You Belong to Me: The Murder of Robin Benedict

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Hello campers, grab your marshmallows and gather around the true crime campfire.

Wear your camp counselors, I'm Katie, and I'm Whitney.

And we're here to tell you a true story that is way stranger than fiction, or roasting

murderers and marshmallows around the true crime campfire.

Love can be a pretty hard thing to define.

It's easier to say what it is not.

Love is not secretly following someone and trying your best to keep her with insight

every second of the day.

Love is not trying to keep someone scared and uncertain so they'll rely on you more.

And love is not thinking you own a person and becoming furious when you find out that

you don't.

This is a story about a man who made all those mistakes, who mistook obsession for devotion

and whose towering sense of entitlement turned into awful violence.

This is you belong to me, the murder of Robin Benedict.

So campers, for this one we're starting out near the town of Mansfield, Massachusetts

at a rest stop off of I-95, March 6th, 1983.

A couple of men were going through the trash cans in the chilly early morning.

A new state law had gone into effect at the start of the year, offering five cents for

every can or bottle brought in to be recycled.

Going through trash cans like this wasn't going to make you rich, but you might be able

to buy a pack of smokes.

In one of the trash cans, they found a brown plastic garbage bag tied at the top.

In it was a woman's tan corduroy blazer, and it was wrapped around something.

Inside the blazer was a large blue shirt and a small sledgehammer, something you'd used

to smash out plaster on an interior wall.

All three items looked like they had trace amounts of blood on them.

The hammer was stuck to the shirt, and stuck to the hammer was one long strand of dark

hair.

Initially, they just put the bag back in the trash can, they didn't want to get involved

in any serious business, but before long conscience won out and they called the state police.

The jacket would soon be identified as belonging to Robin Benedict, a beautiful young aspiring

artist and sex worker from Boston, and the shirt as belonging to William Douglas, a brilliant

professor at Tufts University Medical Center.

He was a frequent client of Robbins and had become obsessed with her, and he was quickly

identified as the most likely suspect in her murder.

William Douglas was born in 1941 in Serenac Lake, way up in the woods and hills of Upstate

New York, but grew up nearby in Lake Placid where his parents moved when he was five.

He was a klutzy, awkward kid who couldn't make friends, which wasn't helped at all by

his weird parents.

Bill Sr. was a plumber, and Eleanor was a maid, working in both hotels and private homes,

and if you've ever wondered, will the maids judge me for making them clean up all this

crap?

Yes, they will, or at least Eleanor did.

And so did one of my friends who used to work for Molly Maids.

Oh, my Lord.

She would tell me some horror stories.

Let me tell you.

Woo.

One of her favorite things to talk about was how disgusting people were.

She was a German immigrant who still had a thick accent, which must be the ideal voice

to give lectures on how revolting people are.

I think I've had nightmares about exactly this, like a stern German woman talking

and telling me how disgusting I am, like, oh.

Some people are probably into that.

Oh, God, I just saw that too.

Hey, Eleanor cared a lot about how people behaved and took care to teach little William

to be polite.

They'd had him when Eleanor was in her 40s, so he was something of a miracle baby who

they spoiled and sheltered.

Eleanor wanted him to be clean and always in control of himself, and to keep him from

picking up bad habits.

He discouraged him from spending time with other children.

Oh, my God.

Mom, no.

Lake Placid is a resort town, lots of skiing and skating and hiking and hockey, but not

for young William.

Why don't you just stay at home with mother and father, read a nice book and have some

oval teen.

He needed permission to leave the house, and his only rebellion was occasionally sneaking

out.

When he was caught, his mom and dad would scold him until he burst into tears and begged

for their forgiveness.

Then mom or dad would pat him on the head and call him their little man and everything

would calm down.

This happened again and again.

He'd break some stupid little rule.

It would be treated as deadly serious than tears and forgiveness.

We shouldn't draw too straight of a line from A to B here, but that sounds to me like

a situation where a weird, isolated kid in a kind of frosty home might start to find

transgressing kind of exciting.

It was pretty much the only time when really motions were let out.

At the start of middle school, the family moved again up to a trailer home in Platsburg.

William didn't find it any easier to make friends there.

He was shy and strange and whatever other qualities German home cooking might have,

though fat is not one of them.

William was a tall, pudgy kid who also happened to have a really high nervous little voice.

Middle school kids, as a group, do not tend to be kind to the odd and the strange.

In his isolation, William dove into schoolwork, discovering a deep facility with science,

especially biology, which took him on to college in Platsburg.

His dad died in a construction accident when William was in school, leaving him and his

mom alone in the trailer.

So far, William has just been an awkward nerd, but he already had a cruel streak.

Even though she was only in her 60s, Eleanor was in the early stages of dementia and she

was often confused.

William either ignored her or bullied her.

She was a Christian scientist and did not altogether approve of his scientific education,

so just to irritate her, he'd read out loud from his textbooks.

Some people visited and Eleanor tried to say something, he just told her to shut up.

Nice.

Good.

We're developing a healthy respect for women, I see.

Yeah.

College was good for William.

He joined a fraud and learned to interact with the humans.

Unhealthy fasting and crash diets shed some weight, at least for a little while, and he

successfully molded himself into an average college man, like if beige were a human being.

But he continued to excel academically, and beige plus smart is enough to get you some

attention in college.

In this case, from a nursing student named Nancy Bolton, William would basically fall for

any woman who gave him some attention, and Nancy had a kind of stern, maggy, fatcher

vibe, probably not a million miles away from Mama Eleanor.

Yeah.

Paging Dr. Freud, Dr. Sigmund Freud, actually Freud also came up with the Madonna whole

or complex, so you might as well just keep him on speed dial for this story.

Freud, on call is the all time episode title.

William and Nancy got married right after he graduated.

A National Science Foundation Fellowship paid for a year of postgraduate work at Yale,

which changed William's life because he excelled and started to give me go.

He got a Masters in PhD in biomedical sciences and soon landed a private research job

back in Lake Placid.

By this time his mom had died, an event that didn't seem to move him much.

He and Nancy had three kids.

He published an incredible amount of scientific papers, and eventually he was on the review

panel of the National Institutes of Health.

