Hey y'all, it's Colin here. While we're taking a short summer break, we wanted to share an episode of another true crime podcast, The Antiquarium of Documented Atrocities. This weekly series dives into some of the world's most disturbing and fascinating crimes, featuring real audio from case files, courtroom proceedings, police interrogations, body camera footage, and phone calls connected to the cases. Each episode explores a different crime from around the globe, bringing listeners closer to the story through the actual recordings behind the investigation. We hope you enjoy this episode, and we'll be back with brand new murder in America episodes on the last Friday of July. Just after midday on March 1st 2021, a 911 call is placed from a quiet home in Grand Junction, Colorado. When officers arrive, they approach the house and speak with 19-year-old Brian Thomas Cohe. Oh my God, I can't believe it, I can't believe it, I can't believe it, oh my God, it's kind of a time that not really know what to do so. And we end them too, I don't know how old is Brian. He's 19. He's 19. It's going on in. Okay, so parents have some concerns of some stuff they may have found in your room? Yeah, I believe so. And what would it be? A human head in hands. Like, for real human head in hands? Yes. From? That fellow who I'm missing recently. Which fellow was that? Warren Brown. Warren Brown? When did he go missing? The night of the 22nd. The night of the 27th? Okay, and how did you end up with him? I murdered him. With what? A knife. Oh, why would you have done that? I've always wondered what murder felt like. What you are about to hear describes real events, some of which may be unsettling. Listen to discretion is advised. Good evening. You've reached the quiet end of the antiquarium. Tonight we step briefly into the back room I keep closed to the passing crowd. I call it the Archive of Malorum, a simple name for a simple purpose. A private archive of documents, reports, recordings, and a grim accounts of human darkness that history tries to misplace. This is case number A005, the reading man murder. Welcome to the antiquarium of sinister happenings, and documented atrocities. The earliest confirmed time stamp in this case is not a scream, a chase, or a weapon. It's a mother in a bedroom closet on March 1st, 2021. A chilling discovery, and a 9-1-1 call. I own Monique's bridal downtown, and I give him a chair to sit and read his books. What was the last time you saw him? Saturday, 5 o'clock. I said, "I'll see you tomorrow, Warren," and he was like, "Okay," meaning he planned on coming down on Sunday, and then he did not show up. So I'm thinking if they saw him Saturday, maybe it happened more up there because it's weird. He would never come down here. He would never come all the way down here? He was on a camp down here. No. He was on a camp for people ready, and someone found the wall and called people ready this morning. And they said that everything looked like it was in there because he doesn't have much. And I just gave him $20 for beer, so I know that he had maybe a couple bucks. So they found his wall just down here at the bonewrap? Warren Bruce Barnes was killed two nights earlier. On February 27th, 2021, Barnes was 69 years old. He was unhoused, and a well-known staple in the town of Grand Junction. To those who never knew his name, he was simply the reading man. For many years, Barnes could be found most days in downtown Grand Junction, tucked into a breezeway off Main Street, hunched over a paperback. When the city removed benches from the area in an effort to discourage loitering, Barnes didn't disappear. He adapted, a store owner placed a cane-back chair behind her bridal shop, and Barnes found a home there, reading in the shade in the quiet hours between foot traffic. People described him as gentle and quiet, someone who didn't beg, someone who didn't hassle passes by, someone who didn't speak unless spoken to. Barnes offering only a friendly nod. He was also, by multiple accounts, a man of routine. He checked in for day labor through people ready, a temp agency downtown. He performed our jobs for businesses in the area. He bought a noon-time sandwich. He fed the birds. And he read constantly. Nick Lanati, the owner of Monique's bridal, became one of the people who adopted him. Not in a symbolic way, but in the daily human way of noticing someone and treating them like they matter. She placed the chair for him. She watched him doze with his books still open. She saw him feed the birds from his meal. I've been down on Main Street for a long time. I've not put my nose up at the homeless, but not really breached out or tried to help or even talk to them or anything. Warren was the first that I ever, you know, was like, "Hey, you know, who are you? Where are you from?" He taught me to not be afraid to talk to people. We don't