Niles Michigan 1987 Cold Case SOLVED after 35 years. Detectives called this case UNSOLVABLE

This week, 48 hours on a cold case murder that  stumped investigators for nearly 35 years. Roxanne Wood was found dead in her Michigan home back in 1987. She was the kind of woman people remember without trying to. Tall, radiant, the sort of person who could walk into a room full of strangers and somehow make every single one of them feel like they were the only person she had come to see.

 The people who loved her used the same word every time without coordinating, without prompting. They called her the rock. And on the night of February 19th, 1987, in a parking lot in Niles, Michigan, she kissed her husband goodbye, told him she loved him,  and drove home. She never made it to morning. What happened inside that house in the 45 minutes before her husband walked through the door is the kind of thing that changes a  family permanently.

Not just the grief. Grief people survive. It was everything that came after. The suspicion, the  silence, the decades of not knowing. The face of a man who walked away and kept walking for 35 years through a life he  had no right to be living. This case will make you angry. It will make you grieve  someone you never met.

 It will make you wonder how many times the system had him in its hands and let him go. Cuz the answer is more than once. And each time has a name  and a date attached to it. I won’t rush past any of them, but I also need you to know before we go any further that this story goes to very dark  places. There is sexual violence in this case.

 There is brutality. I will not sensationalize it, but I will not sanitize  it either because Roxanne deserves the truth told honestly, not tidied up for comfort. If you need to step away at any point, please do. Take care of yourself first. If this is your first time on this channel, you found it on  the right case.

 This is exactly why it exists. Subscribe now so you’re here for every story that follows and drop a comment below  letting me know where in the world you’re watching from. Her name was Roxanne Wood. She was 30 years old. And somewhere across town that  same night, the man who killed her had already started forgetting her name.

 Roxan Lee Wood was born on April 15th, 1956  right there in Niles, Michigan. She never left. She graduated from Niles High School in 1974, married Terrywood shortly after, and built her life in the same town where she grew up. By February of 1987,  she was 30 years old. She and Terry had no children, though they were looking  forward to starting a family.

 They had been living on Tamo Shanter Lane for about 2 and 1/2 years. a quiet residential street in Niles Township, the kind of address where people knew their neighbors and felt safe enough  to leave their doors unlocked. For work, Roxanne crossed the state line into Southbend, Indiana, where she worked  in customer service at Automated Molded Plastics Company.

 It gave her a little breathing room from the closeness of working with family. She was happy there. Her family was large and interwoven. Her father, Dale Wood, and her mother, Patricia Chadwell,  had divorced when Roxanne and her siblings were young. She had one sister, three brothers, along with two half-bros.

 When the family fractured after the divorce, Roxanne became the one who held things together. She stepped into a role nobody officially  gave her, but everybody recognized. She was the steady one, the constant. Her sister  Janet would later describe her in one word that needed no explanation to anyone who knew her. The Rock.

 She grew roses in her yard and was proud of every one of them. She baked and cooked and handed out family recipes like they were gifts. Her favorite song was Bon Joy’s wanted  dead or alive. And according to everyone who spent time around her, she had a rare quality. She made each person she talked to  feel like they were the only one in the room.

 Janet eventually married Terry’s brother, Rob. Two sisters, two brothers, one family,  bound together by choice as much as by blood. Which is why what happened next did not just destroy one household. It went through all of them. On the evening of February 19th, 1987, nothing about the night felt weird.

 She was happy at her job, happily married,  and planning a future with her husband. By 1:15 the next morning, everything had changed. After work on that evening, Roxanne  and Terry met for dinner at Hyy’s Oldtown Saloon in downtown Niles. The building still stands today, operating as a taco restaurant called The  Rage.

 From there, they drove separately to Whites’s bowling lanes on South 11th Street, a local fixture that has since been demolished, replaced by a Martin supermarket. Terry was a regular there, part of a bowling league. Driving separately was routine for them, both coming straight from work. At around 12:30 a.m.

 on February 20th, she left for home. She got into her 1984 gray Chevrolet Cavalere and drove back to Tamo  Shanner Lane while Terry stayed behind. He left the bowling alley approximately 45 minutes after she did. He arrived home at around 1:15  a.m. and found his wife on the kitchen floor. He lifted her head to check  for signs of life.