The awkward nerd seemed to have built a successful, normal life.

How much weight is resting on that?

Seemed too.

We don't really know.

The story of Robin Benedict was big news in the 80s, so inevitably there was a TV movie

about it, which has William wandering into the Red Light District being dazzled by all

the bright lights and being kind of surprised to find himself in bed with a sex worker.

Like, ah, gee, Shucks, how'd I end up here?

In reality, that's not at all the way thing happened.

He was already a frequent John by the time of the story, and how far back the Habit

goes, we'll never know.

Certainly not from William, whose science nerd vibe hit a deceptive and manipulative

nature.

He would absolutely lie to save himself some embarrassment.

We do know that somewhere on the road between mother's strutal and academic stardom, he

developed an obsession with porn that soon evolved from Playboy to extreme material about

gang rape, bondage, and violent sadism.

And if you want some more dime-stores psychoanalysis, you don't have to squint too hard at William's

repressed childhood and strict mother to see where a kink for control and domination would

come from.

Yeah.

You might not even need to squint at all, just kind of look at it, yeah.

In 1978, William was headhunted by the Tufts University Medical School in Boston, thanking

his reputation and academic output would help them haul in lots of grant money.

He was made an assistant professor and given his own lab to supervise, and it just so

happened that the Tufts Medical School sat right next to a neighborhood known as the

Combat Zone.

I'm sure anybody who plays Fallout 4 just pricked up their ears, but the Combat Zone was

a real place, a block and a half of downtown Boston, that in the 70s was officially designated

as the Adult Entertainment District.

There were strip clubs, pornographic bookstores, and movie theaters, and sex workers of every

type on the street corners and in the bars.

It was, predictably, an easy place to buy drugs.

If you wanted any kind of nasty good time, you came to the Combat Zone.

And as was not uncommon for such places and big cities at the time, it was also one of

the few places that LGBTQ people could live without fear of regular harassment.

In the early days of the Combat Zone, the same was even true for mixed race couples.

So this was a wild, accepting, dangerous, criminal place.

In 1976, the Wall Street Journal described the neighborhood as a sexual Disneyland, which

I doubt the Disney Company appreciated.

The mouse will have to send his team of lawyers to deal with it.

You don't want to mess with the mouse, oh man, talk about breaking your thumbs.

In 1975, police arrested 97 underage girls for soliciting men in the zone.

The way this usually worked at the time, the girls were arrested, and the Johns were

not.

Great, makes perfect sense, right?

This kind of sex work was incredibly dangerous.

Women working on the streets were often beaten or mugged, and no one in Boston was more

at risk of being murdered.

It might have been sexual Disneyland, but this neighborhood was not the happiest place

on Earth.

There was no shortage of bars in the Combat Zone, but the one professor William Douglas

adopted as his own was Good Time Charlie's, which does not in fact sound like a good

time.

Depressed looking men drank at a big circular bar while a couple of topless ladies danced

on a small stage under pink lighting, one of them scrambling down every now and again

to pump more quarters into the jukebox to keep the disco hits coming.

Sex workers stood against the wall, sometimes coming to the bar to ask a prospective client

if he wanted to party.

Good time Charlie's had a few rules to maintain their status as the more respectable Combat Zone

bar.

There was a dress code for the ladies working there to try and create the illusion that

they might just be out clubbing.

And unlike some of the other bars, there was no screwing around on the actual premises.

They had to go elsewhere for that, but not before letting the guy buy him a drink.

William had become a regular there almost as soon as he'd started at Tufts.

He'd regained the weight he'd lost in college and then some.

He was a huge guy over six feet tall and over 300 pounds.

But he also seemed harmless, nervous and smiling when one of the women approached him.

And at least in comparison to most of the guys drinking there, he looked like he had money.

They frequently hired sex workers who seemed to have enjoyed working with him.

Safe and has money is the ideal combination in that line of work.

In one night in the cold march of 1982, a beautiful young woman came up to him at the

bar and started flirting.

This was Robin Benedict, although when she was working, she used her middle name, Nadine.

Robin Benedict was born in 1961 in Methuen, an old industrial town just across the border

from New Hampshire.

Her dad John was from Trinidad, but after finishing service in the US Navy, he decided to change

his name from Lopez to Benedict for his new American life in New England, which was

not an uncommon choice in the late 50s.

He'd met his wife Ellen while stationed in Virginia, and after the Navy, they headed

back to her home state of Massachusetts to a small, five-room house in Methuen.

It's a nicer place now than it was when Robin was growing up there.

A green street close by the Miriamac River, but in the 60s and early 70s before the Clean

Water Act, the river was nasty, basically just a soup of industrial pollution and raw

sewage, and the factories on its banks made the air grey and smoggy.

Yak.

Robin and her four siblings were pressured to perform well in school, and all of them joined

a local marching band, the White Eagles Drum and Bugle Corps.

Robin was a cute kid with a bright smile who grew into a beautiful young woman.

She always got great grades, but her main interests were creative, learning to play the

flute and developing a real skill for drawing.

She went to the Greater Lawrence Technical High School to study commercial art, where

she won the Presidential Certificate of Merit and was voted best dressed in her senior year,

which led her to choose, as her yearbook quote, I love this, Robin Benedict leaves behind

her flashy wardrobe and goes stark naked into the world.

She was smart and energetic, and she definitely had a wild streak.

Methuen was boring.

When Robin started dating, it was with dudes with cars who'd take her to disco clubs out

of town.

This was disco's time in the sun, and under the glitter balls and colored lights, Robin

won a bunch of dance contests, some with cash prices.

Her boyfriends were always older, and always had some kind of an edge, a little touch of

danger.

Neither of these are particularly unusual for teenage girls.

You know, the bad boy cliche didn't become a cliche out of nowhere.

It's most definitely a thing.

Oh yeah.

In her senior year, Robin and her then boyfriend went to a fundraiser event at school that

featured the faculty against some players from the New England Patriots NFL team.

And at the dinner afterward, Robin got to know Ray Costick.

Ray was 24 years old and a linebacker for the Patriots, although he wasn't a superstar

by any means.

In his three year career, he'd only started six games, and thanks to a knee injury, that

would be all the time he got in the NFL.