know their story. We don't know what they've been through. They may not be sitting there with their hand out, wanting money. Warren wouldn't even take food. He wouldn't take a thing. I would have to sneak cookies into his bag on holidays. He just wasn't that kind of person. So he taught me, definitely, to be kind. He really did. He did. When people would tell him to have a good day, Barnes had a signature reply. And you also. That phrase matters, not because it's sentimental, but because it is one of the few pieces of Warren Barnes that survived the violence that took him. It becomes the title etched into his memorial, and it becomes the line that tells you who he was, when no one was watching. Because in cases like this, it is very easy for the victim to be reduced to a category, homeless, transient, anonymous. Warren Barnes was none of those things in the way his killer assumed. So I parked my car and investigated it and I found it to be a man sleeping. Okay. Where's the knife at? It is in my sunken car. It's in my car. I had that previously. This is moving and I'll take it from there. So did that happen when you crashed your car? Or is that totally different? That's related, but a different event. Okay. How's it related? Well, when I killed him, I tried disposing of this body by being in the river, but it's too low in the river. Where's the rest of his body at? Where's the rest of the body at? What part? The body, Brian. Where's his body? No, I'm the river. Okay. I'm going to have you walk over here. You're going to sit in the back of my partner's control.
a patrol car for a minute, okay? - Okay. - Just sit back there and hang out for me, okay? - Brian Thomas Kohie's life on paper looks like the opposite of war in Bartses. Kohie grew up in grand junction. His mother, Terry Kohie, operated a licensed daycare out of the home. Terry's toddlers since Brian was about six years old. His father worked in construction. Witnesses and clinicians later described Kohie is socially isolated and detached. In the first week of trial coverage, KKCO reported that Kohie's mother and father described him as emotionless and cold. Though other testimony painted a more complicated picture. Kohie had significant mental health history before February 2021. A family doctor testified that he began seeing Kohie as a patient at age 15 and diagnosed and treated him for depression in 2018. In 2020, when Kohie reported frequent headaches, the doctor ordered a CT scan to rule out tumors or clots. The results were normal. The same doctor testified that aside from 2018, Kohie did not report being suicidal and crucially, in the days immediately before the murder, Kohie visited the doctor for an infected abscess under his arm. The doctor told the court that Kohie was definitely not psychotic during that visit. Another witness, a counselor named B. Phillips, testified that she worked with Kohie across 24 sessions, beginning in 2017. In court reporting, Phillips described Kohie making disturbing remarks, including dehumanizing language toward trans people. She testified about conversations where Kohie questioned why hurting or stealing from others was treated as a big deal. She also testified about an instance where Kohie intentionally bullied a young girl to trigger her PTSD. And that, in her view, he knew right from wrong at the time. Kohie's mother had initially sought counseling for him, hoping he could process the death of an uncle, but the counseling testimony described Kohie as ambivalent, tired of pretending and not emotionally impacted in the way his mother expected. In 2019, Kohie's mother took him to Colorado's division of vocational rehabilitation for assessment. She reported concerns that he did not understand how his choices affected the future and the lives of others. When Brian killed a stranger, the case did not proceed as a simple question of identity. The defense would later argue insanity. The prosecution would argue deliberation. And both sides would anchor their story in Kohie's words and behavior before, during and after the crime. There is another detail in the record that prosecutors treated as a warning sign. According to the arrest affidavit summarized by the Colorado Sun, Kohie told police he had killed and decapitated a cat several years earlier and kept the head in the home for three days before discarding it. And in the same reporting, Kohie was said to have been nicknamed Dahmer in school because of a fascination with serial killer Jeffrey Dahmer and with death and morbidity. And you, you talked about you were just kind of in a bad state that night. It was, yes. Okay, why was it in a bad state? I didn't take my medicine and post for years. I was wondering what murder would feel like because you're each shit like hit Bundy in the Zodiac. We all say murders that match the end of the world. But I'm like, I'm gonna try