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Hi, Crime House Community. It's Vanessa Richardson. Exciting news. Conspiracy theories, cults and crimes is leveling up. Starting the week of January 12th, you'll be getting two episodes every week. Wednesdays we unravel the conspiracy or the cult, and on Fridays we look at a corresponding crime. Every week has a theme. Tech, bioterror, power, paranoia, you name it. Follow conspiracy theories, cults and crimes now on your podcast app because you're about to dive deeper, get weirder, and go darker than ever before.
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This is crime house. War creates confusion on the ground. In the middle of a firefight, adrenaline takes over and time collapses on itself. Once the dust settles, all that's left are competing accounts and fragments of memories. In the hours and days after Pat Tillman's death, that confusion only deepened. Soldiers who were there remembered the same seconds differently. Early reports contradicted eyewitness accounts, and each time the military tried to clarify what had happened, the story shifted. Still, Pat's family refused to let the truth disappear. They would pull at every thread, challenge every explanation, and undo every revision until the real story finally emerged. And they didn't care how many powerful enemies they made along the way. People's lives are like a story. There's a beginning, a middle, and an end, but you don't always know which part you're on. Sometimes the final chapter arrives far too soon, and we don't always get to know the real ending. I'm Carter Roy and this is True Crime Stories, a Crime House original powered by Pave Studios. New episodes come out every Tuesday, Thursday and Friday, with Friday's episodes covering the cases that deserve a deeper look. Thank you for being part of the Crime House community. Please rate, review and follow the show and for early ad free access to every episode. Subscribe to Crime House plus on Apple Podcasts. This is the second of two episodes on 27 year old Pat Tillman. He was an NFL star turned Army Ranger who died under mysterious circumstances while deployed in Afghanistan in 2004. Last time I told you about Pat's decision to trade a multimillion dollar NFL career for the Army Rangers. Initially, it seemed like the right choice, but his first tour in Iraq left him disillusioned with the war, and his second tour in Afghanistan left him dead. Today I'll explore what happened next. In the aftermath of Pat's death, the army claimed he died a hero. But it wasn't long before people started to doubt that narrative. Multiple investigations were launched, hoping to answer the question, had Pat been killed by the enemy or were the real culprits closer to home. All that and more coming up.
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On April 22, 2004, 27 year old Pat Tillman and his fellow Army Rangers set out on a mission through a dangerous canyon in Afghanistan. On their way, one of their vehicles broke down, forcing the Rangers to split into two convoys. The first, which included Pat, got through the canyon safely and pushed ahead toward a village on the far side of the valley. The second convoy, which included pat's younger brother, 26 year old Kevin Tillman, followed behind. They were nearly through the canyon when an explosion echoed off the rock walls. Believing they were under attack, the soldiers immediately returned fire. But they weren't shooting at an enemy. They had turned on their own men who'd scrambled up a ridgeline to help. Pat stood up there yelling for his fellow soldiers to stop. He shouted his own name again and again that he was Pat effing Tillman. They didn't hear him. Pat was shot and killed on that ridge. Moments later. Kevin had been riding in the very back of the second convoy, but the shots had come from up front. It would be nearly 10 minutes before the news of Pat's death reached him. In that time, word spread through the platoon to stay silent. Leadership said there would be a formal investigation. Until then, no one was to discuss the incident. According to Army Ranger Brian o', Neill, who'd been next to Pat on the ridge, he received an even more explicit order from his colonel. He was not to tell Kevin that. That Pat had been killed by friendly fire. The colonel warned him that speaking up would end his military career, and so Ryan stayed quiet. But eventually, someone told Kevin that Pat was gone. Kevin screamed as a million emotions washed over him. Horror, shock, anger. He tore off his helmet and slammed it to the ground. A medic approached and ordered Kevin to give him his weapon as a precaution for everyone. Kevin handed it over, then went to sit beside his brother's body. At some point, while Kevin was crying, he was told that Pat had died fighting the enemy. Kevin had no reason to question that story. Two hours after Pat's death, the army loaded his body onto an army cargo plane. Kevin boarded with him, stunned and silent. Another Army Ranger and close friend, Russell Baer, was told to accompany them home. Officially, he was there to escort Pat's remains and and present the Tillman family with flags on behalf of the country and presumably to offer support to Kevin and the Tillmans. But there were some stipulations. He was ordered