Robin and Ray hit it off at dinner and soon became friends.

Ray had a long-term girlfriend and a kid back in Mississippi, and he was lonely up in New

England.

So, Robin invited him to her dad's weekend barbecues.

He almost became one of the family.

Then one day, Robin happened to go see her boyfriend and walked in on him in bed with

another woman.

She drove to raise apartment in tears and cried on his shoulder, and it probably won't

surprise anybody to hear that they started dating soon after that.

And Robin moved into his apartment in Quincy.

He still kind of had that girlfriend in Mississippi, but you know, Mississippi was a long way

away, and this is before the internet.

Yeah.

Robin got a graphic design job, and on the surface, she was her usual upbeat self, but things

weren't going great with Ray.

She was in some ways a tough cookie, but there was kind of a heartbreakingly yearning quality

to Robin.

She wanted to be loved.

And if that meant shaping herself into something new, she'd do it.

Ray caustic was an unusual dude in some ways.

He'd formerly had a drug problem and still hung out with a pretty sketchy crowd, but he's

also a semi-devout Jehovah's Witness, and he'd go through periods where he'd be racked

with guilt about all the partying.

Robin had been raised Catholic, but gave it up and took Bible study classes to start the

lengthy process of converting to the Jehovah Witnesses for Ray.

When Ray heard his name couldn't play, Robin took care of him and ran errands.

But she didn't get the same kind of consideration back.

When Ray's Mississippi girlfriend came to visit, he kicked Robin out of the apartment for

the weekend.

Oh, yeah.

I do not like him.

No.

Robin thought they should have a child together, but Ray had no interest in that.

He had a four-year-old in Mississippi that he barely knew, and he intended to get back

there soon.

There's a clear difference in how they saw the relationship.

Robin thought she'd found a mate for life, but to Ray, she was just his new England girlfriend.

After they'd met together for a year or so, Ray told her he was going to spend the offseason

down in Mississippi, getting to know his son.

The NFL offseason is like seven months long, and Robin could hear the alarm bells ringing.

She tried to talk him into staying, but Ray headed south, and before long, Ray told her

he was staying Mississippi and getting married.

Robin was justifiably hurt and angry, and she could throw a punch.

She called up Ray's church elders and told them that not only had Ray been doing a whole

lot of fornicating, the two of them had frequently shared lines of coke.

Oh, Petty?

Sure.

Satisfying?

Oh, yeah.

You betcha.

Wow.

When they'd been together, Ray and Robin had gone to a lot of parties, and at one of them,

an acquaintance of Ray's came up to congratulate him on his pretty girlfriend, so weird.

This was JR, a small-time pimp who had a knack for appearing at parties and clubs where

athletes and other local high-rollers were, and asking if they needed female entertainment.

To one later interviewer, Costick would say that JR said about Robin, that's the kind

of girl you marry.

But he told an earlier interviewer that what JR said was, that's the kind of child you

put out on the street, which sounds more like something JR would say.

Anyway, by the end of the year, Robin had given up on the Jehovah's Witnesses and was

being driven to work in JR's Mercedes.

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After a short apprenticeship offering massages with extras and a couple of health clubs,

JR sent her to the combat zone to make some real money.

This all happened incredibly fast and it's kind of difficult to piece together why.

Robin had a job, her drug use was entirely casual and didn't burn a hole in her finances.

She had always had a healthy sexual appetite but wasn't promiscuous.

She was certainly vulnerable after everything fell apart with Ray Costick and that made

her open to a romantic relationship with JR, which is what happened.

The Pim relationship is definitively exploitative.

One person's due in the work and taking all the risks and it's not the person controlling

the money.

But people are complicated.

If for a moment you set aside the huge box of snakes that was their respective jobs,

Robin and JR started dating, moved in together and fell for each other.

And obviously we're not holding JR up as any kind of pair going here.

He was fundamentally kind of a sleaze bag, just that people are weird and there seems

to have been genuine affection between them.

Robin almost certainly knew how JR made a living before she got involved with them.

She had a history of trying to please her romantic partners.

Would that go as far as embracing sex work?

A wrinkle there is that after all this shook down, Robin's parents hired an investigation

agency to look into what had happened to their daughter, which revealed that she'd already

done a little sex work by herself when she was a senior in high school.

So JR was absolutely skilled at talking women into sex work, but I think you have to say

that Robin had her eyes open about what she was doing.

And just for the record, this is what sex trafficking looks like nine out of ten times, a boyfriend

or a friend that talks someone into sex work and works as their Pimp.

It's nothing like Liam Neeson would have you believe.

Yeah.

And a lot of time, that's not what happened here, but a lot of times it will also involve

getting them addicted to drugs or, you know, some other way of kind of keeping them there

if they decide they don't want to be there anymore.

JR was Clarence Rogers Jr., a short kind of fancy guy in his thirties who was sharp, but

no kind of tough guy.

He had a short and very petty, non-violent criminal record and was well known to Boston

Vice as a Pimp.

His girlfriend, Savi, was a Trinidadian immigrant who had been a sex worker for seven years,

and they had a little boy together, Taj.

Savi was tall and friendly, but with a tough edge, as you'd expect from someone who'd

been working on the streets for years.

She and Robin got along really well, even after Robin replaced her in JR's apartment.

Savi took Robin under her wing in the combat zone, and Robin tried to mimic her friends take

no shit attitude, but the fact was she was twenty years old and new to all of this, that

was all a front.

Her plan was to do this for five years and make as much money as she could, and then go

back to her art career, but by the time she was one year in, she would already be sick

of it.

There's every reason to think she'd have gotten out and put her life back on the track

she wanted it, but she never got the chance.

When William Douglas took his new job at Tufts, his family settled in the small suburban

town of Sharon, in one of the wealthiest counties in the whole country, but the trappings

of success weren't helping his marriage with Nancy.

He would claim later that Nancy refused to have sex with him, and that's why he started

his forays to the combat zone, but think about that as William's a liar, and I suspect

if that's true at all, he put it backwards.

Nancy stopped going to bed with him because she figured out he was paying other women

for sex.

Anyway, their marriage became chilly and almost silent.

