Transcribe your podcast
[00:00:01]

This is exactly right. Hello and welcome to my favorite Modak, the many so that twenty twenty one, that's right, here it is and I can deal with it.

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How are you? I'm good, I'm good. I'm rested. We're out of the darkness and into mass confusion and just kind of general pandemic disorganization. Yeah, but things feel definitely lighter and better.

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They do. They really. They do.

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They do deals less dire, like less dire straits, you know.

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Oh, we should tell everybody. Yes, we have a little bit of exciting information because we know that you've all been tuning in and listening to the great true crime author Kate Winkler Dawson, who has her podcast tenfold more wicked on the exactly right network. Well, guess what? Season two is about to drop as far as drop. It's it's dropping as we speak, as we speak right now.

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And that's a new season, season two. It's called The Body Snatcher. It's a really awesome season about it's a historical, true crime story about the world's most famous grave robbers who've never actually robbed a grave. They just murdered people to get the cadavers and they're called Burkean hair. It's an incredible story. And of course, Cain't Winckler Dorson tells it so well because she is such a good storyteller and such an incredible historic mind. So it's really fucking cool.

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So stick around to the end of this episode and you will hear the trailer for the brand new season of tenfold More Wicked the Body Snatchers. And now we're going to do the Mini. So do you want to go first? Sure.

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Let me go first. So this story is called My Trucker Dad thwarted my kidnapping. Oh, and it starts well, you asked for creepy trucker stories and have I got one for you and that's how you fucking start a letter. My dad was a cross country truck driver for most of my life, traveling all over the country as a guy who delighted in swapping various diesel engine information with good old boys over cheap, greasy food. He loved his job, but missed being at home as well.

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My sisters and I saw him on an average of once a month for our whole lives, but he always made sure that we knew we were his whole world.

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Oh, he loves telling stories about his time on the road and I have countless to choose from, but I'll pick just one. So if this is too long and then there's a bunch of emojis that I don't understand that I'm guessing I mean, sorry, I don't know.

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Square box, square box, female sign, square box. This story happens when I was about four or five years old. During the summers, my sisters and I would take turns going with our dad in the truck for a week or two and as a way to spend more quality time together. It was my favorite part of the year. Honestly, I got to travel all over the country, eat it every truck stop you could imagine. And most of all, have fun with my dad.

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When I was about four years old, I was with my dad one summer and he had some minor engine repairs to do on the truck. He pulled over at a small mom and pop type gas station, set me under a nearby tree with my doll and crawled into the truck to get to work, as you could imagine, laying on the hot asphalt underneath a boiling hot engine.

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My dad suffered a heat stroke and passed out mom, who knows how long he was out, but he came to suddenly with a blinding headache and looked over to where I sat under the tree, only to see a man creeping up behind me, arms outstretched, getting ready to snatch me up. It sounds like odd swamp man. Kind of right. The tree, the creature from the black, that's what. Thank you very much, Karen Hughes, who is into TMC classic movies on Friday nights.

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And I appreciate. And your brain.

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Apparently, my dad quickly scrambled out from under the truck, red-faced and sweaty, brandishing whatever tool was nearest and started screaming like a mad man. The guy ran off and my dad collapsed onto the ground. The little old lady working at the gas station heard the commotion and ran out to help. She took us inside and watched over me while my dad got some much needed medical attention. I can't imagine what would have happened if he hadn't woken up when he did.

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And I'm always grateful that he was able to muster up the last bit of energy he had to save my life for real.

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I have countless other creepy trucking stories that my dad has told me over the years, like the time he witnessed a murder in the middle of the night to one of his buddies while they were driving down the road.

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But that's another email for another day. Wow. I love you guys. Thanks for helping keep my spirits up during this batshit crazy year. Stay sexy and stay hydrated. Heat strokes are no joke, Kathleen. Very true. Kathleen, Kathleen, great job. Kathleen's dad. Great job. That's raise the idea that he passed out from a heat stroke but had like a parent to knowing his child was in danger.

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That's like proof there's ZP that in like and like only seeing your kids once a month, which is, I think, a necessity in a lot of careers. But making sure that your kids have special memories of you and like special moments in their childhood, despite really not living with you that much, I think is a lovely thing.

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Such a thing you're saying because the dad, as a long haul trucker wasn't around that much. She said he came around once a month, but always made sure that he knew he was, you know, pivotal. No, I didn't really focus on that point. I was like, what is this specific thing she's promised?

