The Binge Crimes: Night Shift - Night Shift I 7. “You Only Get One Shot”

Episode Date: October 14, 2024

After new evidence appears, a former nurse is charged with 10 counts of first degree murder. But just when patients’ families finally have some hope, the prosecution’s case is damaged by an unexpected detail. Will the accused actually face a trial? Click ‘Subscribe’ at the top of the Witnessed show page on Apple Podcasts or visit GetTheBinge.com to get access wherever you get your podcasts. Find more great podcasts from Sony Music Entertainment at sonymusic.com/podcasts Learn more about your ad choices. Visit megaphone.fm/adchoices Visit podcastchoices.com/adchoices A Campside Media & Sony Music Entertainment production. To connect with Night Shift's creative team, plus access behind the scenes content, join the community at Campsidemedia.com/join Learn more about your ad choices. Visit podcastchoices.com/adchoices

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The Bench Campsite Media After six years of waiting for some kind of resolution, the Haverham verdict was a moment of triumph. A U.S. district court had ruled that the VA hospital was negligent. Elsie Haverham didn't need to die that night, but he did. And the hospital didn't do enough

to protect him and the other patients. But the lead suspect in the deaths, Richard Williams, was still a free man. And for many of the families who lost a loved one on 4 East, that meant their quest for justice was not over. Not even close, says Kathy Robbins, who is the daughter of Otis Leslie. Have him convicted.

It's simple. David Havrim, Elsie's son, feels the same way. It would look good to have closure, you know, knowing he was in jail, a killer. It would be good to have some closure on that. The Habrums are utterly convinced that Richard Williams killed their father, but that's not good enough for a court of law. Remember, there were no eyewitnesses who saw what led up to those sudden cold blues on 4 East. There was nothing like a smoking gun with a set of fingerprints on it at the scene of the crime.

The toxicology reports were the one thing that could potentially be definitive, but when the celebrity medical examiner finally ran the tests, the results were inconclusive. It looked like the case was just going to fade away with time, and that the possible killer would never be caught. That is, until one day in 2001. A former nurse was charged today with killing 10 patients at a Veterans Affairs hospital in Columbia, Missouri. Richard Williams was arrested in St. Louis on 10 counts of first-degree murder, and all more than 40 people died under his care in 1992. A local prosecutor said new evidence came to light in recent months. The TV news showed Richard Williams in an orange jumpsuit, his pale arms awkwardly restrained, eyes watery and unfocused like he couldn't really fathom what was going on.

After 10 long years of waiting, Richard Williams was finally in handcuffs. And it was all because of a turn-of-the-century miracle. New science made it possible to retest old tissue samples from 1992. And when they tested the VA bodies, they came back positive for traces of a muscle relaxant with a long name. Succinyl choline. Prosecutors felt confident that after all these years,

they finally had a possible murder weapon. And now that they had this crucial piece of evidence, the closest thing possible to that proverbial smoking gun, they were going to try and put Richard Williams on death row. From Campsite Media and Sony Music Entertainment, you're listening to Witnessed Night Shift. This is Episode 7. You only get one shot. I'm Jake Edelstein.

As a kid growing up in Chicago, there was one horror movie I was too scared to watch. It was called Candyman. It was about this supernatural killer who would attack his victims if they said his name five times into a bathroom mirror. But did you know that the movie Candyman was partly inspired by an actual murder? I was struck by both how spooky it was, but also how outrageous it was. Listen to Candyman, the true story behind the bathroom mirror murder, wherever you get your podcasts. Hi, this is Jesse Tyler Ferguson, host of the podcast, Dinners on Me. And whether you're a first time wine drinker or a wine aficionado, you're guaranteed to like America's number one luxury

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Nearly a decade after the deaths at the VA, a national lab developed new technology that broadened the scope of what toxicology could do. These tests were more sensitive than ever before. In other words, it was a game-changer for certain cases that had gone cold from inconclusive toxicology reports. By this point, the VA had a new inspector general, and he suspected that the victims in Columbia could have been murdered with a paralyzing drug. So he obtained 10 of the 13 samples from Boone County Medical Examiner Jay Dix and sent them in for testing.

