65 years ago, two teenagers in Great Falls, Montana, drove to a lover’s lane on a winter night and were never seen alive again. They left behind a car with its headlights still burning. A family just finishing their Christmas decorations and a mystery so complete that three generations of detectives would turn it over in their hands without ever finding an answer.

 Authorities at the time interviewed dozens of men, chased every lead available to them, and came up empty. The family waited. The community waited. And the cold of that Montana January seemed to seep into the case itself and never fully leave. Then in 2019, a Dena sample collected 60 years earlier from a microscopic slide in an evidence locker was uploaded to an ancestry website.

 The same kind of site where ordinary people search for their greatgrandparents and the name that came back changed everything. But before we get to that morning, we have to go back to Great Falls. Because to understand what was lost, you first have to understand who Patty Kitzky and Duane Bogle were. Great Falls, Montana in 1956 was the kind of town that believed in its own people.

 Situated along the Missouri River at the foot of the Rocky Mountain foothills, it was home to Malmstrom Air Force Base and a modest downtown where ranchers came for supplies and families went to Pete’s Drive-In on Saturday nights. The winters came hard and early, and the town’s people were used to them, used to bundling up, used to finding neighbors at the same church pews and the same diners year after year.

Rotary phones sat on kitchen counters. Families gathered around the television set in the evenings, watching the evening news on channels that signed off before midnight. Station wagons filled the parking lots of Great Falls High School on football Fridays, and kids called each other on party lines that their mothers could quietly pick up in the next room.

It was a world where people knew each other’s business and mostly that felt like safety. Patricia Anne Kitzky, everyone called her Patty, was 16 years old and a junior at Great Falls High School. She was described by her classmates as bubbly, witty, and beautiful. The kind of girl who made people around her feel like the room was warmer than it actually was.

She was the youngest of her family, the one her relatives gathered around at Christmas. That holiday season, the Kitzky family had been together. A real family Christmas. The last one they would ever know without this shadow hanging over it. Patty’s boyfriend was Lloyd Dwayne Bogle, 18, an airman stationed at Malmstrom Air Force Base who had come to Great Falls all the way from Waco, Texas, carrying a draw that charmed people almost as quickly as his smile did.

Dwayne was the kind of young man who would have been described in his hometown as steady, the airman who kept his bunk neat and his future organized. Records show he and Patty had been talking about getting married. They were exactly the kind of young couple you wanted to believe the world was made for.

 That was the last time anyone who loved them would see them whole. On the evening of January 2nd, 1956, Patty and Dwayne left the Kitzky family home and drove to Pete’s Drive in a local landmark on the west side of Great Falls where teenagers gathered after dark. Witnesses placed them there until just after 9:00. They were seen together.

 They were seen happy. Then they drove west toward Wodssworth Park and the dark quiet of the Sun River to a stretch of road that young couples in Great Falls had always gone to when they wanted to be alone. It was 10° outside. The sky was black and heavy with stars. By midnight, nobody knew where they were.

 By morning, it would be too late. At around 9:00 on the morning of January 3rd, three boys hiking along the Sun River near Wodsworth Park found something they were not expecting. A car parked at the edge of the road with its headlights still burning, its ignition switch still turned. And on the ground beside it, face down, his hands tied behind his back with his own belt, was Dwayne Bogle, 18 years old, shot twice in the head.

 He was gone before anyone found him. The boys ran. They alerted police immediately. Investigators descended on the scene within the hour, and what they found told them this was not an accident, not a lover’s quarrel gone wrong. This was deliberate, controlled, and cold. Bogle’s car had not been robbed. His belongings were intact.

 He had not run. He had been restrained. And Patty Kitzky was nowhere. She was missing. The search for Patty began that same morning. Search parties fanned out across the area northwest of Great Falls along the river into the fields and hills surrounding Wodsworth Park. The temperature stayed below freezing. A day passed.

 Then the following afternoon, a county road worker driving along Vineyard Road, about 5 miles north of where Bogle had been found, spotted something at the bottom of a 20-foot embankment. He stopped his truck. He climbed down. It was Patty. She was 16 years old. She had been shot in the head just as Dwayne had been.

 The investigation would later confirm she had also been assaulted before she was killed. She had been left there alone, miles from the car in a frozen hollow by the road. The boys from the river, the road worker on his route. That was all it took to find them. And yet, finding them would prove to be the easiest part of this case.

