The HBO documentary series, Murder in Boston: Roots, Rampage, and Reconing, is available to stream on Max. The Boston Globes full investigative series is available at globe. Com/stuartcase. Before we begin, this episode contains some offensive language and descriptions of violence. It may not be appropriate for all listeners. Boston Record Emergency 510. My wife's been shot. I've been shot. Where is this, sir? I have no idea. I've been coming from Premont, Brigham and Women's Hospital. It's 8:43 on the night of October 23rd, 1989. Where are you right now, sir? Can you indicate to me? No, I don't know. I don't know. He made us go to an abandoned area. A man calls 911 from his car phone. He's lost somewhere in Boston. Okay, sir. Can you see out the windows? Can you tell me where you are, please? No, I don't know. I don't see any signs. Oh, God. Chuck Stewart is in the driver's seat. His wife, Carol, is next to him. She's seven months pregnant. Okay, has your wife been shot as well? Yes. In the head. Moments ago, they were at a nearby hospital taking a birthing class, preparing to welcome their first child.

Okay, so bear with me now. Stand by. Stay and to follow me. Chuck's from the suburbs. He doesn't live around here. All he knows is that he's on the wrong side of Huntington Avenue, and he's scared. He's crossed over this main artery of a road, gone past the dividing line. On one side of Huntington Avenue, you've got prestigious hospitals and fancy museums. Now, he's on the other side in a mixed-race neighborhood called Mission Hill, a place that people from the suburbs know to avoid. Okay, Chuck, help's going to be on the way. Bear with me. Is your wife breathing? Chuck says a man with a gun forced him to drive here. The people that shot you, are they in the area right there? No, they were in the car. They left. Okay, Carroll is bleeding out in the front seat beside him. They're racing against an unforgiving clock. Oh, man. Jack? Jack, can you give me anything? Just look out the window. Can you see anything? Oh, I'm blank now. You can't blink out on me. I need you, man. Jack. Jack. They're not the only people shot in Boston that night, but their story is the one that captures the attention of the nation for weeks.

It will alter the image of Boston forever. It's something people here will be living with and talking about for decades to come. Topping news seven tonight, a brutal attack on a pregnant woman and her husband as they left childbirth classes at a Boston hospital. The Stewart case was one of those news stories that exploded from inside your television set. Several police officers said tonight the stakes have changed in the street wars. I remember that evening saying whoever did this needs to go straight to hell. It was the ultimate urban nightmare. An innocent white couple with a baby on the way, shot in the heart of the city. We feel vulnerable because we are vulnerable. So many of us can see ourselves in the steward's car. This was one of the most sensational crimes in the city's history, and it was all captured on tape. In a time before smartphones and 24-hour cable news cycles, it went viral. From Boston Tonight, we have a nightmare story of random crime and violent death. A near wipeout of a family that came into the suburbs. It is a dramatic and horrendous thing. The hunt for the attacker engulfed Boston for months.

The crime and its aftermath exposed truths about the city and the country few wanted to confront. Race, class, crime, and punishment, the city's raw nerves were exposed. Everyone thought they knew what happened, but what you believed depended on the lens you brought to it. Boston's simmering tensions were about to boil over. Everything is building up to this moment in terms of how we really felt about each other. This was the stick of dynamite that finally went off. Nightlife switched just that fast. Nothing's going to be the same again. That's what I said to myself. I knew at that moment. You can't make this shit up. Oh, but they did make it up. My name is Adrian Walker. I'm a columnist and associate editor at the Boston Globe. I was here when this happened. I saw it on the 11 o'clock news that night, and as a young reporter new to Boston, this was a holy shit moment. People were talking about race wars, martial law, the death penalty, all kinds of crazy stuff. They called the shooter an animal. As a transplant from Miami, I'd already been told that my experience in Boston would be different because I'm Black.

