Sins & Survivors: A Las Vegas True Crime Podcast - The Murder of Daniel Mendoza - Part 6

Episode Date: July 21, 2026

This week, we look beyond the courtroom verdict to the battle for systemic change following Daniel Mendoza’s murder. While Las Vegas leadership pushed for "closure," the Mendoza family and their community remained skeptical, highlighting continued harassment and the struggle for genuine accountability.What does change really look like in a systemic manner?Listen now!https://sinspod.co/135https://sinspod.co/135transcripthttps://sinspod.co/129sourceshttps://sinspod.co/135blogBecome a supporter of this podcast: https://www.spreaker.com/podcast/sins-survivors-a-las-vegas-true-crime-podcast--6173686/support.Domestic Violence Resourceshttp://sinspod.co/resourcesClick here to become a member of our Patreon!https://sinspod.co/patreonVisit and join our Patreon now and access our ad-free episodes and exclusive bonus content & schwag! Get ad-free access for only $1 a month or ad-free and bonus episodes for $3 a monthApple Podcast Subscriptionshttps://sinspod.co/appleWe're now offering premium membership benefits on Apple Podcast Subscriptions! On your mobile deviceLet us know what you think about the episodehttps://www.buzzsprout.com/twilio/text_messages/2248640/open_sms

To listen ad-free, visit sinspod.co slash subscribe. Starting at $2.99 a month, you'll also get access to our exclusive bonus content episodes when you join through Patreon or Apple subscriptions. Thanks for supporting the show. After Daniel Mendoza's murder, Las Vegas had to decide what accountability was supposed to mean. Was it enough to punish one officer, or did the city have to look at the system that let him wear a badge in the first place? That question would follow Daniel's family from the courthouse to City Hall, from police headquarters to the streets of McKellerson. circle because years later, Ramon Mendoza was still asking if his youngest son was any safer than Daniel had been.

Hi, and welcome to Sins and Survivors, a Las Vegas true crime podcast, where we focus on missing persons, unsolved cases, and the number one cause of homicide in the Las Vegas area, domestic violence. I'm your host, Sean. And I'm your co-host, John. This is part six of our series on the murder of Daniel Mendoza, a young man shot in a drive-by shooting carried out by two Las Vegas metro police officers. If you have not listened to Parts 1 through 5 yet, we strongly recommend going back and starting there.

You can visit Sinspod.co.co slash 129 to hear part one, where we introduced Daniel, his family, and the Las Vegas of the 1990s, a city growing quickly and struggling with questions about gangs, race, policing, and public trust. In part two, we followed the first days after Daniel was killed as Christopher Brady came forward, turned over Ron Mortensen's gun, and became the state's key witness. In Parts 3 and 4, we covered Mortensen's trial, where, despite the defense's attempt to blame the shooting on Brady, the jury ultimately convicted Mortensen of first-degree murder, and he was sentenced to life without parole. Last week, we turned to Brady and the allegations, complaints, and federal scrutiny that followed him after the verdict. This week, we're talking about how Daniel's murder became a public test for Metro, their internal affairs capabilities, hiring, and discipline practices, and whether the city's was willing to change once the verdicts were secured, and the initial shock and horror began to fade.

When Ron Mortensen was convicted, some people in Las Vegas saw the verdict as proof that the system had worked. And for some officers, especially the ones working in Daniel's neighborhood, the verdict was a relief. Sheriff Jerry Keller released a statement saying it was time for the department and the community to find closure. The review journal described officers near McKellar Circle smiling, joking with kids and saying the community could now see that Mortensen had been held to the same standard as anyone else. Officer Travis White told the paper, closure feels good. But for Daniel's family, closure wasn't that simple. As Ramon Mendoza said, prison terms were of little interest to him because no sentence would help his grieving family. Nothing could bring Daniel back. The reaction in

predominantly Latino neighborhoods was complicated, despite Mortensen's conviction in Brady's guilty plea. Otto Marita, then the executive director of the Latin Chamber of Commerce, and a board member of Hispanics and politics, said he was satisfied with the verdict, but still troubled by broader questions of police harassment. His question was direct, if off-duty officers were harassing Latino people on neighborhood corners, was that typical? Do they go to Summerlin and Green Valley and do the same thing? So when police leaders talked about closure, many people in Daniel's neighborhood, members of the Latino community, and civil rights leaders were not ready to use that word and probably never would be. In February 1997, the Mendoza family filed a civil rights lawsuit against Ron Mortensen, Christopher Brady, the Las Vegas Metro Police Department, Sheriff Jerry Keller, and the city of

