Some books are written because a story needs to be told. Others are written because silence has gone on too long.

Simple, Safe & Secret is Eve Carson’s deeply researched account of the disappearance and murder of Joan Webster, a 25-year-old Harvard graduate student whose case has remained tangled in unanswered questions, shifting narratives, and a justice system that, according to Carson, failed the very person it was meant to protect.

As Joan’s sister-in-law, Eve brings both personal connection and determined investigation to this story. Her work is not only about what happened to Joan, but about the darker questions surrounding the investigation, the prosecution, and the fight for truth that continues decades later.

Eve Carson was born and raised in Danville, Illinois, and grew up in a close-knit family that became a source of strength through life’s challenges. She graduated from Purdue University with a degree in Industrial Management and Economics and began her career working for General Motors and IBM.

Eve married Steve Webster, Joan Webster’s brother, in 1980, and was the only non-blood relative in the immediate family when Joan disappeared. Since then, she has spent years researching, writing, and speaking about Joan’s case. Her work has appeared in publications including Crime Magazine, The Journal of Forensic Research, The Journal of Forensic and Crime Investigation, Medium, and Unsolved Magazine. She has also presented aspects of the case at forensic research conferences and appeared on programs including The Whistleblower.

Today, Eve lives in the Midwest, where she continues her writing, consulting work, and her ongoing pursuit of justice for Joan.

If you’re drawn to true crime stories that go beyond the headline and ask harder questions about evidence, accountability, and justice, Simple, Safe & Secret is a powerful and unsettling read.

Order your copy of Simple, Safe & Secret today and learn more about Eve Carson’s fight to uncover the truth behind Joan Webster’s case.

On a Wednesday night in March 2003, seven-year-old Dalton Mesarchik sat on his front porch waiting for the church bus. He had no way of knowing the bus had been canceled. His family had no way of knowing that no one had called. And somewhere in that small, terrible window of confusion, Dalton disappeared.

What followed was a heartbreaking case filled with questions, missed chances, and one haunting detail that never lets go: The bus he was waiting for was never coming.

THE BUS THAT NEVER CAME

It was Wednesday night, March 26, 2003. And that meant it was children’s Bible school night at the Church of the Nazarene in Streator, Illinois, a rustic blue collar town 100 miles southwest of Chicago. And that meant seven year old Dalton Mesarchik, with long hair and bright eyes, was very excited. He came home from school, had his dinner, sat down to play with his plastic Harley-Davidson motorcycles, then prepared to go to church with his older sister Deana who was at a friend’s house.

But on this night, this horrible, horrible night, fate fell on Streator.

The bus driver, a church volunteer, unexpectedly had to leave for Iowa for a family emergency. The church had no replacement driver. There would not be a bus coming to pick up little Dalton Mesarchik, or any of the other church goers tonight. The church’s policy was to notify families whenever transportation was not available, but on this night, this horrible night, no phone calls were made.

Around 7:15 p.m., family members recall seeing Dalton still sitting on the porch, anxiously waiting for the bus.

The bus that was never going to come. At 7:45 p.m., realizing the church bus was not coming, Deana came back home from her friend’s house. Within minutes, she sounded the alarm. “Where is Dalton?” she asked.

Search dogs picked up Dalton’s scent, tracking him from his front porch to the middle of Morrell street, right in front of his house. And then the trail stopped. Police believe he got in a vehicle at that point. By dawn, with no sight of Dalton, word spread quickly through the small town. Some 500 volunteers showed up to help with a search. It did not take long. By midday, police delivered the news to the Mesarchik family.

Just a couple of miles from home, Dalton’s body was found in the Vermillion River, discovered by a local fisherman who knew the family. Police said he was bludgeoned to death with a hammer. But at every turn, there was a dead end. And police kept coming back to their original question: Why would someone target, but not molest, a seven year old boy? Why would they risk taking him, right in front of his house?

“He was coaxed into that vehicle,” an officer said. “No screaming. No struggle. No sign he was afraid of anything.”

If stories like this stay with you long after you’ve read them, 25 Frozen, 1 Thawed is available now. It’s a collection of cold cases, strange clues, and the rare moments when the ice finally begins to crack.

Get your copy of Out of Cabrini today.

What really happens inside a homicide investigation?

Not the polished version we see in television dramas. Not the neat, forty-two-minute mystery where every clue arrives exactly on time and every case wraps up cleanly before the credits roll.

Real homicide work is slower, heavier, more complicated, and far more human.

In On Call: Inside Homicide Investigations, author Justin Bocock takes readers behind the scenes of thirteen real homicide cases, walking them through the process of interviewing witnesses, identifying evidence, using current investigative technology, preparing search warrants, interpreting autopsy reports, and building cases for trial. Each case unfolds the way it did for the detective working it: one fact, one clue, one challenge at a time.

About the Author

Justin Bocock began his law enforcement career as a Uniformed Division Officer in the U.S. Secret Service before joining the Mesa Police Department in Arizona, where he served for twenty years.

During his career, he worked in several roles, including patrol officer, training officer, detective, and homicide investigator. Over the years, he investigated hundreds of violent crimes, suspicious deaths, and homicides.

In 2019, Bocock was named Homicide Detective of the Year by the Arizona Homicide Investigators Association for pioneering the use of drone technology in crime scene investigations. He retired from the Mesa Police Department in 2021 and later contributed as a subject matter expert for criminal justice textbooks used in higher education.

With On Call, Bocock brings that experience directly to readers, offering a rare look at the reality of homicide investigations from someone who has lived the work firsthand.

About the Book

On Call: Inside Homicide Investigations is part true crime, part investigative guide, and part insider account of what it takes to follow the evidence in a murder case.

