Hey Scene of the Crime listeners! Check out a new show hosted by Carolyn Ossorio. The Shadow Girls is a shocking new true crime podcast that chronicles the hunt for the most prolific serial killer in US history. Carolyn grew up near the banks of the Green River and in the shadow of the killer that bears its name. But this podcast isn’t only about tracking down the killer… it’s about the victims: The Shadow Girls. 

There, but for the grace of God, go I.   

I wonder whether Neil Beagley ever ruminated on those words. He was just 16 years old when his little niece became deathly ill in the spring of 2008. 

Ava was just over a year old and was a delight for the entire family. The youngest member of the Beagley clan. It must’ve been heartbreaking to watch her spirit fade away as the pneumonia stole her breathe... and eventually, her life. 

In her final hours, the whole family gathered, along with members of their church, to pray for Ava to come back to them, beseeching God to intervene.

But, their prayers went unanswered. 

Neil, his parents and his younger sister tried to focus on the future. They were in the process of selling their home in Oregon City, so they could build the house of their dreams. In the meantime, they were staying in a trailer that Neil’s grandmother no longer needed herself. It was in pretty rough shape, but it was only temporary, and they were a close family. They could get through anything, so long as they stuck together.

And that’s what they did – Neil and his younger sister helping grandma with chores and fixing up the property, when they weren’t busy with homeschooling in the barn. Neil was becoming quite an independent young man, driving a tractor and backhoe, tackling some of the most difficult projects with confidence and dedication. 

Even when he started feeling a little run down, he hardly took a break. And, eventually, he’d start to feel more like himself again. 

At least that’s what had happened before and what they thought would happen this time, too... 

So why were Neil’s parents now being charged with murder? 

Because faith might move mountains, but it takes more than prayer to save the life of a child.

Halloween Special!

When Matthew Bachmeier and his wife, Cheryl, moved their little family from North Dakota to the state of Washington in 1967, they were full of hope for the future. The quaint 2 bedroom home in the town of Renton was just the right size for the young couple and their baby boy. 

And, it wasn’t long before more of their dreams started coming true. They had another baby, a girl this time, and Matthew landed his dream job as an officer with the King County Police Department. 

For two decades they had what may have seemed to others like the perfect life. But, you never really know what’s going on behind closed doors. 

The couple had been fighting. Matt’s stress on the job was bleeding into his time with the family. After being involved in two on-the-job shootings, Matt was diagnosed with Post Traumatic Stress Disorder and the couple decided to separate. 

Then on July 9, 1996 their little dream would be killed entirely as their quaint little home burned to the ground. 

There was no doubt it was arson, with a flare and accelerant used to start the blaze and threatening graffiti left on a wall behind the house. 

It was lucky there was no one home at the time. 

But, who lit the match? Was someone seeking retribution for one of the shootings?

Then, a confession from an unlikely suspect: a man who quickly vanishes without a trace.

Detective Pat Beale has been an investigator for many, many years. In fact, he tried to retire, but the Lewis County Attorney’s Office called him back into service to help solve the murder of Diana Robertson.

From the beginning the case has been muddy. But, there are a few things we do know for sure. In the early morning hours of December 12, 1985, 21 year old Diana set out for a day trip with her 36 year old boyfriend Michael Reimer and their 2 and a half year old daughter Crystal to get a Christmas tree. Mike had a side gig as a trapper, and he also planned to check his animal traps in the area.

Another thing we know for sure: Diana and Michael never did get that Christmas tree. In fact, that very same afternoon little Crystal would be found alone, abandoned at a Kmart store.

Where were her parents?

That mystery would go unanswered for 8 weeks, until a grim discovery was made: Diana’s body was found in a remote wooded area, viciously stabbed 17 times with a tube sock tied around her neck. 

But, where was Michael? Had he murdered Diana? Had he murdered others, too?

Just four months earlier a couple had been found murdered in the woods nearby. The woman’s body had also been found with a tube sock around her neck. Coincidence? Or was a serial killer on the loose?

George Weyerhaeuser was a pint-sized 9 year old. Dressed smartly in his white button down shirt tucked into his knee-length pants, with his wavy brown hair neatly in place and his easy smile demonstrating his outgoing personality, he was the epitome of the American boy next door. He was the son that anyone would be proud to call their own. 

But, George wasn’t just any kid. He was heir to one of the wealthiest families in the country.

Still, his parents wanted George and his sister Anne to have a normal childhood. They lived in Tacoma, and George was sent to the local public school while his older sister went to a nearby Seminary. 

It was a Friday afternoon, in May of 1935. When the school bell rang at Lowell Elementary, George took his usual walk to the seminary to meet his sister. The children had been told the family chauffeur would be picking them up that day.