The toxicology was done by Dr. Kevin Ballard at National Medical Services, a top-notch laboratory based in Pennsylvania and often used by the FBI. It didn't take long before the test results were in. All 10 bodies came back positive for succinylmonocholine, which is the metabolized compound of a paralytic drug called succinylcholine that can stop a person's breathing. In other words, a drug that could trigger an unexpected code blue.

This was it, the smoking gun. But with such a high-stakes revelation, officials needed to be sure. So they decided to check their homework by exhuming more recent possible victims, bodies from the Ashland Nursing Home where my dad had gone to investigate. The new data they made, they exhumed bodies from the Ashland Nursing Home where this guy went, and they found levels of succinyl monocholine in their bodies. Succinyl choline is often injected during general anesthesia to help the muscles relax during surgery,

and according to Dr. Jan Swaney, it would have been readily available at the VA. The clean supply room had bandages and IV fluids and tubings and catheters and there were you know potassium and some other injectables in there for the nurses convenience there would have been in that day and age lethal injectables also stores of drugs were less closely monitored then it was a different era in medicine. The barcode wasn't there.

You know, things would be very different now. Clean supply room was not monitored. It was available and accessible to anyone who worked on the floor. Doctor, nurse, or whomever. Remember that VA pharmacist turned bus driver who drove me home once? He was also sure that that was the most likely murder weapon. But things weren't, you know, things like 6-centipoline, the things that could kill you, weren't as heavily regulated because they didn't have computer systems,

and so everything was paper and everything, and so that's where he was getting it. He was getting off some of the trays. That's what they hypothesized. In 1992, this really would be the perfect crime, because all the available forensic science said that it was almost impossible to detect the presence of the drug a few days after death, let alone from an embalmed body. Richard Williams, or any nurse for that matter, could have acquired the potential murder weapon

without anyone noticing. And anyone investigating wouldn't be able to detect it because the evidence would simply be gone. It takes less than 10 minutes for the body to metabolize succinylcholine. After that, at that time, there would have been absolutely no way to detect it. The primary thing linking Williams to the crimes were the numbers, like the ones that Gordon crunched out. But then, there were also the suspiciously altered records of some patients after their deaths, the sudden deaths of some recovering patients when he was on duty, and his own contradictory statements. The preponderance of the evidence seemed to indicate that there was almost no chance

that Williams wasn't connected to the deaths on 4 East. But probability alone couldn't be used to prove that Williams was guilty beyond all reasonable doubt. The new reports went to Dr. Jay Dix, the Boone County coroner. Dr. Dix went back to the lab reports and medical files of the 13 VA patients who had been exhumed in 1993. But after sitting in the freezer for years, only 10 of the 13 tissue samples could still be tested. And Dr. Dix concluded that all 10 had died after someone introduced succinylcholine into their bodies. Dr. Dix changed all the deaths to homicides? The deaths at the VA were now officially declared homicides, which meant Boone County, Missouri,

had a bunch of unsolved murders on its hands. That's when the case landed in the lap of the Boone County prosecutor at the time, Kevin Crane. We went to visit him at the courthouse in downtown Columbia, the county seat where he works as a judge now. You know, there was a time frame when Boone County was the highest murder rate per capita in the nation.

Yeah, we had a lot of, I was busy. When it comes to crime in Columbia, Kevin knows just about all of them. But he never forgot about the 10-year-old case of the suspicious deaths at the VA. He immediately agreed to take it on. Here was his chance to go after a guy who could be one of the most prolific serial killers in U.S. history, and the case seemed as good as one. I mean, the evidence the toxicology guy found seemed to be damning. He could discern that it was in a cadaver. In addition to that, he said that each of these people that had died had it in them,

okay? And they had not been prescribed that in the course of whatever treatment they were getting. Succicoline, I think is what it is. Succinylcholine. Okay. Succinylcholine. It took me weeks before I could say it without tripping up. To be honest, I felt a little better after finding out that basically everyone we interviewed who wasn't in the medical field struggled with it too. Succinylcholine. Succidinecholine. Bullshit. What is it?

