't be fooled. This is just the beginning.

The mystery of this one crime is really a story in three chapters, which we will cover in three episodes. Many of the people in the first chapter won't make it to the end. Our story isn't one that takes place in a matter of weeks, months, or even years. This story deals in decades. Welcome to Solved Murders, True Crime Mysteries, a Spotify original from Parcast. I'm your host, Carter Roy. And I'm your host Wendy McKenzie.

Every Wednesday, we step into the world of true crimes most fact. fascinating murder cases and tell the tale of how real-life detectives close the case. You can find episodes of Solve Murders and all other Spotify originals from Parcast for free, exclusively on Spotify. This is our first of three episodes about the murders of John Schusler, Anton Schusler, and Bobby Peterson. This week, we'll follow the initial investigation into their deaths and see how clashing egos got in the way of solving the crime. Next time, we'll jump to the 1970s, when a seemingly unrelated crime leads detectives closer to finding the boy's killer. We have all that and more coming up. Stay with us.

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would wander the streets freely, stopping at corner stores are one of the neighborhood's many bowling alleys to hang out with their friends. In some ways, Jefferson Park succeeded in creating and maintaining that kind of lifestyle, but underneath that fantasy was also a deep well of fear. For the overwhelmingly white working-class residents of Jefferson Park, it was just as important to protect their community

from external threats. the neighborhood's proximity to the rest of Chicago made it feel like danger was always just around the corner. This fear largely crystallized around the threat of gang violence. Recent films in press coverage had sparked a massive wave of concern about so-called young tufts marauding the street to cause trouble. And the danger of this kind of violence felt very, very real in the 1950s. Chicago newspapers warned of violent crime and knife fights happening all across the city.

Folks, come get your papers. Read about the terrors downtown. Three teens slain after a late-night drag race turned into an all-out brawl. It's a war zone over there, folks. And in the same week, two other boys killed after a spat involving a card game. Two young lives lost all for a hand of poker. Get the story right here, ladies and gentlemen, and learn about the two. terrible fate that befell two troubled teens.

And on page seven, how to keep you and your family safe from such terrible strife? Could your neighborhood be next? It's all in this issue of the Tribune. So even in Jefferson Park, a good 30-minute drive from downtown, parents were easily influenced by these reports. Perhaps it wasn't happening in their neighborhood, but who knew when someone would come to threaten their little slight, of paradise. Eleanor and Anton Schusler were no strangers to this kind of anxiety. Their two sons,

13-year-old John and 11-year-old Anton Jr., were well-behaved kids, but it was a parent's job to worry. Their anxieties were tested on Sunday, October 16th. That day, John and Anton approached their parents with a daring request. They wanted to go to a movie downtown. They'd be going to going with a friend, 14-year-old Bobby Peterson. The Schusselers balked at the request. Going to a movie in the loop meant that these three boys would have to take a bus, then a train just to get to the theater.

This was a long trip, even for kids who were used to piling around on their own. Plus, it was a school night, and the boys had homework to do. But John and Anton were quick to say that they already did their homework. They assured their parents that everything would be fine.

Elinor Schusler was convinced and told John and Anton that they could go to the movie, but she had one rule. They had to be back before seven. It was going to be a chilly autumn afternoon, so Eleanor dressed the boys in matching cubs jackets, blue satin with a large sea logo emblazoned on the left breast. The Peterson's must have thought of the same thing. When the two Schusler boys arrived to pick up Bobby around 3 p.m., he emerged in his own satin jacket, black, with a white socks logo. The boys chattered on the front porch for a bit, then left to see the movie.

So off the trio went, down the stairs, along the sidewalk, and around the corner toward the bus stop on Milwaukee Avenue. Just like that, they were out of sight. The afternoon passed slowly. Maybe Dorothy Peterson made dinner for herself and her husband, leaving some food aside for Bobby when he got home. Eleanor Schusler might have done the same, trying not to peek out the front window every so often. Slowly, seven o'clock arrived. It was getting dark now. The sun, nothing more than a sliver against the horizon, but the boys hadn't come home. Eight o'clock. It started to

rain. It's easy to imagine the anxiety that gripped both households. Parents suddenly worried that they had made some terrible mistake. The trip downtown was too long, too dangerous. Something must have happened. Around 915, the parents couldn't wait at home any longer. Eleanor and Anton Sr. didn't know the phone number of Bobby's parents, so they picked up the phone book and called every northwest side number with Bobby's last name until they found PE62591, the Peterson's. Bobby, is that you calling? This, Mr. Peterson? Do you have a son named Robert? Yes, that's me. Have you found my boy?