 There were none. He picked up the phone and called 911. The words he used were, “My wife has been murdered. She is dead. She has been cut.” Michigan State  Police investigators who responded determined that Roxanne had been struck in the head with a metal frying pan and that her throat had been slashed.

 Reporting by some news outlets indicated the throat wound appeared to have been delivered after she  had already lost consciousness post-mortem. She had also been sexually assaulted. The physical evidence recovered at the scene was limited. A broken frying pan, a knife sheath found near Roxan’s  body, but no knife.

 A blood droplet on the exterior of the rear door. Seaman recovered  from the body. In the days following the murder, divers spent hours searching nearby Brandy Wine Creek for the murder weapon. They never found it. The rear utility door was found a jar when Terry  arrived home. Court records later confirmed it had been forcibly entered.

 The killer’s point of access into the house. When officers arrived, Terry’s demeanor was volatile. He was placed in the back of a patrol car. At the station, he asked for an attorney within  minutes of questioning beginning. Those two facts, his behavior, and his early request for counsel,  set the direction of the investigation for the next 35 years.

Roxan Lee Wood was buried on February 24th, 1987  at Trinity Episcopal Church in Niles. The investigators who arrived at Tamo Shanter Lane in the early hours of  February 20th had a crime scene with limited physical evidence and one person who had been in the house before they were Terry Wood.

Within hours, the case had a direction. Within days, it had a target, and that target would not change for decades. There were reasons. His behavior on the 911 call had been agitated. When officers arrived,  he was volatile in a way that stood out to first responders. At the station, he asked for an attorney within minutes.

 A move that in the eyes of investigators was not the response  of a grieving husband, but of someone calculating his exposure. One detective looked him in the eye and told him directly, “I believe you’re the killer, and I will not  rest until you’re behind bars.” That statement became the lens through which everything that followed was interpreted.

 Investigators built a circumstantial picture. Terry’s account of how he found Roxan, specifically the detail of lifting her head,  was noted as inconsistent with the blood evidence at the scene. Background work on the marriage revealed that both Roxan and Terry had been involved in  extrammarital affairs, which introduced questions about motive.

 The combination of behavioral red flags  and personal history was enough to make Terry the center of the investigation and keep him there. In April 1987, Terry put up a $15,000  reward for information leading to the arrest and conviction of whoever killed  his wife. No viable leads came back.

 DNA had been recovered from the crime scene, preserved from the sexual  assault kit and the blood droplet found on the exterior of the rear door. In 1999, that sample was submitted to COTUS, the National Criminal DNA database. No match returned. Terry’s DNA was subsequently tested against the crime scene sample.  The result excluded him completely.

 The DNA belonged to an unknown male. Investigators did not close the file on Terry. Detective Christensen later  explained the reasoning. Just because you find semen in somebody doesn’t necessarily mean that that person is the one  that killed them. An exclusionary DNA result in their view did not eliminate the possibility of a conspiracy or a secondary actor.

 The unknown male’s profile would sit in that evidence file unmatched for another 22 years. The case was formally reopened in 2001. Over the following year, more than 200 people were interviewed. The investigation concluded with no arrests and no new direction. Roxan’s brother, Brad, who had been 14 years old when she  was killed, had maintained contact with MSP since that reopening, following up consistently, refusing to let the case disappear  entirely.

It went cold again. Terry was never charged, but the suspicion never dissolved either. He would walk into places in Niles and  conversations would stop. A nickname followed him through those decades. People called him Slash. The man who actually killed  Roxanne had no known connection to her.

 No relationship to trace, no history to pull on. That absence of connection  was no coincidence. It was exactly how he operated. In August 2020, everything changed. Not because of a new witness, not because someone came forward, but because two detectives decided to approach  a decades old file in a way nobody had tried before.

 In August  2020, detective sergeants John Moore and Jason Bailey of the MSP special investigation  section took formal ownership of the Roxan Wood case. Working alongside them  was Detective First Lieutenant Chuck Christensen, who had tracked the case for years and never stopped believing it could be broken.

 The three of them sat down with what the  investigation had produced over 33 years. 3,347 pages of documents, typed reports, handwritten notes,  witness statements, interview transcripts dating back to the first hours of February 20th, 1987. None of it was indexed. None of it was searchable.