George arrived at their meeting spot 15 minutes early. His sister was still in class, and the car was nowhere in sight. So, he decided rather than wait, he would walk home. He took a shortcut through an overgrown path along the Tacoma Lawn and Tennis Club.

He emerged onto a parking lot along Borough Road, where he noticed a couple of men sitting in a green Buick. One of them got out and hailed George over. He asked whether the bright-eyed boy might be able to give them directions to Stadium Way. 

Before George could answer, the man reached out and snatched him up, throwing him into the backseat of the sedan, then covering him with a blanket while the driver hit the gas. And the car and George disappeared.

It was the biggest story since the Lindbergh baby. The youngest member of the wealthy Weyerhaeuser clan kidnapped and held for ransom. The demand letter was blasted out on newsreels, on radio and on the frontpage of newspapers around the country.

Hundreds of G Men from the FBI were on the case. They were determined to hunt down these brazen bandits and to find little George before it was too late.

July 23, 1991 was a scorcher in Seattle, which meant folks accustomed to the on again, off again rain for 9 months out of the year flocked to the rivers, the sea or one of the many lakes the PNW has to offer.

On this day, Lake Sammamish was no exception. The lake was hopping, swamped with people relishing a summer day. One of the many beachgoers was a family man named Patrick, who had settled his young children for an early supper on the sandy beach of Idylwood Park.

Patrick was leaning back and enjoying the gorgeous water view, with Mt. Rainier in the distance. And, even though there was a lot of action on the lake from high powered boats to innertubes and kayaks, it was a gray raft that caught his attention and the lone man slowly, rowing toward shore.

What Patrick didn’t know was that this man wasn’t alone. His wife, Cynthia, was lying in the bottom of the raft near death.

And this wasn’t the first time a wife of Randall Roth would have an “accident.”

Greg Heimann boarded the plane with a heavy heart.

He hadn’t seen his father in five years, and this would be anything but a happy reunion. For more than six hours he sat on that plane, mulling over what to say.

It had a been a year since his father was diagnosed with cancer, and he was still refusing treatment. Greg and the rest of the family had been trying to change his mind for months.

Of course, Jerry had his reasons. The 64 year old Boeing retiree was caring for his elderly mother. She was suffering from Alzheimer's and was unable to walk or even feed herself. Jerry couldn’t imagine going through chemo while also taking care of grandma.  

But, Greg didn’t want to lose his dad. So, there he was, on a six hour flight from Arkansas to Seattle trying to find the words that would change his father’s mind about treatment.

Once he touched down at Seatac and picked up his bag, Greg expected to see his father waiting to pick him up. ] But, there was no sign of him. So, Greg walked around a bit looking and thinking some more.

After more than three hours passed, Greg had to give up. He decided to catch a shuttle to his father’s house in Everett, another hour for Greg to try and come up with just the right words.

The shuttle pulled up to a dark house. The lights were out, the shades were drawn, and Greg would discover the front door was locked. So, he climbed in through a window... and was met by a nightmare.   

His 89 year old grandmother sat in a blood-splattered wheelchair with shredded bits of newspaper in her mouth.

But, what about his father? Where was he? 

In the 1990s, The Turf was a bar in Pike Place Market in Downtown Seattle. Tucked in amongst the fish mongers tossing their wares before a crowd of tourists, the flower vendors with their paper-wrapped bouquets, and the very first Starbuck’s store.

But, The Turf wasn’t advertised as a tourist attraction. It was a spot just for the locals, like Denise Harris. She was a regular at The Turf and other bars in the area.

A transplant from California, Denise had moved to Washington with the hopes of rebuilding her life as a preschool teacher, or at least she’d been trying. She’d hit a rough patch and she went to the Turf that night looking to escape her troubles.

A tall, lean man sitting just a few stools down the line struck up a conversation with Denise. By and by, he ended up moving down to sit next to her.

What Denise didn’t know was that over the course of the night this stranger had been biding his time, watching her, sensing her vulnerability.

After a time, the bartender cut Denise off, and she decided it was time to hit the road. The stranger flashed a little bag with a few rocks and offered her a little more fun.

Why not?... she might’ve thought.

This vulnerable young woman had no idea that the seemingly charming man had been watching her as the hours ran down, as the crowd thinned and the drinks flowed. Their meeting was anything but random. And, he made sure that no one saw them leave together.

The next day, Denise’s body would be found half buried in a place called the Jungle, a wooded green space near the city center.  

And this killer was just beginning… 

Hear outside experts share their perspectives on the mysterious death of Autumn Stone. Retired Director of the San Diego Crime Laboratory Jennifer Shen, Director of the Cold Case Investigative Research Institute Sheryl McCollum and others share their insights as we reflect on the case and consider where things go from here.