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.

Pictured here: Jack Fredrickson, Mike Black, Dave Case, and J. Michael Major — four voices in the crime and mystery world whose paths have crossed over the years.

Moments like this offer a glimpse into the creative community behind the stories — the shared events, conversations, and collaborations that shape the genre long before books reach readers’ hands.

We’re always grateful when authors share pieces of that history with us.

Crime writers Jack Fredrickson, Mike Black, Dave Case, and J. Michael Major, photographed in 2015.

Learn more about Jack Fredrickson, the acclaimed crime novelist behind the Dek Elstrom mystery series and the upcoming Genius release The Big Touch.

Browse titles from Dave Case, whose crime writing blends real-world investigation with compelling narrative suspense.

Explore Where Legends Lie by Michael A. Black — a gripping and lyrical exploration of life, identity, and the stories that shape us. Elegantly written and deeply human, this novel invites readers into a world where legend and truth blur in unforgettable ways.

Coming May 7, 2026: Specters in the Gallery, a single-author collection from J. Michael Major that blends mystery, crime, horror, and dark fantasy across eighteen compelling stories — most previously published in magazines and anthologies.

Mark your calendar and stay tuned for more details from Genius Book Publishing.

This true-crime account begins inside a Missouri law firm — and unfolds into a chain of deaths, explosions, and unanswered questions that investigators couldn’t ignore.

“IT’S ALMOST LIKE A JOHN GRISHAM NOVEL”

The shingle on the law firm door says “Boggs, Avellino, Lach & Boggs.” They have had to change the sign a few times.

The Clayton, Missouri law firm, just outside of St. Louis was known as Boggs, Boggs and Bates back then. One of their attorneys, a likable 57-year-old man named Ernie Brasier, was working late that night on a computer in former attorney Dan Bennet’s office, one door down from his own. A building janitor, making his nightly rounds at 7 p.m., found Brasier laying on the floor, unconscious.

Beth Boggs, the managing partner of the firm, along with her husband Darin Boggs, had the unenviable task of ringing the doorbell within the hour at the Brasier home and telling his wife Pat that her husband of nearly 30 years had had a heart attack. He was dead. But then something strange happened. An autopsy later that night discovered a small tiny hole above Brasiers’ left ear. And inside that hole was a bullet that was in Brasier’s brain. Before 10:30 p.m. that night, police announced they had a murder on their hands.

Remember Dan Bennett? In September 2007, the 38 year old Bennett was found dead in his apartment, apparently of heart disease. Just weeks before Brasier was murdered, Bennett quit his job at this same law firm, divorced his wife, and fled the country, heading to Central America to open a bar. He told his coworkers he was burned out.

A major mid-life crisis. Bennett was supposed to return to the law firm, but he never showed.

Flash forward a year later, to August 2008. 51 year old Vincent Venker, another attorney at Boggs, Boggs and Bates, dies of a heart issue. His wife Lisa tells the St. Louis Post Dispatch that “there is something crazy going on at that law firm.”

Two years go by, and in October 2010 two pipe bombs explode at a home in south St. Louis. There are no injuries, but windows are shattered. Turns out the home is that of Beth and Darin Boggs. They tell police they believe the bombs were planted by their third partner, Mark Bates. Just over a year later, Wade Thomas, who left the law firm in 2008, dies of cardiac arrest. He was only 39 years old.

It was no longer just “something crazy going on at that law firm.” Brasiers’ wife now told the newspaper “It is almost like a John Grisham novel.”

As the detectives kept digging, and interviewing everyone at the firm, the elephant was in the room: Was the murderer working among them? After all, who else has access to a secured building after hours, heads to the law firm, and kills an insurance attorney?

And then came the oddest clue....

Explore the full case inside 25 Frozen, 1 Thawed — where cold cases and shocking turns collide.

Whether you’re discovering author Bob Cyphers ahead of upcoming releases, or simply drawn to the cases that refuse to fade with time, this short feature pulls readers into one of the most haunting unsolved murders in Illinois State University history.

What Happened at Delta Zeta? revisits the 1975 killing of Carol Rofstad — a crime marked not only by its brutality, but by the chilling silence that followed. It’s a story that lingers… not just because of the unanswered questions, but because of what was never memorialized, never publicly mourned, and never resolved.

WHAT HAPPENED AT DELTA ZETA?