His work at Tufts was excellent.

He was popular with students that he taught, but not with the people he worked with.

He had kind of a shy demeanor, but couldn't take criticism at all and got angry really

fast.

He got paranoid about people taking stuff from his office, so he labeled everything with

his initials.

Just like Amy Bishop, you remember her?

The university shooter who like she would label everything in her lab and get mad if somebody

accidentally could key home or something.

When academic books kept going missing, he had to be talked out of a plan to plant highly

radioactive material in the bindings and then go hunting for the thief with a Geiger counter,

which is possibly one of the most psycho things I've ever heard in my life.

Holy shit.

His reputation was of a brilliant weirdo and also kind of a prudish one.

There were young, single guys in the lab who were always talking about the combat zone,

just one block away from the med center, but William never joined in and gave them disapproving

looks.

He just didn't want to reveal how much he actually knew about the combat zone.

More often than not, he'd go there right after work and spend hours in the porn shops

and bars, sometimes going with a sex worker to a trick pad before heading home to Nancy

and the kids.

His behavior got even weirder in 1982, after he met Robin Benedict and almost immediately

became obsessed with her.

Their first few conversations did not lead to the trick pad on Beacon Street that Robin

shared with Savvy.

William wanted oral sex, which was not a service she provided and she really didn't like

men as sweaty and large as him.

Robin was one of the hottest women working in the combat zone and she could afford to be

a little picky.

So the first few times they'd talked had ended with Robin introducing him to another lady

who could give him what he wanted, and those other ladies gave Robin encouraging reports.

Despite his extreme interest in violent porn, William was surprisingly vanilla in his

requests to sex workers.

I'm guessing it's because he was too embarrassed to ask for anything else.

He was polite, dacile, and paid up without hesitation.

That's not always easy to find.

So in April, he became a regular client of Robbins, meeting once or twice a week.

Sex can sometimes lead to talking, and they'd chat in bed.

Robin was funny and curious with everyone she spoke with.

She was a gregarious, friendly person.

But to a sad sack like William, it felt like something special was happening with them.

Oh, Lord.

No, no, she really likes me.

We have a connection.

I can feel it.

Honey, honey.

No.

Things started to get out of hand fast.

Once or twice a week became every weeknight, with William paying two or three hundred dollars

a night for hours of her time.

He made decent money, but academic rock stars don't get paid like actual rock stars.

This was financially untenable, and he knew it, but he didn't stop.

Soon, Robin stopped going to the combat zone at all.

She made enough from a few deep pocketed clients that she didn't have to go out on the streets

anymore, and William was the best client she had.

More and more often now, he didn't even want to have sex, just wanted to sit and talk

or walk through Boston Common.

If he did want some action that Robin wasn't in the mood for, he was content if she called

up savvy and let her do the work instead.

Compared to how most women in her professional worked, this looked like a pretty sweet situation,

but if she'd been more experienced, Robin might have been wary.

Nothing really exists as a legal concept in 1982, but that doesn't mean it didn't happen.

Most women would know what you were talking about if you described it, and it's a thing

that strippers and sex workers are at high risk of.

A client who started imagining a real emotional connection was something that probably wasn't

going to lead anywhere good.

To be clear, Robin never encouraged William in that way.

She never treated him or referred to him as anything other than a friend, and all their

meetings were clearly transactional.

He wanted to sit and talk, he paid for her time.

He wanted to go to the park, he paid for her time.

He wanted her to make dinner, he paid for her time and the groceries too.

This was the job, money and exchange for human interaction, and she never disguised

that.

Yeah, the Dululu that this man achieved here, he achieved all on his own.

She was not trying to mislead him.

In May, after knowing her for just a couple of months, William sent Robin a note outlining

a plan to get her on the Tufts payroll as an illustrator.

This he wrote would help avoid a gap in her resume when she finished her five years of

sex work and would also help next April when William did her tax returns.

On the one hand, this looks like standard issue, promising to do anything for the girl

he had a crush on, but you have to consider that all William's secret porn kinks revolved

around controlling other people.

It was probably a major reason why he enjoyed sex workers so much.

Whatever happened, it was because he and his money made it happen.

And now he was trying to fully insert himself into her life and make himself indispensable,

make her reliance on him.

It wasn't cute at all, he just wanted to tighten his grip on her.

Our main source for this story was Don Straddley's book Boston Tabloid, and he theorizes

that what made William obsess about Robin so quickly was that he was fundamentally jealous

of her.

He was a grey man with a grey life, and the only excitement in it came from his secret

porn stash.

He never turned heads, never broke the rules, and here was this beautiful 20-year-old,

who for all her dramas and mistakes was living a colorful, exciting life where she was widely

desired, and despite the tenderness of her profession, she had a spark of light and

energy in her that William had never had.

He started mirroring her.

If she was going to do cocaine, he would do cocaine.

He bought her a little silver Toyota Starlet, and then bought himself one too.

It's like single white female.

So weird.

It was a cute car for a 20-year-old, but a ridiculous one for a well-to-do 40-year-old

with three kids.

When he wasn't actually with her, William was usually composing one of endless letters

to her.

These weren't sexual at all, and were barely romantic, just sappy praising of Robin and whining

about how he wasn't good enough for her.

Oh my God, I know the exact type, and you do too.

Have you ever had a guy go on and on about how unwarby he is of you, and it's like exhausting

because he's just fishing.

It's like I saw him yesterday on Reddit where the guy said, if you asked ten women about

me, ten of them would say, I look weird, and it's like, maybe you're not going to say

it.

Yeah.

Yeah, here's a little advice for the dudes out there, just from a lady who's had experience

with dudes.

If you do this enough, eventually the woman's going to start to think, you know what?

Maybe you're right.

You're not good enough for me.

You know what?

I mean, you got to be careful about that shit.

They read like they'd been written by a middle schooler with his first girlfriend.

He started ending them with, I love you, but Robin told him not to, so he passive aggressively

switched to, I love seeing you.

You know, I'm going to do what you tell me technically, but I'm still going to do what

I want to.

Robin's own letters and reply were brief and light and talked only about their friendship.

When she'd first met him, Robin had been interested in William and his work.