Las Vegas. The lawsuit argued that Daniel's civil rights had been violated when he was shot to death in front of his home at 537 McKellar Circle. A Las Vegas Sun article from May of 1997 explained why the Mendoza family's lawsuit was going to be difficult to win. Around the same time as the suit was filed, the U.S. Supreme Court issued a ruling in Board of County Commissioners of Bryan County v. Brown, a case involving an Oklahoma deputy sheriff who had been hired despite warning signs in his background. The Supreme Court held that even a poor hiring decision does not automatically make a local government financially liable when that officer later violates someone's rights.

That meant that for the Mendoza's civil case, proving Metro made a bad hire would not be enough. The family would have to show that Metro's own deliberate decisions, including hiring, training, supervision, or discipline were directly connected to Daniel's death. Mortensen's hiring history gave Ramon's attorney something to point to. As we mentioned earlier in the series, according to the Las Vegas Sun, Mortensen became a Metro officer despite a negative recommendation from a background investigator who had concerned. that Mortensen had misled Metro about his employment history. The personnel director overruled that recommendation and hired him anyway. Ramon's attorney argued that the hiring decisions showed negligence and that Metro should be held responsible. Metro's former attorney said the Supreme Court ruling gave the department another argument for getting the case dismissed early. Daniel's family was

facing the reality that proving that Las Vegas Metro Police Department itself should be held responsible for Daniel's murder could be much more difficult than proving Mortensen's guilt in the criminal trial. For the Mendoza family, this lawsuit was not just about money, even though it sought damages. It was about whether Metro could be held accountable and whether the warning signs that preceded Daniel's death would ever be treated as anything more than two bad apples. The Mendoza family's pursuit of accountability would take more than two years. In August 1997, U.S. District Judge Philip Pro dismissed the lawsuit against the the city of Las Vegas, and Sheriff Keller in his individual capacity. Keller remained a defendant

in his official capacity, though. The Mendoza's were also barred from seeking punitive damages from the police department because municipal entities cannot be held liable for punitive damages in civil rights cases. Metro motioned to be removed from the case altogether, but Judge Proe did not agree at first. He gave the family more time to investigate and bring forward evidence showing that Mortensen and Brady's wrongful acts were related to their police duties. If so, then the department could be found liable. However, that investigation became its own battle. In December 1997, they amended their complaint to add homicide detective Brent Becker as a defendant.

Becker had been the lead investigator in Daniel's murder. The attorneys for the Mendoza family argued that detectives should have arrested Christopher Brady in addition to Ron Mortensen. Their motion stopped short of saying that the police had arrested the wrong man, but it asserted that investigators should not have treated Brady so leniently. The Mendoza alleged that Brady should have, at a minimum, been considered a suspect, and they pointed to details such as the physical lineup, witness descriptions, and clothing descriptions that the family's attorneys believed investigators had treated too narrowly.

Becker defended his investigation, telling reporters that people were going to interpret it how they wanted, but if they were claiming that Chris Brady did it, they were wrong. He said his conscience was clear. don't want to reiterate all the details from earlier parts of the series. Many of the details about the investigation in Brady's role in the shooting became part of a larger accusation that Brady had received the benefit of the doubt and some level of protection because he was a well-connected police officer. Meanwhile, the people in Daniel's neighborhood were treated as suspects, gang members, or unreliable witnesses. As Brady had been investigated for violating the civil rights of Hispanic people, it seemed to follow that the actions of the department

and investigators would have also violated Daniel's rights. The Mendoza family's attorneys also use the civil rights case to lay out the broader theory we have been tracking throughout the series. They alleged that Metro and Sheriff Keller had failed to prevent an ongoing pattern involving Brady and other officers harassing people in Las Vegas neighborhoods. They pointed to the concept of fishing, the alleged practice of off-duty police officers going into low-income and distressed neighborhoods, looking for confrontations.