that. So for some time, I've been wondering when ever happened. I always knew I would be in the building. Whether you would have a criminal or police officer. Because I was planning to go in the military, go in the premises. Right? And how would you really, you know, want to think you've been thinking about really at some point you wanted to know what murder felt like a year? Okay, all right? On February 27th, 2021, Warren Barnes moved through the last hours of his life in ways that looked like any other day. Phone data indicated that Barnes made a call to an unknown number close to 7 p.m., interacted with the people ready job stack app and played a mobile car game that appeared to be poker. Ordinary actions. A man passing time. Later that night, Barnes ended up sleeping under a bridge near downtown and that is where Brian Coye went looking. Now I was driving along and I see a shape here on the railway tracks. So I'm like, oh, it's just thing. It's like, what? And I've been looking, I see a large thing wrapped in a can that Pokemon I don't like as a homeless person. So I grabbed my knife, I put on three layers of gloves because plastic gloves can be trailer users because they're so thin of vinyl gloves that I bring up fingerprints through. So I put on two, three on one head. That took the knife. I pulled back the canvas that I stabbed his neck. He was panicking at first in his old man's voice. He was in his 50s. And now I know I don't know man. You say, what are you doing? What are you doing? Why? And I just kept on stabbing his neck. I was looking if I'd do it in Australia. This is him. I was startled on top of him like this. And it's like back. It was actually surprisingly easy. I was barely breaking the sweat. I'd buy it. Oh my god, he's going to be tough. But no, it was actually surprisingly easy. And during the time I was growling, it made me and it wasn't really this. What were you doing up? I suppose it was a friend of mine. I was so excited. So I was stuck on a trailer and there's a guy with a knife. And I thought he said, why are you doing this? And I've been wanting to do this for a long fucking time for something. And then I continued. The whole world, he'll ask about a minute, and a half. And I stopped when I was finished stabbing him. He took out his last breath, the grunts. And his head was halfway cut off. It's that. All the while, actually, after I killed him, I just couldn't stop thinking, how do you do it? Wasn't I, wasn't feeling anything, but. For more than seven months, I know. But you remember doing it, so. Yeah. I suppose it was just me speaking out my mind at that moment, you know, but pouring out my mind. And then, after that, I stripped his clothes. I cut open his belly to see his guts. It really hit me, but I was morbid. And then I cut off his head. I gave him a glass of co-smile, but I drove her smile. I destroyed his eyes by stabbing them in. OK. And then I cut off his hand after those in plastic, it did block bags. And then I cut off his right arm at this joint, OK, at this joint. And then, at this arm, I tried cutting it here, but I tried cutting it here. But what happened was I accidentally broke his belt. This one, it was poking out. And so, that one here, perfectly cut. This number's here, both sticking out. And then, I left his body there. And then I put it in the left over box, and put it there a few nights ago. And I took the hand, put them in the back, threw it all in the hands and had it in my room. At sentencing, the Colorado Sun report of the co-he assembled a kit that included a 12-inch kitchen knife, hand gloves. And he spent weeks driving around looking for what he considered the right victim. In other words, the victim was not chosen because of anything war and bomb.
bonds did. He was chosen because of what Warren Barnes represented to someone who wanted to kill. That difference is the moral center of this case. Because the offender's logic, no one will notice. It's not just a personal delusion. It is a cultural assumption. And the community responds that followed is, in many ways, the rebuttal. Investigators later presented evidence that cohe attempted to dispose of other remains, including testimony that body parts were dumped into the Colorado River. The disposal did not go as planned. After returning to the bridge to collect additional remains, cohe drove to a boat ramp along the Colorado River, where his vehicle became stuck near the waterline. When the car was recovered, officers observed what appeared to be red liquid resembling blood in the trunk area. During interrogation, cohe explains how it happened. And I opened the trunk and he could body out. I put it in the water because I don't want fingerprints on a body, so I just try to move it with my shoes. That works, that's what he goes out. Some partner in the river and puts off. Okay, God knows where he is now. And