She was naturally curious, and he was certainly a really intelligent man, but it didn't take

many of his saccharine letters to turn that off.

Sappy and self-pitying had never appealed to her.

William was just work.

At his own job, William was often laid and even more disheveled than usual.

He had a couch brought to his office and often slept there.

He was short tempered and distracted and often vanished in the middle of the day.

Like so many of the truly brilliant people we've covered, his brain just switched off

when he tried to be underhanded, most likely because he assumed every other human being

was a drooling idiot.

He went ahead and got Robin on the school's payroll as an assistant, saying she was an

MIT grad student and paying her $1,000 a month, which that's a lot, you know, purportedly,

to draw sketches for his various projects and for 1982 money, basically multiply that

by three and a half for today's equivalent, so, you know, not peanuts by any means.

And for sketches that nobody'd ever seen, people in the lab made the fairly accurate assumption

that this mysterious misbenedict was a mistress.

This obviously was not William's money to spend.

It was also just the tip of the iceberg of how much cash he was ripping off from tufts.

In November, William and Robin were leaving her trick pad early one morning when a couple

of vice cops stopped and harassed them, laughing at William when he insisted Robin was his

employee at tufts.

They showed him a picture of JR and told him that this was Robin's pimp and that William's

money all went to him.

William still refused to admit to them that Robin was a sex worker.

Robin had been having a hard time with the cops.

They always seemed to turn up at her trick pads not long after she'd set herself up, forcing

her to find a new place.

About half the time when she was with the client, vice would show up and give her grief.

It was like the police always knew where she was and what she was up to.

They did almost because William Douglas was telling them, oh my god, it's so creepy.

As soon as he'd started seeing Robin, he'd also started secretly following her whenever

he could.

When he saw her pick up a client, he called the vice squad in a fake voice and told them

where to come for her.

There's even some suggestion that he was paying one of the vice detectives to make sure

they left into action.

He'd called them on this November morning when they got in his own phase.

It gave him a chance to show a little backbone in front of Robin and probably gave him a little

thrill.

Ooh, I'm in trouble with the fuzz.

I'm dying naughty boy.

There are probably a few things going on here.

In the most obvious is simple jealousy.

He didn't want Robin in bed with other guys, so he called the cops to interrupt them when

he could.

But the constant with William Douglas was that he wasn't just a sad sack.

There was always something steely and cruel buried inside him.

He wanted Robin scared and uncertain.

So she'd rely more and more on her safe, friendly professor.

But he wasn't safe or friendly.

He bought her an answering machine and then later smashed a window to break into her trick

pad to steal it so he could listen to her messages and learn more about her personal

life.

Jesus.

He bought her a replacement machine when she moved into a new pad and before long he

broke in there too.

He staged a robbery throwing things around and stole $300.

The new answering machine and Robin's address book where she kept the contact information

for her regular clients.

Oh my god.

He'd soon go through it and try to figure out which guys were married.

Then he'd call their wives and wrap them out for seeing a sex worker.

When Robin told him how terrifying it was to be robbed twice in quick succession, he

consoled her.

Jesus.

He's Dennis Reynolds.

For the always sunny and Philadelphia fans, it's the first and in the Dennis system.

Nurture Dependence.

What a fricking creep.

Good gravy.

Eventually, Robin noticed William's car following her when she was with other clients.

She confronted him and he denied everything.

But she was getting a bad feeling and she decided to cool things off.

By the end of the year, she was changing the way she worked, cruising Yuppie bars instead

of the combat zone and doing mostly pretend lesbian sex shows with other ladies.

All very theatrical, lots of riving and moaning, with very little in the way of actual action

going on.

You know, like most lesbian porn ain't it, when they'll have very long fingernails and

you're like, yeah, okay, all right, soon she stepped down her activities significantly.

Going back to massage workouts at Boston where she and J.R. got a little house and started

decorating it.

This looks like a step towards stopping sex work, although not leaving the biz entirely.

She'd be J.R.'s kind of normal girlfriend while he made money from other women.

As to whether she'd stay with J.R. who knows, she was 21 years old and absolutely still

had the real possibility of a bright future.

She still wanted to do her art.

I think she'd have ditched him before long.

Meanwhile, at Tuffs, a routine audit of Williams Lab turned up some eye-opening expenses.

There were claims for business trips he'd taken all over the country, even one for Sweden

that no one could remember William ever going on.

There were expense vouchers for housing and entertaining visiting professors that no

one had ever seen or heard of.

And most of all, there was a huge stack of expense vouchers for the mysterious Robin

Benedict, the MIT grad student that no one had ever met.

And just to illustrate what a cheap skate William was when it came to his own money, he'd

also use the lab to buy condoms from a medical supply company.

And he'd listed them on the invoice as biological fluid collection units, which might be the

worst phrase I've ever heard, like ever in my life, all over.

In the course of one year, he'd racked up $67,000 in fraudulent expenses.

The vice president and comptroller of Tufts called him in.

He hemmed and hawed and said there might be a problem with his record keeping, but all

the expenses were certainly genuine.

When they asked for Robin's phone number, he told them it was confidential.

Yeah, those MIT grad students, you know, top secret.

That suspicious at all bill, well played.

He offered to reimburse the school for all the expenses.

They let him know that their investigation would continue.

On New Year's Eve, Robin and JR were in the process of moving into their new house

up in Maldon, but still stayed in their old apartment.

Outside, cold in his car, William spied on them, waiting for them to come out so he could

finally get a good look at JR.

They didn't come out.

He went to a phone booth and called Robin, pleading for a date.

She said no, it was New Year's Eve, she wasn't working.

And instead of going home to his family, William just sat in his car and watched.

I'm guessing either Robin or JR spotted him, because the next day, Robin called William

and said he'd become a pest and she wanted nothing to do with him anymore.

10 days later, he was suspended from Tufts.

The war is over and both sides lost.

Kingdoms were reduced to cinders and armies scattered like bones in the dust.

Now the survivors clawed to what's left of a broken world, praying.

The darkness chooses someone else tonight, but in the shadow dark, the darkness all

always wins.

This is old school adventuring, and it's most cruel.