The complaint said that Metro's supervisors knew about these activities and failed to stop them. Throughout the case, Metro and former supervisors were disputing how much was known and what could be proven. During 1998 and 1999, the lawsuit continued with the Mendoza family at odds with the police department. The Mendoza family's attorneys accused Metro of failing to turn over internal documents. They wanted citizen complaints against Brady and Mortensen, along with notes and reports generated by officers involved in the Mendoza investigation. One of the records at issue involves Sergio Acosta, which we talked about last week, who had filed a

civil rights lawsuit after alleging that Brady and Mortensen falsely arrested him on December 9, 1996, about three weeks before Daniel was killed. Mendoza family's attorneys argued that they only learned about Acosta's complaint because Acosta came to their same law firm seeking legal help. This was critical to the family's argument. They were trying to show a pattern that Brady and Mortensen had engaged in misconduct before McKellar's circle, and that Metro officials knew or should have known and should have done something about it. A federal magistrate ultimately declined to hold Metro in contempt over withholding those documents,

but he did not completely let the department off the hook. Judge Roger Hunt said Metro's failure may not have been intentional, but the document should have been produced sooner, and the incident should have been brought to the family's attention. He ordered the department to pay $500 in attorney, fees to reimburse the Mendoza family for the cost of bringing the contempt motion. Metro's attorneys called it an oversight, saying it had fallen through the cracks, and said all related documents had now been produced. That phrase, fallen through the cracks,

is a poetic choice of words, because the whole point of Ramon's civil case was that people, complaints, warnings, and misconduct allegations had seemingly been falling through the cracks for years until his son was killed. Eventually, one part of the the civil case was settled. In February 1999, the Mendoza family reached a $50,000 settlement with Ron Mortensen. Their attorney, Kenneth Roberts, called it a modest amount, which is truly an understatement considering that a person's life was taken. However, that money from a homeowner's policy was the only money available that they could get from Mortensen. Robert said that the family agreed to the settlement and the amount because the Mortensen family had no remaining assets after the

criminal trial other than this homeowner's insurance policy. And he said that if the case had gone forward, the Mendoza's could have ended up with nothing. The settlement did not end the entire lawsuit. The claims involving Metro, Keller, Brady, and others continued. We're going to pause here for a quick break, but we'll be right back to discuss how the civil lawsuit ultimately resolved. In June 1999, the civil case took another major turn. Judge Pro completely dismissed Metro and Sheriff Keller from the lawsuit, ruling they were not liable for Daniel's death. The ruling was devastating to the Mendoza family. The judge clearly drew a line between what Brady and Mortensen had done and what the department could be legally held responsible for. Judge Proe noted that Brady and Mortensen were off-duty,

not in uniform, didn't identify themselves as police officers, and that Mortensen had used a privately owned gun and ammunition. In the court's view, Daniel's death was not the foreseeable result of any danger Metro might have created. For Metro, that ruling was a victory in a case that had damaged the department's image for two and a half years. The Mendoza's attorney Roberts said the lawsuit had uncovered flaws in Metro's hiring of officers. He said he was prevented from discussing the specifics because of a gag order, but he argued that the case would have disclosed some of the reasons Metro had problems, particularly in hiring practices and background checks. He also said something that gets to the heart of the civil case and what Ramon was truly after.

The actions of Metro affect everyone in Clark County. It was never just about Daniel. Robert said the family was considering an appeal. He also said Brady had not been dismissed from the lawsuit, though he acknowledged it was unlikely the family would ever recover significant damages from him. As Roberts put it, Brady might be a wage earner for the rest of his life, but there would never be enough money to adequately compensate the Mendoza family for Daniel's death. At the time, Ramon's civil lawsuit was moving through the courts, the public accountability fight was also raging, as lawmakers headed up to Carson City to push reforms through the legislature. Almost immediately after Mortensen's conviction, lawmakers and activists were saying Daniel's murder might have been prevented if the public had the ability to investigate problems inside Metro. As state Senator Joe Neal put it, Daniel's murder and the actions of the officers showed that someone objective should be looking over the police, making sure they're

weeded out bad cops before someone else got killed. Metro officials said they were beginning to screen recruits more stringently, but they also argued that more civilian control over the department would not have saved Daniel. Metro and the community were divided from the beginning. For police officials, Daniel's murder was something that reforms could not have prevented, two off-duty officers drinking, behaving criminally, and acting outside of the scope of their duties. For lawmakers and police watchdogs, the case showed the opposite. It showed that the public needed a way to identify warning signs, review misconduct complaints,

and make sure the department could not simply handle its own problems behind closed doors. In 1997, the Nevada Senate passed Senator Joe Neal's bill, allowing cities and counties to create civilian police review boards, and Assemblyman Wendell Williams introduced a similar proposal in the Assembly. However, the arguments became heated, because the question was not just whether a review board should exist, but whether it actually would be effective. Would it be able to investigate complaints itself, or would it only review what a department's Eternal Affairs Bureau had already done? Would it have subpoena power? Would it recommend discipline? Would its findings be public?