What is it? Succinylcholine. Succinylcholine. Oh! On the first try! On the first try! Thankfully, it has a nickname. I think it's Succinyl. We used to call it Sucks.

Succinyl Choline is possibly the most difficult to pronounce murder weapon in U.S. history. And in this case, it was the reason that Richard Williams could now be charged with 10 counts of murder. It was just up to Kevin Crane to decide how to proceed with these charges. And I was seeking death. And, I mean, nobody seeks death anymore, but, I mean, 10 victims is what I charge. And I filed it, and the guy was picked up, didn't say anything. By the guy, he means Nurse Richard Williams. The alleged angel of death was finally in handcuffs. In mid-July 2002, an arraignment hearing for Richard Williams was held at a courthouse in Jefferson City.

The families of the victims who had been exhumed were invited to be there. People like Kathy. My mom, my sister, and I, we were all three there. And they had us all meet in a certain area. I remember they had bagels. Einstein's bagels. I love that place. The families met in a conference room before the hearing.

Despite what seemed like foolproof evidence, there was apprehension in the air. They had all been burned so many times. They all had people with them and a little bit of conversation, but most people just, you know, we were all going through the same thing. We all lost somebody that we didn't want to lose. They chit-chatted a bit, had some coffee and bagels, but this was no church basement gathering. Pretty soon, they were all escorted into the gallery of the courtroom and took a seat in the rows.

They watched as Nurse Williams was escorted into the council table. He behaved much like he did when the families came to say goodbye to their loved ones. He behaved much like he did when the families came to say goodbye to their loved ones. He observed. He was out there, yes. Did you get to see him?

Yeah. And he saw all of us. I don't think anything bothers that man. You know, I probably looked at him like, I wish you were dead, buddy. I imagine that there were a lot of eyes burning into Williams with a similar feeling. I wonder what that would have been like for Williams, what he would have been feeling and thinking.

What was it like to have a possible death sentence hanging over you like a scythe? Richard Williams continued to deny any wrongful conduct. We reached out to his lawyer for comment, but did not hear back from him. What the family was gathered for wasn't a trial, not yet. It was an indictment. It was a procedure to formally establish that Richard Williams had been charged with doing something criminal. The result? Williams pleaded not guilty and was denied bail or bond. And just like that, Richard Williams was shuffled off to the Boone County Jail. He would have to wait there until his next court date. Williams was in that jail for a full year until one day Kevin Crane got a call.

And that call flipped the case on its head faster than you can say sucks. Prosecutor Kevin Crane felt that he had all the evidence he needed for a jury to find Richard Williams guilty of murdering ten people. That would make Williams among the most prolific serial killers in the history of Missouri and put him on par with infamous killers like the son of Sam in Zodiac. And if every death he was suspected of could be confirmed, 42 at the VA, 30 at Ashland, he'd be in the class of Ted Bundy, John Wayne Gacy, and Jeffrey Dahmer. He would be the most prolific serial killer in American history. It seemed like it was only a matter of time before this never-ending case would finally be relegated to the past.

But then in July of 2003, just weeks before the arguments were to begin, Kevin Crane was asked to join a conference call with a group of people involved in the Williams case. One of them was a guy from the lab in Pennsylvania who was in charge of the forensic analysis. He needed to tell them something. A discovery he had made by going to, of all places, the supermarket. It was a meeting on the phone, and we didn't have WebEx back then. And I remember that dude, the guy that did the testing, was on the phone. And he goes, hey, I went to the grocery store and bought me a steak,

and I run that test on it, and it came back succinylcholine. This was a gutting discovery. The evidence underpinning the entire case against Williams was flawed, ridiculously flawed. My dad broke it down for us. Everybody has succinyl monoclonal in their body. It's a natural byproduct of our nervous system. So then this test that they had developed turned out to be not useful. The whole system was compromised in many ways. It wasn't as though these people had high levels of succinyl monoclonal.

