HE NEVER STOPPED Fictional True Crime

 HE NEVER STOPPED Fictional True Crime VIDEO

Narrated by: JAKE COLE — victim's brother

"The Last Tuesday"

Photo of a young girl. Smiling. Summer background.

"This is my sister Sarah."

"This photo is eleven years old."

"It's the last one that exists of her."

JAKE'S VOICE. STATIC CAMERA. NATURAL LIGHT.

I'm not a journalist.

I'm not a detective.

I'm a brother.

And for eleven years, I've been trying to understand what happened on Tuesday, March 14, 2014.

Calendar. The date marked in red.

Sarah was twenty-seven years old.

She worked at a veterinary clinic in Dayton, Ohio.

She lived alone. Had a cat. Called Mom every Sunday.

Sunday the 13th, she called as always.

Tuesday the 14th, she didn't show up to work.

That's all the police investigated.

Seventy-two hours later, they closed the case.

"Voluntarily missing adult."

Those were their exact words.

Voluntarily.

As if Sarah had decided on a Tuesday morning to leave her job, her cat, her family.

Without saying anything.

Without taking anything.

With the coffee still warm on the counter.

Jake looks at the camera.

I was in Seattle when I got Mom's call.

I took the first flight.

I arrived at her apartment forty-eight hours after she disappeared.

The police had already been there.

"Nothing out of place," they said.

But there was something the police didn't see.

Or didn't want to see.

Photo of Sarah's apartment. A shifted chair. Details.

The kitchen chair was turned toward the door.

Sarah never placed that chair that way.

I lived with her for eleven years. I know.

Someone had been sitting there.

Waiting.

That's what made me start investigating.

A turned chair.

And eleven years later...

I found something the police never looked for.

Folder on the table. Jake opens it slowly.

I found a pattern.

Twelve women.

Twelve different cities.

Eleven years.

All disappeared on Tuesdays.

Jake looks at the camera. Voice low.

— The police called them isolated cases.

— I call them victims of the same man.

— A man who never stopped.

— A man who's still out there.

"In the next episode, I'll show you the full pattern. Twelve names. Twelve Tuesdays. And the reason I believe the killer lives in a mid-sized Midwest city. With a stable job. With neighbors who greet him every morning."

"Twelve Tuesdays"

Map of the USA. Twelve red dots appearing one by one.

"Twelve women."

"Twelve Tuesdays."

"Eleven years."

"No one connected them."

"Until now."

JAKE'S VOICE

Before we begin, I need to make something clear.

What you're going to see tonight is not official.

The police do not recognize these cases as related.

I do.

And after seeing what I have... so will you.

Chart. Names. Dates. Cities.

Sarah Cole — Dayton, Ohio — Tuesday, March 14, 2014.

Amanda Ross — Columbus, Ohio — Tuesday, July 8, 2014.

Lisa Trent — Indianapolis — Tuesday, February 3, 2015.

The list continues.

Twelve names.

Twelve women between twenty-three and thirty-one years old.

All with stable jobs.

All living alone.

All disappeared between 7 and 9 in the morning.

Jake points to the map.

Look at the geography.

No city is more than four hours from the others.

All within a circular radius.

With an approximate center here.

Hand-drawn circle over the map. Center in Indiana.

The center is an area of about three hundred thousand people.

Not a big city.

Not a town.

A place where no one knows you, but you're not a stranger either.

Jake picks up a paper.

The FBI has a standard profile for this type of offender.

Male. Between thirty-five and fifty years old at the time of the first case.

Job with flexible or night hours.

Own car. Knowledge of secondary roads.

No serious criminal record.

Jake looks at the camera.

That describes hundreds of thousands of people.

I know.

But there's something else.

Something not in any FBI profile.

Jake takes out a photo. Puts it in front of the camera.

Every woman on this list had a pet.

Dog or cat.

All of them.

And in all cases...

The pet was found outside the apartment.

Unharmed. No injuries.

But outside.

Silence. Five seconds.

Someone took them out.

Before or after.

Someone who didn't want to harm the animal.

VERY LOW VOICE.

Think about that.

A serial killer who cares for his victims' pets.

What kind of person does that?

"In episode three, I'll talk about Kevin. I won't give his last name yet. But Kevin lived three blocks from Sarah. He worked nights. Had a dog. And on Tuesday, March 14, 2014... he called work saying he was sick."

"Kevin"

Only Jake's voice.

"Before we begin."

"What you're going to hear tonight took me two years to find."

"And it cost me even more to decide whether to publish it."

"I'm publishing it because Sarah can't speak."

"I can."

I met Kevin by accident.

Two years after Sarah disappeared.

I was talking to neighbors in his building.

Looking for anything.

A third-floor neighbor mentioned a man from the neighborhood.

Quiet. Kind. Always said hello.

Worked nights at a logistics warehouse.

Had a yellow Labrador.

His name was Kevin.

Jake opens a notebook. Handwritten notes.

I started watching him out of curiosity.

Not out of suspicion.

Then I found the first match.

His address in 2014 was an eight-minute walk from Sarah's apartment.

Eight minutes.

The second match.

He called work on Tuesday the 14th saying he was sick.

His boss at the time confirmed it, not knowing why I was asking.

Handwritten note: "Absent 03/14/2014. Reason: illness."

The third match.

Kevin moved from Dayton in July 2014.

Four months after Sarah disappeared.

Where did he move to?

Columbus, Ohio.

Long pause.

Do you remember the second name on the list?

Amanda Ross. Columbus, Ohio. Tuesday, July 8, 2014.

Kevin arrived in Columbus in June.

Amanda disappeared in July.

Jake looks at the camera. Without drama. That's the most disturbing part.

I have no proof.

I want to be clear about that.

I have no proof.

I have matches.

Many matches.

And I have something else.

Jake takes out an envelope.

Three months ago, I received this in the mail.

No return address.

Inside was a single photo.

Blurry photo. A man from behind. A yellow dog. A street.

On the back.

Four words written by hand.

"I know you're watching."

Jake places the photo on the table.

Looks at the camera. Without speaking.

We continue in the next episode.

"After publishing episode 2... someone left a comment that was deleted ten minutes later. It said: 'Stop. Or you'll be number thirteen.' I captured it. I'll show it to you next week."

...