Would it be independent, or would it just become another layer of bureaucracy that gave the appearance of oversight without shifting any real power? The debate continued for years. The state law granted cities and counties the authority to create civilian review boards for law enforcement, But the law did not create the Metro Board by itself. It only opened the door. The Fiscal Affairs Committee of the Metro Police Department voted unanimously to move the proposal for a city board forward. A department spokesperson called it, History in the making. However, there was a major disagreement over what the board should be allowed to do. A board that could investigate might have real power. A board that could only review Metro's work after the fact might become something closer to just a second opinion, or worse, a rubber stamp. Would it investigate complaints independently, or would it just review investigations after

Metro's own Internal Affairs Bureau had already completed them? During the meeting, Senator Joe Neal clashed publicly with undersheriff Richard Winget over that very issue. Wingnet said lawmakers had intended only to let citizens review completed internal affairs investigations. Neil, who was the one who actually had drafted the enabling law, said Winget was wrong. He argued the law allowed a citizen review board to investigate complaints before those complaints went to internal affairs. According to the review journal, Neil stood up and told Wingnet, I don't want any police officer to come up here and tell me, with 26 years in the legislature, that I don't know what the hell

I'm doing. Neil and many other advocates believe the review board had to have teeth and real power. The difference between review and investigation meant the difference between meaningful oversight and just theater. Some local leaders seemed concerned about cost, bureaucracy, and how much authority. civilians should really have over police discipline. Police officials worried about duplicating internal affairs or interfering with departmental procedures. So even though there was public support for oversight, the details kept slowing everything down. Franie Forsman, the federal public defender who

helped draft the proposed city ordinance, said the board would need a screening process to weed out for vilest complaints. But she also said the strength of the board would depend on the quality of the people chosen to serve on it. Gregory Peck from the ACLU supported the proposal too, but he warned that a long fight was still ahead. He worried elected officials might not take the ordinance seriously enough, or that they might create a board without adequate funding. That, he said, would be a tragedy. This debate continued in parallel with Ramon's civil case, and by late 1999, the delay in getting the board off the ground led the review journal's editorial page to run a piece with the headline, stop the foot dragging. The editorial argued that Las Vegas needed to give the police review board

concept a chance to work and appointed directly to Daniel Mendoza's murder as the case that had brought years of dissatisfaction with police accountability to a boiling point. Daniel had been gone for almost three years and Las Vegas still did not have a civilian review board. It's also important to note that the editorial also criticized the existing coroner's inquest system, saying it no longer commanded public faith or confidence because its outcome. were so predictable, they could almost be called in advance. So the review board debate was not only about Daniel. It was about a larger crisis of trust in law enforcement and in how police shootings and misconduct complaints were handled in the city of Las Vegas. And then, of course, Oscar Goodman

entered the fight. Goodman, who had recently become mayor and would become one of the most recognizable political figures in modern Las Vegas history, criticized the proposed board as too weak. He said that as far as he was concerned, it was a waste of money to create a panel like that, because it did not have enough power and did not include an accountable public official. Oscar said that if it were up to him, he would scrap the proposal and start over. He said he would try to give the board more power, including the power to impose sanctions on police officers, but Franny Foreseman said the state law did not allow the board to have that kind of authority. Goodman also wanted elected officials to serve on the panels. Critics pushed back, arguing that putting elected

officials on the board would just politicize the process and weaken its independence. So the fight became circular. Some people said the board was too weak to be worth creating. Others said the endless delay was exactly how this reform was going to die. Advocates worried that after years of public pressure, Las Vegas might end up with a review board that looked like accountability, but did not have the independence or authority to earn public trust. Finally, in January of 2000, after months of city, county disputes, and years of debate, the Las Vegas City Council approved an ordinance creating the Metropolitan Police Citizen Review Board. Mayor Goodman still called it inadequate and said a real review board needed teeth, but he didn't block it. Even before its members were chosen,

residents were already filing complaints of police misconduct with the commission staff. The new executive director said the office was receiving questions and complaints daily. The LVMPD Citizens Review Board still exists today, and if you visit their website, it clearly states that the board was formed in response to the murder of Daniel Mendoza. Even as Las Vegas slowly moved toward a review board, the broader question of police accountability kept resurfacing, especially regarding officer hiring. In July of 1998, while Christopher Brady was still under federal scrutiny, he applied to become a corrections officer with the city of Henderson Police Department. By then, Brady had resigned from Metro. He had testified under oath that he and