I'm sorry, but my name is Anton Schusler. Our boys haven't returned home. I take it. Bobby hasn't either? I can't stand just sitting around like this anymore. That's exactly why I called you. Eleanor is going to stay home, and I suggest your wife does the same. I can pick you up, and together we'll go look for them. Before Mr. Schusler picked up Mr. Peterson, the parents called families on their street, and one neighbor called the police to report the boys missing. The two fathers piled into the car and began patrolling through the rainy streets. They drove down to the loop, stopping to check if the boys had decided to stay for the showing of the African Lion, but it had ended by 10.40 p.m. No sight of them.

Whenever the pair drove by a payphone, one of the men would jump out and call home in the hopes that John, Anton, and Bobby had come back. But the message was always the same. No news. Mr. Peterson and Mr. Shusselaer drove around for hours. With every block they passed, both men felt the terrible reality of the situation tighten around them. The boys were missing, and these two men couldn't search for them alone. They had to tell the police. Coming up, the search for The Missing Boys begins. You tell yourself it's only a movie. None of this could ever happen to you.

You feel relieved until you discover what you're watching is based on actual events. Hi listeners, it's Vanessa and Greg from the Spotify original from Parcast, Serial Killers. In our Halloween special, Real Horror, we're spotlighting three of the most iconic horror films of all time. and telling the terrifying true stories that inspired them. Recovering the real influences behind characters like Ghostface from the 90s mega-hit scream. Hannibal Lecter and Buffalo Bill from the Oscar-winning thriller, The Silence of the lambs, and Leatherface, from the 70s cult classic, The Texas Chainsaw Massacre.

Enjoy Real Horror, the serial killer's three-part Halloween special. Listen to all three episodes the final week of October, free and only on Spotify. And now back to the story. On the night of October 16, 1955, Malcolm Peterson and Anton Schuessler, Sr., walked into the Jefferson Park Police Station in the northwest side of Chicago. After hours of searching the city's dark, rainy streets, the two men had to face a horrible truth.

Their sons were missing. John Schuessler, Anton Schusler, and Bobby Peterson had gone to a movie earlier that day. with a promise that they would be home by nightfall. But as the city darkened, none of them returned home. Now, both fathers feared the worst. It's just not like my boys to do this. They're good kids. John and Anton, they would have been home on time.

And when was the last time you saw the boys? Well, John and Anton left the house in the early early. afternoon. It must have been then. Oh, and they were wearing matching Cubs jackets. I think the U was missing on Anton's patch. And Bobby was wearing a socks jacket. I saw the three of them around three. They left my house together. Thank you, gentlemen. I'm sure your boys just got lost out there in all this rain. Kids wander off all the time. You go home and get some rest. We'll take care of it from here. Around 12.30 a.m., a message went out across the north and northwest side of the city, urging police to keep an eye out for these three missing boys. Officers searched the darkened streets,

likely with the hopes that the trio would be spotted near Jefferson Park. Mr. Peterson and Mr. Schuster were probably exhausted from the evening search, and they eventually returned home to deliver the news to their wives around 3.30 a.m. All anyone could do was wait with the hope that come morning, everything would be all right again. But on October 17th, there was no news from the police. Every hour felt like an eternity to the two families, as the weight of their circumstances grew miserably real. The Schuselers and the Peterson sat anxiously by the phone, scrambling to pick up the receiver any time it rang. John, Anton, is this the police?

Have you found them? Uh, hello, Mrs. Schusler. It's Ernest Nudomsky from down the street. I go to school with John and Anton. Oh, hello, Ernest. I, uh, I just called to tell you that we all think John and Anton will be just fine. They're good guys and... Ernest, I'm sorry, it's just...