when I try to adopt him, I try it out. My heart is gone out from blue hair. My heart is stuck. I try putting it in full throttle. That blue working. My heart is at four real days. And so then I try putting it in well here. I try to have it here. And it still doesn't come out. And then it slides into the river. Oh, my heart slides in the river, the inside. Oh, and so I'm there in a car quickly being flooded with water. Okay, it's the middle of February. It's cold at night. Yeah. In the river, that's almost freezing. Yes. I'm dressed. I know of that. So I knew it would climb out. I don't see the body, so I assume it's child with it. And I come up and sitting there. I need to act after all. So I'll die of hypothermia. Yeah, I'm panicking of it this way. I'm going to go. I remember it for dying up by hypothermia and a boss that tends to hide in a body. I'm just like, fuck, fuck, fuck. March 1st, the crime entered the world of the living again, not through witness at the river or a pass-by under the bridge, but through a mother cleaning a room. On on this day, I'm going to go to the river. I'm going to go to the river. I'm just going to go to the river. I'm just going to go. I'm just going to the river. Before we return to the archival, a matter of public safety. The FBI is seeking information on William Bradford, Bishop, Jr. Wanted for allegedly bludgeoning to death his wife, mother, and three sons in Bethesda, Maryland on March 1st, 1976. He allegedly transported their bodies to Columbia, North Carolina, where he buried them in a shallow grave and lit them on fire. Born August 1, 1936, in Pasadena, California, Bishop is a white male approximately six foot one with brown hair and brown eyes. He has a six inch vertical scar on his lower back. Bishop is a former US Foreign Service officer, highly educated, holding degrees from Yale and Middlebury College. Speaks multiple languages, including French, Italian, Spanish, and Serbo Croatian. He is an avid outdoorsman with extensive camping experience and was a licensed amateur pilot. William Bradford, Bishop, Jr. should be considered armed and extremely dangerous, with reported suicidal tendencies. If you have information on his whereabouts, contact your nearest FBI field office or submit a confidential tip at tips.fbi.gov. Do not approach this individual. Now, back to the archive. When we left off, the question was not whether Brian Kohie killed Warren Barnes. The question was whether he knew it was wrong. Because in Colorado, insanity is not about diagnosis. It's about distinction. Right? From wrong. And twelve jurors were about to decide. The case proceeds quickly in one way and slowly in another. Quickly, because the suspect is known, the evidence is physical and the admissions are immediate. Slowly, because the defense enters a plea that turns the trial into a psychological battlefield. Kohie is charged with first degree murder, tampering with a deceased human body and tampering with physical evidence. He pleads not guilty by reason of insanity. That plea does not mean the defense is saying he didn't do it. It means they are arguing that because of a mental disease or defect, he could not distinguish right from wrong at the time of the crime. In Colorado, that is the legal fulcrum. Not whether the act happened, but whether the defendant understood its wrongfulness. The trial begins in January 2023. And the testimony is designed to paint two pictures that cannot both be true in the same legal frame. Picture one. A young man with a long history of emotional disturbance and intrusive violent thoughts unraveling into a psychotic break. Picture two. A young man with violent curiosity. Planning. Preparation. Concealment. And awareness. The jury is asked to decide where sanity ends and accountability begins. We can climb into Brian Kohie's mind. But we can document what was said in court. And what was found in the record. One thread in the prosecution narrative is deliberate structure. At sentencing the Colorado son reported the Kohie noted the murder in his cell phone notes with a single word. First. Not. Mistake. Not. What have I done. A marker. Like a first attempt. Or a first achievement. I'm really curious. When you talk about the hammer and the shovels and the knives that like to decide. I mean, what was kind of your plan then? That's a little bit different than you did this time. Oh, yeah. So what did they plan back then? The plan was to go find a brother. If you can grand junction, I hope. Have you ever had any?