Through thirteen real cases, readers are invited to step into the role of the investigator: listening to witnesses, examining evidence, understanding legal hurdles, and watching each case develop from the first call to the final conclusion.

The book also serves as a practical resource for readers interested in the criminal justice system, including aspiring homicide detectives, writers, students, and true crime readers who want a deeper understanding of how real cases are built. Topics include photo lineups, firearms terminology, dying declarations, hearsay, search warrants, trial preparation, and the many unexpected complications that arise in homicide work.

But at its heart, On Call is also about victims, families, and the pursuit of justice.

These cases are not simple. They are not always what they first appear to be. And as Bocock shows, every homicide investigation requires patience, discipline, and the willingness to follow the facts wherever they lead.

Read On Call

For true crime readers, crime writers, criminal justice students, or anyone curious about what really happens behind the scenes of a homicide investigation, On Call: Inside Homicide Investigations offers a detailed, grounded, and compelling look at the work.

Step inside the investigation. Follow the evidence. See the case through the eyes of the detective who worked it.

On Call: Inside Homicide Investigations by Justin Bocock is available now from Genius Book Publishing.

Then, in November 1987, all of it was shattered.

The Dardeen family murders remain one of the most disturbing unsolved cases in Midwest true crime history. Years later, serial killer Tommy Lynn Sells claimed responsibility—but one strange detail raised more questions than answers: a set of watermelon ceramics inside the family home.

Was it proof? A lucky guess? Or another cruel twist in a case already full of them?

Read “The Case of the Watermelon Ceramics,” excerpted from Bob Cyphers’ 25 Frozen, 1 Thawed, a collection of chilling Midwest crimes, unsolved mysteries, and stories that refuse to stay buried.

THE CASE OF THE WATERMELON CERAMICS

There’s one stop light in Ina, at the intersection of Main and Third streets. At Uncle Joe’s, you can get a fried bologna sandwich with fried pickles. After that, it’s a gas station, funeral home, antique store, and Baptist church.

Russell and Ruby Dardeen had just moved to town a year earlier, and owned a mobile home on the outskirts of the city. They went by their middle names, Keith and Elaine. They had a three-year-old son named Peter. Keith worked at the local water treatment plant, Elaine at a supply store. The couple was actively involved in the tiny Baptist church, Keith a lead singer, and Elaine playing the piano. Life was drama free in the small town. But there was excitement: Elaine was seven months pregnant with a little girl, who would be named Casey.

And then came November 17, 1987.

Keith failed to show up for work for his night shift, and nobody could reach his family. Concerned, his parents contacted the Jefferson County Sheriff’s Office, and headed south with a key to the trailer. Police met them at the scene. Keith’s car was missing, and they went inside. What they found was indescribable. Elaine was sexually mutilated and bludgeoned to death with a baseball bat. So was her son Peter. Baby Casey, due in two months, arrived during the beatings. She too, was beaten to death. There was no sign of Keith. Police immediately began searching the trailer. No forced entry. Nothing was missing. Cash and jewelry were lying in the open. But the crime scene had another twist: Elaine, Peter and Casey were tucked in, nicely, to their bed.

The police and family asked, where was Keith? A manhunt ensued, as Keith was clearly the number one suspect. A day later, hunters found Keith’s body in a wheat field, a mile away from the family home. He was also sexually mutilated and shot three times in the face.

The family car was still missing. But not for long. The next day, it was found 10 miles south, splattered with blood. Was it burned, or hidden deep in the woods, out of sight from police? No. The killer or killers drove and parked the car right in front of the Benton Police Department. Next door was the Franklin County Courthouse. Thirty detectives worked the case full time. They interviewed more than 100 people. They tracked down more than 1,000 leads, but came up empty.

No suspects were ever identified. There were few leads in the case. Years went by. And then along came Tommy Lynn Sells, who claimed he killed up to 70 people throughout the country. He said his nickname was “Coast to Coast.” investigators on the Dardeen case had never heard of the name Tommy Lynn Sells. But there was a little, or very big problem with the Sells confession: the watermelon.

Sells described a set of watermelon ceramics inside the Dardeen home...

Get the book here: 25 Frozen, 1 Thawed

This chilling true story explores grief, justice, forensic uncertainty, and the haunting questions that remain long after the headlines fade.

SPLITTING HAIRS

Fifth Street in St. Charles, Missouri, just off Interstate 70. Two gas stations, Mobil and Shell, sit across the street from each other. As the clock struck 11 p.m. on a cold Thursday night in February 1989, the hands of horror and fate awaited.

Jeffrey Ferguson called a friend, Kenneth Ousley, to pick him up down the street at the Shell station. Ousley arrived driving a brown and white Chevy Blazer. It was 10:55 p.m.

Across the street at the Mobil station, 17-year-old Kelli Hall was minutes away from getting off work. Her last task was to check and record the fuel levels in the four tanks at the front of the station. A witness reported seeing a brown and white Chevy Blazer cross the street, pull into the Mobil station, and park. He reported seeing a male standing next to Hall, with one hand in his pocket. Seconds later, Hall entered the back seat of the Blazer. At the same time, Hall’s boyfriend was waiting for her in his car, parked behind the station. At 11:30 p.m., wondering where she was, he went inside looking for her. He found her purse, then called her house. When he found out she wasn’t there, he called the police.

The long night of horror began for the Hall family. A couple of weeks later, Hall’s body was found on a farm in Maryland Heights, naked except for her socks. Later that night, Ferguson was arrested and charged with the murder of Kelli Hall. Ferguson would go to death row, and, as Kelli’s father Jim Hall watched, be executed in 2014.