 The Cascade County Sheriff’s Office launched a full investigation immediately. Detectives fanned out across Great Falls, interviewing anyone who had seen Patty and Duane that night. Anyone who had a reason to be out near the Sun River, anyone whose name surfaced in connection with the victims. Dozens of men were questioned. Alibi after alibi was checked.

 Physical evidence was gathered from both scenes. Bullets were pulled from a cottonwood tree near where Bogle was found. And a biological sample was collected during Patty’s autopsy and preserved on a microscopic slide. Court documents show that in the weeks immediately following the murders, investigators developed several persons of interest.

 The physical evidence from the scenes was analyzed with everything available in 1956, which was less than anyone would have wished for. There were no fingerprint matches, no weapon recovered. No witness who had seen anyone approached the car that night. One name in particular drew attention in those early weeks. The suspect lived less than a mile from Patty’s home on the southwest side of Great Falls.

 He was in his late 20s, worked corraling horses in the neighborhood, and had been in the area the night of the murders. He had no criminal history. He was questioned. And then, like every other lead, he faded from the case file when nothing tied him conclusively to the crime. He moved away quietly.

 Just over a month after the killings, he sold his family’s property and relocated south of Great Falls. By July, he was living in Geraldine, 60 mi away. At the time, no investigator could have known what that departure meant. The case was simply cold. Every lead fizzled out. No new evidence materialized, and no motive made itself known.

 By 1960, the Kitzky Bogle murders had become the kind of case that lived in the whispers of a community, but not in its newspapers. Four years had passed. Detectives rotated off the assignment. New crimes demanded attention. The evidence was preserved and filed and quietly shelved. Patty’s family kept their grief mostly private.

 Duwayne’s family back in Waco, Texas, carried that question. What happened to their boy without answer for the rest of their lives? The reward poster that had hung in the window of a downtown diner faded in the sun, but nobody took it down. Because in Great Falls, people remembered. They just didn’t know. By 1970, 14 years had come and gone.

 The children who had been Patty’s classmates at Great Falls High School were parents themselves. The airmen who had served with Duane at Malmstrom had long since transferred, retired, moved on. Pete’s drive-in had changed hands. The world had moved around the wound, and the wound had not closed. In 1988, a detective named Phil Madison began working in the Cascade County Sheriff’s Office evidence room, and the Kitzky Bogle case found a new keeper.

 Madison was methodical and patient in the way that only certain investigators are, the ones who understand that some cases aren’t solved fast. They’re solved eventually. He reviewed the file. He studied the old reports. He thought about the biological sample preserved on that microscopic slide from 1956 and he knew that technology was changing.

 He waited for the right moment. Then in 2001, 45 years after the murders, Madison sent that slide to the Montana State Crime Lab for analysis. What the lab found changed the shape of the case entirely. a sperm cell that did not belong to Duan Bogle. Someone else had been there, someone the original investigators had never been able to identify.

The sample was sent to Cotus, the national dena database. No match came back. Madison compared the Dena against roughly 35 additional suspects over the following years. men who had been in Great Falls in 1956. Men whose names had surfaced in the file. Men with violent histories. One of them was the notorious Boston crime boss James Whitey Bulier, who had actually been arrested for rape in Montana in 1951.

Another was Edward Wayne Edwards, later linked to murders in Ohio and Wisconsin. Every single one of them was eliminated. Every swab came back. not a match. When Madison retired, he spoke plainly about what he believed. A lot of different people had a turn at this, he said, and we just weren’t able to take it to conclusion.

 He did not believe it would be solved. Every case on this channel represents weeks of research, verifying facts, and piecing together real lives that deserved better. If you want to keep us uncovering the truth behind stories like this one, take a second to like this video and subscribe. Drop a comment telling us where in the world you’re watching from.

 Your support is what makes this possible. Now, let’s get back to Patty. The case had been cold for more than 60 years when something happened that no one in Great Falls could have anticipated. In 2018, the arrest of the Golden State killer made international headlines. Not just because Joseph James D’Angelo was finally identified after decades, but because of how he was caught.

Forensic genetic genealogy. The process works like this. Crime Scene Dena is uploaded to public ancestry databases. The same websites where ordinary people search for their great greatgrandparents and forensic specialists trace the Dena through distant relatives until they can build a family tree that points to a single unknown person. It was brand new.

 It was precise. And it had just solved one of the most notorious cold cases in American history. Sergeant John Cadner of the Cascade County Sheriff’s Office, who had taken over the Kitzky Bogle case in 2012, read that news and understood immediately what it meant for the slide that had been sitting in an evidence locker since 2001.

