On August 17, 2018, the Anchorage Police Department opened a case that would ultimately expose one of the most disturbing crimes in Alaska’s recent history.

It began with a Crime Stoppers tip that was impossible to dismiss.

A woman named Alicia Youngblood contacted police with a chilling claim: a man she knew had confessed to murdering a woman in Anchorage — and had shown her a video of the killing. She identified him as Brian Steven Smith.

That afternoon, Youngblood walked into police headquarters, visibly shaken but determined. She met with detectives and carefully described what she had witnessed. Despite her fear, she handed over her phone and gave investigators full permission to extract its data. She was not protecting herself — she was trying to protect others. She wanted this man stopped.

What followed would uncover a case far darker than anyone imagined.

The Lost Girls is sharing Episode Three of the Harm Done Podcast to honor the courage of those who come forward, to expose the systems that allow violence to continue, and to remind us that sometimes justice begins with a single person choosing to speak.

We strongly encourage everyone listening to also follow Amber Batts and support her ongoing investigative work at:👉 ⁠https://theharmdone.substack.com/⁠

Thank you, Amber, for your courage, your persistence, and your commitment to the truth.

We are sharing something deeply important — and we want to give full credit to the journalist who made this possible.

This episode features Alicia’s first full interview with the Anchorage Police Department, originally published by investigative writer Amber Batts on November 7, 2025.

The recording is an unedited, two-hour interview in which Alicia sat down with APD, turned over her phone, and told investigators everything she knew. Her only goal was simple: to get them to take her information seriously and look into the man she believed was responsible for murder.

This interview exists within a much larger and deeply troubling context.

The case of the Alaskan killer Brian Steven Smith — a white, South African-born man — stands as a chilling illustration of systemic failures within the Anchorage Police Department and the Alaskan justice system. His crimes reveal a pattern of negligence, dismissed warnings, and a profound disregard for the safety of marginalized communities.

From the mishandling of evidence, to the lack of accountability, to the repeated failure to listen to women who came forward, to the disinterest in protecting vulnerable populations — this case exposes the urgent need for policy reform and a fundamental overhaul in how justice is approached and delivered.

This interview matters because of what it shows:
how hard women had to fight to be heard,
how many warnings went ignored,
and how long danger was allowed to persist.

We strongly encourage everyone listening to also follow Amber Batts and support her ongoing investigative work at:
👉 https://theharmdone.substack.com/

Thank you, Amber, for your courage, your persistence, and your commitment to the truth.

This episode of Lost Girls is different.

So important, in fact, that we did not record an introduction.

We did not add commentary.

We did not interrupt.

We are sharing the work done by Amber Batts on the Harm Done Podcast.

The Alaskan killer, Brian Steven Smith, a white South African-born man, is a chilling clear illustration of systemic failures within the Anchorage Police Department (APD) and the Alaskan justice system, revealing a pattern of negligence, dismissed warnings, and a profound disregard for the safety of marginalized communities.

From the mishandling of evidence, the lack of accountability, the failure to listen to women who come forward, to the disinterest in protecting vulnerable populations, all highlight the urgent need for policy reform and an overhaul in the approach to justice.

Source: https://theharmdone.substack.com/

This episode of Lost Girls is different.

So important, in fact, that we did not record an introduction.
We did not add commentary.
We did not interrupt.

We are letting the evidence speak for itself.

On October 18, 2019, Anchorage Police Detectives Brendan Lee and David Cordie interrogated Ian Calhoun about his relationship with Brian Steven Smith—the now-convicted serial killer responsible for the murders of Alaska Native women Kathleen Jo Henry and Veronica Abouchuk.

That interrogation happened in two parts: first at Calhoun’s home, then later at the Anchorage Police Department.

By that point, Smith had already been arrested for Kathleen Jo Henry’s murder. During questioning, he confessed to killing Veronica Abouchuk the year before. What investigators needed to understand next was chillingly simple:

How much did Ian Calhoun know—and when did he know it?

According to interrogation footage, reports, and audio recordings, Calhoun was not a casual acquaintance. He was a friend. A drinking buddy. Someone Brian Smith trusted enough to communicate with openly. In early September 2019, that trust took a dark turn.

