Episodes
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Come with me to explore Charles Manson, the notorious Manson Family and their leader. It begins with the gruesome murders on August 8, 1969, at Sharon Tate’s home, detailing the backgrounds of the killers and their descent into violence under Manson’s influence. The episode sets the historical context of the late 1960s, highlighting the end of the hippie movement and the societal impact of the crimes. It promises a deep dive into one of history’s most infamous criminal cases, blending true crime storytelling with cultural analysis.
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Step into the shadows of Kansas City with our latest podcast episode, as we uncover the chilling saga of Lorenzo Gilyard, the Kansas City Strangler. For over 16 years, Gilyard’s reign of terror left a trail of fear and unanswered questions. How did this seemingly ordinary man evade capture for so long, and what drove him to commit such heinous acts? Join me as we delve into the investigation that finally brought him to justice, revealing the dark secrets and shocking twists behind one of America’s most notorious serial killers.
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Missing episodes?
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After a brief encounter, she followed him to a grimy rented room where they had sex. What transpired next is a chilling portrait of violence. When Rifkin was nearing climax, he clasped his hands around the poor woman’s throat and squeezed the life out of her as he ejaculated inside her. To him, it was the ultimate power trip, his fantasy of total domination come to life. When he rolled off her corpse, he started the work of disposing her lifeless body.
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In March 1989, Rifkin made a life-altering decision to kill, targeting a young woman named Susie from Manhattan’s East Village. This episode unravels the events that led to this horrifying crime. Rifkin, fueled by disappointment and rage, brutally attacked Susie with a heavy artillery shell before finally ending her life. Despite her fierce will to survive, Susie's struggle was ultimately in vain. Tune in to hear the harrowing details of this crime and gain insight into the mind of a notorious killer. This is one episode you won't want to miss.
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The stench hit them first in the cluttered garage. A wheelbarrow overflowed with a crimson tide – human blood, thick and viscous. A pair of women’s panties lay discarded on the floor, a grotesque echo amongst the coils of rope and the rolled-up tarps. A chainsaw, its metallic teeth glinting in the harsh light, stood upright against the wall, stained a rusty red with the remnants of its grisly work. Neighbors, questioned later, spoke of strange odors emanating from the garage – they’d assumed it was insecticide, a tool of his landscaping business. A terrible misunderstanding, a horrifying truth hidden in plain sight.
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In this gripping episode of The Serial Killer Podcast we dive into the chilling tale of Gerard John Schaefer, a former police officer turned serial killer. The episode uncovers the gruesome details of Schaefer's crimes, his trial, and his eventual demise. It also explores the shocking revelations from Schaefer's own writings, which some believe to be confessions. This episode is a must-listen for true crime enthusiasts, offering a deep dive into the mind of a killer and the justice system that sought to hold him accountable. Tune in for an unforgettable journey into the heart of darkness.
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The torture the girls were subjected to have been difficult to ascertain. The details probably fit with Schafer’s own writings, detailed in previous episodes in this series. One can only hope that Georgia lost consciousness, due to fear or intoxication, and that Susan, perhaps, had an epileptic episode and that in either case they would not have known what atrocities would befall them. But it is more likely that she was screaming as Georgia was tortured...
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The 27th of September, 1972. A date etched in blood on the Florida calendar. Georgia Jessup, a wisp of a girl with dreams far exceeding her sixteen years, vanished from her home. No struggle, no screams, just a blue suitcase packed with aspirations – her own clothes, a few pilfered treasures from her mother's closet, and a younger sister's forgotten dress, a silent plea for a piece of childhood amidst the coming storm.
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He took pleasure in the kill, not the bounty it provided. Songbirds, their sweet melodies silenced with a single, brutal crack. Land crabs, scuttled across the sand only to meet a leaden demise. These were the trophies John craved, not sustenance, but the chilling dominion over life and death. The boy who once played by the canal now held the power to extinguish the spark of life in living creatures, a darkness blooming beneath the veneer of a good student and budding athlete.
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Fair warning, the content is graphic and disturbing. I quote: “She was expecting dinner but instead was driven down a deserted road. She was asked to get out of the car and submitted to a frisk search. Then the handcuffs were locked around her wrists and the blindfold placed over her eyes. She was then led away into the dark to the place of execution. She was assisted in mounting the laddar and sat down on the top of it. The hangmans noose was placed over her head after a pillow case was dropped over her face in a hood arrangement. She sat there very composed and ladylike while I adjusted the rope. She obviously had no inclination of what was about to happen.
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She worked the gag from her mouth and began to chew on the knot. The rope left little coarse hairs in her mouth which ground into her gums as she chewed, and it tasted like car oil. Her legs were also tightly bound with rope around her knees. She tried desperately to work her legs free but to no avail. The attempt seemed only to cut the blood flow to her feet, making them numb and, consequently, making it difficult to keep a firm footing on the root. Finally she turned around and fell against the branch where the other end of the rope was tied on. The rope was looser from chewing on it, and she could untie it with her hand behind her back. She undid the knot herself, and then got all the ropes off. It didn’t take very long, maybe ten or fifteen minutes. But she still had the handcuffs on. She picked up the ropes that moments before had held her captive and ran, keeping low.
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In the subterfuge of this turbulent environment, a prolific monster operated right under the noses of law enforcement, preying on victims from the city’s most vulnerable population demographic.
On the 2nd of February, 2009, Christine Ross was walking her dog Rucca through the morning shadows of Paradise, her West Mesa subdivision community, when the hound caught a scent. Within a minute, he'd dug up a large bone and proudly presented it. Disturbed, Christine texted a picture of the fossil to her sister, who was a nurse. It looked like a human femur bone, her sister replied. Police investigators arrived on the scene and discovered the remains of multiple human bodies buried across 100 acres of barren land.