You're holding up the line. I can't be chatting right now. I can't miss a call from... From the police. Oh, yes. Oh, gosh. I'm sorry, Mrs. Schusler. The day passed with no updates from the police.

John, Anton, and Bobby were still missing. Whatever anxiety the families had felt during the day was now turning into an unshakable feeling of sorrow. As the sky darkened, the Peterson's and the shoestlers prepared for yet another sleepless night. It's easy to imagine the parents lying awake in bed, desperately trying to will their sons to come home. But all the while,

That nagging fear remained. Maybe they'd never come home. Morning dawned on October 18th, a perfect autumn day. Perhaps the two families hoped that this lovely weather would promise good news, but they had no idea how wrong they were. Fourteen minutes away from Jefferson Park, a liquor salesman named Victor Livingston decided to take his lunch at the Robinson Forest Preserve. It was a little afternoon when he swung a sedan into the parking lot near the woods,

happy to enjoy the view before he had to return to work. Victor reached into the back seat to grab his lunch, when a bizarre shape caught his eye, just a little way beyond his parked car. Victor could see something lying in a grassy ditch. At first glance, Victor thought someone had tossed a few mannequins into the grass, clucking his tongue at the thought of someone dumping trash into the wood. woods, Victor got out of his car to investigate. But once he got close to the ditch, Victor froze at his tracks.

He could see blood on the unmoving figures lying on the ground. Suddenly he realized what he was looking at. These weren't mannequins at all. Victor stumbled backward, caught himself, and sprinted back to his car. He raced to the closest business he could find, nearby bar. He burst in, told people what he had found, and eventually found himself talking to the police. Chicago Police, what's the emergency? You need to get officers down to the Robinson Forest Preserve.

There's... I saw dead bodies, children. Sir, I need you to calm down. Did you hear me? I just saw the bodies of three little boys over there. Get someone out here now! Police rushed to the scene within minutes. multiple city and county police officers were there,

joined by reporters in a growing mass of curious onlookers who were drawn in by the sound of sirens. Everyone stared down at the three small boys that lay in the grass. Their clothes were missing, and it was easy to see the bruised marks on the mangled bodies. They had been tossed down there almost as an afterthought. Their limbs tangled in a ghoulish mass. Some policemen dared to get close, tenderly stepping down into the ditch to examine the bodies themselves. None of these officers were trained pathologists and were not equipped to touch or move the corpses.

But in 1955, it wasn't standard practice to close off a crime scene. It's impossible to know what evidence could have been found if these men hadn't interfered, but within minutes it was too late. the grass had been trampled by countless pairs of feet. But Cook County coroner, Walter McCarran, didn't seem very worried about the integrity of the crime scene. By this point, McCarran had already garnered the reputation of being a self-important political hack, sacrificing actual police work in favor of simply looking the part of a confident policeman. When he and his deputy Eric Gloss arrived at the scene,

McCarran noticed the group of reporters present at the park, someone was even filming. He made a show of examining the crime scene, striding down to the ditch to look at the bodies. One of the bodies had two parallel wounds on his scalp. Without a moment's pause, gloss grabbed Bobby's head, turning it back and forth. McCarren followed suit, touching the corpses and fixing his face in a look of serious contemplation. This further destroyed the crime scene, compromising in a way that, by today's standards would be unthinkable, but McCarran showed no sign of regret as he clambered out of the ditch and addressed the group of reporters.

This is a sad day. A terrible day indeed for our fair city. What a chilling sight. I've just examined the scene and I can say with full confidence that these three boys have been slain in the most disturbing way possible. Sir, what does that mean? Could you be more specific? This is a sex crime. How could you possibly know that? There hasn't even been an autopsy. Which one of us is county coroner, son? Me or you? Now, if you don't mind, gentlemen, I have work to do.

For the next three hours, McCarren continued to wander around the crime scene, pausing to examine the corpses, as if he was posing for a photograph. And all the while, the three bodies lay in the ditch, baking in the direct sunlight. At 2.30 p.m., the three bodies were taken to a morgue in a hearse. This was another unusual choice. Normally bodies would be removed by a police wagon in the hope of avoiding any further compromising of the bodies.