Ron Mortensen had been out harassing people the night Daniel was killed, as well as all the other questionable things he did that night and the next morning. Yet, less than two years after Daniel Mendoza was killed, Brady was trying to get back into law enforcement. According to the review journal, Brady passed the written test and the physical test, and he made it onto the list of certified applicants. His attorney argued that Brady had the right to continue his career and said that of all the people he had known in law enforcement, Brady was one of the better ones, which, given the facts admitted to on the record, to me, feels like an indictment of the entire police department. Frank Kremlin, Mortensen's defense attorney, saw it differently. He said he would be surprised if the city of Henderson took

Brady's application seriously. He cut through all the disputed evidence and said, let's just forget for a second, there was a murder. He still admitted to harassing people, citizens, for what he thought was fun. Brady's attempt to join the Henderson police directly addresses the question that Las Vegas was supposedly trying to answer. What does accountability actually mean in law enforcement? Can a law enforcement system look at his record, his own admissions, his role in one of the most infamous police scandals in Las Vegas history, and still decide that he belonged back in a position of authority. We're going to pause here for another break, but we'll be right back. A few days later, Brady was cut from Henderson PD's hiring list after what the city described as

a personality assessment. Henderson officials said it wasn't a psychological exam. Brady's attorney said the decision was political, but the damage was already done, at least in terms of public trust, because the system had gotten far enough that Brady was a certified applicant. For people already questioning police hiring, background checks, and internal discipline, this was not reassuring. It was just another warning sign. Later in 1999, another hiring story raised some concerns from a different direction. The review journal reported that Metro had hired a former Illinois police officer named Michael Whitty after a background check failed to uncover serious allegations from his past. Witty was later forced to resign, and Metro officials said his case was

unusual. They said that he had slipped through the cracks, a phrase we'd often heard from Metro in the late 90s as more and more errors rose to the surface. A background check that does not stop a hire, or a citizen complaint that goes nowhere, or a misconduct allegation that doesn't trigger scrutiny or discipline, even a former officer trying to move into another jurisdiction, were all painted as one-offs. The department was adamant. It had changed, but yet another incident had surfaced, proving how easily warning signs can be missed and misconduct could be ignored.

Metro had a serious credibility problem. The department claimed that it had improved training, expanded background investigations, added review procedures, and taken steps to prevent something like Daniel's killing from ever happening again. These reforms may have been real, however, the public questioned whether the culture and systems had changed and whether those in power were actually willing to act on warning signs before another tragedy.

Following Christopher Brady's guilty plea in August of 1999, Ramon Mendoza spoke at a news conference and said that whatever changes Metro had made since Daniel's murder had not resulted in better treatment for minorities. He said that the police were still racist and that his youngest son, who was 13 years old, was still being harassed.

Everything is the same, Ramon said. My youngest son, when they see him, they stop him, search him, make him take his shirt off to make sure he's not carrying anything. Those facts refute every official claim that the city had turned a corner. Daniel's family was not talking about police misconduct as an abstract issue of policy.

They were talking about a daily reality in which a 13-year-old boy, Daniel's little brother, could still be treated like a suspect simply because of where he lived and who the police assumed him to be. Ramon emphasized that this went beyond his own family. He said he believed there was widespread prejudice against Hispanics in Southern Nevada, and his words were direct. The way I see it, the Hispanic people here are not welcome in our country, so we get racism from everyone, he said. They forget we are human.