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Well, she goes, Marty, every other weekend was not enough for, you know, it's like maybe it's even a stronger bond because they they were to being around you and they have other maybe there's some sort of fuck off.

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But she has to discipline them every fucking day and the dad gets to come around once a month. And that's definitely true. That's that's for Marty and Janet and the nurses. That's, I think all divorced parents or the mom had I mean, the moms do all the work. They're the bad guy. Dad comes and buys you, you know, your favorite toy. I'm like, right. Yeah. Yep. I know nothing of it.

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My parents were happily married for about fifty years.

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Sorry, but in your face, why don't you split the fucking white out. This is good wine right on the microphone in my face about my childhood. I just in your face about perhaps one of the more painful things in your life. Why would I do that? Fucked up. I'm sorry. I apologize to you. Why are you crying. No, I was like, oh no. OK, no, sorry. No, I love it.

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Sorry. Keeping us on our toes. OK, here's my first email. George and Karen, you asked for stories about picking up hitchhikers and instantly regretting it, dear.

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Oh, doing that. No, but that sounds like a theme. But I mean, sure, do it all. I have never told this story to anyone when I was very young, when I was a very young, very naive teenager in the suburbs of Massachusetts, I was driving home in the middle of the day when a young kid came flying out of the wealthiest neighborhood and flagged me down. He was about my age and looked genuinely distressed. So I assumed he was from my high school.

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He got in and he asked for a ride to the nearby train station. Since it was only about a ten minute drive. I said sure. As we exchanged small talk, it dawned on me that I had never seen this person in my life. So I felt the hairs on the back of my neck stand up. I was suddenly so aware that I was alone in an enclosed space with a total stranger. He sensed my nervousness and laughed. Don't worry, if I was going to rape you, I would have done it all right.

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That did it. I stopped the car and said, get out of here. He started to protest. I don't remember what came out of my mouth next, but I've never spoken that way to anyone ever. And luckily, I hadn't had to since.

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The only thing I do remember is my hand reaching for the CD holder above my head, prepared to shout or want to use as a weapon. Asseri do it. Luckily, luckily, my cursing and yelling scared him off and he finally got out of my car. I drove away shakily and never told a soul because that one was on me. Thanks for reading. And just so you know that as and just know that as an adult who spent almost a decade in New York City and listened to five years of this podcast, I know better now.

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Oh, did we all. Do we all. We all do. We all did it. Don't be embarrassed. Tell your friends you'll laugh about it and they'll have similar stories. And also, here's what I love. She said, get out now. And that's it wasn't a question. It wasn't just see what his response was. She said it and she backed it up. And yeah, he knew.

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He knew there was no arguing. He knew there was no children. You know, Chiloe, you know, you're being crazy. Give me this. Right. And you know what else he learned that day? That's not a joke. I love it. I learned in a way that is very important. That's not a joke. That was I love that story. That's that's the that's the coming of age understanding story that we made a big mistake. At one point we all fucking did.

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I wrote about it in the book when I took my top off for a quote unquote, professional photographer in fucking seclusion and was like, wow, that's not kid ourselves in this situation ever again. Right. And it was the first time I ever fucking talked about it was in the book. Yeah. This one is called The Day the FBI Raided My Job for a crime, I predicted.

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Oh, it just starts. I have a reputation for having the best luck with getting magical, interesting jobs, when I was in high school, I worked as an assistant in research and development for Maytag and literally got paid to write down numbers. My uncle said out loud after we flooded, blew up or dropped washing machines from the third story of the building.

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Yeah. So you already went to this day? I don't think the numbers meant a damn thing. Or when I randomly moved to Nashville and quickly got a job as the receptionist at a vinyl pressing production plant and on my second day shadowed someone giving a tour of the plant to Radiohead.

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Oh shit.

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Yeah, one of my favorite jobs ever was working as a movie theater projectionist. This was right after college and right after the switch to digital. So I just whizzed around in a really chair program programming a supercomputer in the evenings before nestling down in a theater with the last of the day's popcorn and screen the films with my best friend slash roommate Rhona Raina.

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That is a dream job, though. There's nothing. I also worked in a movie theater that I was 19 to favorite Asher the Esher, my brother after the show, who also worked there as a projectionist. So we mostly worked on an island from the rest of the operations because projectionist to me were like the big guns. Like you didn't they were with them?

