For more than three decades, Alice and Gerald Uden lived quietly on a rural farm in Missouri, raising animals and appearing to be an unremarkable older couple. But beneath their peaceful life were two separate collections of deadly secrets—buried in the Wyoming wilderness and hidden beneath the dark waters of a mountain lake.

In 1974, Alice’s third husband, Ronald Holtz, disappeared without a trace. Years later, investigators learned that his body had allegedly been sealed inside a barrel and thrown into an abandoned gold mine.

Then, in September 1980, Gerald’s former wife, Virginia Uden, and her adopted sons, 11-year-old Richard and 10-year-old Reagan, suddenly vanished. Gerald later admitted that he had lured the family to a remote location, shot all three, concealed their bodies in barrels, and sank them into the depths of Fremont Lake. He claimed the murders ended his child-support obligation.

The Udens remained free for decades as both cases grew cold. But in 2013, investigators recovered Ronald Holtz’s remains from the abandoned mine and arrested Alice. Gerald was taken into custody the following day and confessed to killing Virginia and the two boys. Gerald pleaded guilty to three counts of first-degree murder, while Alice was convicted of second-degree murder.

Had Alice and Gerald known each other’s darkest secrets all along? Did their shared capacity for violence help bind them together—or did two killers simply find one another by chance?

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February 23, 2023. Quincy, Illinois.

When 41-year-old nurse and devoted mother Rebecca “Becky” Bliefnick failed to pick up her three sons from school, her concerned father went to her home. Inside, he discovered a scene of unimaginable violence: Becky had been shot 14 times.

There were no obvious signs of forced entry, little physical evidence, and no murder weapon. But investigators soon focused on Becky’s estranged husband, Timothy “Tim” Bliefnick, with whom she was locked in a bitter divorce and custody battle.

Years earlier, Tim had appeared on Family Feud and jokingly named saying “I do” as the greatest mistake he had made at his wedding. After Becky’s murder, that once-awkward television moment took on a far more sinister meaning—but prosecutors would need more than a disturbing joke to prove their case.

Detectives uncovered suspicious internet searches, evidence connected to Tim’s bicycle and possible route to Becky’s home, and shell casings that prosecutors linked to a firearm once associated with his family. Most haunting of all were Becky’s own words, written before her death, expressing fear that Tim might harm her and urging others to consider him if anything happened to her.

Tim maintained his innocence, but a jury convicted him of first-degree murder and home invasion. He was sentenced to natural life in prison, and an Illinois appellate court upheld his conviction and sentence in November 2024.

Was this the deadly conclusion of a marriage consumed by resentment and control—or was an innocent man convicted through a web of circumstantial evidence?

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January 15, 1947. Los Angeles, California.

In a vacant lot, the body of a young woman is discovered severed at the waist, drained of blood, and carefully washed. Her dark hair and pale skin stand in haunting contrast to the brutality of the crime.

Her name was Elizabeth Short.

The newspapers would soon give her another name: The Black Dahlia.

Elizabeth had come to California hoping to build a new life, but after her murder, the press transformed her into a sensational headline. Rumors spread. Suspects multiplied. Confessions poured in. Yet beneath the mythology was a 22-year-old woman whose final days remain as mysterious as the identity of the person who killed her.

Nearly eight decades later, the case is still officially unsolved. But over the years, investigators, journalists, and family members have named men they believe may have been responsible. Was the killer a doctor, a police informant, a criminal hiding in plain sight, or someone whose name never entered the case files?

This is the haunting story of Elizabeth Short, the investigation that consumed a city, and America’s most infamous unsolved murder.

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Late 16th-century Hungary.

Countess Elizabeth Báthory was born into one of the most powerful families in Europe. Wealthy, educated, and protected by her position, she ruled over vast estates while stories of cruelty began to spread through the surrounding villages.

Young women entered her castles as servants and companions. Many never returned.

Witnesses later described beatings, torture, mutilation, starvation, and murder carried out within the walls of Báthory’s homes. Some claimed she bathed in the blood of virgins to preserve her youth, earning her the name the Blood Countess—although that infamous detail may have been added to the legend long after her death.

