Dark Downeast

If there is any case where you wish you could turn back the clock and change just one small decision, it might be the disappearance of Bianca Lebron. There were several moments that morning in November 2001 when a question, a phone call, or one person stopping her before she walked away might have changed everything that came next.

Why talk about a case that was solved years ago? Because the answer to who did it isn’t the only thing that matters. One night in October 2006, a college student needed to borrow a phone. She happened to ask a stranger with violent intentions. What makes that even harder to sit with is what investigators learned about this man afterward. There were red flags everywhere, allegations that reached back years, but none of it stopped him from being there that night. This young woman’s story did not end with what happened to her. The work she cared about continues through the people who love her. Twenty years later, her legacy is still very much alive. To support Michelle’s Earth Foundation and the environmental work carried forward in her name, visit michellesearth.org to donate.

On a Saturday morning in 1990, the body of a teenager was found on a dead-end street in the Dorchester neighborhood of Boston, Massachusetts. The scene raised immediate concerns, but the autopsy did not answer the question everyone needed answered most: how did Kasha Blount die? Police waited on the medical examiner. The medical examiner waited on police. Kasha’s mother pushed for answers and a reporter started asking questions. Finally, the investigation turned toward Kasha’s final plans, the boyfriend she expected to meet, and the belongings missing when she was found. The case would reach a jury, but the question at the center of it all never went away. View source material and photos for this episode at: https://darkdowneast.com/kashablount

A young mother disappears just days before Christmas. More than a year later, another woman is murdered across state lines. The cases seem separate – different cities, different circumstances – but eventually they converge around the same teenage suspect. What follows is more complicated than a confession and a conviction. It’s a case shaped by questions of mental competency, juvenile justice, changing constitutional protections, and what happens when one act of violence forces investigators to reconsider others that never made sense.

Host Sean Kipe investigates the 2020 disappearance of 27-year-old Georgia mother Natalie Jones, who vanished after a July 4th lake party. Her car and remains were found 93 days later in a rural field, sparking questions of accident, suicide, or murder—especially since Natalie had begun publicly sharing allegations of past abuse. Listen now, wherever you get your podcasts.

In August of 1972, 44-year-old Gloria Gough left her home in Gardiner, Maine after a late-night phone call and vanished. Two days later, more than a thousand miles away in Mount Pleasant, South Carolina, 52-year-old Evelyn “Penny” Deans was shot to death inside her home. Then police looked in Penny’s driveway. Sitting there was Gloria’s car. Inside were blood-soaked towels, clothing, and a map pointing toward yet another state. What followed was a multistate investigation, a murder case built largely on circumstantial evidence, and a second murder case that never reached trial – not because investigators walked away, but because the family asked for something different from the justice system.

On a morning when the country’s attention was fixed on unimaginable tragedy, a Rhode Island family was learning that someone they loved was gone. In the hours before Nicole Parsons-Bucki died, there had been violence, a police response, and a relationship already under strain, but 25 years later, no one has been charged. That could be because the deeper you look at Nicole’s case, the less simple it becomes: We’re dealing with an uncertain timeline, evidence that disappeared, unanswered questions about who was actually with her, and the possibility that what has seemed obvious for years may not tell the whole story. If you have any information about the murder of Nicole Parsons-Bucki, please contact investigators with the Rhode Island Attorney General’s Office at 401-468-2233 or email riagcoldcase@riag.ri.gov.

On an ordinary winter night in 1981, danger was moving through the Bangor, Maine area in three different directions at once. A barroom dispute was followed by a deadly blaze. A drug sting was underway at a nearby apartment complex. And a few miles away, a lakeside cabin would be reduced to smoldering rubble before sunrise. None of those events appeared connected as they unfolded. But the first fire would pull investigators away from the second, some of the names in the sting later surfaced in the cabin arson, and before anyone knew what – or rather, who – was lying in the ruins, the course of a homicide case had already irrevocably changed. If you have information about Michael Cochran’s death or the fire at the cabin, contact the Maine State Police Major Crimes Unit - North at 207-973-3750 or toll-free at 1-800-432-7381. Anonymous tips can also be submitted by texting MESPTIP, followed by your information, to 847411.