And that brings us to the strange case of Kenneth Ousley, the man who picked Ferguson up in the Chevy Blazer. The only physical evidence linking him to the scene was hair analysis. There was one blond strand on his shoe. And there was pubic hair linked to Ousley on Hall’s sock.

The years rolled on, Ousley sat in prison, and beginning in 2008, he was up for parole hearings. And each time that he was, Jim Hall would make the four hour round trip to argue against his release. No one could blame her father for the anger and pain that would never leave. Ousley was never successful before the parole board. He settled into prison life, and even got married behind bars.

And then came the hairs. Where are the hairs? They are missing from the county crime lab. Such forensic evidence in a criminal case would be well marked in a large box, unlikely to be lost or misplaced. But it has been.

📖 25 Frozen and 1 Thawed dives into real cases where truth isn’t always as clear as it first appears.
Available here:

Some stories disappear long before they are ever solved.

We’re proud to announce the upcoming release of The Lost Girls of Arkansas by LaDonna Humphrey, an award-winning author, investigative journalist, filmmaker, and nationally recognized victims’ advocate.

This powerful investigative work examines missing persons cases and unsolved murders that continue to haunt Arkansas decades later. With deeply researched storytelling, firsthand investigative work, and a victim-centered approach, Humphrey looks beyond the headlines to honor the daughters, sisters, mothers, and human beings whose stories deserve far more attention than they received.

The Lost Girls of Arkansas releases June 1, 2026, and is available for preorder now.

A missing woman becomes a faded headline. A murdered girl becomes a file stored in a box somewhere inside a courthouse basement. Families learn to live between hope and grief while communities slowly stop asking questions. Over time, silence settles in where outrage once existed.

The Lost Girls of Arkansas confronts that silence head-on.

In this powerful investigative work, award-winning author, journalist, and victims’ advocate LaDonna Humphrey examines missing persons cases and unsolved murders that continue to haunt Arkansas decades later.

Through deeply researched storytelling, firsthand investigative work, and a victim-centered approach, Humphrey explores the lives behind the cases — not as statistics or sensational headlines, but as daughters, sisters, mothers, and human beings whose stories deserve far more attention than they received.

Set against the backdrop of rural highways, isolated communities, river towns, and dense Arkansas forests, the book traces the lingering impact of unresolved violence across generations. It examines how poverty, addiction, indifference, institutional failure, media disparities, and social stigma often shaped which victims received urgency and which were quietly forgotten. In many cases, the investigations stalled long before the pain did.

Rather than glorifying violence, The Lost Girls of Arkansas focuses on the emotional and societal aftermath when justice never comes. Families fracture beneath unanswered questions. Witnesses carry secrets for decades. Entire communities adapt to fear, rumor, and uncertainty while predators sometimes remain hidden in plain sight.

Humphrey brings both investigative rigor and emotional depth to these cases, challenging readers to look beyond the surface of true crime and confront the broader realities surrounding unsolved violence in overlooked places. The result is a haunting and deeply human examination of memory, loss, justice, and the enduring fight to make sure victims are not erased by time.

LaDonna Humphrey is an award-winning author, investigative journalist, filmmaker, and nationally recognized advocate for victims of crime. She is the co-founder of All the Lost Girls and host of investigative podcasts focused on missing persons, cold cases, and justice reform. Her work has earned recognition for its ethical approach, relentless research, and commitment to giving voice to victims and families too often ignored.

Published by Genius Book Publishing, The Lost Girls of Arkansas is now available for presale.

Preorder your copy of The Lost Girls of Arkansas today and help keep these stories from being forgotten.

[Preorder now]

Some murders leave behind evidence.
Others leave behind questions.

In the early hours of a quiet fall morning in St. Louis Hills, a father stepped outside after hearing a car in his driveway — and discovered a nightmare that would haunt the city for decades.

Gary Consolino and Ellen Dooling had been executed inside a blue Oldsmobile Cutlass just feet from Ellen’s front door. No robbery. No witnesses. No clear motive. Despite one of the most intense homicide investigations in St. Louis history, the case remains unsolved more than forty years later.

This is one of the chilling cases featured in 25 Frozen 1 Thawed — a collection of cold cases, forgotten investigations, and the haunting questions that still remain.

HORROR IN THE HILLS

It was a crisp fall night, the kind of night good for sleeping. But John Dooling was awakened by a noise in his driveway. He looked at his alarm clock. It was 4 a.m. His daughter Ellen had been out on a date, and was supposed to be home at midnight. Startled by the noise, Dooling was suddenly worried. He looked out the window and saw a blue Oldsmobile Cutlass parked in front of his house, its engine still running. He recognized the car as Gary Consolino’s, Ellen’s date for the night. Concerned, he went outside, saw Ellen in the passenger seat, opened the door, pulled her out and screamed.

And screamed. And screamed again. A piercing scream so horrible and loud, lights flickered up and down the 6200 block of Walsh Street in the quiet St. Louis Hills neighborhood.

Gary and Ellen had been shot and killed. Bullets entered the passenger window. Ellen was shot in the head, Gary in the neck. Scraps of McDonalds food was spread through the car. There was no sign of a robbery. No sign of an assault. No sign of a struggle. There were no witnesses. There was no noise to awaken the sleepy neighborhood until John’s anguish rang out.

Sirens soon followed his cries, and police cars flooded the area. By the time the sun rose, the neighborhood was being canvassed. As the days went by, police would interview hundreds of people. Nearby Francis Park was combed inch by inch. Lie detector tests were given. School friends were questioned. The victims and their family’s private lives were probed. Rewards were offered. A hypnotist was brought in to question neighbors about any memories they had from their sleep. The investigation was as intense as any city homicide investigator could ever remember. Now, more than 40 years later, there are still no clear answers.