A new apartment complex sits at 602 S. Fell Avenue in Normal, Illinois. Featuring some 60 rooms, it is just a short walk to campus for students at Illinois State University. You watch the hustle and bustle of the young people passing by, and you wonder.

Do they know?

Around 8:45 p.m. on December 22, 1975, Carol was seen walking near the intersection of Fell and Irving Street, just minutes from home. Around 10 p.m., two men, described as being in their young 20s, one seen holding some sort of large club, were spotted near the area.

Somewhere in between those sightings, in the front yard of her Delta Zeta sorority, Carol Rofstad met her murderer. And incredibly, the clock ticked. And ticked. And kept ticking. It was now noon on December 23. A passerby walked by the sorority house and saw someone laying on the ground. As they walked closer, they heard her moaning. It was Carol’s unconscious body, barely clinging to life, frostbite setting in from the freezing cold, 12 hours after medical examiners believed she was beaten.

It was the fourth time in a year and a half that a woman had been attacked on the same block, in front of the same sorority house. Police cars flooded the scene and the campus. With Christmas Eve celebrations just a day away, a small tight-knit community was now dealing with horror. The investigation then uncovered three women who were attacked and raped in Normal before Carol. They had never reported their crimes, but did after Carol’s death, hoping to help investigators.

And then police had a call for another woman attacked. The address was a familiar one. 602 S. Fell Avenue.

There is nothing on the Illinois State campus remembering Carol. No plant. No tree. No picture. In fact, the University never acknowledged her death. When students returned to class after winter break, there was no announcement of any kind. Today, the Carol Rofstad murder is the longest unsolved murder case in the history of Normal, Illinois. And as students make their way to the new housing complex at 602 S. Fell Avenue, the Delta Zeta sorority is still going strong. They have moved a mile up the street.

And you wonder. Do they know?

To read more of Bob Cyphers’ true crime storytelling, his book 25 Frozen, 1 Thawed is available now — a chilling collection of cases that remain etched in the communities they left behind.

Learn more or purchase your copy here: 25 Frozen, 1 Thawed

Officer Involved Shootings 101

One of my responsibilities as a homicide detective was investigating officer-involved shootings and use-of-force related deaths. The role of the investigator is not to justify a shooting, but to collect facts, statements, and video evidence related to the incident and submit that information to a legal entity that can determine whether a shooting was legally justified or not. The investigations I conducted focused solely on potential criminal charges related to a shooting, not policy or administrative violations. I’ll discuss that distinction at the end of this writing.

The most important factor to consider in an officer-involved shooting is what the involved officer perceived at the time force was used. A U.S. Supreme Court decision, Graham v. Connor (1989), provides the legal framework used to determine the legality of a shooting. Officials consider the severity of the crime committed by the person against whom force was used. They also evaluate whether the officer had a reasonable belief that the subject posed an immediate threat of death or serious physical injury. I emphasize “immediate” because the actions must be occurring at the time force is used, not something that could happen or might happen. Another factor considered is whether the subject was actively resisting or attempting to evade arrest. The courts have been very clear that an officer’s actions must be judged based on the moment force was used, not with “20/20 hindsight.”

The investigator must interview the officer who used force to understand what the officer knew prior to the incident, what occurred during the incident, and what the officer ultimately perceived as a threat at the moment force was used. During the interview, the officer will discuss their training and experiences that contributed to their decision-making. If assigned to a specialized unit, they may also explain additional firearms training and prior incidents they learned from.

After the involved officer has provided a thorough account of their actions, the investigator may present additional information uncovered during the investigation, including video surveillance or body-worn camera footage. It is important to remember that just because something is captured on video does not mean the officer saw it or was aware of it at the time. Again, the courts have made it clear that decisions made in split seconds cannot be judged with “20/20 hindsight.”

As an investigator, I reviewed numerous officer-involved shooting videos. I watched the actions of every officer frame by frame, analyzing exactly what they were doing. I examined the precise moment an officer’s firearm discharged and the subject’s actions at and just prior to that moment. I compared the subject’s actions to the officer’s responses and documented how officers reacted in real time. I spent hours and often days reviewing video, officer statements, civilian statements, radio traffic, and even text messages exchanged between police vehicles to produce an accurate and thorough report. I also compared trajectory measurements taken at the scene with autopsy findings and wound trajectories documented by the medical examiner.