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No, no. They were like scientists. Like we were just down there selling dots and like I was just down there secretly eating a box of dots all day long. But like the projectionist came in, you you're just like a vampire. Is he the smartest man in the world?

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Is he make the movie? I don't know. I mean, Earline. Is that David Lynch? I love him.

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I'm in love with him at the at the theater. There were plenty of high school kids who started there when they were 14 and had worked their way up to the shiny and distinguished position of shift supervisor. And then there's a diamond emojis happening. I just think that's important to know. One such supervisor is Fante's fiancee. Yeah. It's like, oh, my God, you know, when you were like fourteen out there, that manager and you're like, oh, I better be cool to them.

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And they're like a 16 year old. That's right.

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They set the hours. Right. So they can find my box of dots. OK, sorry. Just now keep going. Let's talk about dots. One such person was Michael, who relished his power over his friends roommates and was mostly known among staff as a supervisor who would sneak expired concession stand food out of the back of the building and trash bags with the leftover popcorn. Told you, you know, no, no, I just need the one box it off.

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So these guys were they were like a heist compared to you? Yeah, it was expired. It's a heist where there's no treasure. Next line says expired hotdogs, Lupino, poppers and mozzarella sticks. We're crowding the freezers.

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Everyone who works there, including ours, remember when you had a shop at Johns and by the lowest level value meat?

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They were so excited to be eating expired mozzarella instead of Top Ramen for one week is just like, thank God this finally happened after I had been there for a year or so, Michael announced that he had gotten a new job as a bank teller and dramatically gave his two weeks notice.

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I turned to Rana Rana Rana and said For sure that bank is getting robbed. Oh, but fast forward to six months later when I walked into work and found three FBI agents standing in the lobby, they were there to talk to Michael's roommates and girlfriend. Michael had been found that morning tied to a chair at the bank with only a bloody nose after having been, quote, kidnapped and forced to empty an ATM. Turns out the man who had appeared on the bank security cameras in a mask leading Michael around and it says with no weapon was his roommate, Brendan.

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And the seventeen thousand dollars they stole was found in a few trash bags.

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Wait, hold it. Along with day old popcorn in the trunk of Brendan's car in the theater parking lot. OK, you know what this says to me, p o t spells Stoner's pop, pop, pop.

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Stoner's got it. Yes. All told, there were four guys who masterminded the quote, heist and all and they all spent some time in jail and were fined two hundred and fifty thousand dollars each uchenna stay sexy and don't eat expired hot dogs, Maiken.

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Yes, classic, that classic epic compound. If I had walked into the movie theater and I saw three FBI agents, I'd be like, they fucking found out about the dots. They know that.

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Karen and the dots. That's your fucking band name, right? Oh, my God. That's. I love it. Like, it also happened almost immediately after he left and she was like that banks getting robbed. Like, why would who would hire who hired him? You know, as as old Jim Kilgariff likes to say, there's certain people who can't keep their hands out of the till. And it sounds like that guy was Jim Kilgariff. That's a great I want to know who he thinks that is.

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I bet he thinks it's me.

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He's you know, he's just saying in general, you know, you hear about certain people that can't handle it. Like there's there's. Yeah, I just saw a thing the other day on Twitter. It was about a woman who embezzled, like, you know, some huge amount of money from a children's charity. And it just happens all the time where it's like they put themselves in the position to be in charge of money.

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Can't can you win the money, the audacity of thinking that you're smarter than the fucking company you work for and no one's going to find out.

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Right. Like we're the kind of people who walk into a store where we're going to buy something and are terrified someone's going to think we're shoplifting always, even though we have no intention of shoplifting a little bit.

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And well, you know, the idea runs through our head shot, you know, you never know, hurting anyone. All right. OK, this subject line of this letter is Lizzie Borden Treasure. Oh, hey, yo, I just finished your live episode where Karen covers the story of Lizzie Borden, and I knew I had to write in. I grew up in Arizona, but all my extended family lives on the East Coast. That means I have a ton of aunts, uncles and cousins I only hear about occasionally on holidays.

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Your insert unrecognizable name a family member just had her gallbladder removed, etc..

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So imagine my surprise when last Christmas I saw a gift under the tree from my Aunt Louise in Rhode Island. My Aunt Louise married my mom's brother, so we aren't related by blood. But I'd heard some casual conversations about her and my uncle while I was growing up. I looked at my mom questioningly and she responded that Christmas morning mom smirk. That only meant you were about to open something good. I don't think I've ever been more in shock when opening a present before my Aunt Louise took me.