to stay quiet about what had really happened. He would stick to the official report which stated that Pat had been killed by the enemy. Any alternative details would only cause unnecessary turmoil for the Tillman family. Russell agreed. He spent the entire flight seated across from Kevin, barely speaking. He didn't know what he could say, and he was terrified that Kevin might ask the one question Russell wasn't allowed to answer. Back in California, Pat's mother, Mary Tillman, came home to a voicemail from her youngest son, Richard. He sounded distraught, but when she called him back, he didn't answer. So she began phoning other family members, trying to figure out what was going on, until finally she reached Marie, Pat's wife. Marie was quiet on the other side of the line. Mary's stomach twisted as she asked, what. What was wrong? Finally, Marie told her he was dead. Mary gripped the phone tighter. Who was dead? Then Marie confirmed Mary's worst fears. Pat, her oldest son, was dead. As Mary tried to process the news, a car pulled into the driveway and a young soldier stepped out. She confirmed what Marie had said on the phone. Pat was gone. He'd been killed by the enemy during a combat mission. If Mary hadn't been hysterical already, she was now. She had no idea that the version of events she just heard wasn't the truth. Not even close. But it was the one that would begin to spread. The Army's official story was that Pat had died while saving fellow soldiers during a fierce Taliban ambush. They described him charging up a hill under heavy enemy fire before being fatally shot. Four days after his death, Pat was posthumously promoted to corporal and awarded a Silver Star for valor. The medal is one of the military's highest honors, and it's reserved for heroism in combat. The award was approved and signed off on by General Stanley McChrystal. He was the head of the Joint Special Operations Command, which oversees elite special ops units like the Rangers. In other words, the decision had been made by someone at the top. But here's the thing. McChrystal had already been notified that Pat's death was likely fratricide, otherwise known as friendly fire. He was well aware that he was signing off on an award that never should have been given. And McChrystal wasn't the only high ranking general who knew the truth. There was also General John Abeze, who was the Central Command chief, and Lieutenant General Philip Kessinger Jr. The senior leader for the Rangers. They, along with others, had also been briefed about the suspected friendly fire. None of them felt the need to correct the public narrative. Instead, the day after signing the Silver Star paperwork, General McChrystal sent a high priority memo to top military leaders. He cautioned them, and by extension President George W. Bush, to speak vaguely about Pat as a hero, but not get into specifics. If the truth about the friendly fire came out later, they didn't want the President contradicting it in any speeches and caught in a lie. Four days after sending that memo, McChrystal was promoted to Major General. While senior officials managed the narrative, the Tillman family grappled with their loss and with the way Pat's memory was being shaped. Pat's wife, Marie, felt the media and the military were turning him into a symbol, something larger than life. But in the process, the real Pat, the man she loved, was being overshadowed. Cameras had appeared on her lawn that morning after his death. Then came the Department of Defense officers who showed up and urged her to agree to a military funeral at Arlington with full honors. Marie knew that wasn't what Pat wanted. He had explicitly said no to the idea in his enlistment papers, which the military would have been well aware of. To Marie, it seemed like the army hoped she was so blinded by grief that she would just go along with their suggestions. But she stood her ground. The funeral and memorial would be in their hometown. Pat's service was held in San Jose, California, on May 3, 2004, about two weeks after his death. It wasn't a military funeral, but it was nationally televised and thousands came to honor him. Family, teammates, fellow soldiers, and public officials, including Senator John McCain of Arizona, all spoke. Pat's eulogy was delivered by Navy SEAL Steve White, a friend of the Tillman brothers. An hour before the service, Steve had been given the military's official account of Pat's death. Believing it to be true, he repeated it during the eulogy. Pat had run up a ridgeline to protect the second convoy of Rangers coming through the canyon, but he'd been shot down by the enemy. It was the first time the Tillmans had heard the story in full. It sounded heroic, and it sounded like Pat. They didn't have a reason to doubt it. But sitting in the audience was Russell Baer, and he knew better. Though he'd been ordered not to speak up, he knew the truth. He also knew that sooner or later, it would surface. And when it did, nothing would be the same.
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Wow.
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Way to go. So about that picture frame. Ah, forget about it. Until Carvana makes one, I'm not interested.
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Car selling made easy on Carvana.