In Maricopa County, investigators had 90 days to submit officer-involved shooting investigation findings unless the county attorney’s office requested it sooner. When we submitted a case, we provided large binders containing all relevant reports and documentation. In addition, we presented a PowerPoint presentation outlining the facts, including video footage, video stills, scene photographs, and any other pertinent evidence. The county attorneys would then deliberate as part of the Critical Incident Review Board and determine whether the shooting was legally justified.

If the shooting was deemed not legally justified, the officer could be charged criminally, and the case would typically proceed to a preliminary hearing.

A preliminary hearing is essentially a mini-trial. The state presents witnesses to a judge to support its claim that the officer acted criminally. The defense is not permitted to call its own witnesses, but defense counsel may question the state’s witnesses and present legal arguments on the officer’s behalf. This differs from a grand jury proceeding, where the state presents its case to a panel of citizens who decide whether charges should be issued. In a grand jury, the defense is not present and cannot question witnesses or make statements.

I have testified in a preliminary hearing involving an officer-involved shooting that was considered questionable and referred by the county attorney for criminal charges. I spent three days on the witness stand answering questions from both the prosecution and the defense. The questions focused on my investigation, including witness statements, video analysis, and expert testimony regarding the physiological effects officers experience during unpredictable and violent encounters. After several days of deliberation, the judge dismissed the case, finding that the officer reasonably believed an immediate threat existed at the time force was used. Criminal charges were dropped, and the case was dismissed.

As I mentioned earlier, being exonerated criminally does not shield an officer from policy or administrative consequences. In the incident referenced above, the officer was ultimately terminated after the department concluded that department policy had been violated. That determination resulted from a separate administrative investigation focused solely on policy compliance. In short, an officer can violate department policy and still not be criminally liable for a shooting.

I’m not writing this to change anyone’s mind. As a society, we are often emotionally driven, and once we form an opinion, we tend to cling to it regardless of additional facts or differing perspectives. All I can offer is insight into what goes into a real officer-involved shooting investigation beyond simply watching a video and confirming a preconceived conclusion. Most facts surrounding a shooting are never immediately made public, and when they are, it’s often months or years later, after public attention has shifted elsewhere. In the court of public opinion, what is said in the first 48 hours is usually what sticks. That isn’t necessarily the truth, it’s just what we’re told.

Get your copy of On Call Today.

Some writers follow the headlines. Marshall Terrill follows the people behind them.

For more than three decades, Marshall has been telling lives with depth, detail, and perspective — from icons like Steve McQueen, Elvis Presley, Johnny Cash, Billy Graham, and Pete Maravich to lesser-told stories that still shape culture and memory.

What stands out in his work isn’t just what he writes about, but how he writes it: with meticulous research, respect for complexity, and an eye for the human story beneath the surface. Whether unpacking the legacy of a Hollywood legend or bringing overlooked histories into focus, he approaches narrative as a way to understand who we are and how we remember.

You might already know Marshall from his collaborations on films and documentaries about the lives he’s chronicled, including feature projects borne from his biographies.

His latest work with Genius — including Jay Sebring: Cutting to the Truth — reflects that same commitment: letting primary voices be heard and reclaiming stories that have too often been shaped by rumor or shorthand.

If you’re curious to explore his books and learn more about his approach to storytelling, you can find his author page here:

👉 https://geniusbookpublishing.com/pages/marshall-terrill

As with every author we introduce, the goal isn’t to tell you what to think — it’s to invite you into a voice worth listening to.

Some stories won’t let go of us — not because they’re sensational, but because they matter.
That’s the kind of work Lauren Samples does.

Lauren didn’t set out to become a true crime author in the classic sense. What began as a podcast — Paradise After Dark: Missing & Unsolved — grew into something deeper: a search for truth, recognition, and the people behind the headlines.

Her debut book, Through the Shadows: Unsolved Crimes and the Search for Truth, blends memoir, investigative reporting, and advocacy. It brings into focus cases that have gone quiet with time but resonate with lingering questions — and lingering loss.

What feels important about Lauren’s approach is less the thrill of mystery and more the humanity in the margins: the families who still hope for answers, the quiet grief that isn’t wrapped up in dramatic twists, the persistence it takes to keep looking when others have stopped.