Calhoun told detectives that Smith met him at Forsythe Park and showed him what appeared to be a body in the back of his truck—covered by a tarp. Calhoun claimed he brushed it off as a sex doll, but later admitted he had a gut feeling it wasn’t. After seeing it, he didn’t call police. He didn’t leave. He didn’t confront Smith.

They went drinking.

Later, Smith came to Calhoun’s house.

Calhoun admitted to deleting text messages and an entire messaging app after Smith’s arrest—messages that included disturbing images and conversations. He acknowledged knowing more than he initially admitted. And yet, despite what he saw, what he deleted, and what he knew, Ian Calhoun has never been charged.

Under Alaska law, failure to report a violent crime against an adult is treated as a violation—punishable by little more than a $500 fine. A penalty that reflects just how little the system values silence when the victim is Indigenous, marginalized, or vulnerable.

This episode is not commentary.
It is not opinion.
It is documentation.

We believe it is essential for the public to hear this in full, without framing, without interruption, and without distraction.

Because Kathleen Jo Henry deserved better.
So did Veronica Abouchuk.
And silence should never be safer than doing the right thing.

To learn more and follow ongoing advocacy, visit “Arrest Ian Calhoun NOW” on Facebook.

Source: https://theharmdone.substack.com/

On today’s episode of The Lost Girls, with Amy Smith and LaDonna Humphrey, we’re telling the story of Michelle Louise Harley.

Michelle was just 22 years old when she vanished from Broward County, Florida, in the summer of 1989. A nurse. A young mother. A woman who never missed a call to check on her medically fragile son—until the day she left work to have lunch with an unidentified man and never came back.

Her car would surface months later in a Maryland salvage yard. The man last seen with her would die violently before he could ever be questioned. And Michelle? She was never heard from again.

This is a case layered with red flags, lost evidence, and decades of silence—one that raises uncomfortable questions about who is believed, who is protected, and who is allowed to vanish.

Stay with us.
Because Michelle Louise Harley is not just a missing person—
she is one of The Lost Girls.

In this episode, Amy Smith and LaDonna Humphrey investigate the 2007 disappearance of 46-year-old Roxanne Lacson, a Native Hawaiian, Chinese, and Filipino woman who vanished in Honolulu under circumstances that remain painfully unclear.

Roxanne was last seen on the morning of August 27, 2007, when her daughter dropped her off at her boyfriend’s home in Makakilo. Although she was homeless at the time and often stayed with friends or spent time along the Wai‘anae beach area, she never drifted far from the people she loved. Roxanne kept in regular contact with her eleven children and showed up for family gatherings — until suddenly, she didn’t.

After six silent weeks with no phone calls, no sightings, and no trace of where she might have gone, her children reported her missing. Since that day, there has been no evidence, no confirmed leads, and no answers.

Roxanne disappeared without a phone, without stability, and without the support she deserved — but not without people who loved her. Her case remains unsolved, and her family continues to wait for justice, truth, or even the smallest sign of what happened.

Join us as we revisit the known facts, the heartbreak, and the unresolved questions surrounding the disappearance of Roxanne Lacson.

In this episode, Amy Smith and LaDonna Humphrey explore the 2017 disappearance of Eva Gwendolyn “Gwen” Allen, a 67-year-old woman who vanished from Lithonia, Georgia under deeply concerning circumstances. Gwen, who lived in a group home and required continuous care due to bipolar disorder, was last seen around 1:30 a.m. on July 4th, 2017.

Despite her medical needs, her eyeglasses left behind, and a phone that showed signs of confused dialing in the days after she disappeared, no one has seen or heard from Gwen since. Her family believes she may have been disoriented and vulnerable when she walked away — and the silence that followed has been heartbreaking.

Join us as we break down Gwen’s timeline, the unanswered questions, and why this case still matters today. Her disappearance remains unsolved, and she deserves to be found.

Hailey vanished in late November 2024 — somewhere between certainty and speculation, between a Chevon station in Kelso and the miles of quiet Washington road that stretch into nowhere. She was last reportedly seen in South Kelso and at the Lexington Chevron. After that, nothing. No confirmed sightings. No arrests. No trail that hasn’t dissolved into uncertainty.

