In April of 1976, an anonymous call to a sheriff’s department in Maine alerted investigators to something almost impossible to imagine: a burning station wagon hidden off a remote road, and what looked like a body inside.

On a fall morning in 1988, police in Nashua, New Hampshire walked into an apartment and found two women murdered in their bed.

On a rainy night in late May 1989, a fire was spotted in a Westport, Connecticut parking lot.

On an August evening in 1982, children playing in Boston’s Franklin Park stumbled onto a scene that would quietly become one of the city’s most troubling unsolved cases.

On a quiet Saturday night in 1931, a 19-year-old cattle dealer sat at his desk to write a check that he never got the chance to finish signing.

Before she vanished, April Grisanti was a young woman trying to find her footing.

In November of 1979, a man was found beaten to death along a quiet trail in a New Hampshire college town.

For more than forty years, Debra Stone’s murder lingered in the uneasy space between knowing and proving.

In December of 2024, I shared an episode about a 24-year-old musician whose life was cut short in New Haven, Connecticut in 1990.

When Mark Knapp’s routine commute home from work one February night in 1984 ended with his car abandoned and his body at the bottom of an old marble quarry, the shock rippled far beyond one family.

Cam Lyman vanished in the summer of 1987, leaving behind a forty-acre estate, dozens of prizewinning dogs, and a silence that would stretch on for more than a decade.

17-year-old Brandi “Amy” Sullivan was used to coming and going.