If you’re interested in stories that go beyond “did they?” and into “what does it mean to those left waiting?”, or if you’ve ever felt pulled by curiosity and compassion at the same time, her work is worth a look.

You can explore Lauren’s books and learn more about her work here:
👉 https://geniusbookpublishing.com/pages/lauren-samples

As with all the authors we publish, our goal isn’t to convince you of a particular view — it’s to introduce a voice you might want to spend a little time with.

At the beginning of a homicide investigation, the victim is the center of attention. Starting with the victim and working outward is a proven method for identifying the person or persons responsible for the crime. However, once a suspect is identified, law enforcement naturally redirects its attention away from the victim and toward the suspect. The primary objective becomes locating, arresting, and building a case against that individual. Almost all investigative resources, intelligence efforts, and manpower shift to the suspect’s background, criminal history, and known locations.

Once the suspect is apprehended, the investigative team often shrinks to a few detectives and, if the agency has the resources, an analyst. Their goal is to assemble a case the district attorney will accept and charge in court. The team searches for motive, reviews the suspect’s communications and movements, and examines the suspect’s associations. I intentionally use the word suspect repeatedly because the focus truly does shift to them. Law enforcement must prove the suspect committed the crime, not simply that the victim was harmed.

When the case is filed with the courts and the suspect is officially charged, their title changes to defendant. The case becomes State vs. [Defendant’s Name], for example, State vs. Bill Smith. Referring to the case this way is practical, as every related document carries that title. As prosecutors prepare for trial, they evaluate the significance of physical evidence, witness testimony, and any legally admissible information that proves the defendant committed the crime. The victim is always in the minds of prosecutors and detectives, but the burden is to prove guilt beyond a reasonable doubt.

The defendant’s attorneys, meanwhile, focus on their client’s mental health, addictions, or any factor that may challenge the state’s evidence. Their duty is to ethically and vigorously represent their client’s interests in court. This is not a criticism; this is their job.

When detectives discuss a case, we often refer to it by the defendant’s last name, like “The Smith case.” As a detective who has testified in dozens of homicide trials, including capital murder cases, my preparation for court always centers on the investigative actions that produced evidence against the defendant. My testimony focuses on what proves the defendant committed the crime. Rarely, if ever, am I questioned in detail about the victim.

In the capital murder (death penalty) case I testified in, the guilt phase lasted two weeks. Once the jury found the defendant guilty, the mitigation phase began. Over the next three months, the court focused on how a death sentence would affect the defendant. The jury learned about his elementary school grades, his upbringing, his undiagnosed childhood mental illnesses, and even his alleged PTSD diagnosed as being induced by the murder he committed. Defense experts and witnesses testified about how the defendant would no longer be able to see his children if sentenced to death. The court’s focus was on the defendant’s well-being and quality of life.

The courts are designed to protect the rights of the defendant. Over the years, however, that protection has evolved into a broader social sympathy for individuals who victimized others and disregarded societal norms until the moment they were caught. Once arrested, many defendants start reflecting on the harm they caused their friends and families. Some show remorse whether genuine or self-serving. But once convicted and sentenced, many revert to seeing themselves as victims of their own circumstances.

I have listened to hours of prison phone calls where inmates complain to family members about not having enough money in their commissary accounts to cover gambling debts or luxuries purchased on credit from other inmates. I understand that prison life is difficult but so is every holiday spent without a murdered loved one. I know victims’ families would give every dollar they have just to share one final phone call with the person they lost.

As a retired homicide detective, I do not lose sleep thinking about a defendant’s prison life. I lose sleep thinking about the victims I never got to meet while they were alive. I would have loved to have met them.

Remember the victims.

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Justin M. Bocock

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GUARD

A True Story of Duty, Sacrifice, and Leadership

in Kentucky’s Maximum Security Penitentiary

Book Review by Bill Cunningham

Guard is about a young college graduate who began an incredible journey in 1978 as a prison guard and eventually became warden at the Kentucky State Penitentiary in Eddyville, Kentucky. Philip Parker became one of the longest serving wardens in the prison’s 130 year history.

A mass escape occurred the first day he reported for work, and the prison was in emergency mode. It was foretelling of the life in front of him.