His comments are devastating because beneath every argument over hiring standards and internal affairs files are Las Vegas families deeply affected by these policies. Ramon's statement highlights that the people in that neighborhood are seen first as threats, suspects, and problems, rather than as human beings with families, histories, futures, and the right to live in their own neighborhoods without harassment. Metro, of course, saw the situation differently. Steve Merriweather, speaking for the department, said Metro had made dramatic changes since Daniel's killing. He pointed to Sheriff Jerry Keller making cultural awareness training mandatory at the Police Academy, to changes in hiring and background investigations, and to a new review process for recruits when questions came up during hiring. Meriwether said the department had doubled the number of background investigators,

added a board to make certain hiring decisions that had once been made by one person, and increased recruiting efforts to bring in a more ethnically diverse group of officers. At the time, he said Metro was about 82% white, about 7% Hispanic, about 9% black, about 1% Asian, and less than 1% Native American. Metro asserted they had made significant changes in training, hiring, discipline, recruitment, and so on. The department claimed that Daniel's murder had forced it to look inward and adjust. at systems. Ramone and his neighbors, though, were measuring change in a different way.

Ramon wasn't looking at the department's demographics. He was interested in whether his son could walk through the neighborhood without being stopped, searched, and told to take off his shirt. He wasn't comforted by the new hiring board. He was asking whether the culture that made officers think Daniel's neighborhood was a place to go mess around had actually been confronted. Gary Peck from the ACLU commented on the tension that had permeated Ramon's neighborhood. He gave Sheriff Keller credit for speaking out against the hate crimes and civil rights violations and for saying the department had implemented an early warning system to help prevent similar incidents. But Peck also said serious questions remained about how Metro had investigated Daniel's

murder, and then he made the point that the problems of bigotry and prejudice were not confined to one or two officers. That reality was brought to the surface after Daniel's murder, and from the detailed investigations that ensued. Was this truly a story, about two rogue officers inside an otherwise sound and just system? Or was it a story about a system that missed, minimized, explained, or looked the other way at too many warning signs? How wide were the cracks that things kept slipping through? Some things did change after Daniel was murdered, but it wasn't the same as repair. Repair would have meant that Ramon could look at his young son and say, this city's learned something. Repair would have meant that Daniel's neighborhood was no

longer treated like a place where officers could go looking for trouble. Repair would have meant that warning signs were not just noted in a report after the fact, but also acted on before harm became irreversible. It would have also meant that a person who admitted to harassing citizens for fun could not get as far as Brady did in trying to return to a job in law enforcement. If the same systems still find ways to describe warning signs as isolated mistakes, then the public has a right to ask what changed beyond the paperwork. Ramon Mendoza's answer in 19. 1999 was brutally simple. Everything is the same. Those were the words of a father who had already sat through a murder trial, a sentencing,

a civil lawsuit, a federal civil rights case, and years of public promises. And still, when he looked at his family's life, he saw the same suspicion falling on another son. We know that Las Vegas created a review board. We know that Metro announced reforms. We know that ultimately, Brady faced some federal accountability. But the harder question is whether any of those changes reached the families on McKellar Circle. Next week, we move into the long legal afterlife of this case. While Las Vegas debated oversight and Metro tried to move on, Ron Mortensen kept fighting his conviction from prison. The Barry drive-by testimony would come back. The Carrie Morris

sexual assault allegation would come back. The jury instructions would come back. And decades later, this case would reach a point no one in that courtroom in 1997 could have predicted. But this week we end with Ramon Mendoza's warning. If the aftermath of Daniel's murder shows us anything, it's that accountability cannot only mean punishing one person after the worst has already happened. It has to mean asking why some neighborhoods are watched so heavily and protected so poorly. It has to mean judging reform, not by how many new policies are announced or implemented, whether the people most harmed by the old system can actually feel something different in their daily lives.

And it has to mean remembering Daniel Mendoza, not only as the young man who was killed, but as the young man whose death forced Las Vegas to confront a question it had not fully answered. Who gets protected and who gets policed? Because what happens here happens everywhere. Thanks for listening. Visit sinspod.co slash subscribe for exclusive bonus content and to listen ad-free. Remember to like and follow us on Instagram, Facebook, TikTok, and threads at sins and survivors. If you're enjoying the podcast, please leave us a view on your podcast platform of choice. You can contact us at Questions at Sins and Survivors.com. If you or someone you know is affected by domestic violence or needs support, please reach out

to local resources or the National Domestic Violence Hotline. A list of resources is available on our website, Sins and Survivors, a Las Vegas true crime podcast, is research written and produced by your host, Sean and John. The information shared in this podcast is accurate at the time of recording. If you have questions, concerns, or corrections, please email us. Links to source material for this episode can be found on our website, sins and survivors.com. The views and opinions expressed in this podcast are solely those of the podcast creators, hosts, and their guests. All individuals are innocent until proven guilty. This content does not constitute legal advice.

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