After all, they were evidence. But it seemed like McCarran hadn't thought much about that detail. He was busy talking to the press, reiterating his theory that these boys had been the victims of a so-called, sex crime, despite having no evidence to prove it. Regardless of McCarron's baseless claims, the press were quick to publish news of this shocking discovery at Robinson Forest Preserve.

Within hours, the whole city was talking about it. Even so, it took until the late afternoon for the news to reach the Schusler and Peterson families. An officer delicately asked for both families to come to the morgue where they would be needed to help identify the bodies. Eleanor Schuessler sat at home while Dorothy Peterson sat in miserable silence in the waiting area. Their husbands went into the examination room in the Cook County Hospital to view the bodies.

Mr. Peterson, after you, I apologize for having to do this to you. But it's the only way to know for sure. Do God, my boy, that's my Bobby. Wait, why is his body open like that? Like he's in surgery. Oh. Oh, no. I'm so sorry, sir.

That's not supposed to... Oh, my God. Have you already started working on him? What? Oh, I don't feel well. Jesus, someone grab him. This man's going to faint. It was true.

The morticians had already begun examining Bobby Peterson's body and had failed to cover up their work before Mr. Peterson arrived. woozy and overwhelmed by the sight, Mr. Peterson was escorted back to his wife. Mr. Schuessler was tasked with the same job. Upon seeing the dead bodies of his two sons, Anton Schusler collapsed, pleading and crying as he hugged the unmoving corpse of Anton Jr. Eventually, a morgue attendant and the deputy Cook County Sheriff had to drag him out of the room. With their grim job done, both three years.

families went home, exhausted and overwhelmed. But the work at the morgue wasn't done. Moments after the parents left, Dr. Jerry Kearns arrived to conduct the post-mortem. He worked diligently on the three bodies, the sound of his tools ricocheting off the tile floors. Right away, he noted some interesting details. I need a technician in here, someone to take notes. Right here, sir. What are we looking at? While all three boys died somewhere between 9 p.m. and midnight on October 16th, they were strangled but in different ways. Both John and Anton Schusler was strangled by hand. Make a note of fingernail marks on both boys' necks.

All right, but what about the Peterson boy? He's the one exception. It looks like he was asphyxiated with a flexible object, a hose or something like that. There are also these strange parallel wounds on the left and backside of his scalp, as if he was attacked. by some sort of gardening tool. What about sexual misconduct? Oh, do you mean where the boys molested? You shouldn't believe everything coronerick Karen says, you know. But no, I see no evidence of sexual violence here.

Dr. Kearns noted a few more details. John Schusler had an injury on his thigh, as if a chunk of skin had been intentionally removed. There were also striated markings, across Anton Schusler's chest, as if the boy had been pressed against a grate. Despite his findings, there were several big details that Dr. Kearns missed. For example, all three boys had bone fractures in their skulls, something that the pathologist either forgot to label or chose to omit intentionally. Even this element of the investigation wasn't done perfectly.

But it would have to do, at least for now, after such a disastrous first, day, the police needed some kind of clue to point them in the right direction. Hopefully, all, or at least some, of Dr. Kern's imperfect findings would prove useful. Maybe this first day was nothing more than a fluke, a messy first step on a long journey. But one thing was for sure, things were not off to a good start. Coming up, the police try in their convoluted way to catch the killer. Now, back to the story. By October 18, 1955, the Chicago and Cook County Police knew three things for sure.

One, Bobby Peterson, his friend John Schusler, and John's brother Anton, were dead. Two, someone had killed them. Three, it was up to the cops to catch the killer. By the following day, practically every division of Chicago and Cook County Police descended upon Jefferson Park and the surrounding neighborhoods. Homicide detectives, state patrolmen, and Forest Preserve Rangers

search for clues and accosted people on the street. For the Schusler and Peterson families, this sudden onslaught of police might have seemed like a good thing at first, but it quickly became obvious that these different departments didn't want to work together as a team.