The author describes the prison, built in the 1880’s and still in use as a maximum security prison. It is called the “Castle” because it resembles something out of the Middle Ages with its soaring walls, stone parapets, and heavily guarded watch towers. Parker also describes the early history of the prison including a sign that allegedly hung over the entrance that read “Abandon Hope All Ye That Enter Here.”

As a young man fresh out of college, Parker took the only job he could find in 1978—a guard in Kentucky’s only maximum security prison. He takes the reader through the emotions, fear, and feelings of entering a strange and foreboding world that few people could imagine.

Not only was he the only guard at the time with a college degree but he also had a black belt in karate. His job placed him in dangerous situations, and he soon found himself in federal court facing allegations of brutality and harassment. His writing describes the tumultuous days of the ‘70s and ‘80s with the daily routine of responding to assaults, suicides, stabbings, and occasional murders inside the prison.

Two of Parker’s co-workers were shot while transporting dangerous inmates on a bus. He describes this harrowing highway crime spree with such skill as to leave the reader feeling they were actually along on the fateful trip.

At about the same time, an employee was murdered while working in food service. Parker writes about several other murders caused by racial discord, homosexual harassment, and loan shark activity.

Early in his days as a young guard, the author is thrust into the middle of a dramatic hostage-taking in the segregation section of the maximum security prison. Selected as the negotiator, Parker parried with a young and violent William “Snake” Woolum. At stake in the darkened corner of the cell house was the life and safety of a prison guard whom Woolum was holding with what appeared to be a small pistol to his head. Woolum was one of the most notorious criminals in a house of criminals, having a record of numerous assaults plus the murder of a fellow inmate by stabbing him 53 times. He was not to be trifled with. It was a long, and dangerous conversation as Parker tried to maneuver Woolum into the open for a clear shot by the prison sniper standing poised at the ready. “The warden had given us the green light to kill him,” he later reported. Both Woolum and the guard survived. Mission accomplished.

Prison riots and a parade of escapes were common fare in his life at the prison. “The Great Escape of ‘88” is when 8 of the worst of the worst made a daring escape that resulted in one of the largest manhunts in Kentucky’s history. An elderly couple were murdered by three of the desperate escapees on their way to Mexico.

Parker also recounts his experiences as warden with staff corruption and illicit sexual encounters between inmates and female employees. When one reads his writing, you get the impression that many of the events he describes have even more tantalizing back stories. Guard is, in effect, a story of many stories.

Warden Parker was not spared the somber task of carrying out court ordered executions. He describes in detail the preparations for an execution. The reader learns what really happens behind the curtain for both electrocution and lethal injection. Unlike all the distortion and misconceptions created by Hollywood, we learn of the compassion and deep sensitivity that wardens afford the condemned and their families. His own relationship with these men includes sharing a last meal with one and carrying out a very difficult and emotional last request of another.

The title of the book comes from the culture of Parker’s generation of prison people. They eschew the euphemism “correctional officer,” which is considered both antiseptic and fraudulent. When quelling an uprising in the violent segregation unit, suffering the visceral indignity of having human feces flung in one’s face, or subduing an enraged inmate, or even walking the prison yard knowing it is a place where bad things can happen… “correcting” or “rehabilitating” people are fanciful notions. People like Parker proudly consider themselves guards—guarding convicted felons to keep them from escaping, and to keep them safe and free from harm.

Parker courageously confronts his own demons that haunt him in old age after a lifetime of witnessing the very worst in human behavior. Depression and alcohol had taken over his life as he tried to bury these searing memories beyond recall. He has not only survived but has been revived and renewed with a healthy approach to all that he has seen and heard… in large part through the catharsis of writing this book.

After being glued to Parker’s vivid account of his career with evil, violence, and unsavory people, and the emotional toll it has taken upon the writer—the reader at last concludes with the question: Why would anyone choose such an emotionally draining and stressful career?

Parker squarely confronts that question. Once again, the story of “Snake” Woolum surfaces. In a dramatic journey from their deadly confrontation in the darkened cell block, we learn of a long and arduous transformation in one seemingly incorrigible human being that seems to only happen in movies. But it highlights how sometimes, even in the darkest corners of life, goodness and compassion win. After 44 years behind bars, Snake Woolum was finally released from prison due in large part to the efforts of the same Phil Parker who, as a young negotiator, was initially looking for a way to kill him. Snake’s incredible adjustment to freedom and his productive life includes his employment at a Ronald McDonald House where he is making a difference. He’s Snake has beat all the odds with the help of a good woman and companionship of a mixed breed dog. Snake and Parker have become friends, a startling example of how such a career in the arena of human tragedy can have those moments that make the angels sing.