Back then, colleagues warned me to be careful going into certain neighborhoods like South Boston. I covered crime in the city already, but this was different. I think it's the biggest embarrassment in the city of Boston, and they wanted to go away. But it never went away for me. I thought I knew this story inside out, but I've learned there's much more to it. Our team of Boston Global Reporters has been digging up all the old files and uncovering new investigative findings. How do you not come forward? I feel like in any minute someone might come in and take these away. It's absolutely crazy. Stay with us. We're going to tell the story in a way it's never been told before. We're going to tell the story the right way. I still feel the coverage has never really been done properly. They don't have us who had happened to the side of it. And it basically boils down because they didn't really give a shit about us. This podcast is a look at the quintessential Boston story, a place where race and crime, fact and perception all collide in a tragic way. And it all begins in Mission Hill.

I'm a speaker part. I'm a speaker part. I'm a speaker part. I'm a speaker partner. I'm a speaker partner. I'm a speaker partner. I'm a speaker partner. I'm a speaker... This is Murder in Boston. The untold story of the Charles and Carol Stewart shooter. Episode one, The crime. I'm at 100 % of agreement of being able to help document about something that should have been spoken so long ago. This just shows that what you put under the rug, it sticks out to someone cares like you guys to come pull it out to be examined, and that's what I'm happy to be part of it. Don Juan Moses grew up in Mission Hill. What this building is right now, where the third story is, that was a brick building, and we lived on the third floor. 7-racing court, apartment 38 and 39 here in Mission Hill when it was projects and bricks. It's just you can't forget this. What Don Juan sees walking around the streets these days is vastly different from what he saw when he was a kid here. Right now we have buildings, community centers, much bigger. We have condos. It was not condos and townhouses.

This was just a dirt road. It was a big old parking lot with this dirt. But one thing feels the same. The memory of the shooting of Chuck and Carol Stewart and everything around it continues to be embedded in this place and its people. It's certainly still alive here for him. I'm telling you the truth now, looking at that building, Horizon Buildings, you can't ever forget that right there with that case. That's Child Stewart's case all day. Those buildings, no matter what situation changed around it, those buildings are still there. Down once in his mid-40s now. I am 6'5, African-American, brown eyes, very passionate about everything I do. He's a personal care worker and a hospice up in Maine. And my hat says love. There's a million hats of everything that's out there, but I'd rather be what you wear. Don Wants actually got a bunch of these hats. He buys them here and he drives them back up to Maine. He gives them out to the hospice patients in his care. I come back home to buy them. That's what I'm doing this weekend. If I can give it to those that's passing, let them know that they're going to die with love.

He's proud of how far he's come from these streets. Grandpa gave me a challenge before he died. He said, Be what you never had. Let it be seen through your actions, your clothes, and your words. So I became love, something I never had, and I helped kids in my state. He said that you could become what you went through of overcoming. His grandpa was talking about Don Juan's childhood in Mission Hill. Don Juan is the only one of his eight siblings who didn't go to prison. First one to test for the college, first one to graduate high school, or a second one after my brother, his high school diploma came in the mail after he got murdered. It's no accident that this is where the murder happened. All you have to tell somebody is where you came from, where you lived. Mission Hill Projects, Ohio. I know who you are. You already got a label. But let's back up because Mission Hill has been a whole bunch of different neighborhoods over the years. It's like an archeological dig. More than 100 years ago, this is where Irish, German, and Italian immigrants settled. It was working class and deeply religious.

There's a big Romanesque revival church right in the heart of the neighborhood known as Mission Church. Anywhere you stand in the neighborhood, you can see its spires. People understand the geography of Mission Hill in relation to this church. This is a tree mic. Yeah, tree mic because the mission church is up the street. The public housing projects called Mission Maine were built between 1938 and 1940. At first, the residents were pretty much all white. By the early '60s, white people were leaving the city in droves and heading for the suburbs. Meanwhile, there was a huge influx of Hispanic people from Puerto Rico, and black Southerners looking to flee racial terror in their own towns. Many started settling in Mission Hill, and by the '80s, the neighborhood had flipped to being mostly black and Hispanic. Lots of people talk about that time in really nostalgic terms. It was just a happier time. People looked out for one another. It still had the vibe where Ms. Rudolph could tell Joyce Johnson's child, Stop that. I'm going to tell your mother. It was a community. Everybody knew you. The kids knew the kids. The mommas knew the mommas.

