True-crime
true crime · the day's top 5 · june 17th
storyflo · true-crime
Jun 17, 2026 · 8 min listen
Listen · storyflo · true-crime
true crime · the day's top 5 · june 17th
0:00-7:57
Live · Kokoro-82M
A man in Ohio is now facing murder charges after he allegedly slipped poison into drinks that killed two women. He apparently tried to keep his victims silent, muttering that “dead girls don’t talk,” but the truth is coming out because a few brave survivors decided to speak up.
One of the women who survived the attack told investigators how the poison was slipped into a shared bottle at a party, and how she noticed the sudden, terrifying drop in the other woman’s breathing. She and another friend managed to get help in time, and their quick actions saved a life that might otherwise have been lost.
The other survivor, who was also present that night, described the panic that spread once they realized something was seriously wrong. She said the men who were there tried to downplay the incident, but the friends refused to let the story be buried. Their statements have become the cornerstone of the case, giving prosecutors the evidence they need to move forward.
Now, with the survivors’ accounts on record, the investigation is moving toward a trial. The authorities say the poison was a rare, hard‑to‑detect substance, which is why the victims’ families were left in the dark for so long. The case underscores how important it is to listen to those who survive, because their voices are the only ones that can break the silence.
The mother of Christy Giles, the model who was tragically killed, is using her grief to push a simple but powerful message: keep your location sharing on. She’s reminding us that the same tech that lets us see a friend’s coffee shop can also help law enforcement zero in on dangerous people. In this case, it was the digital breadcrumbs that led detectives straight to David Pearce, a man with a dark history of assault who escalated to murder.
Pearce had already been linked to a string of rapes, but the murders of Christy and her friend, architect Hilda Marcela Cabrales, finally put him on the radar. Police pulled together phone pings, app check‑ins, and other location data from the victims’ devices. By mapping those points, they could see a pattern that pointed to Pearce’s whereabouts on the night of the killings. The data didn’t just place him near the crime scenes—it showed his movements before and after, giving investigators the timeline they needed to make an arrest.
What’s striking is how quickly the tech turned a vague suspicion into concrete evidence. Once the location info was cross‑checked with surveillance footage and witness statements, the case tightened up. Pearce was apprehended without a prolonged manhunt, and the evidence gathered from his own devices helped seal the charges. The mother’s plea is rooted in that reality: the tools we already carry can be lifesaving when we let them work for us.
She’s asking everyone to think beyond the inconvenience of sharing a spot on a map. It’s a small act that can make a huge difference when it comes to protecting our communities. If you’re comfortable, keep that feature on, especially when you’re out late or in unfamiliar areas. It’s a reminder that technology, when used responsibly, can be a force for good—helping to catch people like Pearce before they strike again.
David Pearce got a life‑changing sentence after a night that turned deadly in Los Angeles. The jury found him guilty of first‑degree murder for the killings of Christy Giles and Hilda Marcela Cabrales, two women who never made it home from a party they’d all been at together.
What really sealed the case were the seven women who stepped forward and told the court what Pearce had done to them. Their testimonies painted a clear picture of a pattern of abuse that went far beyond that single night, and the jury took it seriously. They didn’t just hear about the murders; they heard about the rapes, the intimidation, and the way Pearce tried to silence his victims.
Those survivors weren’t just witnesses; they became the backbone of the prosecution. Their courage to speak up, despite the fear and stigma, gave the jurors the context they needed to see the full scope of Pearce’s crimes. It’s a reminder that when people are willing to share their stories, even the hardest‑to‑prove offenses can finally be brought to light.
Now Pearce faces the consequences of both the murders and the sexual assaults. The verdict sends a message that the justice system can work when victims are heard, and it offers a small measure of closure for the families of Christy and Hilda, who’ve been waiting for accountability for far too long.
I’m thinking about how the chant A.C.A.B., which many of us heard after George Floyd’s murder, actually traces back to early‑20th‑century Britain. It’s not just a protest slogan; it’s a blunt way of saying that if the system itself is broken, every officer is part of that mess. The phrase has stuck because the gap between communities and police has widened dramatically with phones, body cams, and endless online analysis of misconduct. Lawsuits and massive settlements have become part of the everyday news cycle, and even jokes about “defunding” a cartoon police dog show how the conversation has seeped into pop culture.
That cultural shift throws a wrench into crime fiction, especially when a story wants a police protagonist. Agents I talked to outright refused manuscripts that put a cop at the center, treating the role as narratively toxic. The problem isn’t just political; it’s aesthetic. A main character who carries the weight of a contested institution forces readers to pick a side before the plot even begins. The question becomes whether we, as fans of the genre, are complicit in glorifying a power structure that many now view with suspicion.
Enter the Southern Gothic tradition, which has always thrived on decay and the grotesque. In that world, a police officer can become the modern grotesque figure—a person who belongs to a community yet stands apart from its internal logic. The grotesque isn’t limited to physical deformity anymore; it’s about social and moral distortion. A cop who wields authority without being subject to the same rules, or who turns protection into violence, fits neatly into that space, letting writers explore the collapse of old moral boundaries without sensationalizing disability.
Shows like True Detective and novels such as S.A. Cosby’s All The Sinner’s Bleed illustrate this evolution. Rust Cohle is a detective whose worldview is cracked, a kind of epistemic deformity that mirrors the genre’s bleakness. Titus Crown, a Black sheriff in a Virginia county, wrestles with the dual pressures of race and law enforcement, making his dedication to “the right way” feel both heroic and tragic. Both characters embody the Southern Gothic cop: a figure that lets us stare at the unsettling mix of order and chaos that defines modern policing.
Jeff Metcalf is finally getting a chance to speak after the courtroom delivered a first‑degree murder verdict for the man who took his son Austin’s life. He’s been through a long stretch of grief and anger, and now he’s using this moment to share what’s been weighing on his heart.
He told Nancy Grace that the verdict doesn’t bring Austin back, but it does give the family a sense of closure they’ve been chasing for months. He described the pain of watching his kid’s future slip away and how each day felt like a battle between remembering the boy he loved and the nightmare of the crime. The conviction, he said, is a step toward healing, even if the road ahead will still be rough.
Jeff also spoke about the community’s role, thanking neighbors, friends, and even strangers who rallied around them. He mentioned the countless messages, vigils, and the way people kept Austin’s memory alive. That support, he believes, helped keep his family from being completely swallowed by the darkness.
Looking forward, Jeff says he wants to turn this tragedy into something that matters. He’s thinking about ways to honor Austin’s passion—maybe a scholarship or a program that helps other teens stay safe. He hopes the case will remind others that violence has real, lasting consequences, and that families deserve justice, not just headlines. He ends with a quiet promise to keep fighting for his son’s legacy, no matter how long it takes.
Send this story to anyone — or drop the embed into a blog post, Substack, Notion page. Every play sends rev-share back to storyflo · true-crime.
We’ve simplified responses to 👍 / 👎. Past comments are archived but no longer visible.