sex times, check here, there's not plus it's like five rubies standing along the front of the room, but there's plus, it keeps the gun juxtaposed. The plan was to go with one of them and have them come with me, and then the plan was to subdue them and tie them up and then torture her. That would have been sexual nature, this was just to see what it felt like, and that would have been sexual. Another thread is preparation, the kit with the 12 inch knife and gloves, and the week spent searching for a victim. Another thread is post-defense behavior, bringing the severed parts home, attempting to dispose of other remains, and, according to reporting, efforts consistent with hiding evidence. And you would have been able to get rid of the head, and your post did not find it. Well, it depends. Okay. Where do you guys have been able to solve it, if the body was down the river, the head and hands were missing, and there were no finger prints or even a, what we like to think so far. Right, you know, we'd like, yeah, we'd love to think so far, but we didn't solve it, what happened next? Then what would you have thought of to do next? Well, I thought I would have been very careful, because I would have been worried at any moment this could become a cold case, and then it could be solved later on down the line. I was just going to see what it felt like, and if I got away with it, I would have just kept the finger to grieve. So, you would have felt what, what did you feel like? It wasn't that, it was, it was, it was the rest of the journey I went, okay, my whole body was shaking, not like out of fear, it was like, yes, what, it was, it was, here you go. Well, no actually, it wasn't, it wasn't occasionally I, my thoughts get better at me, and sometimes I'm not a house guy, it isn't a panic attack, it's anything like that, I'll give you a simple. I was, I was on, watching the video, when all of a sudden I get, I start going into, I get the feeling, I know that it isn't, but I get the feeling that there are eyes on the walls, watching the eyes on the furniture, and I cover myself up, I'm like, oh god, eyes, and I'm worried if I stick anything out from the bed, in ways I'll come up and chop it off. And I don't know, I know that's not going to happen, but I'm worried about that, okay, so then I was, I hope I eat, shaking up and down and towards, like, a fear of a woman, is that what you have on the eyes, I don't believe, you're not, there was a thought that bothered me. The defense thread is disorder. In KKCO reporting from cross-examination of the court-ordered forensic psychologist, jurors themselves asked pointed questions about whether someone could have homicidal thoughts and paranoia, and still be sane, and the psychologist answered, yes. Jurors asked whether KOHI was oriented when he went back to retrieve Barnes' body. The psychologist stated that he was not experiencing specific signs of psychosis at that time. During trial, it emerged that two standard sanity evaluation questions were not asked during the psychologist's assessment. Did you think the offense was wrong before doing it? Did you think the offense was wrong when you were doing it? Defense attorneys argued, those questions were vital. The broader point is that this trial wasn't simply about diagnosis. It was about timing. The someone can have autism, ADHD, and depression, and still understand right from wrong. And someone can have intrusive thoughts, and still not be legally insane. That's why the evaluation, the raw data, and what questions were asked, or not asked, became ammunition. So he described a two week period in which he felt a strong instinct to bite someone's throat and rip it out, and that he experienced intrusive images when he saw people imagining them shot, stabbed, or missing body parts. He reportedly said those thoughts began when he was 15 to 17, and at the last time he experienced those impulses was the night he murdered Barnes. Those are horrific words to hear in any context. But in a sanity trial, they become evidence. Evidence for what exactly is the question the jury must answer, delusion, or desire. In the middle of all of this, Warren Barnes' risks being pushed into the background again, reduced to the crime scene, and the autopsy. That's not acceptable. So we return to the mad himself. In the Colorado Suns reporting, Barnes is described as a crusty old cowboy who loved books and birds. He did odd jobs. He checked for work daily. He lived in a small half mile quadrant downtown that made up his world, reading, feeding birds, visiting the temp agency, and getting a sandwich. The Sun reported that when Barnes didn't show up in his usual spots on the morning of March 1st, Monique Lanardi started looking for him. She called police after people ready managers said they were worried too. Because while it was found at a boat ramp along the Colorado River, a place the Sun reported he did not frequent, which heightened fear for his safety. Lanardi posted his photo on Facebook, asking people to watch out for him. The posts were shared hundreds of times. This certainly dismantles the offender's premise. No one will notice. They noticed quickly. Not because Barnes had money. Not because Barnes had status. Because