 Finding a single name meant going through the file by hand, page by page. Christensen understood that no meaningful investigative progress could happen until that problem was  solved. The case needed to be rebuilt from the ground up before it could move forward at all. That is where Professor Ashlin Kirsten  came in.

 Kirsten was a criminal justice professor at Western Michigan University in Kalamazoo who had launched  the WU cold case program to connect understaffed detective units with students who needed realworld investigative experience. The partnership with MSP was the program’s first formal collaboration of its kind.

The Roxanne Wood case was the first case her team was assigned. Kirstston described the scope of the work, going back through the original 1987 interviews and the 2001 reopening materials, reviewing every transcript, cross-referencing every witness statement, looking for anything that had been missed or that contradicted something else in the record.

 Program coordinator  Ashley Chbeck and doctoral student Carl Huber led the digitization effort, logging approximately 1,200 hours over eight months. Student investigators Michelle Wattis and  McKenzie Stman worked alongside them, carefully preserving documents as  they converted the physical file into a fully searchable digital database.

Student Samantha Rogers described what that change meant in practice. Officers could now search by a name, a license plate number, a nickname, or a location, and pull results in seconds. Work that had previously  meant hours of manually turning through aging paper. Across the full life of the investigation, MSP and its special investigation section logged more than 10,000 hours of work on  this case.

 With the file finally organized and accessible, Christensen  made one more call. He reached out to Identifers International, a Californiabased forensic  genetic genealogy company founded by Dr. Colleen Fitzpatrick, a specialist in extracting  answers from DNA evidence that other labs had given up on. The biological material recovered from Roxan’s  1987 crime scene was going to get one final attempt.

 It was the last piece of evidence they  had left to work with, and everyone involved knew it. Dr. Colleen Fitzpatrick did not start her career hunting killers. She built her reputation in forensic genealogy  by doing Holocaust identification work, helping survivors locate family members lost across decades  and borders and later exposing international fraud cases that involved falsified ancestry claims.

 Over time, law enforcement began calling on her with a different kind of problem, DNA. evidence from violent crimes that was too degraded, too small, or too old for conventional testing to process. She founded Identifers International in California specifically to take on those cases. By the time Chuck Christensen reached out to her, she had become one of the few people in the country with a documented record of extracting answers from biological material that other labs had already rejected.

 What her team found when they examined the DNA preserved from Roxan’s 1987  crime scene stopped them before they could even begin in the conventional sense. The sample that had survived 3 and 1/2 decades of  storage measured approximately 28 picoggrams. To put that in context,  standard forensic DNA analysis typically requires around 1,000 picogs to work with reliably.

 What Fitzpatrick  had was roughly 3% of that. She described it as a gnat’s eyebrow of DNA, not a figure of speech, but an accurate characterization of the quantity they were dealing with. It was the lowest amount her company had ever been asked to work with in the history of the firm. Identifers spent approximately 10 months on  the sample.

 They worked every angle available to them. At the end of those 10 months, they had nothing usable to bring to investigators. Fitzpatrick did not dress it up. It really did feel impossible, she said. It really did. Then in April  2021, during a routine conversation between Fitzpatrick and one of Identifer’s outside consultants, the Roxanne Wood case came up. The consultant was Gabriella Vargas.

She asked to look at the file. She was among the most  skilled forensic genetic genealogologists working anywhere in the country. When she reviewed what Fitzpatrick’s  team had been working on for nearly a year, she reached a conclusion that nobody  else connected to this case had reached.

 She said, “I concluded that I did not stand with the others. I believed that this case was extremely  solvable, and I believed that I could solve it. Her stated motivation was direct. Roxanne Wood’s family was my motivation for working as hard and as fast as I did. They never gave up hope that one  day justice would be served.

 Here is what she actually did step by step because this is where the case was  broken and it is worth understanding how Vargas first worked to generate a usable genetic profile from the trace DNA. Even at 28 picoggrams, she was able to extract enough information to establish ancestral origin data, confirming the unknown suspect was  Caucasian and to create the foundational genetic signature she would need for the next stage.

 She then uploaded that profile to GED  Match. Jed Match is a publicly accessible database where people who have used consumer DNA testing services can  voluntarily upload their results, optionally choosing to make their profiles visible to law enforcement searches. When someone opts in, investigators working from an unknown DNA profile can identify whether any person in that database shares enough genetic material to be a relative of their suspect.