Your torch ticks down in real time, and when that flame dies, something else rises to

finish the job.

This is a brutal rules light nightmare, with a story that emerges organically based on

the decisions that the characters make.

This is what it felt like to play RPGs in the 80s, and man, it is so good to be back.

Join the Glass Cannon podcast as we plunge into the shadow dark.

Every Thursday night at 8 p.m. Eastern, on youtube.com slash the Glass Cannon, with the podcast

version dropping the next day.

See what everybody's talking about and join us in the dark.

The world of Sonic the Hedgehog has been thrust into a not-so-dark, not-so-stormy, hard-boiled

detective story that probably nobody saw coming.

Sonic and the intrepid chaotics detective agency, as they take on their biggest case yet.

This high-flying action-packed adventure will take them across the world, fighting for

every clue they can find.

It's one heck of a tale, which is good, because this story might be the only thing that

can save their lives.

Well, if that's all I can just dispose of you.

Wait, what?

All will be revealed in.

Sonic the Hedgehog presents the chaotics case files.

Listen now, wherever you get your podcasts.

The chaotics are on the case.

Robyn was working at a place called the Danish Health Club in Saagas, which was notorious

for offering a lot more than just massages.

Patrons didn't get much more than that from Robyn, though, who no longer bothered to act

like she enjoyed sex work and didn't provide any services beyond a scowling handjob.

Scowling handjob is my new indie band name.

That's the best kind of handjob, a scowling one.

William visited her a few times, but she didn't give him any more than she gave anyone else,

and wouldn't meet with him outside of the club.

When he sent a long, pathetic letter about his suspension from Tufts, she told him she'd

quit working at the Health Club, hoping he'd just leave her the hell alone.

So, he started calling the Health Club in a ridiculous, falsetto voice to complain about

Robyn.

He practiced the calls and recorded them on tape.

The police later found one with him saying, is your whore from the combat zone working

tonight?

Robyn Benedict, you know we're going to close that fucking place of yours, we're bringing

whores from the combat zone back here.

He also called the local police, and one call complaining that Robyn had propositioned

me for sex and money and tried to sell me dope.

The good citizens of Saga's are going to rid ourselves of the stench of this place.

After Robyn had been working there for just three weeks, a city health inspector showed

up to investigate the claims.

The big charges wouldn't stick, but Robyn wasn't licensed to give massages.

The Health Club didn't want to lose her, she was the prettiest woman working there and

that brought clients in, even if they got nothing more than a grim handy.

But the club couldn't risk being shut down, so they fired her.

William was sitting by the window in a restaurant across the street, watching the whole thing play

out as he ate.

He'd been following her almost constantly since his suspension, spying on her with high

powered binoculars.

William was asked to do a week-long seminar at his old college in Platsburg where no one

had heard about his trouble at Tufts.

He wanted Robyn to come with him for the whole week, but she didn't want to do that.

She really didn't want anything to do with him at all anymore, but he was offering

to give her $1,000 for every day she spent with him, and after losing her massage job,

she needed the money.

She agreed to spend the last two days of the conference with him.

He introduced her as a grad student named Chris Costello and paraded her around his old

school like a trophy.

A couple of weeks later, Robyn and William met and argued so much about the two grand he

owed her that he had chest pains.

They rushed to the hospital, where the doctors found nothing wrong with him at all.

I think he faked the whole thing to get out of the argument and elicit sympathy from Robyn.

He probably didn't expect her to be worried enough to call his wife Nancy, and she soon

arrived at the ER.

Robyn introduced herself as Chris, and immediately got tell out of there.

That's the girl, isn't it, Nancy said.

Eight long ago, figured out that William was having some kind of a fear.

He was out all night, burning holes through their bank account, wasn't exactly complicated.

In fact, she'd say later that he'd been acting this way for years.

He hadn't known Robyn for even one year, at this point.

He'd started trawling the combat zone almost as soon as they moved to Boston in 1978.

A few months earlier, he admitted to Nancy that he had a girlfriend.

He'd asked if she wanted a divorce, but she'd been determined to try and fix their marriage.

By now, she was mostly just depressed.

On March 2nd, Robyn called Nancy at home and said, Bill wants to see me, but I no longer

want to see him.

Please keep him away.

On March 4th, William called Robyn.

He'd say later that he was trying to reason with her.

March 5th was a Saturday.

Robyn went out to buy a gift for Taj, Savi and JR's young son, whose fourth birthday

was the next day.

At around 7.45, Robyn went by good time Charlie's and told Savi she'd pick her and Taj up the

next day for a birthday party.

After that, she went out for getting to know you dinner with a prospective client, a wealthy

real estate developer.

She left at about 9.45, saying she had to meet someone else, and that was the last anyone

ever saw of her.

This case does feature a confession of sorts from William, which we'll get to later, but

it's obviously ridiculous and no one should believe it.

What we know is that Robyn went to his house where he beat her to death with a short sledgehammer.

He then transported her body in her tutorial to Starlet and disposed of it somewhere.

Robyn's body would never be found.

He wrapped the bloody hammer in her tan jacket in one of his own work shirts and ditched

them in a rest-up garbage can.

Robyn then drove her bloody car down to New York and abandoned it in a parking garage.

If there was any plan at all, in covering up Robyn's murder, it was a terrible one.

The state police were called in to the rest stop the next morning after the bloody hammer

was found.

And William doesn't seem to have considered that people take actions of their own.

Robyn had told Savi she was going to William's house to collect some money he owed her,

and when Robyn hadn't shown up for the birthday party, Savi got worried.

It wasn't the kind of thing Robyn would miss.

She called a cop, she knew and vice.

It's the doctor, she said.

It's gotta be.

Robyn's dad soon reported her missing.

When police asked him if she owned a tan-quarter hijacket, he said yes, his heart falling.

The hijacket had been found around the bloody hammer.

The police started to think Robyn was probably dead.

When investigators first spoke to William on Tuesday, he had a big bandage on his forehead.

He said he'd hit his head against the cabinet door.

Later on, he said he'd been mugged at the Amtrak station and been hit on the head.

He admitted he knew Robyn was a sex worker, but insist she was also a tough employee, and

he had never been a client of hers.