Barnes had something more fragile and more powerful. He had community. KKCO reported testimony from a gas station worker at a shell on 1st Street in Grand Avenue, who said Barnes became part of her morning routine. She would get coffee, use the restroom, sometimes grab a donut. She eventually led him into the store before opening to customers. She testified that she felt safer having Barnes around early in the morning and that the only day he didn't show up at his regular time was the day he was killed. Those are the pieces that form a life. A chair. A book. A coffee. A nod. A quiet man who didn't ask for much. And a city that, when he vanished, started looking. Now we return to Brian Cohe. Because the question people ask in cases like this is always the same. How does a 19 year old become the kind of person who does this? Cohe had documented treatment for depression as a teenager. He had counseling sessions where he expressed a worldview that minimized harm and questioned morality. He had a reputation among peers for fascination within for material killers. And he had at least one close friendship that complicates the idea that he was entirely disconnected from others. KKCO reported testimony from an individual who described them as each other's closest friends, chatting online nearly daily, hanging out in person, having conversations about mental health. The same report noted that they discussed true crime and serial killers prior to the murder. The friend said Cohe seemed normal the day he was at her house, just before his mother called 911. In other words, this was not a person who looked like a monster all the time. It was someone who could move through the world with enough surface stability to not raise immediate alarms until the closet was opened. And that's part of what makes this case so unsettling. The prosecution's sanity rebuttal leaned heavily on the forensic evaluation. Dr. Laura Serrano Amerigo, the court-ordered forensic psychologist, testified that Cohe knew where he was.
what he was doing, and why he was being interviewed, and showed no signs of psychosis before, during, or after the crime. She testified that he had no issues answering questions, and showed no signs of distress. The defense, meanwhile, attempted to undermine that evaluation, arguing about what data the psychologist had, and pointing out what was missing. This is where the case becomes what sanity trials often become. A fight over where the planning equals comprehension. Because the prosecution argument is straightforward, he planned, he prepared, he concealed, he disposed. Those are the actions of someone who not only knows the world has rules, but that he has broken them. The defense argument is also straightforward, a person can plan inside a broken mind, a person can perform actions, and still be disconnected from moral reality. And so the jury has asked not to decide whether Brian Cohe is mentally ill, but whether he was legally insane at the moment he chose to kill Warren Barnes. After two weeks of testimony and two days of deliberation, the jury rejects the insanity defense. Cohe is found guilty of first-degree murder, along with tampering charges related to the body and evidence. How do you feel about all this now? The next 15 years of my life looks at and so on, prison. I go back to the night, probably one at night. Now I can't tell you what's felt like telling how this wall turned out. I wouldn't have done it. Well, what did you think was going to happen? What did you, you know, you said you were curious, what did you think it was going to feel like? I would, but it would be the best feeling in the world. And you said you didn't feel much of anything. The excitement. Oh, it's right. Okay. Sentencing takes place in early February 2023. In the Colorado Suns reporting from the courtroom, more than 30 friends and relatives of Warren Barnes filled the room to witness the moment Cohe would be sentenced. Family members addressed the court, describing the man they lost. Monique Lanardi spoke. She said Barnes was valued and loved and missed every day. The Sun reported that Cohe sat stone faced during statements, while his mother Terry Cohe sobbed and described her son as someone who always knew he was not like other people. She asked that any sentence include mental health treatment. The judge imposed the mandatory sentence for first degree murder in Colorado, life in prison without the possibility of parole. Cohe received additional time 13 and a half years for the tampering charges. And that is where the criminal case ends in the legal sense, a conviction, a life sense, a file closed. But the story that the city carries does not end there because Grand Junction did something that rarely makes it into homicide narratives. They kept telling Warren Barnes's story after the trial ended. In November 2021, before the trial even