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Wait for it. Authentic eighteen nineties lace cuffs straight from Lizzie Borden's house, lace cuffs. I had known for a few years that my Aunt Louise is related by blood to Lizzie Borden. Louise's mom was a Borden. My mom had always said that my uncle joked about not letting her near sharp utensils just in case. Apparently my mom had called her to ask if she could sign a book about Lizzie Borden to give me for Christmas. And my aunt had responded, just a book.

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Do you think she'd like something even better? She won up the shit out of you and Louise always told how to give a gift. What that Aunt Louise dashboard and is not going to direction.

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She sent the handmade cups across the country for me to have. I called my aunt pretty immediately after opening them to gush and say thank you approximately one thousand times. My aunt said that her side of the family has possession over all types of clothing, furniture and even documents from the boarding house before it was turned into a bed and breakfast museum. It's actually Forsyth's recently for sale.

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Exactly right. Offices for the When the Pandemic's Over. Yes or no. Steven's clapping. Also the lobby. Honoka house here in fucking lasciviousness is for sale. I feel like we have dueling coasts, terrifying, terrifying, dueling coasts. I mean, I just feel like we should keep it local. It's easier for everybody to move to Rhode Island in the middle of pandemic, but we can discuss it at the next. You're right. This is an inappropriate.

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I'm sorry. Yes.

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This is an this is an appropriate and possibly actionable conversation. OK, after we talked about all the history and details, I finally asked her, do you think she did it? And she answered pretty casually, Honey, we all do.

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Aunt Louise, I live in Austin, Texas now. And thankfully, my roommate is also a listener and a martarano and agreed to hang the cuffs at the entryway of our apartment as the ultimate conversation. Hey, do you want to hook up? But quickly just know I'm descended from I don't know if you care about murder or not, but this happened. Yeah. Get into my room. Right. I'll keep you guys updated if we get a ghost.

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Cledus Cross and stay sexy and get in touch with that distant aunt. You never know if she's related to an axe murderer, Mallory.

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Oh, that's a good name. Yeah, it's a great name. Karen, do you have those married into cousins and aunts, uncles that you've known your whole life then and knew they're not your blood relative, but you fucked, but you fucking like like you gravitate towards them at parties?

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Yes, I remember I actually ran into one on the street in Santa Barbara. That's right. It was so out of context because I only ever see her at Thanksgiving or Christmas at my at Joe's house, that when we ran into each other, she was like, Karen, I'm here, Karen. I remember that. And I was in that weird mode of like me, like phone numbers, like every hour say so.

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And I saw your face and I was like, oh, I've never seen Karen like this before. So embarrassing. It was so like it was like I was pretending, like pretending she was like, oh my arm. And you couldn't you couldn't fix it after that either. You can be like now I, I have a cousin Donna, who was like married to like are the fucking like crowning king of cousins. Jeff and Donna was like the the queen and they divorced.

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But she was she Donna Schwartz was is a queen. And every time you go to a party like a Hanukkah party, no matter how old you are, you're like, Donna, can I just be in a fucking room with you and hang out, which was Southern and not Jewish. So she was just like loud and drunk and she was like the most fun. Yes. I miss Donna. Oh, I love that. I love that. And Yolanda, my fucking sister in law, it's like, oh, yeah, she's great.

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That cousin or that person that you're like you're not one of us. Can I fucking please talk to you? Yeah. There's a war we have because I have twenty eight cousins. We actually have lots of these like the four you know the first. It's like Deirdra and I there's you know. So I've known you since I was a child.

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You're my cousin as much as this other person. I don't give a shit. If we have bulletin board that's a fucking negative to you. It's a negative in my family.

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It's not a plus. OK, that was a great that was a great story.

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OK, I have one more e-mail to read and this actually, so this is from a Reddit thread, I found out about this because a Reddit thread got posted on Twitter and so a bunch of murdering us let us know that this person was writing in and they were trying to get heard. But of course, our Gmail is chock full and no one had read this email. So we got the heads up and we went in and found it. And actually I began to email with this person and had a good conversation with them.

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And so they sent this email. And before I get started, I just want to give a trigger warning. This is a very intense letter. So people, if you're sensitive to sexual assault stories, you're not going to want to listen to this. A few months ago, a co-worker turned me towards the Man podcast because a story was told about me. Spoiler alert. I wasn't murdered. For reference, it was episode ninety two in October of twenty seventeen.