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Only two souls managed to escape the deadly clutches of the Briley brothers, this time Linwood and Anthony, to tell their tale: William and Virginia Bucher. Now, both have passed on, their stories echoing in the grave. Unless the shadows of the past decide to part and reveal hitherto unknown survivors or witnesses, the blood-curdling events that transpired on the night of the 12th of March, 1979, stand as the gruesome overture to a seven-month symphony of horror.
The modus operandi of these ruthless killers was as cold as it was random. Linwood, the elder of the two, sauntered up to the quaint, tightly packed home of the Buchers, nestled in the heart of Lafayette Avenue, and rapped his knuckles against the front door in a parody of normalcy. William Bucher, in a later account, revealed his initial assumption that it was the paperboy, come to collect his due, which rendered him unguarded enough to open the door. As the portal swung open, he found himself staring not at the familiar face of the paperboy, but at the strange and unsettling countenance of a complete unknown.
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Imagine if you will, dear listener, an anonymous-looking apartment house on Barton Avenue, Richmond, state of Virginia. It hadn't been opened for three baking-hot days. Opening the door, the seasoned investigators were blasted with a wave of heat and rot. The smell was like a wall, or more apt; a tsunami of death hitting them square in the face as they entered. They had experienced this before, for some of the investigators it was part and parcel of the job. But they had not seen a crime scene like this; with snakes slithering on the floor, stained with old blood from the floor. The investigators got out fast and called for animal-control officers to subdue and remove the snakes. Later, after this was done, it had to be admitted the killers knew something, however minimal, about psychological warfare. Releasing from their confinement Harvey Wilkerson's pet snakes had been nothing short of successfully annoying, and potentially dangerous to anyone entering the crime scene. They were also very well capable of damaging and/or obscuring crucial evidence.
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Lavrenti Pavlovich Beria was a Georgian, like Stalin, who called him ‘my Himmler’. Involved in revolutionary activities from his teens and head of the secret police in Georgia in his twenties, he supervised the ruthless 1930s purges in the region and arrived in Moscow in 1938 as deputy to Nikolai Yezhov, aka ‘the blood-thirsty dwarf’, head of the Soviet secret police. He soon succeeded Yezhov, who was shot on Stalin’s orders, apparently at Beria’s prompting. Beria, who went on to run the Soviet network of slave-labour camps, was notorious for his sadistic enjoyment of torture and his taste for beating, raping and murdering young women and girls. Bald and bespectacled, by the time of Stalin’s death in 1953 he was one of the most hated men in the country.
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Brandishing a menacing knife, he binds the child securely with rope he brought with him. After the child is tied up, he cuts away the boy´s clothes so that he lies completely naked under the sun. Smiling, the serial killer’s mask falls away and he quickly masturbates over the now crying boy. According to Garavito, he made a quote/unquote "pact with the devil" and Satanic rituals were also incorporated, the boy and others were apparent blood sacrifices.
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A darker facet of his childhood, less publicly disclosed but equally crucial in understanding this individual, was the sexual abuse he reportedly endured. The precise details of the abuse that Garavito endured are, understandably, scant and thinly documented. What is recognized, however, is that the sexual violence perpetrated against him was reportedly recurrent, beginning from an eerily young age, involved multiple perpetrators and often occurred within his family's crumbling walls.
Among the alleged abusers were some of Garavito's own relatives, neighbors, and even supposed friends within the community. The abusers exploited the vulnerability of Garavito's circumstances, his family's economic challenges, and their lack of protective measures.
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Buono returned to his office and told Cindy Hudspeth that it was time to close up his shop now but that he could give her some job openings if she would come into the house. She was grateful for his help. Once she sat down in the brown vinyl easy chair, her hours were numbered. Bianchi kept her occupied with small talk while Buono fetched the gag, tape, and cord. When she said that she lived in an apartment at 800 East Garfield Avenue, Bianchi said that that was quite a coincidence. He had lived right across the street last year. Bianchi won the coin toss this time. But before raping her, he agreed to Buono’s suggestion that they tie her arms and legs to the legs of the bed. The spread-eagled sacrifice appealed to both of them. They used her for nearly two hours. At Buono’s urging, Bianchi did the actual strangling. After she was dead and they were dressed, they agreed that her car was a problem. They would have to get rid of it as well as Cindy’s corpse.
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Small bruises showed around her breasts. And then, examining her more closely, Grogan noticed something that made him think at first that he was looking at the body of a drug addict: puncture marks on the inner arms. But there were only two puncture marks, none of the usual scars and needle tracks of the addict. The rectal bleeding and the absence on the body of any obvious signs of a dissipated, druggy existence suggested to Grogan that she might have been tortured before, during, or after the killing, maybe all three. He stepped back and looked about. He noticed no footprints or disturbances of any kind on the ground around her, and the body showed no signs of having been dragged.
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He tried pulling back on her throat with his forearm first, then used a rag Buono handed him. Even though handcuffed, she managed to kick Buono in the head, so he held down her legs, draped over the back of the front seat, with his free hand until Bianchi had finished the job. When she was limp, Bianchi surreptitiously removed a large turquoise ring from her left hand and slipped it into his pocket. He thought it would make a nice present for his girlfriend. Then Buono drove to a spot on Forest Lawn Drive, below the Oakwood Apartments he had once lived in. They dumped Yolanda Washington’s body beside the road, near a rockpile and the entrance to the graveyard, across the way from a Warner Brothers set depicting a peaceful New England village.
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