In a small New England city, a teenager disappeared after a night in the woods, and almost immediately, the story of what happened fractured. The last people known to be with her gave conflicting accounts. Her family believed the investigation lost precious time. As the years passed, searches kept returning to the same narrow stretch of land, the same handful of names, and the same possibility that someone had been carrying the truth all along. After decades of searches, whispers and shifting loyalties, someone still knows where to find her. And it’s time to speak up. If you have information relating to the disappearance of Melanie Melanson, please contact Detective Mark Roffi at the Woburn Police Department at 781-933-1212, extension 4547. You can also email policeinfo@woburnpd.com. The Middlesex District Attorney’s Cold Case Unit can be reached at 781-897-6600. Melanie’s family has created a fully anonymous online tip portal at melaniemelanson.com.

There are cases that frustrate you because the evidence is thin. And then there are cases where the warning signs seem to be everywhere, but the system still can’t quite turn suspicion into action. A woman leaves home for a few quiet days away. Weeks later, police find her car in the woods and the man last seen with her is carrying her gun and giving away her personal belongings. Investigators see the pattern. Her family sees the danger. But seeing it and proving it are not the same thing. As the years pass, the same questions begin following the same man across state lines as he leaves more violence in his wake.

Some people disappear from a place you can picture right away: a house, a road, a parking lot, a stretch of woods. But in the case of Edward Sprenkle Dubbs Jr., he seems to vanish somewhere between the parts of his life that made sense on paper. He had an office in New York, a home in Connecticut, a train he took like clockwork, and people waiting for him on both ends of the day. When he did not arrive where he was expected, the questions began almost immediately. Did he ever leave the city? Did he make it onto the train? Did he get off before anyone realized something had gone wrong? And if he did, who was waiting on the other side? If you have any information about the disappearance of Edward Sprenkle Dubbs Jr., or if you knew Edward, Michael Doran, or anyone connected to them, please contact the Newtown Police Department at 203-426-5841. You can also call Newtown PD’s anonymous hotline for wanted and missing persons at 203-270-8888. Edward’s case number with Newtown Police is N-928-81.

Sometimes, on an island, the only witness is the water. In January of 1980, a brilliant Columbia doctor went to her home on Nantucket’s remote east end carrying the weight of a life’s work, a possible medical breakthrough, and a kind of urgency the people around her struggled to understand. By the next morning, she was gone. No ferry record. No plane tickets. No clear path away from the house. Just a trail of clues that seemed to point in every direction except the answer.

When someone has been missing for more than thirteen years, it can start to feel from the outside like the story has stopped moving. Like whatever answers existed back then are either gone now or buried too deep to reach. But for Ryan Blagojevic’s family, time has not softened the urgency. His sister Eve is still living inside the search for her brother, still turning over every possibility, still hoping that one piece of information could finally bring Ryan home. Ryan was last seen in Portland, Maine on March 31, 2013, after he was asked to leave a shelter. At the time, he was vulnerable. He was experiencing homelessness, struggling with substance use disorder, and moving through a world where people in crisis are too often overlooked. But Ryan was never invisible to the people who loved him. He was a son, a brother, a father, a craftsman, a musician, and a person whose life mattered long before he became the subject of a missing persons case. Ryan’s case is not as stagnant as it might appear on the…

Victoria Cushman was just 29 years old when she was found murdered inside her Warwick, Rhode Island apartment, just steps from the sporting goods store where she worked. For years, her family waited for answers and eventually, the case seemed to have them: a suspect known to the case from day one, who investigators said had motive to end Vickie’s life. The evidence was circumstantial, but it was compelling. A secret relationship. Conflicting statements. A timeline that seemed to close in around one man. To a jury, the pieces fit. But fitting isn’t the same as true. Years later, the story everyone thought they trusted cracked wide open.

In the summer of 2018, Trish Haynes disappeared from New Hampshire. Or at least, that’s what the public knew. Investigators searched a rural property, then quietly recovered something from a nearby pond, but for months, they said almost nothing about what they had found or how it related to the missing persons case. Behind the scenes, Trish’s family was living with a very different reality. They had spent months trying to reach her, hearing shifting explanations about where she was and why she couldn’t come to the phone. Then they learned a truth they were told not to share. Years later, the questions around Trish’s case still keep circling the same small group of people and places, and the same frustration from a family that believes this case is not without answers… It is without accountability.