St. Louis homicide detectives were stumped. Where was the motive?

Numerous homicide detectives held the Consolino-Dooling case file over the years. The first was Herb Riley, who called not solving the case one of the biggest disappointments of his career. Riley was followed by Dan Nichols who worked tirelessly on the case before he too, retired. In 1987, seven years after Gary and Ellen were murdered, with their case still cold, homicide detective Chris Pappas asked to take over the investigation.

Pappas’ long and winding investigative road would eventually lead him to a man named Ronald Adcox who sat in the notorious Marion, Illinois Penitentiary. Pappas began digging and discovered that Adcox lived in south St. Louis at the same time as the murders, in a neighborhood right between the Consolino and Dooling homes. According to his friends, Adcox liked to hang out at Francis Park, just a block from where Dooling lived.

Pappas got in his car and made the two hour trek to Marion, entering multiple security stages to reach Adcox, who was housed deep in the bowels of the penitentiary, where the most dangerous inmates in a building of a thousand inmates, called home. Pappas sat down in a small guarded room. Across from him was Adcox, shackled and cuffed, a very large man with very long hair, who had been living in an eight-by-eight cell 23 hours a day.

“I have been waiting for you to come,” Adcox smiled.

After their initial hello’s, Adcox put his cards on the table.

“He looked me in the eye,” Pappas said. “And he says to me ‘I am a killer. And I will kill again if I have to.”

Pappas got right to the point. He came to talk about the Gary Consolino and Ellen Dooling murders from St. Louis in 1980.

“He told me he would not have done it if he was sober, but he said if he was drunk and high, he might have,” Pappas said. “I kept pressing him, and he just laughed. He told me he was going to make me prove it.”

Today, Adcox, transferred again, sits in a Texas prison, serving a life sentence. 40 years after Gary Consolino and Ellen Dooling were killed, Pappas still refers to Adcox as a suspect, and still remembers the final words from his mouth when they spoke.

“He told me If he knew he was going to spend the rest of his life locked up in prison, he might fess up.”

He will. And he has not.

Back in the quiet, peaceful neighborhood of St. Louis Hills, crime rarely returned. It is considered among the safest neighborhoods in the city.

If you’re fascinated by unsolved crimes, cold case investigations, and the mysteries that refuse to die, 25 Frozen 1 Thawed belongs on your shelf. Some stories fade with time. Others grow colder.

In my book On Call: Case Files from a Career in Homicide, I examine a range of homicide investigations that drew media attention. Not all of these cases made national headlines, and not all involved press conferences, but nearly every one received some form of coverage. In several of these investigations, I participated in press conferences, an aspect of the job that often appears essential, yet comes with significant drawbacks. A press conference is a double-edged sword: it can inform the public and generate leads, but it can also create complications that investigators must later manage. Law enforcement officials must recognize the limitations of press conferences, and the public should also understand what they can and cannot reveal.

Every time something significant happens in the world, the first thing I want to do is watch the press conference. I’ll admit it, I’m one of those people. When something breaks, I don’t go to Twitter or Facebook. I turn on the news because I want to hear directly from the officials involved. I believe they have more accurate information than what I’ll find online.

Yet almost every time I watch one of these press conferences, I walk away disappointed. I’m a curious person, and I’m a cop. I want more information. I want all the information, and I want it now. That’s how most of society feels. The problem is, you’re not going to get that level of detail from a press conference.

In my 22 years in law enforcement, I’ve been on both sides of these press conferences. I’ve worked high-profile investigations where a chief or deputy chief held a press conference about a case I was directly involved in. One important thing to understand is that press conferences are almost never given by the officer or detective doing the hands-on work. They’re typically conducted by a chief, deputy chief, or another high-ranking official, someone who is relaying information they’ve received from others.

Take the Mesa Police Department as an example. When we held press conferences, the chief or deputy chief would deliver them. They received their information from a deputy chief or commander assigned to the unit, who got it from a lieutenant, who got it from a sergeant who got it from me. There are multiple layers between the source of the information and the person presenting it. Departments don’t want to pull the working detective away from the investigation to speak at a press conference, because the priority is the case itself.

Because of this, the information presented in a press conference is not always timely, and it’s not always perfectly accurate. It’s often incomplete or slightly flawed. We’ve all heard of the “telephone game,” where a message changes as it passes from person to person. The same principle applies here. It’s not that anyone is lying, it’s simply human nature. People interpret and summarize information, sometimes adding their own understanding or assumptions along the way. By the time it reaches the public, the narrative can differ from what investigators are actually seeing on the ground.

This isn’t unique to law enforcement. It happens in every industry. A CEO doesn’t step aside and let an entry-level employee deliver a press conference about financials. The CEO becomes the face of the message, pulling information from multiple sources and presenting it in their own words. Law enforcement works much the same way.

Timeliness is another issue. Investigations, especially complex ones like homicides or officer-involved shootings take time. They have to. From the very beginning, investigators must be thorough and precise to avoid mistakes that could jeopardize the case or lead to evidence being thrown out in court.

For example, detectives must establish probable cause, which means clearly explaining what happened and why there is a legal basis to collect evidence. This often requires writing detailed search warrants, a process that can take hours depending on the complexity of the case, the amount of information, and how the situation evolves. While writing, detectives may receive new information updates from witness interviews, new locations, additional suspects which then must be incorporated into the warrant. The investigation can expand in real time.