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Pickup fees may apply. On April 22, 2004, 27 year old Pat Tillman was killed in Afghanistan. At his memorial service Two weeks later, the public heard a straightforward story. Pat died in an enemy ambush, cut down by hostile fire. He was even posthumously awarded the Silver Star for bravery. Whether or not it was intentional, that narrative quickly became a powerful piece of recruitment messaging. In life, Pat had been one of the military's most visible and celebrated soldiers. In death, he became a symbol of sacrifice, the kind of story the military could rally around. But not everyone accepted that version so easily. During the service, Pat's younger brother, Richard stepped up to the podium and broke from the script. Angry and grieving, he pushed back against the speeches about Pat being in heaven. Pat hadn't been religious, and he certainly wasn't in a better place. He was just dead. Richard hadn't planned to say any of that, but he couldn't sit quietly while everyone went on and on about Pat's heroics. It wasn't that he disagreed, of course. He thought his brother was a hero, but he felt the whole thing was a production. And it wasn't for Pat's benefit. Richard wasn't the only one who'd started to question things during the service. Afterwards, Pat's parents invited Russell Baer to their house to get his thoughts. But when he arrived, he could barely look Mary in the eyes. And when Pat Sr. Asked him outright what what had happened to his son, Russell repeated the official story, even though he knew it wasn't true. Pat senior left the conversation frustrated and disappointed. Russell had been close to Pat. If anyone could offer clarity, it should have been him. Instead, the family was left with even more questions, ones that multiplied when they learned that Pat's clothing and field journal had been burned and destroyed. The Tillmans weren't told anything else, but the story of Pat's death continued to spread until eventually it took on a life of its own. A month after the memorial, the Mary Tillman got a call from a reporter at the Arizona Republic. Mary had gotten used to fielding calls from the media, but this time they asked what she thought about the military's new story about Pat's death. Mary didn't understand, so the reporter clarified the question. What did she think about Pat being killed by friendly fire? Mary froze. She didn't know what to say or how to respond. She just hung up the phone, shaken by the possibility. She'd suspected they weren't getting the whole story, but she never expected this. As it turned out, behind the scenes, the coroner had refused to sign the autopsy report. Pat's wounds didn't match an enemy ambush. There were three bullet holes in his forehead that were so Close together, it looked like he'd been shot by an M16 at close range. At that point, the army had no choice but to quietly update its position. Now they said Pat's death had been an accident, most likely the result of friendly fire during a chaotic battle. Not long after, the military sent Lt. Gen. Philip Kessinger, U.S. army Special Operations Command, and the head of the Army Rangers to speak to the media. In a press conference, Kessinger explained how early reports in war are often wrong. He admitted that things had been a little confusing, but now the investigation was complete and the record was corrected. The Tillmans were told that they would receive six binders worth of investigative documents so they could review everything themselves. But no one knew exactly when those would be shared or what level of transparency the Tillmans would actually be afforded. Mary Tillman refused to sit by and wait. This was her oldest son they were talking about. She wanted to know all the details, and she wouldn't stop until she did. Mary was no stranger to adversity herself. She once came in dead last in the San Francisco Marathon, but finished nonetheless. And she brought that same resolve to Pat's case. On lunch breaks from her job as a teacher, she called the coroner, the medical examiner, even ballistics experts, anyone who might help her understand what had happened. Eventually, she connected with a retired soldier named Stan Gough. He had written about Pat's case on his blog. Thanks to his own experience in special operations, he understood military culture and could read the Army's paperwork in a way Mary couldn't. That became crucial when the six binders worth of investigation documents finally arrived and in the spring of 2005, almost a year after Pat's death. Inside were interviews with Pat's platoon and commanders, radio logs, hospital reports, maps, autopsy files, even studies on the light conditions that day. In total, there were more than 3,000 pages. However, almost all of it was redacted. To Mary and Stan, it felt like the military was trying to drown the family in documents so dense and blacked out that no one could ever make heads or tails of it. But Mary and Stan tried anyway. Stan compared the process to solving a brutal crossword puzzle. Together, he and Mary cross referenced every scrap they could read, slowly assembling a picture of what had actually happened and who they needed to press next. At first, the Tillmans had sympathized with everyone involved. It seemed like an awful tragedy that occurred during the fog of war. But the more Mary and Stan read, the more that explanation crumbled. It didn't look like an unavoidable accident. It seemed like gross negligence. One soldier admitted he never positively identified the target before firing. He just assumed someone else had and didn't want to miss the action. When Mary read that, she was stunned. Her son had been killed. All because his own fellow soldiers just wanted to fight. For nearly two years, Mary pushed for answers. She wanted to know exactly how Pat's death had occurred. And she wanted to know who had approved the false story initially given to her family. She was met with hostility at every turn. One lead investigator even suggested the reason the Tillmans couldn't let go was because they were atheists. If they had been more godly people, they would be happy to know Pat was in a better place. It was hard to hear, and it also wasn't true. The Tillmans were trying to give Pat closure, even from beyond the grave. But it seemed like the military didn't want to let that happen. Eventually, they announced the case was closed and the investigation was over. It was time to move on. But the Tillmans had no intention of doing that. In April of 2005, in a moment of frustration, Pat Sr. Wrote a blistering letter to the army accusing them of mishandling the investigation. He ended his message with a blunt F. You. He said he only wrote the letter out of anger. He just wanted to tell someone off. Unbeknownst to him, the letter triggered something unexpected. The military treated it as a formal allegation of criminal misconduct, which automatically launched a brand new investigation by the Inspector General. Maybe this time the Tillmans would finally get the truth.