In fact, for many officers, this case was a competition. Solving a triple-harmine, Homicide could do wonders for anyone looking to get a leg up in Chicago politics. Promotion, good publicity, it was all up for grabs. At the very least, it would make a specific department look good. They would be the ones who crack the case. So, to put it bluntly, no one wanted to share.

You're with the county police, right? I saw you speaking to that old man over there. Hmm. It really seemed like you two were, uh, chattering away. What's it to you? I'm just saying gizal. If he told you something that could be useful to the investigation, Chicago homicide ought to, uh, take a look.

Why? So you can pawn off my evidence as your own? Please, I'm not that thick. Go dig around in the trash or something. Since so many people wanted to be the one who solved the case, cops were willing to follow practically any lead that came their way. and more often than not, these leads wound up as dead ends. This is how the first week of the investigation went.

A frenzied, unorganized surge in activity with no real strategy to speak of. The police weren't any closer to catching the killer than they had been at the jump. Something had to be done to reorganize this case and fast. So, Cook County Coroner Walter McCarran concocted his own plan. Around this time, he reached out to Chicago Police Commissioner Timothy O'Connor. But Karen had a theory about the killer's identity, and he needed the city police to get on board. I'm telling you, Tim, it's a gang of young tufts, real Rough Rider types. They are the only ones who could have done this.

There has been a rash of gang-related crimes in the city. But what would you propose? We need to make an example of these punks, whoever they are. And to do that, we need to gather the troops. We'll make a special unit to find these killers and bring them down. Your enthusiasm wouldn't have anything to do with the election coming up next March, would it? Now, Commissioner, I don't know why in the world you would think that. Why don't you let me worry about that silly election?

For now, let's focus on catching these freaks. So the two men set about organizing a task force in the Schusler-Petersen, murders. The group promised results from the best police officers across the Chicagoland area. But in their plans, neither McCarron nor O'Connor seemed to consider the clashing egos that had already been a problem in the investigation. And sure enough, this new task force began suffering from the same thing. I was actually at the scene and was able to examine the bodies myself. And I'd like to report that my findings were pretty much identical to the one that Dr. Kearns made in his examination.

Oh, please, lucky guesses. You're not a pathologist. I'm supposed to be the expert on that, remember? Always, if you know anything about real police work. While you're mixing chemicals, me and the rest of the homicide team are actually risking our lives. Do you know who you're speaking to?

You should be thanking me for the amount of time I've spent examining all the worthless stuff you bring in here as evidence. You have no idea what you're doing. Okay. Well, why don't you just run off to your little science lab and do your tests? If you find something interesting, tell us. Let the actual detectives handle it. Despite this constant infighting, the task force pushed forward in earnest. Slowly, they were able to retrace some of the boys' movements on October 18th.

After going to the movie downtown, John, Bobby, and Anton had stopped at several bowling alleys around Jefferson Park to play a few games. Multiple people claimed to see the boys throughout the night, either at the bowling alley, on public transit, or walking along the street. Someone even claimed to have given the trio a ride around 8.05 p.m. Tell me, where did you drop them off? On the corner of Kenneth and Montrose, like I said. And before you ask again, no, I don't know where they were going. So you dropped off three little boys nearly three miles from their homes in the dark on a rainy night? And you feel good about that.

Listen, officer, I was just trying to head home for the night. I saw these kids walking in the rain and I helped them out. They told me to drop them off there. How in the world am I supposed to know what they were getting up to? You're hiding something. I know it. By God, I'll get it out of you. But the driver didn't know anything.

Frankly, nobody seemed to know what happened to the boys after that. Some people claimed to have seen the trio climb into a car later that night, but the kind of vehicle always changed. Some said it was a farm truck. Others were sure it was a sedan. Ultimately, the lead went nowhere. Toward the end of the year, detectives started noticing an interesting pattern. Several people in the Park Ridge neighborhood had reported,

reported hearing screams around 11.30 p.m. on the night of October 16th. Park Ridge is a city just outside of Chicago City limits, about five miles northwest of Jefferson Park. In 1955, it was a quiet residential area and certainly not a place that was accustomed to hearing screams in the night. The scream was high-pitched, a child scream. He must have been terrified. It was horrible to hear. There was a moment of silence, then another scream. Lower, but just as ghastly. And where was the direction of this scream? Could you tell where it was coming from?