She'd come over on Saturday to drop off sketches and pick up paperwork and had left

around midnight.

The police grilled JR, but he had an alibi and seemed genuinely distraught about Robyn's

disappearance.

William was much calmer in his police interview, but strange, and kept telling obvious lies

with complete confidence.

He added a third explanation for his injured forehead.

A couple of muggers tried to grab his briefcase in Chinatown, and in the struggle, they'd

smacked him on the head with it.

He also said that shortly before Robyn's disappearance, he'd gone to see Tootsie, and

when he'd come out, his car had been stolen.

The next day, he'd spent the afternoon with Robyn, but when he'd left the building, three

black men had grabbed him and thrown him into the back of a van.

They punched him and yelled at him for an hour while the van drove around, telling him

to stay away from Robyn, then ditched him in an alley, right next to where his stolen

car was parked.

Utter, insane nonsense, of course.

To this day, it's pretty common for white people inventing crimes to inject racial minorities

as the perpetrators, and I suspect it was even more common in 1983.

But in addition to just the basic racism, JR was black, and William was trying to steer

the investigation toward him, telling detectives that JR and Robyn had been fighting a lot.

Police executed a search warrant for William's house at 12.40 a.m., two weeks after Robyn

had disappeared.

The house was filthy, trash and dirty laundry everywhere.

A stick of butter sat unwrapped on the living room floor.

There was an empty bucket of popcorn in the bathtub, and it had to step over a TV to

get to the toilet.

The place looked like, and probably was, somewhere where too deeply depressed people were living.

Detectives showed the hammer to both William and Nancy, who both said they'd never seen

it.

It didn't take the investigators long to find the box in the bedroom closet that held

William's porn stash.

They contained titles like Illustrated Gang War Torture and Little Sarah's Slave Training.

They found an envelope containing a pair of pink women's panties, two of Robyn's

address books and several of her credit cards.

Elsewhere, officers found a yellow plastic bag that held Robyn's purse and her flute.

There was also a clipping of the first Boston Herald story about Robyn, distraught dad,

hunts daughter.

When they showed all this to William, he just acted confused.

Like, gosh, yes, all this certainly was Robyn's, but he had no idea how it ended up in his

house.

Maybe her boyfriend had broken in and planted it?

Investigators found some of William's shirts that were just like the one found at the

rest stop, and trash bags just like the one it had been stuffed into.

William was weirdly calm throughout this.

At one point, he just went upstairs to bed and tried to go to sleep.

Investigators would later suspect that the bed was where he'd killed Robyn, and he was

just trying to keep them from taking too close of a look.

Crime scene texts used lumenol to try and find blood evidence, but the house was so filthy

that the whole place lit up.

They did find some blood evidence on the right pocket of a blue windbreaker.

They asked William if the coat was his.

It looks like mine, but I'm not going to say it's mine, he said.

They would later assume he put the hammer in the pocket while he was moving Robyn's body.

Deep in the pocket was an inch long piece of flattened gray material.

One of the cops thought it looked like a piece of snot.

It would actually turn out to be part of a human brain.

At this point, everyone knew that William had killed Robyn, but the DA was wary about

jumping the gun on a murder case with no body.

Next later, Robyn's Toyota was discovered in New York.

The FBI lab matched the blood inside to Robyn's type.

They also found more fragments of brain matter from deep inside the head, where only gunshots

or the most catastrophic blows would dislodge them.

Nancy's brother told investigators that she'd borrowed a small sledgehammer from their

dad a few months ago.

The hammer used to kill Robyn had a small ring on the end, like you'd use to hang it

from something.

When they went to visit Nancy's dad, in his garage, they saw a neat line of hammers of

different sizes hanging from the wall, with a gap where the murder weapon should be.

He said the murder weapon was indeed his hammer.

William was arrested.

He was an absolute nightmare for his defense team, refusing to take any of their advice.

They wanted to try an insanity defense, but William kept insisting on bizarre stories.

Just that the state police were framing him, then that a sex worker had once abducted

him, drugged him with apple juice, and taken compromising pictures to blackmail him with.

It wasn't clear if he meant this was Robyn, but a lot of what he said was not making a

lot of sense.

He wouldn't go on trial.

Shortly before it was set to begin, he accepted a plea deal on a lesser charge of manslaughter.

This was a tough pill to swallow, but the prosecution was worried.

Nancy's dad had backtracked on identifying the hammer, and their case would rely on

testimony by a lot of combat zone veterans that it would be pretty easy for the defense

to paint as unreliable.

The same was true of Robyn herself.

In 1984, even more than today, her career in life would have them dragging her through

the mud.

The prosecutors worried that even if they got a conviction, William might be released

on appeal.

At least with a confession, he'd go away.

Robyn's story was that Robyn had borrowed the hammer from him to work on her new home in

Maldon.

He still owed her $2,000 from the Plattsburg trip, but now she was insisting on $5,000.

When she came over on the night of her death, he said Robyn had the hammer hidden under

the jacket draped over her arm.

William took her to his bedroom where he kept his secret stash of cash.

But when he said he only had $2,000, Robyn lacked him on the head with the hammer, knocking

him down onto the bed.

William said they struggled, Robyn hitting him again and again.

He managed to get the hammer from her, but she still fought, scratching and biting, so

he hit her with the hammer to get her to stop.

There's no excuse for what I did.

I just hit her two or three times, and I must have hit her awfully hard.

The skull was cracked and I could see the internal part of the brain.

If you believe that bullshit, I'm guessing you regularly forget to put your pants on

when you leave the house.

She attacked you with your own hammer that she borrowed?

This was a street-wise woman with connections.

If she wanted you dead, she could've probably got her hands on a gun inside of an hour.

And William only had one injury on his forehead, which investigators thought he'd given himself

because he was such a clutz.

The first time I'd detect if it spoke into him three days after Robyn's death, he'd

been wearing a t-shirt, but there'd been no scratches or bites on his arms, no defensive

wounds at all.

God, he's dumb.

Well, he said it, so it must be true.

People don't lie.

And Robyn had been five foot four and weighed about as much as a wet towel.

The idea that this big hulk William could only defend himself from her by killing her

was just ridiculous.