Once the search warrant is completed, it must be reviewed and approved by a judge. That process also takes time. Judges don’t rush; they carefully and methodically review each warrant to ensure everything is legally sound and that there is sufficient justification to temporarily override someone’s privacy rights for the sake of a criminal investigation. Sometimes there’s only one judge available, and they may already be in court or handling other matters. You might be one of several warrants waiting in line.

The bottom line is this: legally and procedurally, investigations take time. Because of that, press conferences will always have limitations in what they can provide.

I still find myself dissatisfied at the end of most press conferences, but it’s important not to fall into the trap of satisfying your desire for information with details that are incomplete or incorrect. Press conferences aren’t designed to tell the whole story; they’re meant to inform the public in a controlled and measured way, not to deliver every fact or predict the final outcome.

Patience is essential. We have to manage that need for immediate answers and trust that the full picture will come together over time. The truth does come out but it doesn’t come out all at once.

That said, I understand the frustration. I feel it too. Like everyone else, I want to know the facts, I want to understand what happened, and I want those answers now.

Curious what doesn’t make it into the headlines?
👉 Dive deeper into real investigations and the realities behind them in On Call: Case Files from a Career in Homicide

.

They stay with us—unfinished, unresolved, quietly waiting.

In August of 1992, Tammy Zywicki set out on a simple road trip. Three days. A drop-off. A return to school.

She never made it.

More than 30 years later, her story is still asking the same question: what happened on that stretch of highway?

THE ROAD TO NOWHERE

On August 21, 1992, Tammy and her younger brother Daren and a 1985 Pontiac T1000 packed with suitcases left Marlton, New Jersey for their three day cross country trip. Tammy would drop Daren off at Northwestern University in Chicago, where he was studying engineering. They had a couple of instances of Tammy’s car overheating along the way, but nothing major. And then it was onto Grinnell, where Tammy studied photography and starred on the soccer team.

Sometime between 3 and 4 p.m. that afternoon, numerous witnesses said they saw a young woman matching Tammy’s description standing outside her car, with the hood up, on Interstate 80 at mile marker 83, near Utica, Illinois. She was two hours outside of Chicago, and three hours from Grinnell. At 5 p.m., Illinois State police spotted the abandoned car.

There was no sign of Tammy.

The FBI took over the case, a missing person report was put out, and in the days that followed, more than 60 witnesses called police and said they had seen the young girl with the broken down car on the highway. An exhaustive search took place over the next week. Hundreds of volunteers and K-9 dogs took the ground, while police helicopters searched overhead.

JoAnn and Frank Zywicki arrived on the scene, pleading before television cameras for any information about Tammy. Back at Grinnell, as Tammy’s classmates began trickling back onto campus, word began spreading. And they went to work. One group of students began traveling up and down Interstate 80, passing out flyers with pictures of Tammy. Another group spread out to area truck stops and parks. Another group stayed back and gave their food money to the other groups for expenses. Grim days and candlelight vigil nights went by.

And on the morning of September 1, nine days after Tammy disappeared, a man driving a pickup truck pulled along the side of Interstate 44, near Mt. Vernon Missouri, some 500 miles from where Tammy was last seen, saying he thought he saw a body. Police quickly swarmed the scene. A young woman’s body was pulled from the blanket. She was wearing a shirt that said “East Side Eagles Soccer Club.”

Tammy’s team.

Dental records confirmed the body was that of Tammy Zywicki. She had been sexually assaulted, then stabbed seven times in her chest. And today, more than 30 years after her death, the case still sits.

If stories like this stay with you—the ones that don’t wrap up neatly, the ones that still linger—Bob’s book 25 Frozen, 1 Thawed explores cases just like this.

Stories that were left behind… and the rare ones that finally found their way forward.

Why would someone choose to write about tragedy in their retirement? For author and former journalist Bob, the answer lies not in darkness, but in remembrance, resilience, and the enduring pursuit of justice. In this deeply moving reflection, he shares the story that shaped his passion for true crime—and the unforgettable moment that reaffirmed his purpose.

People always ask me why I am writing true crime stories in my retirement. The answer walked through the door when I appeared recently for a book signing at the St. Louis library.

Many years earlier, while working for KMOV-TV, I did a story on the murder of Mary Macinski, a 33-year-old woman who was brutally killed in 1987. Mary had gone out for her evening walk, but never returned. Concerned, her father went looking for her, and found her body lying between two homes in a busy neighborhood. She had been stabbed 57 times.

Nobody heard a thing. Her killer was never found.

Mary’s family had dealt with their grief for years before I met them. But when I did, an amazing thing struck me. The family had come to peace with Mary’s murder, and in fact had forgiven the killer.

“People cry out for justice when what they really want is vengeance,” Mary’s sister Ann told me. Her other sister Emily agreed. “We have come to peace with it. We still would like the person to be caught. But we are at peace. We have forgiven the person.”

As I prepared to make my remarks at the library, and talk about the cold cases in my book 25 Frozen, 1 Thawed, I watched as a family walked in and sat in the front row. I had seen them before, but could not place them.

And then it hit me. It was Ann and Emily.

I talked about Mary that night. And after my presentation I hugged her family, just as I had years ago.

“You haven’t forgot us Bob,” Ann said. “And we haven’t forgotten you.”

Why am I writing true crime stores in my retirement? I think you know.

Discover the stories behind the headlines in 25 Frozen, 1 Thawed—a compelling collection of cold cases that honors victims, seeks truth, and keeps their memories alive.