In 2016, the disappearance of Valerie Tieman became one of the most talked-about cases in Maine in the last decade. At first, there was room for hope, and maybe even a version of the story where Valerie had simply walked away from a life that had become too painful. Her husband, Luc Tieman, was a wounded military veteran, a man whose service and struggles shaped how people first understood him. But as investigators followed the trail from a parking lot to a wooded property in central Maine, the story Luc told evolved. Each new version raised a darker question: what happened to Valerie, and why were the people who loved her the last to know she was gone?

On a Friday afternoon in July of 1991, Martha Brailsford told friends she was going sailing. In coastal Massachusetts at what is often the peak of summer heat and humidity, that wasn’t unusual. Martha knew the water, and in Salem Willows, boats were part of the everyday landscape. There was no reason to think a simple afternoon sail would become anything else. But when Martha didn’t come home that night, the search for her would expose a man whose stories kept changing, a familiar coastline that suddenly felt unknowable, and a truth hidden somewhere beyond the shoreline.

Estella Brantley’s murder should have been urgent from the beginning. She was found in one of Bridgeport’s most visible public places, around witnesses who may have heard her final moments, with evidence that would one day matter more than anyone could have known when it was first collected. But for years, Estella’s case stayed unresolved, folded into a larger city-wide pattern of deadly attacks on women and families left wondering whether anyone was really fighting for them. Then, decades later, science brought the case back to life. But Estella’s family was still left asking whether DNA told the whole story.

Sometimes, a case can have evidence, a suspect, and a theory investigators believe explains what happened yet a family is still left without the ending they waited decades to hear. Grief and justice don’t always move at the same pace. Grief looks for truth, meaning, and someone to answer for what was taken. The justice system looks for proof, and proof has to survive questions, strategy, doubt, and twelve separate minds in a jury room. This is a case about a woman killed inside the place where she should have been safest, a family fractured by loss and suspicion, and what happens when an answer feels clear to the people who loved her, but the verdict says something else.

On a summer weekend in 1982, Barre, Vermont was crowded with music, traffic, and thousands of people moving through town for an annual festival. Somewhere in that noise, an 18-year-old woman disappeared. In the days that followed, investigators tried to make sense of what little they had: fragments of sightings, possible suspects, conflicting leads, and tests that seemed to narrow the field. But the case did not move cleanly from suspicion to arrest. Decades later, the same investigation that was first shaped by uncertainty was reopened by science. And this time, the evidence pointed back to someone investigators had once left behind.

For nearly 40 years, Kathleen Flynn’s murder has haunted Norwalk, Connecticut. She was 11 years old, newly in middle school, walking home on a familiar path when she was attacked and killed. Her case became one of the state’s most well-known cold cases, the kind people never stopped talking about, and the kind investigators kept returning to as forensic science moved forward. In 2019, after decades of waiting, police finally made an arrest. And in 2026, it looked like Kathy’s family might finally see the case reach a verdict. But then, just days into trial, a single email threatened to undo that long-awaited progress. Now, the question is no longer just what happened to Kathy, but what happens next.

One spring evening in 1987, a college student got into a green car in Plymouth, New Hampshire and vanished. His friends believed he was coming back. His family knew he would have called if he’d left on his own. But he was gone, and the man believed to be with him on the night he disappeared had a long history of run-ins with the law. What started as a missing persons investigation soon stretched across state lines, into jail breaks, forged identities, strange searches in the Vermont woods, and disturbing yet inconclusive physical evidence. Police identified one suspect at the time. The missing man’s family believes they know what happened. But nearly four decades later, no one has ever been charged.

In February 2008, six women were held hostage in a women’s clothing store in Tinley Park, Illinois.. Rhoda McFarland, Carrie Hudek Chiuso, Connie Woolfolk, Sarah Szafranski, and Jennifer Bishop were executed and the killer escaped leaving only one survivor. In Season 8 of CounterClock, host and investigative journalist Delia D’Ambra covers the Lane Bryant Murders and goes further into the case than any journalist has before. Through firsthand accounts and thousands of documents, Delia reconstructs what happened inside the store, why it may have happened, and who may have been responsible. For nearly twenty years, their families have lived without answers. This season, the search continues.