And lastly, in his own words, the former warden answers that question with an eloquent simplicity that rings on an inspiring note of nobility:

Because someone has to do it. And it matters.

We walk away from this book very thankful that someone does it. And with a greater appreciation for those who do.

Bill Cunningham, Retired Kentucky Supreme Court Justice, and the author of numerous books including the definitive “Castle: Story of a Kentucky Prison.”

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WRITTEN LAW VERSUS PROSECUTED LAW

During my years as a uniformed police officer and detective, one aspect of the criminal justice system always amazed me: the disparity between the written law and the prosecution of the law. In my book, On Call: Case Files from a Career in Homicide, I highlight real-world examples of the variation between the written law and the prosecution of those laws as they relate to homicide cases.

My first experience with this disparity occurred during my second year as a police officer. I was working as a uniformed patrol officer on the graveyard shift, 10 p.m. to 8 a.m.

I received a call for service where the reporting party alleged that her husband was refusing to pay rent and provide money to feed their child. I spoke to the wife, who confirmed that she had been married for two years and had a one-year-old child with her husband. She explained that in the past two weeks her husband’s drinking had increased nights out and had turned into him being gone for multiple days. He was currently staying with a friend.

I met with the husband at his friend’s house. He didn’t deny any of the allegations his wife had made. After being read his Miranda rights, he confirmed that he wasn’t going to pay rent on their apartment or give his wife access to his bank account because he needed money to drink and believed she was cheating on him. He admitted he was the only source of income for his wife and child and that he did not allow his wife to access any money he earned at his job. I informed him there was an Arizona law requiring a spouse to financially provide for their partner. He dismissed this information and told me he would do whatever he wanted with his money.

In 2002, there was an Arizona law 13-3611: Refusal or Neglect to Provide for a Spouse that read as follows:

A married person, having sufficient ability to provide for his or her spouse’s support or who is able to earn the means of such spouse’s support, who knowingly fails or refuses to provide the spouse with necessary food, clothing, shelter or medical attendance, unless by such spouse’s misconduct he or she was justified in so doing, is guilty of a class 1 misdemeanor.

The facts I gathered during my investigation matched the written law. Both parties were married, and the husband had sufficient ability to provide for his spouse and he knowingly refused to provide food and shelter. I had developed probable cause (facts and evidence leading to the conclusion that it was more likely than not that a crime had been committed). I didn’t arrest the husband that night, but I did write a full report and requested charges be filed against him in Mesa City Court for violating statute 13-3611.

The assigned city prosecutor reviewed my report but declined to prosecute, citing that the case had “no jury appeal” and there was “no likelihood of prosecution.” The reality is that a jury of reasonable citizens would not view this as a police matter, but as a family matter. Police officers are not scrutinized for their prosecution rates, but prosecutors are. Most prosecutors will not take a case to trial if they don’t believe they can win even if there is a clear violation of the law.

Even as a young police officer, I wasn’t naïve about the criminal justice system. I knew there was a good chance the city prosecutor wouldn’t take the case, but my job as a police officer wasn’t to decide which laws to enforce, it was to enforce the letter of the law. Police are the executors of the law, not the litigators.

A more current example of the letter of the law versus the prosecution of the law is the possession of marijuana. In the state of Arizona, statute 36-2852 allows a person twenty-one years or older to legally possess less than one ounce of marijuana. Under current federal law, however, marijuana is a Schedule I drug and is prohibited from possession. Under federal law, possession of marijuana is a Class A misdemeanor and is punishable by up to one year in jail and a $1,000 fine.

A state law that violates a federal law contradicts the Supremacy Clause, Article VI, of the U.S. Constitution. In essence, Arizona law directly contradicts the Constitution of the United States and federal law enforcement just overlooks the discrepancy.

In the criminal justice system, police officers are evaluated based on how many arrests they make, not on the successful prosecution or adjudication of those cases. Prosecutors, however, are evaluated on their wins and losses in court. For this reason, most prosecutors are only willing to charge cases they believe they can successfully try and win. Even cases with compelling evidence like DNA forensic evidence might be turned down for prosecution if the prosecutor believes there’s any factor that could reduce the likelihood of success in court.