Here is a short video of Kouri Richins, the Utah wife who was recently convicted of poisoning her husband., then writing a children’s book on dealing with grief. The video is from the officer who responded to the call at the residence at 3 a.m. Her husband, Eric, was unresponsive. It was later determined Kouri had given him a lethal dose of fentanyl in his drink. First, note how Kouri doesn’t seem to be under stress in the bedroom as she watches first responders attempt to save her husband. When an officer asks her to come out of the room and begins to ask her questions, the emotions then begin. Like most deceptive people, Kouri thinks this is the proper time to show that type of emotion. The officer asks her what time it was when she saw him alert. Kouri states they had a drink together at 9 (this is the drink believed to contain the drug). People normally start their story where the incident began. Kouri knows that was when the incident began because that was when she poisoned her husband. Kouri fails to make any eye contact with the officer as she continues to relate her story. She then goes into what is known as a quasi-fetal position. This is a comfort-seeking position often taken by those being deceptive. Kouri’s hands then go to her face, also often seen in those being deceptive. None of the signs in and of themselves are a clear indicator someone is lying; they are indicators of stress. In this case, that stress is due to deception. Could it be the stress from her husband being unresponsive? Yes, it could. However, so many indicators in this context in such a short period are certainly cause for concern... put your shovel down and start digging! All of these signs and more are detailed in my book, Uncover the Truth. If you want to know more about how people are truthful or deceptive, read the book!

Get your copy today… Uncover the Truth

Maybe most viewers don’t notice, but if you know the world being portrayed, it pulls you right out of the story.

So where’s the line between accuracy and entertainment?
And do writers really have to sacrifice one for the other?

Reality vs. Not Reality

I was watching a TV “cop show” the other day and saw an officer tuck a Glock, a striker fired weapon, into the front of his pants without a holster. I let out a breath, rolled my eyes, and shook my head.

Why do they have police technical advisors if they’re not going to listen to them? Or perhaps they have the wrong advisors? Or maybe their advisors have outlived their experience, or at least their tactical knowledge? Or maybe, it was their day off when they filmed that ridiculous scene. This is why the real police often hate, or don’t watch, “cop shows.”

One simply does not put a striker fired weapon in one’s waistband without a holster. If any cop does so, they’re an idiot and I’ll be happy to tell them so. It’s as dumb as shoving a cocked and locked 1911 .45 caliber handgun that doesn’t have its safety engaged into your pants. Bad idea. Stricker fired handguns do not have safeties or decocking levers and their triggers are engaged rather easily. One definitely wants to cover the trigger guard in a holster, especially if it’s tucked into the front of one’s pants, pointing at the family jewels.

Now, for the record, I do not want to be a technical advisor, and am not vying for a position as such. I just wonder about the quality and veracity of their advice.

Which brings me to early in my writing career. I was advised by bestselling author John Sandford that I should “be careful to not let reality get in the way of entertainment.” Sandford (whose real name is John Camp) said he understood much of police work hour-by-hour was boring, and he knew because he had served as a police reporter for many years in the Minnesota Twin Cities area.

As much as I love John Sandford, and/or Camp, and his books, I disagreed with this premise, primarily because I understood the rules well enough to manipulate them to my advantage, that is to say, the advantage of my story. I believed then, and still do, that I can make a story exciting and realistic at the same time.

For instance, spoiler alert if you haven’t read Out of Cabrini, and shame on you if that’s the case, lol, but I wanted a one-on-one battle between the hero, Stacey Macbeth, and a secondary antagonist, Antwan “Boo” Simms. I didn’t want Macbeth to have his radio as the scene unfolds, because in real life, a cop would call in a foot chase and more officers would descend on the area and search until they found the bad guy. It would probably culminate with twelve guys tackling Boo into submission, or at least it would have back in the day the book is set, when every community had more cops on the street than we see today.

What I did is have Macbeth begin to chase Boo, but he is sideswiped by a responding squad car, sending Macbeth into a group of plastic garbage cans, breaking his fall. He gets up, more or less unharmed, and commences to chase Boo. After a short period of time, when Macbeth recognizes that it’s going to be an extended foot pursuit, he reaches for his radio to call for reinforcements and discovers his radio is no longer in his vest. He is faced with continuing the chase by himself or going back to the scene and getting help, thereby giving the guy he knows has probably killed several people the chance to escape.

Of course, our protagonist would never allow such a thing as an escape to happen and continues on by himself, thereby setting up the story’s climactic one-on-one battle. I know the rule and was able to engineer a reasonable way around it. Ta-Da! Reality 1, Not Reality 0—or in literary terms, Realism 1, Not Realism 0. And just for the record, all of the cop’s handguns in Out of Cabrini were in department approved holsters—not tucked in their waistbands! Score another point for Realism!

If you’re someone who cares about getting the details right without losing the story, this is exactly the kind of balance we love exploring at Genius.

Check out Out of Cabrini here:

And let us know—
Do you prefer strict realism, or are you okay with bending the rules for a great story?

You work on these stories, you meet people, and your heart breaks. You long for the day that maybe, just maybe, you can bring them some good news.

I will never forget the day I met Dominic Consolino. We sat on a park bench in St. Louis, and he spilled his guts. It had been more than 40 years since his younger brother Gary was murdered, along with Gary’s date, Ellen Dooling. Despite one of the largest investigations in St. Louis history, the case went cold, and was never solved.

And 40 years later, now pushing 70, the memories of his brother were as strong as ever. “I would do anything to find out who killed Gary and Ellen,” Dominic told me. “It would be the greatest thing that could happen the rest of my life.”

I promised Dominic that I would tell Gary’s story. We prayed together, and with tears in his eyes we said goodbye. His final words to me were “Bob, thank you for writing about Gary. Someday, I believe you will call me with good news.”