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- [28:08]
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In April 2005, Pat Tillman Senior sent a strongly worded letter to army investigators accusing them of COVID truth. It read like a formal allegation of criminal conduct, which led the Inspector General to launch a new investigation. The inquiry lasted 18 months. When it concluded, the army finally named someone responsible. Lieutenant General Philip Kessinger. The official who had stood before cameras early on and delivered the updated story of Pat's death. The Pentagon declared that Kessinger had been the senior leader in the administrative chain of command for the Army Rangers, which meant the buck stopped with him. They said he'd known about the friendly fire as early as Pat's memorial service and had failed to disclose it. He was found guilty of deception, but because he was already retired, the only consequence he faced was being stripped of his third star. And with that, the military declared the matter closed. For good this time. But Mary Tillman wasn't buying it. Even though Kessinger was a high ranking three star general, a cover up this sprawling didn't begin and end with a single person and certainly not one who'd conveniently already retired. The idea that only Kessinger bore responsibility didn't make sense. She wasn't alone in thinking so. Two days after the army declared the case was resolved, an Associated Press reporter received an anonymous leak. It was the top secret P4 memo sent by General Stanley McChrystal just a week after Pat's death. The memo clearly stated that Pat was killed by friendly fire. And it wasn't sent to Kessinger. It was distributed to the highest ranking generals in the military. Well above his pay grade, the memo said. Speechwriters for President George W. Bush were preparing remarks about Pat. They were warned to be careful about what they said. If the truth about Pat's death became public, it might be embarrassing for the President if he said anything that could be proven false. When the AP reporter published the memo, it seemed to confirm what the Tillmans had suspected. The truth had been purposefully withheld so the military didn't look bad. But now the Tillmans weren't the only ones concerned about who was at fault. Congress had read the memo too, and they had questions of their own. In April 2007, the House of Representatives held hearings to determine whether the military had orchestrated a coordinated cover up. Pat's brother Kevin testified he had finished his enlistment quietly after Pat died and avoided the spotlight ever since. But now he begged Congress to get to the bottom of his brother's death. He said that none of the investigations so far had ever produced a, quote, honest or even sensible conclusion. During the hearings, it became clear that Pat's enlistment had always been a big deal for the military. Secretary of Defense Donald Rumsfeld had personally congratulated Pat on enlisting back in 2002. Then he'd sent a high priority email to the Secretary of the army urging them to keep an eye on Pat because he was Special. With that, the pieces of the puzzle started to fall into place. Because if Pat's enlistment had prompted those at the highest level to take notice, so would his death. The committee wanted to know what discussions had taken place after Pat was killed. So they requested testimony from the recipients of the P4 memo, along with Secretary of Defense Donald Rumsfeld. One by one, the generals claimed they had never seen the memo or couldn't recall it. The phrase I don't remember echoed through the hearing room over and over. And in the end, none of them were held accountable for anything. The Tillmans were devastated. They had hoped that Congress might finally pierce the fog around Pat's death. Instead, it felt like another institution had let them down. After the congressional hearings went nowhere, Mary Tillman's doubts only deepened. She began to wonder whether the truth was even darker than she had imagined. The decision to split the platoon that day, which had been made by a remote command post, was reckless. The lack of air support was. Was baffling. Then came the army medical examiner's comments. The cluster of bullet wounds on Pat's forehead looked like they could have come from an M16 fired from just about 10 yards away. It was hard to believe someone standing so close to Pat's wouldn't know exactly who they were shooting at. The doctors were so concerned that they actually tried to get investigators at the time of Pat's death to consider