Christine Norwood came to Mission Hill as a little girl in '64. She loves the place now, and she loved it back then. People were outside. Kids were playing. Children were outside riding their bikes and playing and sliding up and down the cellars. All the apartments had stairs leading from the sidewalk down to the cellars. And then on each side was a slant so that they had packages that could slide them down. Now the kids get cardboard, plexiglass, anything, and they slide down the cellar. Well, when you slide down the cellar, at the end of the cellar at the end of the cellar isa brick wall. Okay? So no mother wants you playing in the cellar. A lot of kids, no teeth. But all that changed in the mid-'80s when crack arrived. A major dealer from New York set up shop in Boston, and that was it. Crack was everywhere along with heroin and cocaine. And the bit of sweetness of the early '80s was just gone. Back then, it was easy to walk on the street and catch a crowd of guys and if you wanted whatever it is they were selling, you could go up there and get what you wanted.

That's the Mission Hill that Don Juan's mom moved to. It's like being entered into a jungle because it was so chaotic. Don Juan was 11, a kid trying to understand the world, but growing up too fast. My mom always tell you, Be home before the street. I don't want nothing to happen to you. You got drug dealers every other corner, stuff hidden inside trees. They got kids being meals. I remember when I turned 12, the guy told me, Just watch this tree. I'll give you 200 bucks. Just stand here and watch this tree. I didn't know what he was talking about and what it was, but I went home and told my mom about what just happened. She brought me back to the corner and said to the guy, Don't ever do that again. I don't even know what I did wrong. All I know I was standing next to a tree. I did not realize that I was playing posum for someone's stash, not knowing I was just a kid. So it was crazy at that time. And walking through, you got undercover cops, you got gangs moving back and forth, everybody belligerent, drinking.

It was hard being a kid at that age. Don Juan tried to stay out of it. He said his basketball was his best friend, and when he wasn't on the court, he was squirreled away in the library. I was running from kids not to get jumped when I was sitting there and read, and I just stayed in there and just read. I just stand there and just... Just stayed. I don't even know. The books talk to you. But by the late '80s, the violence was all around him. There was no way to escape it. And that's where the two hereditics fought in the alleyway and the bullet shot through the window. The bullet tore through his family's apartment. It would have caught me in the forehead if I didn't kneel down to change the channel when I did. So people used to do things, wait right there at the corner for people to come down this hill, mug them, and then run back through there. A Caucasian man was in that trash can, in that dumpster. All I noticed was by his legs and his shoes. That was the first dead body I think we ever witnessed.

My whole dream was just to make it to 21. I didn't think I would make it. Between the police and the street? Nuh-uh. As he walks through his old neighborhood, Don Juan catches sight of somebody he grew up with. They embrace. What's up, man? I'm a survivor. How you feeling, man? I'm living, man. How you feeling? I'm living, man. I'm living. It's been a while, baby. I'm glad you still recognize me, brother, man. This friend is wearing a bright orange hoodie that reads, I survived the 90s. You see his shirt? I survived the 90s. I'm definitely getting a shot with him. I'm definitely getting a picture with him. I survived. Oh, my God. Don Juan's old friend carries with him some of the same painful history of the neighborhood. His cousin got shot and killed over here in this building over here. So this is Mission Hill in the summer of 1989, just before the Stewart shooting. It's a pretty brutal place, but it's also full of people like Don Juan who are just trying to make it through alive. No one has ever asked Don Juan about his story. Like many people we talk to for this podcast, and Don Juan didn't think it mattered.

After all, he had nothing to do with the Stewart shooting. He was just an 11-year-old kid. I never thought it would mean anything. I just thought it was something in my archives that I had to just keep and see it as a layer of skin that I made it through it. But everything that is about to be set in motion with Chuck Stewart's 911 call will directly impact folks like Don Juan and Christine Norwood. Everyone in Mission Hill has a story from that time. It was the beginning of what would come to be called Boston's Hot Summer. Throughout this summer of 1989, police and city officials took the offensive with an aggressive campaign against Boston's gangs. It's senseless violence generated by the frightening plague of drugs and guns in our society. Boston's gang warfare appears to be heating up, and the city's neighborhoods are feeling the burn. This wasn't totally new. The previous summer, a young girl was killed in another part of the city, caught in crossfire between rival gangs. Tiffany Moore at 12 became an unwitting victim of drugs, thugs, and Boston's turf warfare. And it wasn't just Boston. In the spring of '89, a jogger was attacked in Central Park, and five Black teens were blamed for the crime.