Knowing that would take a miracle, all I could do was squeeze his hand and nod.

A couple of years went by. I began writing my Frozen book, keeping in contact with my police sources on the various cases. And then my phone rang.

“Bob, we may have a lead on the Consolino case,” a St. Louis police detective told me.

The suspect was in a prison out of the area, and was willing to talk. I hung up the phone and rushed to find Dominic’s phone number. We had not talked in over a year. I knew that any news would bring a smile to his face.

I called but could not reach him. I left phone and text messages, Days went by. I finally began calling other people I had met while working on the story, asking them to put me in touch with Dominic. Finally, a family friend called back.

“Bob, I’m sorry. Dominic passed away last week.”

Some stories get answers. Some don’t… at least not in time.

But every one of them matters.

This is the heart behind 25 Frozen, 1 Thawed.

In this powerful feature, Steve Monier reflects on one of the longest armed standoffs in U.S. Marshal history, offering a rare inside look at the strategy, restraint, and human judgment required in moments where force isn’t always the answer.

👉 Read the full article here: https://texastoday.com/patience-over-force-steve-monier-reflects-on-the-longest-armed-standoff-in-u-s-marshals-history/

Read the full piece, then tell us—what would you have done in that moment?

It’s a compelling reminder that sometimes the strongest move is… patience.

Get your copy of No One Has to Die today.

THE POLICEMAN’S DAUGHTER

On March 22, six weeks after Sabrina Cain disappeared from home, she was reported missing to the Belleville Police Department by her stepfather Fred Roark, who was the last person to see her. Roark was an officer for the police department.

Two men were target shooting on April 20, 1974 at Fournie Lake in Belleville, Illinois when they spotted it: a fully clothed body floating in the pond in two feet of water. Her name was Sabrina Jean Cain. Her bullet-riddled body was tied to a cement block, and her hands were tied behind her back.

Sabrina Cain was only 18 years old.

Now the Belleville Police Department had a murder investigation on their hands, and the last person to see the victim was one of their own. Detectives questioned their officer into the evening. He told police Sabrina was last seen on February 5, when she left the house angry, but would not say what was bothering her. He said their last conversation was about her going to look for an apartment, which Roark said he tried to talk her out of.

Officers asked Roark if he knew why anyone would want to kill Sabrina.

“You think she might have been pregnant?” Roark asked. The officers said they didn’t mean that, and the autopsy revealed she was not pregnant. Roark began crying.

“She is all I had,” he said.

Then the ballistics report came in: Sabrina was shot with a .38 caliber weapon. They went back to Roark’s house asking if he owned a private gun. He did, he told them. “What kind?”, they asked. A .38, Roark told them. Police asked to see it. Roark brought them into his house to get the gun. It was nowhere to be found.

“I must have lost it somewhere,” he told them.

With Fred Roark clearly in their spotlight, the Belleville Police Department had little choice. First, they suspended Roark with pay during the investigation. Then, they ordered Roark to take a polygraph. Roark relented, but refused to answer any questions other than his name, address, and occupation. They then suspended him without pay. Finally, two months later, Roark was fired.

Their investigation led them to only one possible suspect. Fred Roark. And then...

That’s just the beginning…. Get your copy of 25 Frozen, 1 Thawed today

But what if you were the detective?

In True Crime in Real Time, author Steve Scarborough turns the traditional true-crime format on its head by placing the reader directly inside the investigation. Instead of simply hearing about the crime, you walk the crime scenes, examine evidence, interview witnesses, and decide who you think is responsible.

In the interview below, Steve talks about the idea behind the book, the research that went into it, and why this immersive approach offers a completely different experience for readers who love crime stories and investigative puzzles.

Watch the conversation here:

If you enjoy true crime that lets you think like an investigator instead of just a spectator, True Crime in Real Time offers a unique twist on the genre.

Step into the role of detective, follow the evidence, and see if you can solve the cases yourself.

👉 Pick up a copy of True Crime in Real Time and test your investigative instincts.

His essay explores the legal framework behind the case and the broader questions it raises about justice and capital punishment.

Sometime during a 30-hour window from 12 a.m., Thursday, March 12, to 6 a.m., Friday the 13^th, the state of Alabama is scheduled to make morbid history by executing a man who the state has shown did not kill anyone.

The state knows that Charles Lee “Sonny” Burton was not immediately present in the 1991 robbery-related murder of a customer in a Talladega car parts store. The state fully acknowledges that Burton was outside the store when Doug Battle, a 34-year-old Army veteran and father of four, was shot and killed.

The man who did pull the trigger, Derrick DeBruce, was sentenced to death for the killing. In 2002, his death sentence was commuted to life in prison when a federal court ruled that he had been saddled with inadequate legal counsel at trial. DeBruce died in 2020.

The state prosecuted Sonny Burton under Alabama’s “felony murder statute,” permitting the state to bring murder charges against someone involved in a felony during which a murder occurs, even if that person did not directly participate in the killing.

Now 75, Burton is wheelchair-bound, suffers from rheumatoid arthritis, and has to wear a helmet due to persistent falls. He has exhausted all state- and federal-level appeals.

On August 16, 1991, a group of men, including Burton, entered a Talladega car parts store. At trial, state prosecutors portrayed Burton as the leader of the group. He left the store before the shooting, according to court testimony.

“Even people who are strongly in favor of the death penalty recognize that this situation is wrong,” Matt Shultz, an assistant federal defender representing Burton, told Alabama Public Radio. Burton was outside at the time of the shooting, Shultz said. “Even by the state’s evidence here, Mr. Burton did not kill anyone. Mr. Burton did not order anyone killed. He wasn’t even in the building.”