That would have been important. No, they just had succinyl monoclonal in their body. So they had to throw out all the tests. Thanks to the guy who ran the test on the supermarket steak, they discovered that succinylcholine was pretty much in everything, even in control samples which were untouched by the chemical. How the hell could a government lab mess up this badly? It was truly embarrassing. The conclusion was pretty grim.

Everything sucks. Everyone sucks. And the case sucked. When the Director of National Medical Services, Dr. Kevin Ballard, discovered that his testing method crumbled under scrutiny, he admitted defeat. He wrote a letter to the prosecutor's office stating that his findings were inconclusive. And as a result, the cases that had used Ballard's testing method to make convictions would have to be reexamined.

Williams wasn't the only one the test had put behind bars. In 2001, a Florida doctor was convicted of killing his wife by injecting her with succinylcholine. But after learning of the questionable test, a Florida court overturned the doctor's conviction and he was released from prison. Now it was Crane's turn to decide what to do. He had some circumstantial evidence against Williams, but he'd mostly built his case on the idea that Williams had killed his patients with succinylcholine. That was the linchpin thing in the case. That was the, you know, how done it, why done it, who done it. And so when that fell apart, all my great circumstantial stuff,

just putting him there didn't make any difference. You know, I can't, if I don't have a good faith belief in what I file, then I can't ethically just, well, he did something, you know, by God. You know, I've got to drop it. Even if I think he did it, it's proving it beyond a reasonable doubt is another matter. So on Wednesday, August 6, 2003, Kevin Crane officially announced that the state was dropping the charges. The local press went crazy. The national press joined them. They reached out to the officials at National Medical Services, the lab based in Pennsylvania, which had no immediate comment. But their silence said everything. Then, at 9.04 a.m. on August 7th, the day after Kevin Crane officially dropped charges,

Richard Williams walked out of the Boone County Jail a free man. A young Anderson Cooper covered it for CNN. In Missouri now, Richard Williams is spending his first night out of jail in 13 months after a Boone County prosecutor said he had no choice but to drop 10 first-degree murder charges. It seemed lab tests could not provide the evidence the prosecution needs to take Williams to trial. He had been in jail for more than a year by this point. He reunited with his wife Melissa and their three-year-old son,

who was dressed in a blue T-shirt and white overalls. We tried to get in touch with Williams' lawyer, Don Catlett, but he never responded to our attempts to reach him. But when Williams was released, Catlett spoke to Anderson Cooper on his client's behalf. Well, he was actually informed by the jailers yesterday, and I went out to pick him up at the jail yesterday morning. When he came out of the jail, he was practically white, shaking,

and his response was, is this true? Is this really happening? Am I free? Williams had been 26 years old when the case started. He was now 37. He told the gathered press, I know my innocence and I hope one day they will see my innocence. And then Williams returned to his home in St. Peter's, outside St. Louis, Missouri. I'm sure that for Richard's family and for others who believed him, his release was a wonderful thing, a relief.

But for the families of those who lost loved ones at the VA and still believed he was responsible, it was a huge blow. They had allowed themselves to hope for real justice after all this time, and then the chance was suddenly lost, probably forever. When Kathy Robbins watched Williams walk out of jail, she felt doomed. I'll be dead and it still won't be finished. My mom never saw the end of it. My sister never saw the end of it.

I'll never see the end of it. The Havroms only got to see Richard Williams in handcuffs briefly, a fleeting moment. He just resumed his life, taking on work outside of nursing, spending time with his wife and son. Williams is still walking free today. So we decided we couldn't end this story without trying to at least find him. The following interview is being videotaped at the Dade County Public Safety Department, Miami-Dade County, Florida. And sir, would you identify yourself? My name is Ronald F. Carver III. In 1976, a man in Florida tells a cop he has a confession to make.