And in New York City, after a Central Park rampage of assault and rape by a pack of youths, police have learned a new term, wilding. There was an almost hysterical concern about violence in the so-called inner city, and really, city and suburbs were just a proxy for black and white. And all of this violence seemed to be connected to drugs. This is crack cocaine. The month before Chuck Stewart would make his desperate 911 call- All of us agree that the gravest domestic threat facing our nation today is drugs. Then President George H. W. Bush addressed the nation. Our most serious problem today is cocaine, and in particular, crack, who's responsible? Everyone who uses drugs, everyone who sells drugs, and everyone who looks the other way. So in 1989, the city and the country were on edge. F. E. R. Had helped propel so many families, just like Chuck and Carol Stewartz, to the suburbs. Everyone believed there was safety outside the city. And by October of '89, the Stewart's were firmly settled in, preparing their home for a baby. They pulled their Blue Cresida into the parking garage at Bergenman Women's Hospital on a crisp evening.

This was the most prestigious maternity hospital in the city and also the most popular. Half of Boston was born here. It is on the fancy side of that Huntington Avenue dividing line, just a couple of blocks away from the heart of Mission Hill. I, like Carol, was pregnant in expecting my first child. Kim Woodward and her husband were in the same birthing class that night, along with about 10 other couples. We had been in the class just weeks, maybe three, four weeks, and we all felt like we were at that point where, okay, this is getting closer. They said you could bring your pillows next week, and it's like, Oh, my gosh, this is real. Kim and her husband also lived in the suburbs. We were all on the same boat sitting there with our big belly and our babies and all the promise of what that meant and what we were planning and what was coming up. In class, she sat next to the Stewart's, Carol in a white sweatshirt with her shoulder-length, brown, wavy hair, stood out. I don't think I asked any questions. I didn't know what to ask, but Carol had a lot.

She said, My doctor said I may need to have C-section, so she had a lot of questions. Kim noticed Chuck too, for a different reason. Her husband sat next to me, and I thought he was so nervous. He just really was out of it. I was laughing with Steve on the way home. I said, That poor guy, he's so nervous. Can you imagine what he's going to be like on Labor Day when he has this baby? The class ends around 8:30 PM, and the couples head home in their cars. Around the same time, a couple of miles away in the South End, paramedic Rich Serino is hard at work. It was actually a very crazy, busy day. There was a fire at a high rise that morning, and then a major car crash on the Toban, the bridge that connects the city to the Northern suburbs. There was cars hanging over the bridge. Rich was in his 20s, just a couple of years on the job at that point. He grew up in Boston and knew the streets well. It had already been a long day when dispatch called and said, Hey, do you want overtime tonight?

And it's like, Yes, absolutely. I take some overtime. And this was a bit of a special assignment. And he said, Well, it's going to be probably taking around the Rescue 911 crew. I said, Yeah, we're okay. That's Rescue 911. It was a popular new TV show. Its crew went from city to city chasing ambulances and filming first responders in action. The show offered a blood and guts look inside real ambulances and ERs. The footage that follows is not a recreation. It was taped during a ride-along with a Boston Emergency Medical Service. Rich has a camera crew with him and his emergency vehicle. This is critical and could be a blessing or maybe a curse, because either way, Boston's biggest crime is largely captured by a TV crew. I had this film crew sitting next to me and wired and mic'd up. At first, the action is pretty routine. There's a stabbing in the South End, not the drama the TV crew is looking for. Then- I'm on Mass Avenue, and I start hearing down by City Hospital, the reports. It was just something really different that was going on. The dispatcher working that night sends out a call to emergency crews, including Riches.