It is not a direct identification  tool. It is a genealogical starting point. Working from the partial matches GED  match returned, Vargas began constructing a family tree. She traced genetic lines backward  through generations, following each branch until the lines began to converge.

 One side of the tree went  back to an ancestor born in 1823. The other reached back to  1797. She was working across nearly two centuries of family history, looking for what genealogologists call a  union couple, the single point where two branches of the suspect’s ancestry intersect, identifying a shared set of ancestors from which the suspect must descend.

 She found them, a couple born around  1920. Based on their approximate birth years, Vargas projected they would have had children  somewhere in the 1940s to 1950s. One of those children was the person whose DNA had been sitting in Roxan Wood’s evidence file for 34 years. That couple had three sons. Vargas passed  the findings to investigators immediately.

 Background checks were run on all three brothers. Two were eliminated. The third had a documented criminal  history that included violent offenses. He was living approximately 10 miles from the Nile’s Township home where  Roxan Wood had been murdered. In 35 years of active and cold investigation,  his name had never once appeared in the case file. He had never been interviewed.

 He had never been looked at. He was completely invisible to the investigation until Gabriella Vargas built a two century family tree from a sample the size of a fraction of a human cell and walked straight to his door. His name was Patrick Wayne Gilham. 4 days. From the moment Vargas said, “Let  me look at it.

” to the moment she handed investigators a name. 4 days. If you are watching this and you want to understand  cases at this level, the forensics, the methodology, the investigative decisions that either break a case or bury it, subscribe now because what comes next is the part nobody saw coming. The moment an undercover  state trooper sat six feet from a killer, made small talk, and walked away with the  one piece of evidence that made it all irreversible.

 Before Patrick Gillum ever came near Roxan Wood, the system had already encountered him, not once, three separate times, across three separate failures, the infrastructure that exists to stop people  like him either let him go or never saw him at all. In September 1979, eight years before Roxanne’s murder, Gillum broke into a home in Gary, Indiana.

 The homeowner was Moren Farag, an art teacher at the local middle school. Her husband, Robert, was the economic director for the city of Gary. He had been away on a business trip and called ahead, asking Moren to leave the side door unlocked for him when he returned. Gillum came through that door instead. They had two young daughters sleeping in the house that night. Morin woke up.

 Gillum attacked her. She survived. About a week after the assault, Gillum was pulled over during a routine traffic stop in Gary. The officer noticed credit cards sitting on the seat beside him. They belonged to Moren. He was brought in for questioning. When investigators asked what happened  inside that house, Gillum said, “All I remember is going into the house and  I blacked out and woke up with my pants around my ankles.

He pleaded guilty to burglary and unlawful deviate conduct. He was sentenced to 14  years in Indiana State Prison. He served seven. He was released on  parole. 6 months later, Roxan Wood was dead in her kitchen on Tamo Shanner Lane. Investigators who worked the Roxanne Wood case later concluded that Gilam had absorbed a deliberate lesson from what happened with Moren Farra.

 Leaving a witness alive had cost him 7 years of his life. Morin Farag died in 2018  from cancer. The connection between her attack and Roxanne Wood’s murder was not  established until investigators dug into Gillum’s background decades later, long after Moren was gone. The second failure came in the summer of 1987, just months after Roxan’s murder.

 Rose Caparell was standing in her front  yard in South Bend, watering her lawn when a blue El Camino with a burned-out tail light began circling  her street. A man came around the corner of her house. She ran. Days later, her daughter Tina spotted the same El Camino in a parking lot. Rose’s husband, Stan, a retired Marine,  positioned himself beside the car and waited.

 When the driver came out, Stan held him at gunpoint and demanded his  driver’s license. The name on that license was Patrick Gilham. Police were called. They never arrived. The family filed a report  with the Southbend Police Department. No arrest was made. Gillum walked away, identified by name, held at gunpoint  by a private citizen just months after killing Roxanne Wood.

 The third failure was  structural. Gillum’s 1979 conviction in Indiana predated Cotus, the National Criminal DNA database. His DNA profile had never been entered into the system. When the crime scene sample was submitted in 1999, the database returned  no match. Not because Gillum was not in the system, but because he had never been put there.

 A convicted violent offender who had broken into a home and sexually assaulted  a woman was completely invisible to the one tool that might have identified him. The gap was not a glitch. It was a policy blind spot built into the architecture of the database  itself. Three moments across 20 years, a 14-year  sentence that became seven, followed by a murder 6 months after release.