For more than 30 years, Pam Williams believed she knew how her brother died. She was told it was a medical event. The kind of tragedy no one could have stopped. She carried that explanation with her as she tried to rebuild her life around it. But sometimes the truth doesn’t disappear. It just waits. In 2016, a stranger showed up with questions about what really happened inside a school in rural Maine. A place that promised help, structure, and change for struggling teenagers. What followed would force Pam to confront a different version of her brother’s final days – one built on conflicting memories, unanswered questions, and the possibility that what she’d been told all those years ago wasn’t the full story.

Some cases appear straightforward at first glance. A late-night crash on a quiet road, a damaged car, and a victim who doesn’t survive. It is the kind of situation people think they understand, and the kind that often gets explained quickly and filed away just as fast. But sometimes, there are details that do not quite fit. They can be easy to overlook in the moment. A position that does not make sense. Damage that does not match the outcome. A version of events that works on paper but feels incomplete when examined more closely. In 1977, that is exactly what happened in Middletown, Rhode Island. For years, what followed was accepted as a tragic accident. Until it wasn’t.

It started like so many Saturday nights at Mountain Park – music, crowded dance floors, and teenagers trying to stretch the night a little longer before heading home. But sometime before midnight on October 5th, 1968, a teenager stepped out of that crowd and into the dark, beginning a walk she would never finish. In the days after she disappeared, there were delays, missed opportunities, and details that didn’t always line up. Some witnesses came forward, while others stayed quiet, and critical information surfaced only long after it might have made a difference. This case has been stagnant for far too long…And it’s time that changes.

Regina Brown disappeared under troubling circumstances in April of 1987. She was a former flight attendant, a devoted mother of three young children, and a woman whose life had become increasingly defined by fear, control, and violence inside her marriage. Almost four decades later, Regina has never been found. Her story begins in a close-knit Texas community and follows a whirlwind romance that led her far from home. But behind the scenes, that relationship began to unravel – marked by accusations, intimidation, and escalating threats. In the days before she vanished, Regina confided to someone close to her that she feared for her life. Then she was gone. When this episode was first released in 2024, Regina’s husband at the time of her disappearance was still alive but Willis Brown Jr. has since died. If anyone has been keeping his secrets, let this be your sign to come forward.

On a Saturday night in late June of 1986, a 20-year-old college student went out with friends in a familiar place, celebrating her softball team’s big win. But in a narrow window of opportunity just after she was dropped off in the shadows outside her apartment building, the young woman faced an evil that managed to stay hidden in those same shadows for decades. Investigators searched for connections…People who knew her, places she had been, anything that might explain her senseless death. But nothing fit. Leads faded. The case stalled. And over time, it slipped into that uncertain space between open and unsolved. For decades, the answer remained just out of reach until advances in science, and a single piece of preserved evidence, began to tell a different story.

In the fall of 1976, a woman vanished from her home in rural Vermont sometime between a cup of morning coffee and the end of an ordinary workday. What followed was years of suspicion, rumor, and silence until a witness with questionable credibility stepped forward. Laurie Gonyo’s case has an ending but not the kind of clean resolution people imagine when they hear the word solved. This is a story about what happens when justice feels incomplete, when a sentence seems too small for the violence at the center of it, and when the killer in one case leaves a trail of suspicion wherever he goes.

Fifty years after James Cassidy’s death, there is still no simple explanation for his brutal murder. The evidence left behind in the Maine woods raised questions investigators have never fully answered. And the deeper the investigation went, the more complicated the picture became. A respected bank executive had vanished, federal authorities were preparing to arrest him, and a burned car was found far from home on a deserted logging road. But the paper trail and the witness accounts pointed in several directions at once – toward financial crimes, toward organized crime figures operating in New England, and toward the surprisingly valuable world of rare stamps. Somewhere among those threads may lie the explanation for what really happened all those years ago in April of 1976.

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. What they found would open a case filled with contradictions. The victim was James Cassidy, a Massachusetts bank vice president, father of three, churchgoing family man, and by all accounts someone living a quiet, ordinary life. But in the days before his death, Jim had vanished across state lines, federal authorities were preparing to arrest him on embezzlement charges, and whispers of missing money, valuable stamps, and possible organized crime connections began to surface. Nearly fifty years later, his death remains unsolved.