In this episode, we look closely at what we know — and what remains disturbingly unclear.

Hailey is described as 5’7”–5’9”, around 135 pounds, with brown hair and green eyes. She has ties throughout Cowlitz County and beyond — Castle Rock, Vancouver, Olympia — places that matter now because there are so few confirmed anchors left. Her loved ones describe her as someone who may have struggled, but she does not disappear like this. The silence is out of character. It is alarming. It is wrong.

Search teams have been everywhere they can think to look:
Rose Valley. Toutle. The brush along Ocean Beach Highway. Miles of backroads where headlights disappear into timber and no one hears you scream. Volunteers have walked fields, tracked riverbanks, knocked on doors, and spoken her name into every room that would listen. Social media has pushed her photo across digital highways. The community has refused to stand down.

And still, the questions echo:

Where is Hailey?
Who saw her last?
What happened after that final sighting in Kelso?
How does a woman with roots, connections, and a life simply fall off the map?

Tonight we bring Hailey’s story into the light — because people don’t vanish without reason, and women do not disappear quietly when we say their names out loud.

If you know something, say something.

Someone does.

It has now been six heartbreaking weeks since 13-year-old Wynter Wagoner vanished from her foster home in Orlando on October 14 — and for those who love her, every passing day feels heavier than the one before.

Wynter was living with a foster family at the time she disappeared, and her family insists this does not feel like a voluntary runaway case. Her father, Dusty Wagoner, says something about Wynter’s disappearance is different — unsettling in a way that has left them desperate for answers.

Her aunt, Haley Whitehead, believes Wynter may have been emotionally overwhelmed after a recent school change. She describes the family’s daily reality as a cycle of fear, anger, and helpless questioning.

“You shouldn’t have to imagine everything that could have happened or might be happening,” Haley shared.

Wynter’s mother, Summer Engle, is clinging to hope as the holidays approach — a time that now highlights Wynter’s empty place at the table.

“As a mother, you know in your heart if your child is okay,” she said. “It was so unexpected. I’m frustrated she hasn’t been found — especially with the holidays here.”

According to reporting from LEX 18, investigators with the Rockcastle County Sheriff’s Office have interviewed witnesses, reviewed video footage, and conducted multiple ground and drone searches. They continue to follow every lead but will not release details that could jeopardize the investigation.

Wynter’s family has a message for anyone who may know where she is — or even for Wynter herself, should she be somewhere able to see or hear them:

“If someone has her and is scared to let her go… just let her come home safe,” her father pleaded. “I would switch places with her in a heartbeat.”

Whitehead echoes that need for even the smallest sign of life:

“A voice message, a video clip — anything. Just give us something.”

Wynter is described as kind, gentle, and someone who wanted peace with everyone around her. Her family’s only wish as Thanksgiving arrives is simple, powerful, and urgent:

Bring Wynter home.

If you have any information regarding the disappearance of Wynter Wagoner, please contact the Rockcastle County Sheriff’s Office immediately. Her story matters. Her life matters. And someone, somewhere, knows something.

In this special episode of Lost Girls, we step away from a single case to confront a nationwide tragedy: the epidemic of Missing and Murdered Indigenous Women and Relatives — known as MMIWR.

It’s a crisis rooted in history, perpetuated by silence, and fueled by systemic failure.

Across the U.S., Native women go missing or are murdered at rates exponentially higher than other groups. On some reservations, the murder rate is more than ten times the national average. Behind every statistic is a name, a face, a family shattered — and too often, no answers.

Today, we’re not just recounting what’s gone wrong. We’re honoring the fierce advocacy rising from Tribal Nations, survivors, and families who refuse to be ignored. We’ll explore how colonization, broken justice systems, and eroded sovereignty have created a perfect storm of vulnerability — and how grassroots movements, federal legislation, and unwavering voices are pushing back.

This isn’t just a Native issue — it’s a human rights issue. And it demands our collective attention.

Join us as we say their names, share their stories, and call for the justice they so rightly deserve.

Because every girl — every girl — deserves justice.