Arriving in Miami, I proceeded to do certain things that I considered to be necessary in the crime that I planned to commit. I was looking for a hitchhiker, potential victim. But instead of becoming his victim, I became his confidant. One of the people closest to him, as he recounted, and was tried for his horrific crimes. From Orbit Media and Sony Music Entertainment, listen to My Friend the Serial Killer. Subscribe on Apple Podcasts to binge all episodes now, or listen weekly wherever you get your podcasts. Gordon Christensen once thought Richard Williams was the unluckiest man in the world,

just a nurse with a terrible unlucky streak of patients dying on his watch. But knowing what we know now, and looking at the case from a 10,000-foot view, Williams has a huge amount of good luck on his side. The first bit of luck. Williams was hired at the VA despite having a shady record. Before he worked at the VA, he worked for St. John's Hospital in Springfield, Missouri. But he was fired from St. John's for withholding medication and falsifying charts. The VA ignored this red flag and hired him anyway. Next, when death spiked in Ward 4 East during his shifts and

Gordon's data came out, the VA could have intervened. But instead, the organization was more focused on covering its tracks than saving lives. The FBI's investigation, led by Special Agent Phil Williams, no relation to Richard Williams, started with promise, but quickly devolved into a mess. The lab work was delayed, reportedly due to a backlog from a number of major cases the FBI was dealing with at the time. That included the O.J. Simpson trial, the Waco siege, and the first World Trade Center bombing in 1993. By the time the FBI finally released a report in 1998, the statute of limitations for its case had expired and Williams had moved on to and from the Ashland

nursing home, where more people died under suspicious circumstances. No charges related to Ashland were ever brought against Williams, and he was never accused of wrongdoing. During the civil trial, Special Agent Philip Williams appeared to admit that thorough toxicology tests were never completed on the tissues from the other 12 exhumed bodies. This admission was a dagger in the heart of the investigation. It showed a stunning lapse of concern and diligence. It is another reason time ran out for the FBI, and yet another apparently lucky break for Richard Williams. And of course, there were the succinylcholine test, which turned out to be about as solid as a sandcastle.

But if Richard Williams was guilty, he wasn't now free from sheer luck alone. It was a combination of incompetence and a series of institutional failures that seemed to shield him. The FBI's blunders were just one piece of a larger puzzle of negligence. It's like the system was perfectly rigged to let a killer get away. Have you heard Leonard Cohen's song called Everybody Knows? The song goes, Everybody Knows and Dysher wrote it. Everyone knows the captain lies.

Everybody knows. So everybody knew. So whatever happened to Richard Williams? Where is he now? If he is innocent, then he has been through hell. We know that after the allegations of murder were made public, Richard Williams moved from job to job, running into some troubles on the way. In 2001, he was hired at a Panera Bread

in Richmond Heights, Illinois, as a low-level accounting clerk. He was there for 18 months until his arrest in July of 2002. Then, he spent more than a year awaiting trial based on evidence that turned out to be flawed. After those charges were dropped, Williams sued the National Medical Services lab and Dr. Kevin Bauer for damages. In the lawsuit, his lawyer argued that Williams had his life ruined by the arrest and long incarceration, and he was not wrong. He had been the subject of repeated threats and verbal abuse from other prisoners. He

lost both his home and vehicle from foreclosure and suffered a significant loss of earnings. However, in 2005, the district court dismissed Williams' petition and he lost the case. We know Williams is now 58 years old, has gone bankrupt twice, and will most likely never be able to work in nursing again. According to reports, he gave up his nursing license in 1999. He has some social media presence, and he seems to be close to his son. He appears to have gotten an accounting license, and he has worked many jobs, more recently as a mortician. We called the funeral home in Mid-Missouri where he worked.

Do you have a Richard Williams working there? He hasn't worked here in, let's see. Williams didn't necessarily get glowing reviews. The person on the phone told us Williams had, quote, an issue with other employees. He wouldn't say more than that. Okay. All right. Take care.

You have a great day. At this point in our story, we had reached out to everyone we could think to reach out to. It was finally time to try Richard Williams himself. We really wanted to hear his side of the story. I wrote him an email saying as much. I won't lie to you, we didn't have high hopes we'd hear back from him, let alone be allowed to interview him. Other journalists, including Rudy Keller, have tried. When we spoke to Rudy, we asked him, if you could interview Richard, what would you ask?