In 2019, Cadner worked with Bode Technology, a forensic laboratory, to perform additional DINA testing on the evidence recovered from Patty’s body. The upgraded profile was uploaded to voluntary genealogical databases. Bode specialists began building family trees from the matches that came back. A slow, painstaking process of connecting living relatives to a possible unknown contributor.

Three people emerged from the data as genetically compatible. And one of those three people pointed to a family tree that led to a name Cadner had never seen in the original case file. Kenneth Gould, a Great Falls native born 1927. At the time of the murders, Gould would have been 29 years old. He was not a known criminal.

 He had no arrest record before January of 1956 and no record after. He was not one of the men who had been questioned. He had been invisible to investigators for 65 years. Records and city directories confirmed through the Cascade County archives proved that Gould had been living in Great Falls at the time of the murders. About a mile from Patty Kolitzky’s home, working coring horses just blocks from her house on the southwest side of the city.

He was the name that had faded from the case. He was the man who had sold his property and moved away just 6 weeks after Dwayne Bogle was found face down by the Sun River. Kenneth Gould died in Oregon County, Missouri in 2007. His body was cremated. There would be no arrest. There would be no trial. There would be no moment in a courtroom where he would have to face what he had done.

But there would be one more chance at the truth. And that chance depended on his children. Sergeant Cadner reached out to Gould’s family. I wasn’t sure how they were going to react. Kner said, “When I came to them saying, hey, your dad’s a suspect in this case.” Gould’s children agreed to submit Dena samples. They cooperated fully.

 The results came back. The DNA from Kenneth Gould’s Children was consistent with the Dena recovered from Patty Kolitzk’s body in 1956. The science was clear. After 65 years, after dozens of detectives, 35 eliminated suspects, two separate NA technologies, and one microscopic slide that had traveled from a 1956 autopsy table to a modern genealogy database, the Cascade County Sheriff’s Office had an answer.

 On June 8th, 2021, the office announced publicly that the Kitzky Bogle double homicide had been closed. The conclusion of investigators, Kenneth Gould, a Great Falls man who had lived a mile from one of his victims, was the most likely killer of Patricia Kitzky and Lloyd Duan Bogle. He had hidden in plain sight.

 He had moved away when the heat faded. He had built a life, had a family, watched decades pass without consequence. In 1960, just four years after the murders, his four-year-old daughter, a child born the month of the killings, died after a short illness. Gould died in Missouri in 2007 at the age of 79 without ever being identified.

 He took the secret with him, but he could not take the da. No one can take the da. Sergeant John Cadner, whose work on this case spanned nearly a decade, noted that this is believed to be the oldest cold case ever solved in the United States using forensic genetic genealogy. He described it simply as such a big case, and it was for decades in all the wrong ways.

 He also said that most of Patty’s and Duane’s family members were no longer living, but those he was able to contact were, in his word, relieved. Former detective Phil Madison, the man who had sent that slide to the lab in 2001 and retired without an answer, expressed the same feeling. The detectives who had worked this case across six decades, none of them household names, none of them celebrated, shared the same quiet sense that something had finally landed in the right place.

Patricia Kolitzky was 16 years old. She had brown eyes and a laugh her classmates remembered for decades. She was the girl who made the room warmer. She had a family who had just celebrated Christmas together, a boyfriend who wanted to marry her, and a whole future that belonged to her by right. Lloyd Dwayne Bogle was 18 years old.

 He was a young man from Waco, Texas, who had traveled to Montana and found something worth staying for. He was steady. He was planning. He had his whole life pointed in a direction that made sense. On the evening of January 2nd, 1956, they drove together toward the Sun River, and a man who lived a mile from her house followed them or found them there, and the world contracted into something cold and final.

 Their name stayed on a case file for 65 years. They stayed in the memory of a community that never fully let go. And now they have what the law in the end managed to give them. Not a courtroom, not a sentence, but a name. After 65 years, the truth found its way to the surface. It always does eventually, even when the man responsible has been dead for 14 years.

Truth does not expire. What does it say about justice when science achieves what 65 years of investigation could not? What do you think Patty’s family, those still living, felt when that phone call came from Sergeant Cadner? And how many other evidence lockers across this country hold preserved samples from cold cases of the 1950s and 1960s that are waiting for genealogy technology to finally give them an answer? Justice found Patricia Kolitzky and Lloyd Dwayne Bogle after 65 years.

Stories like theirs are why this channel exists, because truth is worth pursuing, no matter how long it takes. If you believe that, too, subscribe so you don’t miss the next case. More solved cold cases are waiting in the description below. Thank you for being here.