Blue Toyota Cresva. This comes in from a cell, your phone. He's supposed to be shot. His wife is also shot at Huntington in Fremont. Emergency dispatchers have a general sense of where Chuck and Carol are not far from the hospital somewhere on Mission Hill. But Chuck can't say exactly where. I can't move. Oh, God. Chuck, can you see anyone on the street? Pull over. I'm looking around at many people. Okay, calm down. Just hang in with me. I'm going to have assistance right there to you. Open the door and talk to anyone that passes by, my friend. Anybody at all. I want to talk to somebody, find out exactly where you are. The boss police dispatcher is trying to locate where they are, and so they have a general sense of Brigham Circle, but that's a large area. Chuck, we're on the way, but you've got to tell me a little better where you are. I need a little better to find you immediately. Chuck, can you open the door? Yeah. Oh. Where are you shot, Chuckie? Hello, Chuck? Chuck, can you hear me, Chuck? I've lost. Precious seconds are ticking by, and Chuck has gone silent on the line.

Come on, Chuck. I can hear you breathing. Can you hear me, Chuck? Pick up the phone. Several police are searching the area for the couple. The dispatcher, still on the phone, has an idea. Wait a minute. You get sirens over there. You can hear a siren. I can hear a siren. I can tell you a phone. Chuck isn't talking, but the dispatchers can hear police sirens through the phone. They realize they can use the sirens to locate the couple. Turn on your sirens and turn them off so they could hear through the cell phone where they were on the fly to triangulate exactly where this is and where the police cars were. 9/11, put on your siren now. The siren is still hearing this siren. Negative. Negative on the siren. Follow K-1, sound your siren. Not yet, no siren. Bravo K-1, shut off your siren. Bravo 1-4, sound your siren. And then on the fourth or fifth try. Definitely location, we heard the sirens. We've located them in McLevy and set up for a- EMS and Boston police arrive at the same time. A crowd is already starting to gather. And there was the car.

They were both still in the car. He was in the driver's seat. He was in the passenger side. Cerino and another paramedic get to work. Kevin and I stayed with Chuck and started taking care of him. He kept saying over and over, don't take care of me. Take care of my wife.. There are injuries are dire. He had a pretty significant gunshot wound. She had a gunshot wound to the head. We wanted to make sure that the baby get to the hospital. You want to try to keep the mother alive. You have a woman who's in cardiac arrest. The horrific incidents, you don't stop to say, Oh, this is horrific. You just go in and take care of people. You're an autopilot at that point. When I got there, the scene was pure pandemonium. Evan Richmond was the first photographer there. I was the junior man, and I was working late shift. He was working for the Boston Herald and had been listening to the police radios. And by the time the police dispatcher broadcast the location of the incident, I was only a couple of blocks away. He followed an ambulance to the scene.

People were leaning inside the front windows of the car. Obviously, the EMTs were leaning in to assist the victims. Tv cameras captured Evan there in the fray. You can even hear the click of his camera. Evan, you got that one? Push me again. You're going to jail. Push back. He's so focused on taking pictures that he barely registers the tragedy unfolding in front of him. When you're taking a picture in a fast-moving news situation like that, you're not always looking at exactly what you're photographing. You're thinking about the technical aspects, the focus, the composition, the exposure. It wasn't really looking directly at it like you would looking at a photograph. I was thinking about a lot of different things trying to capture that image on film. He doesn't know it yet, but he has memorialized a moment that will not only depict the horror of the crime, but come to define the worst of Boston. It was all focused around a car, and I made a few frames of the car. It's a closeup. The dark of the night, lit up by a flash. It's as if you were sitting right on the hood of the car, looking straight through the windshield.

Carol Stewart is slumped to her side. Her white sweatshirt is splashed with blood. Her dark, wavy hair covers the worst of it. And Chuck, he's in the driver's seat, leaning back and grimacing. The white of his teeth in sharp contrast to the boob of dark blood on his shirt. Did you know whether they were alive? The woman seemed like she wasn't, or barely. She was in grave condition. I think that was evident. The man in the driver's seat was squirming around, making faces like he was injured, but he was evidently alive. It's an image that we will still be talking about decades later. We cut seatbelch, we cut his clothes off. We went to get Carol out first, and we were able to get him out shortly thereafter. The rescue 911 footage shows all of it: blood, pain, panic. After Chuck's stretcher is loaded into the ambulance, a police officer leans over and speaks with him. Do you see who did this? It's hard to make out, but the officer asks, Who did this? Chuck says, Black man. One guy? Two guys? What does he look like? Blackmail. What do you all want to get all these?