 A civilian who physically stopped  the killer at gunpoint while police never showed up. A national database that had no record of him because his conviction was too old to have been captured. Drop a comment below. At which of these three points do you believe the outcome for Roxanne Wood could have been different? The record is documented. The timeline is verified.

 It is a question worth sitting with. With Patrick Gillum’s name now in hand,  investigators needed one thing to make it usable in court. A DNA sample they had  obtained from him directly without his knowledge that could be tested against the biological material  from Roxan’s 1987 crime scene.

 In May 2021, an MSP undercover surveillance team began  following Gillum in South Bend. It did not take long to establish a pattern. Gillum was a regular smoker. That mattered  because a cigarette butt is one of the most reliable sources of DNA available in a covert collection operation. Saliva saturates the filter. Lips  make direct contact with the paper.

 A discarded butt, properly collected,  produces a clean and unambiguous sample. The first attempt failed. Surveillance units watched Gilam flick a cigarette from his truck window while he was driving  and retrieved the butt from the road. The sample went to the lab. The result  came back. Not a match. When investigators reviewed the footage more carefully,  they identified the problem.

 A car had passed at the precise moment the butt left Gillum’s window. They could not confirm with certainty which butt they had actually picked up. The sample was compromised by doubt and doubt alone. They had to go back. This time with no variables. Trooper Ryan Cod was assigned to follow Gillum on foot. He observed Gillum pull into a laundromat, an enclosed predictable space where a smoke break  outside was a near certainty.

Cod walked to the gas station on the corner, bought a pack of cigarettes, and took a seat on the curb directly outside the laundromat  entrance. Gillum came out and settled approximately 6 to 8 ft away. The two men sat  together in the afternoon and smoked. They talked.

 Gillum mentioned he was a Red Wings fan. Gillum  finished his cigarette, stood up, and went back inside. Kata watched the butt fall a few feet away, isolated on the ground. No other person nearby. No question about where it had come from. He pulled on a glove. He walked over. He picked it up. It was still warm. Court records confirmed the collection date is June  3rd, 2021.

 The MSP laboratory result. Gillum’s DNA matched the profile recovered from  Roxanne Wood’s 1987 crime scene at a probability of 1 in 958.8 trillion. That figure does not describe likelihood. It describes certainty. On July 29th, 2021, detective sergeants  Jason Bailey, John Moore, and Kyle Gorum brought Patrick Gillum into the Southbend  Police Department for a voluntary interview.

 They kept the framing simple. He was not in trouble. They just needed  to ask him about an old case. Bailey started with a straightforward question. Did Gillum know anyone named Roxan? Gillum said he knew two women by that name. One was a stripper, the other was a drug addict. Investigators  showed him a photograph of Roxan Wood.

He said he had never seen her, never met her, had  no idea who she was. Then Bailey told him the woman in the photograph had been assaulted. What happened next was something Baya said he had not seen in 23 years  of this work. Gillum’s body went rigid. His breathing became rapid and shallow, close to hyperventilation.

 His hands  were shaking visibly as he held them up in front of him. The physical reaction was immediate and unmistakable. Gillum told investigators he had not traveled to Michigan in 1987 except for work, a period during which he was on active parole  in Indiana. He said he did not know Tamo Shanner Lane.

He said he did not know Roxan Wood. Then  he said, “I got to talk to my lawyer, man.” The interview ended there. Investigators were not rattled. They had the DNA confirmation already in hand and  were not yet ready to move. A second formal interview followed in the months ahead, confirmed by MSP official statements.

 As the team continued assembling everything they  needed before making an arrest, they were building a case that would hold. They took the time to do  it right. Between the July 2021 interview and the arrest, investigators continued building the case methodically. One significant step, they subpoenaed the full transcripts from Gilam’s 1980 plea hearing and sentencing in Indiana.

 Those transcripts gave them a documented record of his prior conviction, home intrusion,  sexual assault, in his own words, and in the words of the court that processed him. The behavioral pattern was now on paper, spanning  four decades. On February 17th, 2022, almost exactly 35 years from the night  Roxanne Wood was murdered, Southbend Police Department officers arrived at Gillum’s home and arrested him on an extraditable warrant issued  by the Barryian County Prosecutor’s Office. He was 67 years

old. He was booked into  St. Joseph County Jail and held pending extradition to Michigan. Investigators questioned him for more than 5 hours. This  time they came with everything. The DNA match, the subpoenenaed conviction records, the surveillance documentation. Gillum could no longer claim ignorance of why he  was there.