Certainly Richard Williams. I would have sat down and taken as long as he wanted to hear what his version of it is and hear his laments over being the unluckiest person that ever lived. To have him explain, well, why did you give up your nursing license when you had no criminal charges against you? What has your life been like? I mean, if I could interview him today, I would like to know what he has done to keep body and soul together for the 30 some odd years since he's been a nurse. That kind of hit hard for me. What have you been doing to keep body and soul together for 30 years? It's honestly a great question, whether Williams is guilty or not.

Williams has always adamantly maintained his innocence. He talked to the press a couple of times early on when the story first broke, but he has only consented to one television interview way back in 1992 with a journalist named Susan Samples. I mean, it's always, this is your opportunity. I'm giving you this opportunity. You need to take it right now. You know, there are always many sides to every story, and I need to hear yours. Even though Susan was just a rookie journalist at the time, William said yes to her request for an interview.

He wanted to clear his name and his reputation, even though his lawyer advised him against it. At that moment, he felt like he needed to share it. So he came to the station, and that's what he did. Susan met Williams at the KOMU, Channel 8 building. It was like a green room kind of thing, where we did it. It was just a little room with a couch. Williams had on a white button-up shirt, and his hair was combed to one side.

I just remember he was nerdy and kind of unremarkable. But the situation felt pretty remarkable to Susan. I recall being like, I can't believe I'm sitting here interviewing this guy. I can't believe this guy is sitting on this couch and talking to me about this. What? Why is that a good idea for someone who's suspected of being a serial killer? But, you know, he wanted to control the narrative, and this was the way to do it. We were only able to obtain a recording of a recording of part of the original interview.

But listen closely to what Williams has to say in his defense in his own words. I didn't become a nurse to mercy kill or to determine when someone would die. I have never had anything like this happen. This has been a blow to my ego. I just can't believe that people think that I am killing people. It's a little difficult to hear, but the transcripts show that William said a curious thing. This has been a blow to my ego. Please remember, this interview happened over 30 years ago, so Susan didn't recall the details of his response as well.

Oh, wow. He said it's a blow to my ego? Okay, that's odd, right? That sticks out to me like, okay, this is all about you. It's all about you right now, Richard. This is a blow to your ego. Okay, I wouldn't be phrasing things like that. That's odd to me. That seems kind of suspicious, doesn't it? But Susan wasn't the only one who saw the interview in a more suspicious light after the fact. One morning out of the blue, the receptionist called me on the intercom and was like, you have a phone call. It's somebody from the Boone County Prosecutor's Office. It was a guy, an investigator, and he was like, remember when you interviewed that Richard

Williams? He's going to trial. We're using your interview, you might need to verify its authenticity on the stand. I was a kid reporting at the time, and I couldn't imagine what I would have said that would be useful to police or prosecutors. And I distinctly remember him saying, you would be surprised. And he said, at some point in the interview, Williams said something about murder or killings or something to that effect. And I stopped him and said, but I thought you said these were all natural deaths, right? This was the last TV interview that Richard Williams ever did. Many reporters tried to talk to him over the years, but he was having none of it. But of course, I had to try. I sent him a long email explaining the podcast and asking to hear his side of the story. Just a few hours later, he sent me a curt

response. He asked that we not contact him in any way ever again. Legally, our hands are tied. We couldn't even knock on the door like Rudy did all those years ago. But we couldn't just head back to Tokyo either. We decided that we at least wanted to see where Richard Williams ended up, get a glimpse into what kind of life he might be living. So Shoko and I, and our producer Amy, we drove to his house, just to take a look. How's the female? It's a beautiful day. The sky is so big in the Midwest. And we're passing rows and rows of houses that seem exactly the same, slight variations.

A lot of these houses look like nobody's made them yet. The Oasis? Okay. Yeah. Yeah, actually, they might not have anybody in there. We found ourselves in a suburban housing development that couldn't have been over a year old. It looked like there were hundreds of the same tan duplexes, along roads so freshly paved they still looked wet. Most of the homes seemed to still be uninhabited. To my suburbia-struck eyes, this made perfect sense for Williams.