The only thing that probably wasn't a lie was that Robyn had gone there to get the money

he owed her, the $2,000 for Plattsburg.

He'd lured her to the bedroom by saying that was where the money was, and then just started

hammering furiously at her head until her skull was crushed.

He said he put the bloody jacket hammer and shirt in the garbage bag, then wrapped Robyn's

body in a comforter and dragged her out to the trunk of her Toyota.

He dumped the hammer and clothes at the rest of, then drove to prominence and shoved Robyn's

body into a dumpster.

There's no way to know if that was true.

An owner of one of the local landfills said he didn't see how it could be.

He said he felt sure a body would be found.

Then William continued down to New York to ditch the Toyota in the parking garage and took

a bus home.

He kept a few things, Robyn's purse and her flute.

And then he called Nancy to pick him up and told her what he'd just done.

He said Nancy was just livid, I could do something like that.

Well what a bitch, I'll dare you not stand by your man Nancy.

There were, in fact, a lot of questions about Nancy.

When he described leaving the house with Robyn's body, William said, I drove and as we got

to the top of the street, I drove as opposed to who, Robyn?

We got to the top of the street.

Was he alone in the car or was Nancy right there beside him?

And she'd borrow the hammer from her dad not long before the murder.

Makes you wonder whether William had planned all of this by himself or had some help.

Nancy anyway was never charged.

The judge gave William the maximum sentence, 18 to 20 years, and he did well in prison.

The only time he got in trouble was in 1987 when a female visitor got a little too friendly

with him in the visitor's room and when a guard made them stop, she still had the evidence

of the encounter all over her fingers.

This was not Nancy, who had stoically stood by her murderer husband and possible co-conspirator.

This was Bonnie Jean Smith, a church loving Connecticut divorcee who had started sending

letters to William soon after he went to prison, saying she felt sorry for him.

I'm not sure how explicitly the Catholic Church excuses hand jobs to convicted killers,

within seven months of that visit, William was divorced from Nancy and married to Bonnie Jean.

To the disgust of many people in the horror of Robin's family, William Douglas was released

early in 1993 after serving less than nine years.

He slipped into obscurity, his obsessive nature grabbing a hold of Bonnie Jean's religion.

As if he wasn't already insufferable enough, he became one of those people who won't shut

up about church.

Bonnie Jean died of cancer in 2002.

William's own health declined and he died in a New England nursing home in 2015.

A spokesperson for the home said, sometimes you'd hear nurses talking about him, saying

there was a murderer on the floor.

Of course, he wasn't the only murderer we had, which you're just going to drop that

and not elaborate.

Girl, come on.

I was like, no, what?

Tell me more.

I guess those places aren't as boring as you might think, those, you know, senior homes

or whatever.

So there you go.

Another case of obsession turned fatal.

Obsession and I think a large dollop of entitlement.

I want you.

I've chosen you.

You don't get to say in the matter.

For all William's claims of eternal devotion, he couldn't even care enough about Robin

to respect her right to tell him to screw off.

He didn't love her.

He wanted to own her and I've never seen that end in anything but tears.

Now before we go, don't forget about our two live shows coming up.

First, we've got Summer Camp, September 10th through the 13th, an amazing four day festival

in Equinox, Pennsylvania, hosted by Dan and Lindsey Cummins of Time Suck and Scared

to Death.

We'll be performing live alongside them and the podcast Estonishing Legends in addition

to a roster of awesome stand-up comedians and local bands.

Go to BadMagicProductions.com for more info and to buy tickets.

And then we've got our True Crime Cruise, Crime Wave 2.0, February 8th through 12th, 2027.

If you want to come on vacation with us and some of the biggest True Crime and Paranormal

podcasts in the world, like Case File, True Crime Garage, No Sleep, Last Podcast on the

left and Scared to Death, here's what you got to do.

Tickets are on sale now and they're going fast.

So if you want to go, make sure you get over to CrimeWaveItC.com slash Campfire and book

your cabin ASAP.

You'll get $100 off plus a private meeting greet with us.

The great thing is you can pay all at once or you can set up a payment plan and pay it

off over time.

So get on it y'all, that's CrimeWaveItC.com slash Campfire.

So that was a wild one, right campers?

You know we'll have another one for you next week.

But for now, lock your doors, light your lights and stay safe until we get together again

around the True Crime Campfire.

And as always, we want to send a grateful shout out to a few of our lovely Patreon supporters.

Thank you so much to Cassandra, Ian, Jen, Colleen, Kristina, and Katie.

We appreciate y'all to the moon and back.

And if you're not yet a patron, you're missing out.

Patrons of our show get every episode ad-free, at least a day early, sometimes more, plus

tons of extra content, like patrons only episodes and hilarious post-show discussions.

And when you join the $5 up categories, you get even more cool stuff.

A free sticker, a rad enamel pin, or fridge magnet while supplies last, virtual events with

Katie and me, and we're always looking for new stuff to do for you.

So if you can, come join us at patreon.com slash True Crime Campfire.

This Mother's Day, celebrate the woman who's been there through it all, with Pandora

Jewelry.

Choose jewelry that reflects the love you share and the moments that matter most.

Make it even more meaningful within graving, a name, a date, or a message just for her.

Because the best Mother's Day gift says more than I love you.

It says, I see you.

Find the perfect Mother's Day gift at your local Pandora store, or atop the banner.

There are vampires out there.

They walk among you, shoulder to shoulder, in the dark, heading to work, heading home,

going to the bar.

It's a life just like anyone else's, and I have grown used to it, to the darkness, to

the moon, to the taste of blood on my tongue.

But vampires are dying out.

We are a fading kind, and I am the first one created in so long, and that is a dangerous

thing to be.

Those who came before me, elders of all stripes, they do not want to see our kind gone, and

they will do anything to keep their power.

And for myself, and for grace who created me, that is a sword that hangs above our heads.

And the worst person of all carries our secret, and he will use it, however he sees fit.

Who do you look to when things are at their darkest?

From the creators of Park Del Haude comes Whitbine, a podcast about monsters, dreams, and changes,

those you want, and those you never saw coming.

Days and two arise September 24th, distributed by Realm.