On a fall morning in 1988, police in Nashua, New Hampshire walked into an apartment and found two women murdered in their bed. What followed seemed, at first, like a case that would never truly reach an ending. There were suspects, confessions, trials, and years of legal battles but no final resolution. For decades, the killings of Charlene Ranstrom and Brenda Warner lingered in the background, a file sitting quietly among other unsolved cases. But some investigations refuse to stay buried. Years later, new detectives took another look. With fresh eyes, new witnesses, and forensic technology that hadn’t existed when the crime was first investigated, the story began to change.

On a rainy night in late May 1989, a fire was spotted in a Westport, Connecticut parking lot. Within minutes, first responders realized the impossible: a body was burning in the open. Not long after and just a few miles away, a husband called police to report his wife missing. Her name was Joan Wertkin. From the outside, she was living an enviable life in one of Connecticut’s most idyllic towns. But as investigators traced her final hours, the case turned into something far more complicated – a tight timeline, a fraying relationship, a car left where it shouldn’t have been, and questions that still echo for her family.

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. The victim was a 16-year-old girl who had already endured instability, displacement, and independence far beyond her years. Her murder received little attention at the time, but within months, rumors began to swirl: allegations of sexual assault inside a private police club, whispers of a cover-up, and a detective who refused to back down.

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. Investigators were left with more questions than answers – a missing revolver, a name on a check no one could trace, and a household already tangled in rumor and tension. What followed was a shifting investigation, a contested admission, and a trial that forced a small New England city to confront issues of race, reputation, and reasonable doubt.

Before she vanished, April Grisanti was a young woman trying to find her footing. Then, over the course of one winter night in 1985, she disappeared in plain sight. Witnesses saw her struggle. Police heard her voice asking for help. And yet, April was never seen again. What followed has never felt like justice. No murder charge. No body. No answers. This is a story about incomplete justice, and about a family left carrying questions the investigation has never fully resolved. Over four decades later, the question still hangs in the air. Where is she?

In November of 1979, a man was found beaten to death along a quiet trail in a New Hampshire college town. Within a day, police had a suspect, but the case was hardly open and shut. The college student convicted of the murder – and the family who stood by him – were prepared to spend a lifetime fighting to prove his innocence. They believed the investigation narrowed too quickly, that key questions went unanswered, and that the truth had yet to fully surface. But before the courts could decide what came next, the Atlantic Ocean wrote the final chapter of this story.

For more than forty years, Debra Stone’s murder lingered in the uneasy space between knowing and proving. An informant came forward early on with a story that, in hindsight, mapped almost every detail of what happened to her, yet the case drifted through the decades, weighed down by doubt, fear, and a single failed polygraph that stalled momentum. When investigators finally reopened the file in the 21st century, it wasn’t modern DNA science that brought clarity. The evidence had already been there. What the case needed was the will to look again and confront the truth that should have been acted on long ago.

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. More than three decades later, the murder of John Evers Robinson remains unsolved and the questions surrounding what happened to him have only grown more complicated with time. I’m bringing this story back because it needs your attention and action in a new way. Here’s John’s sister, Jocelyn Jackson. “It’s been 35 years since a family member picked me up from high school and told me as we drove to the airport that my brother John was dead. I immediately went silent and started crying. When we got to the airport, it was to hug my mom through tears before she got on a plane to fly to New Haven. All I could think was that my big brother wasn’t in the world anymore. That moment left an indelible mark on my perception of the world. That moment was the beginning of my instinct to never stop seeking for justice, to never let the people who did this think they got away with murder. Those…

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. What followed was not a straight line from crime to justice. Suspects were quickly identified and charged in connection with Mark’s death, but shifting narratives and fragile witnesses fractured the entire foundation of the case just as the truth came into view.

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. Friends and family disagreed on whether Cam had walked away or been taken or worse. Meanwhile, millions of dollars in trusts and assets seemed to evaporate. When Cam was finally found, hidden beneath the very ground no one had searched, the mystery didn’t end. It compounded. While police spoke in hints about suspects, the only charge ever filed had nothing to do with murder. In this case, every lead seems to circle back to the same question: if you follow the money, will it reveal what happened to Cam, or just uncover another carefully buried secret?

