DEADBUG SAYS

A nurse ( Kimberly Chargill) befriends a local woman with a learning disability (Cherry Walker) , seeing she yearns independence away from the care home she lives in, she offers her work , cleaning and doing some shopping for her. Then seeing how much she loves children, lets her babysit for her son but what begins as support becomes something else, something harder to define, darker more sinister.

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Behind manicured hedgerows and winding country lanes, where reputations are polished and doors are rarely locked, something slipped quietly through the calm. A village that believed it was insulated from the darker edges of the world. But in the stillness of a Buckinghamshire night, that illusion shattered and there is a brutal murder that today people still don't want to talk about.

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DEADBUG

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She married the money, the suits, the skyline.the soft hum of a credit card sliding through endless tomorrows was what got her wet. While he married the smile, the legs you needed a ladder to climb and her proess in the bedroom. The woman who once wore Switzerland like a sash across her perfect shoulders.

But fortunes rot.

Careers collapse.

Champagne turns flat.

And when the glamour starts to crack, love isn’t the first thing to disappear.

Because some fairytales don’t end in divorce.

Some end in something… far harder to swallow.

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DEADBUG

The Moors Murders weren’t crimes of impulse. They were methodical. Patient. Almost rehearsed. In the grey sprawl of 1960s Manchester, Ian Brady and Myra Hindley didn’t just steal children they stole innocence and buried it in the bleak, wind-whipped emptiness of Saddleworth Moor. Tape recordings. Calculated lures. A peroxide smile that became the face of evil in Britain. They hunted vulnerability and left behind shallow graves carved into peat and national memory. This wasn’t frenzy. It was partnership. It was ideology. It was cruelty dressed up as intellectual superiority. And long after the bodies were found, the moor kept its silence because some landscapes never give everything back.

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In the summer of 1984, Delores Lynch and her daughter Janie are found slaughtered on their quiet Kentucky estate — four acres of Southern calm soaked in something far uglier. Detectives circle the obvious suspect, the son who stands to inherit, but the trail doesn’t follow the money. It follows the bitterness. A collapsing marriage. A vicious custody war. A daughter-in-law with pedigree, pride, and a growing list of grievances. As investigators dig deeper, one warning echoes louder than the rest: that family has a dark cloud in it somewhere.

Ten months later, that cloud bursts. Three more family members are executed in North Carolina just as courtroom testimony threatens to tip the scales. Suspicion tightens around Susie Newsom and her volatile cousin, Fritz Klenner an unlicensed physician with grand delusions and access to firepower. What follows isn’t an arrest. It’s a chase. A standoff. A final eruption of gunfire and explosives that leaves bodies, questions, and a family tree reduced to ash. Bitter Blood isn’t just about murder — it’s about pride curdled into obsession, and what happens when vengeance decides it would rather burn everything than lose.

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In the summer of 1984, Delores Lynch and her daughter Janie are found slaughtered on their quiet Kentucky estate — four acres of Southern calm soaked in something far uglier. Detectives circle the obvious suspect, the son who stands to inherit, but the trail doesn’t follow the money. It follows the bitterness. A collapsing marriage. A vicious custody war. A daughter-in-law with pedigree, pride, and a growing list of grievances. As investigators dig deeper, one warning echoes louder than the rest: that family has a dark cloud in it somewhere.

Ten months later, that cloud bursts. Three more family members are executed in North Carolina just as courtroom testimony threatens to tip the scales. Suspicion tightens around Susie Newsom and her volatile cousin, Fritz Klenner — an unlicensed physician with grand delusions and access to firepower. What follows isn’t an arrest. It’s a chase. A standoff. A final eruption of gunfire and explosives that leaves bodies, questions, and a family tree reduced to ash. Bitter Blood isn’t just about murder — it’s about pride curdled into obsession, and what happens when vengeance decides it would rather burn everything than lose.

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California in the 1970s had beaches, redwoods… and Herbert Mullin.

While everyone else was worrying about inflation and pyramid power, Mullin was convinced he’d been personally recruited by the universe to prevent earthquakes. His solution? Human sacrifice. Casual, community based, DIY apocalypse prevention.

He believed killing people would stabilise tectonic plates. Because nothing says “seismic management” like a .22 calibre rifle and a Messiah complex.

They called him the Psychopath of Santa Cruz. He called himself necessary.

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Robert Berdella fancied himself a collector.

Not stamps.

Not coins.

Not vintage vinyl.

But young Men.

He lured them into his Kansas City home with promises of food, shelter, a place to crash and then documented their torture with the kind of obsessive note taking most people reserve for dieting or fantasy football. If there were a frequent flyer programme for depravity, Berdella would’ve been platinum tier.

Leaving him balls deep in infamy!

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Easter. A day of resurrection. Of hope. Of fresh starts and pastel-coloured lies we tell children about rabbits and redemption.

But not every story ends with a stone rolled away.

In this episode we look at seven murders that unfolded under the shadow of Easter that turned a holy day into a crime scene. While church bells rang and families gathered for roast dinners, somewhere else, someone was digging a grave.

Because on Easter…

Not everything rises from the dead.

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Baton Rouge had its share of monsters, but Sean Gillis wasn’t the loud, headline-hunting kind. No frantic manhunts. No media circus. Just a quiet little man with a camera, a compulsion, and a hobby that makes taxidermy look wholesome. While the world obsessed over more flamboyant killers in the same zip code, Gillis operated like a ghost with a sick imagination and far too much free time. He didn’t want fame. He wanted souvenirs.

In this episode we peel back the polite Southern veneer and look at the man who blurred the line between murder and memorabilia because sometimes the most disturbing predators aren’t driven by rage… just appetite.

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