 His responses shifted from denial to something closer to disbelief at his own actions. When confronted with the evidence, he said, “You guys are telling me I did  this, and if I did this, I’m a monster.” When asked directly why his DNA was  recovered from Roxanne Wood’s home, he said, “I have no clue.

” When pressed further, the same phrase came back repeatedly. “I don’t remember.” His attorney later attributed those gaps to a documented  history of substance abuse. On February 18th, 2022, Barryian County prosecutor Steve Pangeli  announced the charges publicly. Open murder and breaking and entering of an occupied dwelling.

 Open murder in Michigan carries a maximum penalty of life  in prison without the possibility of parole. Before any of that became public,  Christensen drove to see Terry Wood. He sat Terry down and told him directly that  he was no longer a person of interest. That investigators knew with certainty he had nothing to do with his wife’s murder. Terry cried.

  35 years of suspicion lifted in a single conversation. In March 2022, Patrick Gillum entered a plea of no contest to seconddegree murder. Under Michigan law, a nocontest plea carries the same legal weight as a guilty plea at sentencing. It is not, however, an admission of guilt.

 The agreement was reached by the Berian County Prosecutor’s Office in direct consultation with Roxan’s family, including Terry Wood. Assistant prosecutor Jerry Vagansky was straightforward about what the deal meant in practical terms. This sentence agreement effectively  keeps Mr. Gillum in prison for the rest of his life.

 On April 25th, 2022, Gillum was led into a packed courtroom in Barryian County at 9:15 in the morning. Among those present were the WMU students who had spent 8  months digitizing the case file, the same people whose work had helped make this moment possible. The room held nearly four decades of waiting. Brad Wood spoke first.

 He noted that his 89year-old father had lived to see the day, then named those who had not. Roxan’s mother, her stepmother, another brother, her grandfather, all of them gone without knowing who had killed her. He closed with a direct warning. I can assure you that my voice will be heard if there is ever an option for him to be released early.

Janet Wood addressed the  court next. She said, “He killed my sister in the most horrific way in  the safety of her own home in the middle of the night. His actions gave all of us a  life sentence while he got to live most of his as a free man.” Robert Farog, Moren Farog’s husband, who had traveled to be there in support of the Wood family, said simply, “I hope he doesn’t see the light of day.

 He doesn’t deserve it.” When it was Gillum’s turn, he turned toward the gallery  before the judge redirected him to face the court. He said he could not believe what he had done. He said he prayed for the family every night. He asked for forgiveness. The judge sentenced  him to 23 to 50 years in prison.

 The earliest he can be released is October 2040, at which point he will be in his late 80s. He is currently incarcerated at Carson City Correctional Facility in Montcom County, Michigan. The Roxan Wood case did not just close a 35-year  investigation. It changed how cold cases get worked in Michigan.

 The partnership between MSP and Western Michigan University’s cold case program, built from scratch for this case, has since expanded into a functioning model. Professor Kirsten’s program has gone on to contribute to solving seven cold cases across the state, including the 1988 murder of Kathy Schwarz. Kirsten herself was recognized with the outstanding faculty award  for student success from the Mid-American Conference.

What the program built on this case, a replicable method for digitizing and cross-referencing cold case files alongside active investigators, has become a  working model that other departments can now adopt. The forensic genealogy work Gabriella Vargas performed on this case,  extracting a usable result from the lowest DNA quantity ever successfully applied to a homicide investigation through this method, has since been  referenced as a benchmark in the field. That standard was set here on

this case from a sample that every other professional had already walked away from. Roxan Lee  Wood was 30 years old. She grew roses. She shared her recipes. She made every person she met feel like they were the most important one in the room. The people who loved her called her the rock.  And that name meant something real.

 It meant the one who holds everything together. She deserved  better from the system that was supposed to protect her. She got justice. Anyway, if this case made  you think about early release, about a civilian report that went nowhere, about a database that had no record of a convicted violent offender,  drop that thought in the comments.

 That conversation is worth having. And if you want every future case covered at this level of detail, subscribe now. This is what we do here every time.