I would describe this place in the same way people describe Williams again and again. Remarkably unremarkable. This feels like, what is it called? Monopoly houses. Yeah. Like I don't feel like I'm in a real place right now. Yeah. Like, I don't feel like I'm in a real place right now. Yeah. Not so long ago, there was nothing where these uncanny neighborhoods are now, just stretches of farmland and prairie grass under the big blue Missouri sky.

It wasn't like Columbia with its generations of families and people who knew each other since kindergarten. It didn't have an eccentric coroner who was friends with everyone or a diligent journalist who seemed to have interviewed every person in town. It was a place with no history, no community, at least not yet. Everyone who moved in was going to become neighbors with a perfect stranger. Maybe moving here was a calculated move on William's part. Here, he could live anonymously, with zero risk of confronting anyone from his past. We drove past about a dozen empty duplexes before finally reaching the one we were looking for. You can turn into here. Oh, it would be this one.

And there is a car right there. Okay, pull forward. It was like a ghost town. There were no other cars except for one that was following us from behind. But we were so busy making sure we had the right house, we didn't even notice. I just took a picture already. Somebody just pulled into there. And the garage door just closed.

We didn't notice the car until it slowed down behind us and pulled into Williams' driveway. Then all we could do was watch as it disappeared behind a closing garage door. We didn't even actually get to see Richard Williams. But we watched him slip into the shadows yet again, where he has continued to live on. Richard Williams remains a spectral figure, eluding the public eye just as he may have eluded justice for 21 years. But Columbia, Missouri is full of surprises. Let me tell you a story about another mysterious case from my hometown.

It's a story that makes me think the mystery on 4 East could still be solved. There's a diner in Columbia called Ernie's, where my father and I have eaten breakfast hundreds of times. And hanging on the wall, there's a black and white drawing of the diner, made sometime in the 1980s, which captures the place in delightful detail. It hasn't changed much, actually. If you look closely, in a corner of the poster, you can see a tiny, tiny detective asking, Whatever happened to Rebecca Doisey? Rebecca Doisey was a waitress at Ernie's. She was smiling, sassy, and radiant.

Rebecca Doisey. I may have had a small first-grader crush on her, but everyone liked her. She vanished on August 5, 1976, on her way to a date. Her body was never found. My father talked about the case for three decades. And then finally, more than 33 years later, in the fall of 2009, her killer was found, arrested, and later convicted on nothing more than circumstantial evidence.

It was a case that no one thought the prosecution could win. So you never know. As Kevin Crane told us, the case of the 1992 patient deaths at the Harry S. Truman VA Hospital is not closed. This is because there is no statute of limitation on homicide. The case is still unsolved, waiting for a prosecutor out there who is willing to reopen the investigation. Which, mind you, is no small feat. Any prosecutor knows that to do something like this, you gotta have nerves of steel.

Because given the nature of double jeopardy, you only get one shot. You miss, and it's over. Maybe there is some brave cowboy district attorney out there in Missouri who is willing to take that one shot. But don't hold your breath. Witnessed Night Shift is a production of Campside Media and Sony Music Entertainment. The show was hosted by Jake Adelstein. It was written and reported by Jake Adelstein and me, Shoko Planbeck.

Amy Planbeck is the producer. Elizabeth Van Brocklin is the managing producer. Michael Canyon-Meyer is our story editor. Fact-checking by Abukar Adan. Josh Dean is our executive producer. Sound design, mix, and original scoring by Erica Wong. Additional music from Mike Harmon and APM. Archival material courtesy of CNN and NewsHour Productions, LLC.

A special thanks to Eddie Edelstein. Thanks also to Benny Edelstein for additional reporting and support. We are also grateful to Lauren Hardy for additional research and reach-out work. And we'd like to extend a special thanks to the late Dr. Gordon Christensen, as well as his family. Thanks also to our operations team. Doug Slawin, Ashley Warren, Sabina Mara, Destiny Dingle, and David Eichler. Campside Media's executive producers are Josh Dean, Vanessa Gregoriadis, Adam Hoff, and Matt Scher. If you enjoyed Witnessed Night Shift, please rate and review the show wherever you get your podcasts.