Any stripes on it? What color? Red. Red. Mustard. The homicide. Chuck tells the cop the shooter was wearing a tracksuit with stripes on it. He doesn't offer much else, but it's enough to cement the image of the main suspect. That's what I'm shooting at the McRevy in San Juan. It's black male, 30 years of age, black running suit with a white stripe. Chuck and Carol are taken to different hospitals. Carol goes back to the hospital they had left just minutes ago. Chuck goes to a trauma unit elsewhere. While all this was unfolding, a man named Louis Elisa is at an event at a Masonic Lodge in Boston, an all-black fraternal organization. We were all there at Prince Hall, 25 Washington Street. The room was filled with people, and we were having this really important ceremony. Louis is one of Boston's leading civil rights activists, President of the Boston branch of the NAACP, and well-acquainted with the powers to be in town. I was a Mason, and I'm still a Mason, in Prince Hall Grand Lodge. A number of brothers in my lodge, members in my particular lodge were police officers. All of a sudden, their police radios start going off.

Everybody's getting called in. One of the officers tells Louis what's going on. He says there's a car that was hijacked by a person they believed to be a junkie, and he shoots the wife and the husband. Right away, Louis knew this would not be a routine investigation. He explained that there's been a shooting, and they thought that there's a Black person involved. I said, Really? I said, Of course, I'm in my tuxedo, and I'm going out to his car. I said, Take me to the station. They went to area B, a police precinct not far from the crime scene. We come back to B2, the old station, and I get out the car and I go in and I see all these police piling in. It looks like one of those things that used to happen back to the civil rights days or in the Vietnam demonstration days. These guys, they got shields, they've got these batons, they got shotguns. I'm like, What? I go in on the first floor and there's the desk, and then behind the desk, I think, is the Night Command's space name. I said, Who's in charge here? They said, Well, the mayor is in the back.

Mayor Ray Flint. He'd been Boston's mayor for two terms, and he had a habit of going to high-profile crime scenes like this. He and his boyhood friend, Police Commissioner Mickey Roach, were at the station giving orders. I looked at Mickey. I said, What are we doing here? The mayor's bodyguard tried to shoe Louis away. He says, You don't need to be in here. This is not something that you have anything to do with. I said, Well, apparently it is because I heard that your guy is accusing a black person of shooting some white woman in the head. I said, Ray, you need to take to Mississippi. You need to stop. I said, You're running in the wrong direction. He says, You don't know what you're talking about. After failing to convince the mayor to slow down, Louis appealed to Boston's top cop. I turned to Mickey Roach and I said, Mickey, you're the commissioner. I never forget that. I said, You know this doesn't feel right and it doesn't sound right. He says, What am I going to do, Lou? He's the mayor. The family was at the hospital tonight, and the priest was there saying a prayer, and it breaks your heart to see this situation.

Mayor Flint rushed to Brigham and Women's Hospital, where Carroll was clinging to life. It's a tragic situation that everybody's heart goes out to the family. Flint held a hasty press conference late that night. He wore a Green Boston police warm-up jacket and stood next to one of Roach's top deputies. My understanding is that the female is in serious condition, and as is the male. I cannot comment further on the condition. I just don't know. Was the woman pregnant? She was pregnant, and they were able to save her baby for Cecere. My understanding is that delivery was made of the child. And the condition of the child? I don't know the condition of the child. Carol's baby was delivered by Cesarean section that night. He was named Christopher. Both of his parents were in critical condition at the time of his birth. Chuck was in surgery, and Carol, she died hours later. It's another example of the availability of guns that are so frequent. Seems like it's happening every single day. We have a full investigation underway. We have no suspects in custody. We do have the description of an assailant. At the press conference, Mayor Flint turned the shooting into a citywide emergency just in time for the 11:00 PM news.

