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chapterone
“Henrietta Blanco was justthe nicest person. She was a mother, a wife, and a homesteader, loved by her family, church, and community. And she was murdered in cold blood eight years ago.”
Craig Rogers shifted in his ratty office chair and adjusted his position in front of the microphone. The overhead lights were dim in the small, rustic cabin, and seven lit candles flickered around him—each one representing a murder victim his crime podcast had covered.
So far, because of his investigating, he’d helped put one killer behind bars and two other cold cases had been reopened.
He hoped to have more convictions to add to his list.
He circled his Chinese baoding balls—the original fidget spinner—in his palms. The haunting sound of the chimes inside the spheres helped put him at ease. Using them was a habit he’d developed after almost losing his life working as a PI in Chinatown nearly two decades ago.
“Henrietta’s killer has never been found . . .” Craig offered a dramatic pause before going in for the zinger. “But that’s about to change.”
He hit a button on his streaming mixer, and the intro for his show began to play. The music was eerie—a mix of banjo, whistling, and a little bit of fiddle that lent a chilling backwoods effect.
True crime podcasts were a combination of both presenting the facts and keeping things morbidly entertaining enough to retain people’s attention. It was a delicate balance—and one Craig had mastered. His show was number one in the charts.
True crime had saved his life after he’d hit rock bottom several years ago.
He’d been plastered with five bullets while investigating a case of insurance fraud that turned out to be connected to a human trafficking ring. Still to this day, his legs didn’t function the way he wanted. Pain had become a constant—and unwanted—companion.
During the grueling days of therapy that had followed, he’d wallowed in self-pity. His wife had left him, taking their young daughter with her.
Afterward, he felt as if he had no reason to live.
At one point, he’d hit such a low that he had a rope in his hands and a chair in front of him as he contemplated taking his own life.
While he tried to gather the courage, a TV had played in the background. The show?Dateline.
He’d stopped tying the knot in the rope, sat in the chair, and listened, fascinated by the details of the crime being covered.
He’d hung on to every word of the show, desperate to know what had happened. In the process, he’d forgotten about his plan to end his life.
Instead, he’d found a new purpose.
He’d become an armchair detective.
Eventually, he’d moved to the wild tundra of Alaska to this little cabin for some much-needed solitude. Through the years, he’d come to appreciate being alone—just him and the fifty or so bobblehead dolls he’d collected.
The figures all stood behind him now, staring into the camera with him. He’d picked them up on his travels or sometimes a listener sent one to him.
Superheroes. Political figures. Cartoon characters.
He had them all.
His favorite was one of Angela Lansbury. He jokingly called her his hero and dream woman.
As the intro ended, the wind smashed into his house, and icy snow pelleted the tin roof. Craig prayed the gusts didn’t knock out his power and cause him to lose his signal.
This episode was too important.
He swallowed hard before continuing. “I’m your host, Craig Rogers, and I’m here with the eighth and final episode ofReal Crime, Real TimeSeason Seven. I’ve promised to share some exciting new details with you today, and I intend to do just that. But you need to be patient because I have more background information to share first.
“Henrietta was the kind of woman who baked casseroles for friends and neighbors when they were ill. Who always had a smile for those in need. Who made blankets for the homeless. However, police have failed Henrietta.” His voice dipped lower. “So has the State of Alaska, for that matter.
“For the past eight weeks, I’ve been sharing with you what I’ve learned about Henrietta’s murder. I’ve examined scenarios of what could have happened. Discovered leads the police missed. I’ve spelled out the suspects, and I’ve uncovered a killer who’s been walking free.”
A shuffling noise sounded outside, and his muscles stiffened.