Well, it sounded like it was coming from the stables. The place is called idle hour stables. They do horseback riding and all that. Frankly, I'm surprised you boys haven't gone over there yet, considering the owner. What do you mean? Silas? Oh, I'm sure you know the name. Oh, boy, does he have a record on him. By 1955, Silas Jane was a known criminal in the Cook County area. In the past, he had committed various fraud schemes, arsons, and a whole host of other crimes. He was also a convicted rapist.

Now, the three boys had not been sexually assaulted, but Silas' criminal history certainly made him look suspicious to the police. Ideas were running wild. The more they thought about it, the more the police felt like this could really be a solid lead. The stables closed at 5 p.m. on Sundays, so in theory, the killer could have had the whole place to himself. A unit of detectives descended to idle hour to interview the stable hands who worked there. But when the detectives conducted their interviews, these theories began to unravel. No, sorry, I'm not sure what else to tell you.

I didn't hear any screams at night. We have multiple people who claim to hear a boy screaming from this direction. Listen, I live on the property, a bunch of guys do. We have around-the-clock watchman who guards the place at night. He's even got Dobermans. If anything happens, someone would have done something. Is this what you really think? Or did your boss tell you to say this?

I'm just telling it like it is, sir. Now, can I please get back to work? The police were dumbfounded. Every worker at Idelauer said virtually the same thing, no screams, no suspicious activity. Without much else to go on, the task force put this theory on the back burner. The investigation continued into 1956, as it always had, with detectives jostling for their moment in the spotlight, chasing down theories and the hopes that this would finally be the one.

In the spring of that year, pathologists were able to find an intriguing piece of information. All three boys had metal filings on the bottom of their shoes. Tests also turned up traces of dolomite, a chemical used in anything from paint to ceramics and even detergent. In a mad dash, the police began searching metalworks businesses throughout the Chicago area. They interrogated junk dealers, welders, and practically anyone who interacted with metal filings on a daily basis. But this lead wound up just as fruitless as the rest. By the time warm weather was starting to return to the city, the investigation had hit a wall.

Detectives were searching and searching with no end in sight. Eventually, it became impossible to ignore the reality. The case was dead. The task force quietly dissolved, and the so-called best and brightest officers were reassigned to other ongoing cases. The Schusler and Peterson families were left without any hope for closure. They could only try to return to some semblance of a normal life, knowing that it may never be possible again. Ironically, the constant posturing did nothing to win over voters. virtually every high-ranking officer involved in the case

lost their position or were otherwise removed from office. The case went cold, leaving countless loose ends and unanswered questions, and for a while, that's how it stayed. Years passed, then decades. Those three murdered boys were chalked up as nothing more than an unsolved mystery. It would take until the 1970s for the Peterson's Shoes' case to slowly start to stir. A seemingly unrelated crime would soon prove to be the missing key to solving the mystery. The police would take even longer to realize it, but one thing was certain.

This case was far from over. Thanks again for tuning into solved murders. We'll be back next Wednesday with part two of the mystery of the three in Chicago. For more information on the murder of John Schusler, Anton Schusler, and Bobby Peterson, amongst the many sources we used, we found the book Shattered Sense of Innocence by Richard C. Lindbergh and Gloria Jean Sykes extremely helpful to our research. You can find all episodes of Solved Murders

and all other Spotify originals from Parcast for free on Spotify. We'll see you next time. Solve murders, True Crime Mysteries, is a Spotify original from Parcast. It is executive produced by Max Cutler. Sound design by Michael Langsner, with production assistants by Ron Shapiro, Nick Johnson, Trent Williamson, Joshua Kern, and Carly Madden. This episode of Solve Murders is written by Georgia Hampton, edited by Giles Hofceth, fact-checked by Mary Mathis, researched by Mickey Taylor, and produced by Travis Clark.

The amazing cast of voice actors includes Trevor Kent, Nizh Tarsha, Dinesh Alvis, Zelda, Diana Black, Charlie West, Kai Jordan, and Brian Green. Solve Murder stars Wendy McKenzie and Carter Roy.