I've asked the commissioner, just I was talking a little while ago, I've asked him to put every single available detective in the city of Boston on this case to find out who the people, a person who was responsible for this cowardly, senseless tragedy. Every single available detective. There were shootings in Boston almost every night back then, but this was different. From the moment it happened, the Stewart case, as it came to be known, was considered an exceptional act of violence. Authorities have identified the woman as Carol Stewart of Redding. Doctors managed to save their baby performing an emergency Cesarean section. The baby is also in critical condition tonight. It led the news that night, and around that time, Carol photographer Evan Richmond was back in the newsroom. His film had been whisked away from the scene and developed by a colleague. He hadn't even seen the photos yet. I went down to the pressroom when they were just starting to print the papers, and I got one. He was one of the first to see the front page. It was shocking to see. It was very shocking to see. It's tough to look at. It's such a gruesome picture.

Chuck and Carol in the front car seats covered in blood. Carol in the process of dying. Even by tabloid standards, the picture is extraordinarily graphic. In the morning, the entire city of Boston will see the gory crime scene, and in the days to come, they'll hear the dramatic 911 call again and again. Today, we've got phones and video cameras in our pockets. But back in 1989, you just didn't see a brutal killing like this up close. The murder of Carol Stewart on Mission Hill Monday night is forcing all of us to confront something awful and real about life in our city in 1989. The residents here are expressing another emotion, fear, fear of a big city that's becoming increasingly violent and whose tentacles are now reaching far out into quiet suburban communities. It terrifies white Boston and unnerves black Boston. I just knew from that moment on that everything was going to be different. This story would be like no other I've ever seen. This story taps into a primal American fear, that of an innocent white woman, pregnant, no less, dead at the hands of a Black man. In Mission Hill, Don Juan remembers the impact was immediate.

You said a Black man did it. That's all we need to know. Raid the project, flood the projects, get everybody out. I want lineups regularly. I want them to be able to tell us which one looks like who and so forth. That's all they was in mindset for. It's out of the news, but it's still in my head. Soon police will knock down doors and strip search young men. They'll lead a massive manhunt. With Chuck's description, virtually every black male in Mission Hill is a suspect. And then the district attorney ups the ante, appearing on a nightly talk show and calling for the death penalty. Now the chase is on. Who did it? So you knew right away that with the story about the black man jumping in the car, they were going to tear apart mission. Oh, hell, yeah. That's on the next episode of Murder in Boston. I'm going to speak upon. I'm going to speak upon. Murder in Boston, the untold story of the Charles and Carol's dirt shooting is presented by The Boston Globe and HBO documentary films. This podcast was reported and written by Globe journalist Evan Allen, Elizabeth Coe, Andrew Ryan, and me, your host, Associate Editor Adrian Walker.

The project was led and also cowritten by Assistant Managing Editor Brendan McCarthy and the Globe's Head of audio, Kristen Nelson. Nelson served as senior producer. Melissa Rosales is the associate producer. Our theme music is Speak Upon It by Boston's own Ed O'Gene. Breza Dia is our sound designer. Voice-over direction by Athena Carkanas. Research from Jeremiah Manion, fact-checking by Matt Mahoney, the Globe's executive editor is Nancy Barnes. Thanks to former Globes, Brian McGroory, and Scott Allen, and to Boston Globe Media CEO, Linda Henry. Additional interviews and audio, courtesy of Jason Haier and Little Room Films. Special thanks to Michael Cluxet and Allison Cohen on the HBO Podcast team. The HBO documentary series, Murder in Boston: Roots, Rampage, and Reckon is available to stream on Maps. Anderson Cooper is back with Season 2 of his podcast, All There is. Grief doesn't go away. Do we ever move on from grief or do we just learn to live with it? If we don't address our grief, our hearts close. You'll hear moving and honest discussions and learn from others who have experienced life altering losses. I've been trying to spend as much time as possible with my kids.

I love you so much. I love you so much too. Listen to all there is with Anderson Cooper wherever you get your podcasts.