In 1610, authorities moved against her. Several servants were arrested, tried, and executed, while Báthory herself was never given a public trial. Instead, she was confined inside Čachtice Castle, where she remained until her death in 1614.

Was Elizabeth Báthory one of history’s most prolific female serial killers, responsible for the deaths of dozens—or even hundreds—of young women? Or was she the victim of a political conspiracy designed to seize the fortune of a powerful widow?

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December 24, 2007. Carnation, Washington.

Wayne and Judy Anderson were preparing to spend Christmas Eve with their family when their daughter, Michele Anderson, arrived at their rural home with her boyfriend, Joseph McEnroe. But the couple had not come to exchange presents or share a holiday meal. They came armed—and with a plan to kill.

After shooting Wayne and Judy, Michele and Joseph waited inside the house for the rest of the family to arrive. Hours later, Michele’s brother, Scott Anderson, entered the home with his wife, Erica, and their two young children, five-year-old Olivia and three-year-old Nathan.

None of them would leave alive.

Six members of one family—three generations—were murdered inside a home that should have been filled with Christmas celebration. Their bodies remained undiscovered for two days, until a concerned friend went to the property after Judy failed to arrive at work or answer her telephone.

Michele and Joseph initially claimed they had left town to get married, but their story quickly collapsed under police questioning. Both eventually confessed, yet each attempted to shift responsibility toward the other. At the center of the case were Michele’s bitter grievances against her family, including her belief that they had mistreated her and owed her money.

How could resentment grow powerful enough to destroy an entire family? And what could compel two people to sit inside a house filled with bodies, waiting for two innocent children to walk through the door?

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December 24, 1992. Dayton, Ohio.

As families prepared to celebrate Christmas, four young people who called themselves the Downtown Posse began a violent spree of robbery, betrayal, and seemingly senseless murder.

Marvallous Keene, Laura Taylor, DeMarcus Smith, and Heather Matthews used the home of their first victim, 34-year-old Joseph Wilkerson, as their base of operations. From there, the violence spread across the city.

Eighteen-year-old mother Danita Gullette was shot near a pay phone and robbed of her coat, shoes, backpack, and a handful of change. Richmond Maddox was shot while driving after being lured from his family’s Christmas celebration. Convenience-store employee Sarah Abraham was killed during a robbery that netted only $44. Wendy Cottrill and Marvin Washington were executed because the group feared they knew too much. Two other victims survived being shot during the spree.

Over approximately three days, six people were killed as Dayton police raced to connect the growing number of crime scenes. Investigators finally identified the suspects after receiving information about the Downtown Posse and tracking a stolen vehicle with switched license plates.

What could compel four young people to turn the Christmas holiday into a killing spree? Was it desperation, a hunger for power, or the thrill of discovering just how far they could go?

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July 1974. Paul John Knowles escapes from a Florida jail and begins a violent journey across the United States—leaving a trail of robbery, abduction, sexual assault, and murder in his wake.

Young, handsome, and outwardly charming, Knowles could appear polished, intelligent, and trustworthy. His looks and ability to win people over earned him the name the Casanova Killer, but the romantic nickname concealed a ruthless predator who targeted women, men, children, and families with little apparent pattern.

Over the next several months, Knowles moved from state to state, stealing cars, changing identities, and killing those who crossed his path. Authorities ultimately linked him to at least 18 deaths, although Knowles claimed he had murdered as many as 35 people. The true number may never be known.

His victims included strangers who offered him kindness, people he encountered while traveling, and those who simply happened to be in the wrong place at the wrong time. Even as police closed in, Knowles appeared determined to control the story of his crimes, recording confessions and attempting to turn his killing spree into a path toward notoriety.

In November 1974, his cross-country rampage finally ended after a civilian captured him following a car crash. But Knowles would never stand trial. Weeks later, while accompanying law-enforcement officers in search of evidence, he was shot and killed after allegedly attempting to escape.

Was Paul John Knowles driven by rage, a desperate hunger for fame, or the thrill of moving through America as an unidentified killer?

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March 22, 1977. Tucson, Arizona.

Thirty-nine-year-old escrow company owner Charles “Chuck” Morgan leaves home to take his daughters to school—and disappears.