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I actually wrote to you once before and indicated that I didn't want anything more published, that I just wanted to set the record straight. But I've had a few months to sit on this and some time to bounce it off my therapist and I've decided that I do want to tell my story. It was so crazy to hear my worst nightmare told on a podcast. It felt like a violation. So much of this has felt like something that happened to me.

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And I want to control this part of the narrative. I want my real story told by me with my consent. On January 8th, twenty seventeen, I was working as a medicolegal death investigator and forensic autopsy tech. I was working a swing shift alone. The building we were in at the time was old and decrepit. The building was not connected to any hospital, though it did housed the county morgue. The upstairs part of the building was primarily offices and the basement was the autopsy suite and body cooler.

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That night, the region was experiencing widespread flooding due to rain melting the snowpack. Law enforcement resources were stretched thin and the old building was leaking and threatening to flood. The county had made press releases that county facilities would be closed the next day. In addition to scene investigations, part of my duties were to process cases for autopsy the next morning. Traditionally, I would do all of my writing and follow up from my cubicle upstairs and save the hands on processing until the very end of my shift.

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I would rather process three bodies in a row all at once versus go downstairs three times during my shift. Even after years of working with the deceased, the downstairs creeped me out while I was upstairs writing a report. My computer keyboard malfunctioned. I spent some time fiddling with it, but ultimately decided to go downstairs to an abandoned office turned storage room to get a replacement normal. I wouldn't have gone downstairs for another forty five minutes or so, but I couldn't finish my report without a keyboard.

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I was in the office storage room with my back to the door. When I turned around, there was a man leaning on the door frame. He was wearing a scary clown mask. He was calm and cocky and he told me, You're early. He knew my routine. I was kind of frozen for a second. He rushed toward me and I swung the keyboard at him like a baseball bat. To this day, I can see some of the keys flying off in slow motion.

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He pushed me against a bookcase hard. My vision went white. I think my bell got rung pretty good because there's a couple seconds I can't account for. He had my right hand pinned up near my head. He grabbed it, my skirt and ripped it. I thought he was trying to pull off my lanyard that had a key card and physical keys to the building. I tried to hit him, but I couldn't get any leverage. He was so close to me.

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Nothing I did. Got any response until I tried to pull the mask off. That's when he pulled the knife. He rubbed the knife over my face. He cut my cheek and showed me my blood on the blade. He called me a whore. He told me to undress. And when I refused, he put the knife under my collarbone right at the subclavian artery and told me he would paint the walls red. He raped me when I yelled and begged him to stop.

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He laughed and asked who was supposed to hear me scream. He stopped and told me to get on my knees for the first time. He didn't have the knife to my chest or throat. I didn't think about it. I grabbed the knife by the blade and ran running up the stairs. I kept feeling something weird on the handrail. It turns out it wasn't the handrail that was weird. It was my hand. I started to run outside but realized I didn't know where he was.

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Our old building was like a maze. I started to go to my desk but stopped and hid under another investigator's desk. I couldn't find my cell phone and I called 911 one from the desk phone. It took a couple of tries having to remember to dial nine nine before dialing out. I vividly remember hiding under the desk, trying to whisper to the dispatcher and watching the blood run down my fingers and pull on the ground. Our building was supposed to be secure and the responding police officers had no way to gain entry.

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I had to leave the desk and walk through two doors and a hallway to let them in. The whole time I was expecting him to pop out, but he didn't. It took law enforcement a while to clear the building. They didn't have keys, were unfamiliar with the mazelike layout and had to search every body bag. The man in the clown mask wasn't found. I was released from the E.R. several hours later. My supervisor drove me home, but we first had to go back to the building to collect my wallet and keys.

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It was dreamlike seeing the red and blue lights illuminate the area. Officers and deputies patrolling in pairs in the pouring rain reminded me of a scene from a movie. After the scene was processed. My coworkers cleaned my blood from the office stairs, desk doors and wall. An email went out to the majority of the staff, telling them not to report until eight hundred hours. One of my co-workers, who are also my partners and best friends, went downstairs to prepare everything for autopsy.