whether it might have been a crime. Mary didn't want to believe Pat had been killed on purpose, but she couldn't shake the possibility. The military had lied to her so often about so many details, she couldn't help but wonder if it was because they were covering up something far worse than an accident. For years, Mary wrestled with what she believed. In 2008, she released a book called Boots on the Ground by Dusk. In it, she accused General McChrystal of pushing a false narrative while knowing the truth. Pat Sr. Publicly agreed, saying he believed McChrystal had contributed to a falsified harm homicide investigation. The Pentagon responded firmly. Every inquiry, military, congressional and independent had reached the same conclusion. There'd been no wrongdoing by General McChrystal. No matter how many times the Tillmans accused him of misconduct, it never seemed to land. Instead, General McChrystal just kept rising in the ranks. When Mary learned that he was about to be promoted to lead US Forces in Afghanistan, she wrote to President Obama, urging him to reconsider. Her plea was ignored. McChrystal was eventually fired in 2010. It was because he'd criticized the administration in a Rolling Stone interview, not for anything related to Pat Tillman. For years, Mary continued the good fight. She built timelines, collected statements, gathered photos and maps, following every lead she could. In 2017, 13 years after her son's death, she was introduced to retired Lt. Col. Pete Blaber. He was a former Delta Force commander who had struck served in the same Ranger Regiment battalion as her sons. She asked him to help her get to the bottom of the story once and for all. He agreed, with a caveat that she might not like the answers he found. Mary said she could live with that. Blaber conducted more than 100 interviews, including 16 with members of Pat's platoon. In the end, he didn't find any evidence of a premeditated conspiracy. But there had clearly been cascading failures, poor leadership, bad decisions, and a chaotic firefight that placed Pat in a fatal position. In Blaber's assessment, it was a tragic accident compounded by institutional self protection. For the first time, Mary felt she could accept that. Today, she believes Pat's death was in fact an accident. She doesn't blame the men in his platoon who fired the shots. She knows they were scared. Under trained and overwhelmed, Mary never got the accountability she hoped for. No one higher than a single retired general was held responsible. But after years of digging, she finally felt satisfied with the facts. Not the version written for awards or delivered at podiums, but the messy human truth of what happened to her son up on that ridge. Thanks so much for listening. I'm Carter Roy and this is True Crime Stories. Come back next time for the story of a new murder and all the people it affected. True Crime Stories is a Crime House original powered by Pave Studios. Here at Crime House, we want to thank each and every one of you for your support. If you like what you heard today, reach out on social media, rimehouse on TikTok and Instagram. Don't forget to rate, review and follow Murder True Crime Stories wherever you get your podcasts. Your feedback truly makes a difference and to enhance your Murder True Crime Stories listening experience, subscribe to Crime House plus on Apple Podcasts. You'll get every episode early and ad free. We'll be back on Friday. True Crime Stories is hosted by me, Carter Roy and is a Crime House original powered by Pave Studios. This episode was brought to life by the Murder True Crime Stories team. Max Cutler, Ron Shapiro, Alex Benidon, Natalie Pertofsky, Sarah Camp, Alex Burns, Haniya Said, and Russell Nash. Thank you for listening.
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Close your eyes. Exhale. Feel your body relax and let go of whatever you're carrying today.
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- [40:28]
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Looking for your next listen. Hi, it's Vanessa Richardson, and I have exciting news.
- [40:32]
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Congratulations.
- [40:33]
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Conspiracy Theories, Cults and Crimes is leveling up. Starting the week of January 12th, you'll be getting two episodes every week. Wednesdays we unravel the conspiracy or the cult, and on Fridays, we look at a corresponding crime. Follow Conspiracy Theories, Cults and Crimes now on Apple Podcasts, Spotify, Amazon Music, or wherever you listen.