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This excerpt takes us back to where it all began: one interrogation room, one stubborn suspect, and one unforgettable lesson.

After almost twenty years in law enforcement, it is with some shame, I inform you that I have been moved from the street into administration.

I know what you’re thinking, “it took twenty years for this bozo to get promoted? Maybe he’s not so great after all.” Hogwash. I have signed affidavits from my mom and my dog proving that I am a wonderful man with thoroughly adequate hygiene. And that affidavit from my four-year-old nephew is perjurious slop from a sore loser who shouldn’t play poker if he can’t afford to lose.

No, this transition has nothing to do with my skills as a crime fighter. I’m afraid it’s something much more sinister. At this advanced age, I just no longer have the looks to compete with those darn firefighters.

It’s competitive out there in the emergency services game. Why is anybody going to call chubby old Barney Doyle when there is a fire station full of underwear models right down the street? It’s time for a newer, sexier, generation of law enforcement to strap on the duty belt and seduce those cats out of those trees.

When the end is closer than the beginning, be it in a career or eating a pizza, a man gets a little introspective about what he’s done. Ordinarily I don’t like to tell these kinds of stories because it feels dirty to betray the confidence of the victims (and I am not the type to shower any more than necessary). But it was a minor crime and I don’t think the victim would mind me telling this. Just to be safe, I’m changing all the names and locations. Plus, I’ve had enough head injuries in my life, I’m probably changing a lot of the facts too.

Let me set the scene. It’s almost two decades ago, in the mid 2000s. I’m fresh out of the academy and halfway through field training. I’m handsome as a fireman, confident for no real reason, and certain that I can solve all of society’s problems with a pair of handcuffs and a smile.

And I’m about to conduct my first interrogation.

Prudence would dictate that a rookie officer take a veteran into the room with him for his first interrogation. I don’t know who Prudence is, but she doesn’t tell 25-year-old Barney Doyle how to do the job. I had one hour of interrogation training at the academy, and I was ready to work my magic.

Plus, I had an ace up my sleeve. I was a newspaper reporter before I became a cop. I knew how to ask the tough questions. Like, what’s the gameplan next week, coach? How did you grow that pumpkin so big, Mr. Anderson? And what’s for lunch at the Senior Center this Wednesday, Ms. Thompson? You’re darn right it’s meat loaf. Nobody lies to Barney Doyle.

The Sergeant was filling in as my training officer that particular day, and he was suspiciously eager to let me fly solo. Sergeant was a man of sophisticated tastes. He watched artistic movies. He knew everything about luxury cars. He drank the finest wine a city policeman could afford. And he feasted on the humiliation of cocky young officers.

The suspect had stolen some power tools from his employer and pawned them in his own name. It wasn’t a complicated scheme and we certainly didn’t need a confession to prosecute it. But I was going to get one anyway. I gave the suspect everything I had. I was charming. I was funny. I was empathetic. He cried on my shoulder. He told me about his gambling problem. He told me about his drinking problem. He told me every rotten thing he’d ever done in his life. But when it came time to tell me about the stolen tools? “Nope, it wasn’t me.”

We danced this dance for a solid hour until I cornered him with my last, best accusation. But again, “Nope, it wasn’t me.”

There was a knock on the door, and the Sergeant let himself in.

“Excuse me, Officer Doyle,” he said before he turned to the suspect and said, “You did it. You know you did it. He knows you did it. Quit screwing around and tell him what happened.”

The suspect stopped crying. He looked at the Sergeant, then looked at me.

“He’s right. I did it.”

I’ve had a lot of success in my career. I’ve solved tough cases. I’ve helped a lot of people. I once saw the Oscar Meyer Wienermobile in person. But I promise there is not one thing I’ve accomplished in my career that I enjoyed as much as the Sergeant enjoyed that moment.

He left the room without saying another word. He never brought it up again, and he didn’t have to. I got the message loud and clear. He was a better cop than I was, and he always would be.

The Sergeant retired from law enforcement altogether a couple of years back. I’ve still got a few years ahead of me. Wherever he is, I hope he understands how much I appreciate everything he taught me.

Namely, soften the suspect up with a handsome young officer then shock him with the aging mug of grizzled old Sergeant and he will confess to anything.

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