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They found evidence that he had been waiting for me in the autopsy suite arranged on the back of an evidence cart next to an exam table were long strips of red duct tape, two long pieces, two shorter pieces. The red duct tape was dogeared, which is never done with evidence. As it was described to me, they were ready for someone at the floor level to be able to easily grab ready to go. If I had been going down to process bodies in my usual routine, I would have walked backwards pulling a gurney to that exact spot.

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No arrest has ever been made, the only DNA that was recovered from my clothing wound up belonging to my infant son from where I had held him before going to work. The investigation of my case was transferred from one jurisdiction to another as the attack happened in a county building. This resulted in twice as many law enforcement officers being involved in various ways. The detectives investigating my case forgot to flag it is confidential, resulting in an unknown number of deputies reading details of my case.

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One deputy shared details of my case on a hook up at one high ranking officer. One high ranking officer shared the details with their family. And that is how it came to you in the first place. That night turned my world upside down. I moved changed cars, my kids changed schools, and I ultimately resigned. The new facility that we moved into a month later is state of the art with cameras, alarms and ballistic glass. But I was never again comfortable being alone in the morgue at night.

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I will always have to live with the knowledge that someone very smart, collected and comfortable in a morgue is still out there. We know that he had been in the building at least twice before and likely once after. I don't know what exactly he had planned, but I'm thankful for a random faulty keyboard. Spacebar, I'm OK. It took a while of not being OK to be where I am now. I wanted to write to you because I think sometimes the person part of your stories gets overlooked.

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I found and reached out to the person who initially shared my story, but I think I freaked them out. Perhaps they were concerned that I was the perpetrator. Oops. If you have any questions about details or you need clarification, I'm happy to unscramble this. Thank you for your time. So wow. So we told a story that was third hand and not the person's story to tell, I don't think that the person who wrote in had malicious intent, but I think this is a very good lesson for all of us when we think about what we're doing and how we're talking and who we're talking about.

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So our apologies to you, who had to hear her story on a podcast. That's the last thing that we want to happen. And that's you know, that's just that's not what we're trying to do and it's not what it's about. And we should have thought it through. And we're going to try our best to keep aware of this and to keep you in mind so that we avoid mistakes like this in the future. And so George and I have decided that we're going to donate ten thousand dollars to the Rape, Abuse and Incest National Network.

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DRAINE And we thank you for your understanding and for writing in and communicating with me and letting us retell your story the way you wanted it told. And yeah, I think that's it.

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Yeah. Thank you guys so much. Thanks for listening and stay sexy and don't get murdered by Elvis.

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Do you want a cookie? I. Susan, how do you want to be introduced?

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You can just use my first name, if you don't mind, and tell me, you know what what your trepidation just is in general, why I would hate for any member of our family to have something bad happen just because we were unfortunately related to a serial killer.

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Susan's worried about this podcast, even though her great, great, great uncle died almost 200 years ago. This is season two of tenfold. More wicked on exactly right. I call this story The Body Snatcher. 19TH century Scotland, 16 helpless victims killed using a brilliant method to ruthless murderers, but only one had a conscience and one ambitious doctor, Dr. Robert Knox, who pioneered modern medicine in the laboratory. Students fought to get into his classroom because he had fresh bodies for them to dissect.

[00:33:28]

You don't have to make it more gory. It's already two people that are killing people for money. It's gory enough. This season is about discrediting myths. You've got no idea who's telling the truth. And he was a doctor. He must know that many people just don't die. It's about betrayal. There's only one particular person who has a vendetta against Knox at that point.

[00:33:49]

He seems to have been the only Cork's who had known that he was about to be murdered. It's about why William Burke and William Hare still matter.

[00:33:59]

They would have just gone into a grave and rotted away because they were taken to Knox. They trained thousands of surgeons on them.

[00:34:08]

And how this story ends shocked everyone in 19th century Europe. It even shocks me now.

[00:34:18]

These bodies have been had to hear probably a little over a year. And so they're almost all skeletonized.

[00:34:24]

It's quite shocking when you find out that there's a mass murderer in your family tree and we literally skeleton in the closet.

[00:34:32]

But ultimately, it's about a family that just wants answers about the killer in their past.

[00:34:38]

So he had to have known that that's who was in the tea chest right there, like, wow, wow, I never heard anything about this. I'm Kate Winkler Dawson. And this is season two of Temple War Wicked, a podcast about the world's most famous grave robbers. Who never actually robbed a grave. Season two of tenfold More Wicked is now available on exactly right. Subscribe now on Stitcher, Apple podcasts or wherever you like to listen.