Three days later, Chuck returns in the middle of the night with his hands bound, one ankle restrained, and a shoe missing. Unable or unwilling to speak, he communicates with his wife through handwritten notes. He claims he was kidnapped, tortured, and exposed to a hallucinogenic substance—and warns her that contacting the police could put the entire family in danger.

Then Chuck disappears again.

Eleven days later, his body is discovered in the Arizona desert, approximately 40 miles from Tucson. He is wearing a bulletproof vest and has been shot in the back of the head with his own gun. Although Chuck was right-handed, the weapon is found near his left hand—and investigators recover no identifiable fingerprints from it.

Inside his clothing is one of the case’s strangest clues: a $2 bill covered with handwritten names, numbers, and symbols, with a map drawn on the back. His car contains weapons, ammunition, radios, and other unexplained items. An anonymous woman later calls authorities claiming there had been a contract on Chuck’s life.

Chuck reportedly possessed information connected to questionable financial transactions and had provided testimony in a state banking investigation. Was he involved in laundering money for organized crime, secretly cooperating with authorities, or attempting to expose something dangerous?

Police believed Chuck may have taken his own life, but the county medical examiner would not confirm suicide and classified the manner of death as undetermined. Decades later, the bizarre clues surrounding his final days remain unresolved.

Was Chuck Morgan a frightened man constructing an elaborate deception—or was he silenced because he knew too much?

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Thanksgiving 2016. Knoxville, Tennessee.

Joel and Lisa Guy had gathered their children for what was meant to be one final holiday celebration inside the family home before they retired and moved away. But their 28-year-old son, Joel Michael Guy Jr., had arrived with a horrifying plan.

Prosecutors said Joel Jr. knew his parents intended to stop financially supporting him. Rather than face life on his own, he decided to kill them, destroy their remains, collect their life-insurance money, and frame his father for the murders.

After the rest of the family left, Joel Jr. attacked his parents inside their home. He then dismembered their bodies and attempted to dissolve their remains with corrosive chemicals. When Lisa failed to report to work, a welfare check led officers into a scene so gruesome that investigators would describe the house as almost beyond comprehension.

But Joel Jr. had left behind something even more damning: a handwritten notebook containing a detailed, step-by-step plan for the murders, the destruction of the bodies, and the financial rewards he expected to collect afterward. Surveillance footage also captured him purchasing many of the supplies prosecutors said were used in the crime.

In 2020, Joel Michael Guy Jr. was convicted of murdering and dismembering both of his parents. He received consecutive life sentences, ensuring he will spend the rest of his life in prison.

How could a son turn a family Thanksgiving into the beginning of such calculated horror—and reduce the two people who supported him to nothing more than obstacles standing between him and their money?

*This episode contains murders that are extremely graphic in nature. Listener discretion is advised.

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March 1953. Notting Hill, London.

When a new tenant began renovating the kitchen at 10 Rillington Place, he uncovered a hidden alcove concealed behind wallpaper. Inside were the bodies of three women, beginning the search for one of Britain’s most notorious serial killers: John Reginald Christie.

Quiet, soft-spoken, and outwardly respectable, Christie had lived at the cramped boarding house with his wife, Ethel. Behind its walls, however, he lured vulnerable women with promises of medical help, rendered them unconscious with domestic gas, and strangled them. Several bodies were hidden inside the house or buried in its small garden.

But the horror of Rillington Place had begun years earlier.

In 1949, Christie’s upstairs neighbor, Timothy Evans, was accused of murdering his wife, Beryl, and their infant daughter, Geraldine. Christie became a crucial witness for the prosecution. Evans was convicted of Geraldine’s murder and executed in 1950—while Christie remained free to kill again. The later discovery of Christie’s victims raised grave doubts about the conviction and turned the case into one of Britain’s most infamous miscarriages of justice.

After fleeing London, Christie was arrested, tried for the murder of his wife, and hanged in 1953. He confessed to several killings, but his shifting stories left enduring questions about exactly how many people died inside 10 Rillington Place—and whether an innocent man had been sent to the gallows for Christie’s crime.

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