began, friends raised funds for a permanent memorial. Metal artist Tim Navin, who had once been homeless himself and was sober at the time, spent 285 hours building a sculpture, a curved metal chair beneath an ironwork tree, with a sheet metal book titled "And You Also." Navin recreated Barnes' chair in metal. He added a tree and wind lifted pages. The memorial was installed in the breezeway near where Barnes used to sit between a bookstore and the bridal shop. Alex Lindy, who had worked downtown in Grand Junction, put it out there on Facebook that she was looking for somebody. A metal artist to do a memorial. I didn't even know his name at the time until, you know, he had passed. And finding out that it was him was just hit me really hard. There's such a stigma with homeless people in communities and it's just unfortunate that someone would think that just because of his situation that nobody would care about him and nobody would miss him. Being in a similar situation myself, there's little hope for those individuals sometimes internally and so when they get it outside, outside hope, outside happiness and joy from others. That means a lot to somebody that's in their situation and to just think that they are somebody that doesn't matter is just so far from the trees. And I think it's definitely apparent with how much warm has missed. The memorial bears a simple message. Warren was here. If you want to understand what this case is truly about, it's there. A killer chose Warren Barnes because he believed no one would miss him and a city answered with iron, books, and a chair that will never again be empty. There are cases built out of passion. There are cases built out of greed. There are cases built out of years of conflict that finally ignite. This one is built out of something colder. A young man with a fixation, driving at night, looking for a person he believed the world had already forgotten. A sleeping man under a bridge, living his life in quiet routines. A knife, a decision. And then the mother in a closet, staring at the physical proof that her child crossed a line, that cannot be uncrossed. What remains is Warren Bruce Barnes, 69 years lived. Remember not for the manner of his death, but for the dignity of his life. A chair in the sun, a paperback in hand, birds at his feet, and a final kindness offered reflexively to strangers. And told him, you know what, I'm going to give you my chair. I have it downstairs, no one's sitting on it. So we'll put it in, we'll print it out every single day. You know, it's the exact replica of the chair. Also has books on it because he was an average reader. The top book is actually something he would say every day. And I'd say I'll see you tomorrow, Warren. Have a good night, and he'd say, and you also every single day would say, same thing, which is kind of funny. It's a good memory now, but it's just hard because he's missed. And I can't hear it again. I mean, it's really hard to find the good in the world sometimes when, especially when horrible senseless acts happen. But to see people come together has been very uplifting. For me, I just think it's really special that people are learning, people that weren't fortunate enough to meet Warren, that they're kind of able to learn a little bit about who he was. And just hopefully it'll be a lesson to extend kindness anywhere you can, because you never know what's in these going through and you never know you could make a friend and somebody that really would touch you life forever. And you also. For tonight, that as far as the document and record will take us, I'll close the folder on this case, return it to its place in the Archive of Malorum, and lock the door behind us. Out there, the people the world ignores are still people. And sometimes, noticing is a form of protection. Walk wisely. Until next time. The Antiquarium of Sinister Happenings and Documented atrocities. Case number A005, the Reading Man Murder, narrated by Stephen Knowles, written and produced by Trevor and Lauren Shand, a presentation of Bloody FM. This program contains brief excerpts of audio from third-party sources, including archival broadcasts and interview material. These excerpts are used solely for purposes of commentary, criticism, analysis, and reporting, and are incorporated into the principles of fair use. All rights in the original recordings remain with their respective copyright holders. The stories presented here are based on real events. While we research each case thoroughly, some details may be incomplete or dramatized in the telling. We intend no disrespect toward victims or their families. A portion of proceeds is donated to the National Center for Victims of Crime, an organization supporting individuals, families, and communities harmed by crime. For more, visit victimsofcrime.org.
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