Lois Harris, a daughter of the victim, has joined the effort to save Burton from execution. “It’s not fair that he gets the death penalty and the killer gets life,” Harris said. “It’s just wrong.”

“I’m so sorry,” Burton said. “If I had the power to bring (Doug Battle) back, I would. I’m so sorry…I hope and pray to God that you will grant me clemency. Allow me to reach out to the young people in the street.”

Burton’s hope for clemency resides solely with Alabama Governor Kay Ivey. Ivey’s spokeswoman, Gina Maiola, said, “Governor Ivey has no plans to grant clemency.”

The means of execution in Alabama is asphyxiation by nitrogen gas. The state adopted this as its means of capital punishment in 2023, becoming the first government in the world to use the method. Nitrogen hypoxia, essentially depriving the condemned of oxygen, was first used in the execution of Kenneth Eugene Smith, who was convicted of a murder-for-hire plot.

Smith’s 2023 execution proved a macabre spectacle. He suffered greatly, according to eyewitness accounts. Witnesses reported scenes of the condemned man “ripping his head forward over and over again,” of him “heaving back and forth,” of “minutes of someone struggling for their life,” and of his mask filling with bodily fluid.

It took 22 minutes to kill him.

Alabama, Oklahoma, and Mississippi are the only states that use nitrogen hypoxia as the means of capital punishment.

Charles Lee “Sonny” Burton is scheduled to become the fifth person in Alabama put to death by nitrogen hypoxia. His execution is set to take place at the William C. Holman Correctional Facility in Atmore.

S. Thorne Harper writes and resides in Birmingham, Alabama. He has written “The Alabama Tryst Murder Mystery,” a retelling of a 1927 capital murder case and the inaugural use of the electric chair. Harper’s book will be released by Genius Publishing on April 8, 2026—99 years after Alabama’s first electric chair execution.

THE CHILD LEFT BEHIND

Joyce Morris still thinks about that final night, May 15, 1992, visiting with her pregnant niece Valencia and her little boy. And then she thinks about what happened after Valencia and her son left and headed home.

“I woke up in the middle of the night, and I remember feeling really weird. I remember I had a terrible headache. And while I was up, I had this strange feeling like I needed to call Valencia, to talk to her, but it was the middle of the night, and I knew it was too late. I did not want to wake her up, especially with her little boy there.”

By the time dawn broke, police had surrounded the outside of Valencia’s home with crime scene tape. Detectives flooded the neighborhood. Inside was a crime scene beyond belief.

Valencia was lying on the floor in her bedroom, murdered, having been stabbed more than 25 times. The fetus of her baby girl due any day was also killed. There was no sign of forced entry. There was no evidence of robbery. Whoever entered that house in the middle of the night either had a key or was let in voluntarily by Valencia. The killer left few clues behind. But there was one thing the killer did leave behind: the 18-month-old little boy, alone, in the dark, with his bloodied mother and her unborn child.

Police immediately focused on two obvious suspects, the men in Valencia’s life. Antoine Jackson was the father of the unborn little girl, and Ricky Herron was the father of the 18-month-old left alive. Police looked into both men thoroughly, before ruling each of them out as suspects.

The years passed by and one thing never changed. A little 18 month old boy was growing up. His father was no longer part of his life, and he still longed for his mother.

His name is Aki Herron.

Today, Aki is 30 years old. He has never spoken publicly about that night until now.

“I was literally the only person right there. I could not do anything. I could not say anything,” Aki said. “I could not go for help. I could not be there for my mom. I was just right there.”

He may only have been 18 months old, but Aki says he has lived with a vision of what happened that night deep in his memory.

He is still haunted about that night 30 years ago. I asked him the question I had to ask.

And he says in his heart… he knows.

“Yeah, I definitely know. This is kind of a no brainer for me. I really do want that closure.” Aki pauses, looks at the ground, and I realize he is going to someplace he has never gone before publicly.

“I just want to be able to look him in the eye and say “I forgive you.”

If stories like this matter to you—if you believe forgotten cases deserve another look—25 Frozen, 1 Thawed takes you inside real cold cases across the Midwest and the people still searching for answers.

25 Frozen, 1 Thawed

I pulled into Gridley, Illinois as the sun set, looking for a quick bite for dinner. In a town of 1,400, with 1 stoplight, dinner would have to wait. Next to the stoplight was the town library, where I had been invited to speak about my new book 25 Frozen, 1 Thawed highlighting cold cases in the Midwest.

One of the cases I profiled from the book was a chapter titled “A Twin Always Knows.” It detailed the murder of real estate agent Sherry Lewis in Decatur, Illinois in 1994. Her twin sister is Terry. The two were incredibly close, and spoke numerous times each day. When Terry could not reach Sherry on that awful day, she sensed something was wrong. Sherry’s body was found later that day on the kitchen floor of a house she had been showing to a prospective buyer.

The case went cold, and 30 years later I was standing in Gridley telling people to keep it alive, when a woman in the back of the room stood up and raised her hand.

“Yes ma’am,” I asked.

“Hi,” she said in a quiet voice. “I just wanted to thank you for coming and keeping Sherry’s story alive.”

“You’re welcome,” I said.

When I finished speaking, I signed books for the crowd. The last woman in line was the lady with the quiet voice.

“Thank you for coming,” I told her as I grabbed a book. “Who do I make this out to?”

“Just make it out to me,” she said.

We looked at each other, and it appeared she had been crying.

“My name is Terry..........”

If you’re drawn to real cases, unanswered questions, and the relentless pursuit of truth, 25 Frozen, 1 Thawed belongs on your shelf.