17-year-old Brandi “Amy” Sullivan was used to coming and going. She was restless, independent, and always in motion. So when she didn’t come home in the summer of 1996, her family tried not to panic. But this time was different. Weeks later, Amy was found dead in the woods behind a warehouse in suburban Massachusetts. What followed was an investigation plagued by missing time, withheld details, and a crucial lie that shifted the timeline of her final days. There were people who saw Amy after she was reported missing. People who didn’t come forward. Why? Nearly three decades later, no one has been held accountable for Amy’s murder. It’s time for that to change.

Every now and then I uncover a case buried deep in the archives with circumstances that prove truth is stranger than fiction. This story is one of them. When a prominent Bridgeport, Connecticut woman failed to show up for lunch with a friend, it led to a devastating discovery in her overflowing home that had become a sort of treasure trove of local history. The investigation stalled until months later when some of the woman’s treasures started showing up around town. With a suspect identified, the case was nearly closed until the accused killer quite literally slipped through investigators’ hands in one of the most bizarre escapes I’ve ever encountered.

In late summer of 1990, a mother in central Maine seemed to slip quietly out of her own life. Shirley McAvoy had been navigating a painful separation, leaning on friends and trying to rebuild a sense of normalcy. Then, shortly before a scheduled court date related to her pending divorce, she simply disappeared. Days turned into weeks, and small, unsettling details began to surface—things that didn’t fit with the idea of someone who’d chosen to leave. What started as a missing persons case slowly transformed into something far more disturbing, stretching well beyond the quiet town where Shirley was last seen. More than 35 years later, investigators are still trying to identify a mystery man believed to know exactly what happened to Shirley. This is a story about a young woman whose life was brutally taken and the decades that followed as investigators, family members, and forensic experts worked to overcome outdated science and finally confirm what so many had suspected all along.

More than a century ago during the winter of 1923, a quiet Christmas in East Hartford, Connecticut took a devastating turn that would echo far beyond that holiday. Mrs. Mary Monsell never arrived for the dinner she’d been warmly invited to, and within hours, her home became the center of a crime that would send police searching for a suspect who vanished into the world and never returned. Mary’s name rarely appears in headlines now. Her story has nearly slipped beneath the weight of time. But history leaves clues if you’re willing to look, and some stories are worth digging up again.

Some cases linger for years not because the truth is hidden, but because the tools needed to prove it aren’t yet strong enough. Evidence waits on shelves, memories shift, and flawed forensic science can steer an investigation away from the person who seemed suspect from the start. This is one of those cases.

On a winter night in early February of 1992, John E. Volungis Jr. was standing on the edge of a brand-new life. After years of working toward a career in law enforcement, John was about to take off for his next step in that pursuit. It was supposed to be a fresh start after navigating a complicated past and an equally complicated marriage. But before he could take that next step, something happened inside the Worcester duplex he shared with his wife. Something no one has ever fully explained.

It was early January in North Kingstown, Rhode Island, when a discovery in a quiet stretch of woods changed a family forever. A young woman had crossed paths with a violent killer close to home. The investigation led to a swift arrest and a conviction that should’ve brought some measure of justice and safety, but what came next defied reason. The man convicted of her murder was given chance after chance to walk free – opportunities that no one could ever justify to the people who loved her. Each time he reentered the world, he proved exactly who he was.

November 26th marks three years since Reina Carolina Morales Rojas disappeared after getting into a car in East Boston, Massachusetts. She was later dropped off in nearby Somerville and that was the last time anyone saw or heard from her. Despite being reported missing soon after, information about her disappearance didn’t reach the public for nearly two months. It was only after community advocates spoke out that her story began to get the attention it deserved. Today, Reina Carolina Morales Rojas is still missing. There have been no new developments in her case, and her family – who once spoke to her every day – continue to wait and hope for answers. As we mark the anniversary of her disappearance, we’re re-releasing this episode to renew attention on her story, to keep her name in the public eye, and to remind listeners that she is still out there somewhere.

One ordinary day during August of 1983, in a quiet patch of parkland just off the road in Penacook, New Hampshire, a teenager found something that didn’t belong. What followed rippled through the small community for years. Interviews, rumors, and timelines never quite fit together. Voices clashed over what was seen, what was said, and what couldn’t be proved at all. This is a story about how quickly attention can settle on one person, and how hard it can be to find the truth once it does.