Transcript
Celisia Stanton (0:00)
Coming to ABC and Hulu, Amanda Riley was a mother, wife speaker at her church. And then she got diagnosed with cancer. A beloved young Christian woman fighting a battle undeserved. We thought she was God's gift, but she was a liar. Why would somebody fake cancer? From the number one smash hit podcast, it was only a matter of time until Amanda's whole world came tumbling down. You're not gonna believe this. Scamanda premieres Thursday night, January 30th on ABC and Stream on Hulu.
Narrator (0:30)
He was a boy Scout leader, a church deacon, a husband, a father.
Narrator (0:36)
He went to a local church. He was going to the grocery store with us. He was the guy next door.
Narrator (0:43)
But he was leading a double life.
Narrator (0:46)
He was certainly a peeping Tom. Looking through the windows, looking at people, fantasizing about what he could do. He then began entering the houses.
Narrator (0:55)
He could get into their home, take.
Celisia Stanton (0:57)
Something and get out and not be caught. He felt very powerful.
Narrator (1:01)
He was a monster hiding in plain sight.
Narrator (1:05)
Someone killed four members of a family. It just didn't happen here.
Narrator (1:11)
Journey inside the mind of one of history's most notorious killers, btk, through the voices of the people who know him best. Listen to Monster BTK on the iHeartRadio app, Apple Podcasts, or wherever. Listen to your favorite shows.
Celisia Stanton (1:30)
Please be aware that today's story contains references to suicide, gun violence, child abuse, and housing insecurity. Please take care while listening. I was in the third grade, the year I first remember realizing that the bad stuff that happens on TV happened to real people. At the time, my mom worked at a small liberal arts college and so we lived in on campus housing. At that point, my mom had spent most of her career working at different colleges and universities, and so at 8, I was already plenty comfortable in the company of university students who seemed to find me equal parts adorable and annoyingly talkative. My days as that kid that lived on campus were mostly warm. Like the time I'd request to perform in the college talent show. I SANG the Lizzie McGuire theme song, duh. Or the time I went trick or treating through the residence hall. Those suckers really gave me all their dorm candy. And there were also touches of absurdity, like the time some drunk undergrad stole my bike and placed it in the middle of a frozen lake. Or the time when different students, also drunk, threw a couch out the window of a study lounge where it landed gracefully on top of our family's van. It was a unique life, for sure, but overall, it was one. Shielded from the scary things reporters droned on about on tv. But that was tv. Those things just didn't happen in real life. That is, until the day that a 21 year old student disappeared from the campus where I lived. Within hours of her disappearance, she was reported missing and a massive search was underway. The next day, they'd find her body in a dam only a mile away. A short time after that, investigators would find her killer. It was awful. It was the type of horrifying event that the media jumps on. The woman, attractive, white and blonde, had been abducted from a parking lot on campus. Her killer was a complete stranger, a parolee struggling with mental illness. As word spread, so did the community's fear. All of a sudden, folks were double checking their door locks and watching everyone around them with a bit more suspicion. At 8, I was suddenly aware that the unimaginable wasn't just TV. In the years that followed, I'd spend long nights watching Nancy Grace and many days begging my mom for grocery store tabloids, getting media and messages that sold a certain story. Victims of violence, White women, perpetrators of violence. Scary strangers, monsters in the dark. And who to call for help when nightmare becomes reality? The police, of course. It would be a long time before I realized the truth that white women are among the least likely to be crime victims, that perpetrators are rarely strangers, and that police aren't nearly as good at finding answers as popular media leads us to believe. As it turns out, becoming a victim of crime is often far less random than it may seem. I discovered upon closer examination that our communities sit on a complex web of systems, many with widely gaping holes. Holes that pull in folks who are often quite different than those we usually see on tv. But who are these people, the ones who our systems fail and then promptly forget? As always, it's a question with many answers. But today we'll talk about one, because this is the story of Relisha Rudd. I'm Celisia Stanton, and you're listening to truer crime. May 19, 2014. The day seemed to be going more or less like normal for Payne elementary school social worker Mr. Workman. According to Michael Chandler, writing for the Washington Post, Workman typically spent his days supporting students with behavioral disabilities, doing referrals for support services, stuff like that. And on this day, Workman left the school to follow up on one specific student, Relisha Rudd, a second grader who had been racking up absences, unexcused absences. According to the post, workman's journey began two weeks before, on March 5th. The start was pretty standard. A ping, an alert A notice Relisha had been absent, unexcused, five times. That was the content of the automatic notification, the kind the school social worker always received after a student missed enough school days without explanation. Workman already knew Relisha's family. He had worked closely with her brothers, and Relisha was one of 57 students at Payne elementary whose family was struggling with homelessness. So after he learned about Relish's absences, Workman did what he usually did in these cases and followed up with her family. And when he asked about Relisha's time away from his school, the family told him that Relisha was sick and currently under the care of a doctor. And, yeah, that seems like a reasonable reason for a child to miss school. But to get the absences officially excused, Workman needed proper documentation. So the family gave him the phone number for Relisha's physician, Dr. Tatum. According to journalist Michael Chandler, over the next several days, Workman exchanged a number of calls with Dr. Tatum. Tatum would tell the social worker that, yes, Relisha was under his care and that he was treating her for a neurological issue. But despite these phone calls, Workman was still having trouble getting a hold of the documentation he needed. First, Dr. Tatum said he would send the necessary paperwork over once Belicia's treatment had been completed, and then he provided a fax number which couldn't be reached. Finally, by March 19, Relisha had been gone for school for over four weeks. At that point, Workman finally decided enough was enough. He would go to the shelter where Relisha lived, and Dr. Tatum worked to retrieve the documentation his self. But when he arrived and asked the shelter staff if he could speak with Dr. Tatum, Workman was met with confusion. There was no one named Dr. Tatum who worked there. They told him. Feeling a bit panicked at that point, Workman asked if there was anybody by the name of Tatum who worked at the shelter at all this time. There was recognition. There was a Tatum employed by the shelter, but he wasn't a doctor. Khalil Tatum was the shelter's custodian. It was a nightmarish answer that would raise an even more horrifying question. Where was Relisha Rudd? Understanding everything that led up to this point and everything that would follow took tracing a long and twisted road through news coverage and interviews, government reports, and celebrity talk shows. It's a journey I want to take you on, too. But to do that, you'll first need to get to know Relisha.
