19. WHATEVER IT TAKES

Previously On Ice Cold Case

Seven years after J.C. got shot, there’s still rumors and talk on the street that McCort orchestrated it.

The most corrupt goddamn police department you ever seen in your time.

All roads will lead to Mr. McCort. And that’s just the tip of the iceberg.

You didn't think I'd show, huh.
Well, I never expected to hear from you ever in my whole life.

It was an inside job. That’s what everyone always said. It was an inside job.

You know what we have are some notes that are theoretically not a public record.

He said that he was tied up and they were asking for money. 

I’ve heard different things, that it was his own gun. I’ve heard that.

That was it. Like they didn’t want to solve the murder or nothing.

Because again the family thinks we aren’t doing anything.

Part 0: Sisyphus

There’s a story in Greek Mythology about a man called Sisyphus. Sisyphus was known for his punishment. His task, for all of eternity, was to roll a boulder up a hill, only to watch it roll back down every single time. Most people would call that situation hopeless – but sometimes it's not an option to stop pushing, sometimes it's not a choice. His determination is a reflection of our own capabilities to push through seemingly impossible circumstances. 

Every push up the hill is an opportunity for growth and self-discovery. While I know this investigation into the murder of my father, John Cornelius McGhee, has seemed just like watching a boulder roll down the hill. I’ve mostly experienced the never-ending pressure of that boulder, sometimes crushing me under its weight. But each time I’ve learned something new: about the case, about the context, about my dad. And it adds new momentum for the next push.

It’s easy to feel frustrated by the lack of progress, and I won’t recap all that has happened up to this point but for a moment I have to acknowledge what has come with each trek up the hill – more visibility for my dad’s case, new sources uncovered, local relationships established. Sure, there have been some dead ends, but with each halt has come new clarity.

Even if I am angry, exhausted, crushed when there’s no end in sight, I remember why I’m here in the first place. I started this with the hopes that I’d find some sense of answers, closure, justice. But so far all I’ve got is a sense of dissatisfaction that will last a lifetime. This case is ice cold. Only heat can melt the ice, and I want this so badly I’m willing to burn the house down while I’m inside of it. 

Sisyphus spent an eternity doing the same thing and never making it over the hill.

The difference between me and that Greek myth?

I’m going to push the boulder to the other side – whatever it takes.

Part 1: A New Approach

Any story is at the mercy of the people willing to share information with you. When I first started, I was very careful not to ruffle any feathers for the sake of maintaining a relationship with sources. Most of these people aren’t just sources – they are also my family. I’m speaking with my dad’s siblings, nephews, nieces, cousins, friends who treated my dad as if they were family. Anything that might make them upset could jeopardize their willingness to speak with me again. Even with trying to be as respectful and sensitive as possible, there were people who were very angry with what I did choose to share.

What a lot of you may not realize is there is so much information that I have held back – not because I don’t want to share it, but because trust is a currency in an investigation like this. People only talk when they feel safe, and in some cases, when they feel like they have something to gain. I’ve had to navigate that carefully, balancing the need for answers with the reality that one wrong move could shut a door forever. In my mind that’s what a real journalist does – build trust and rapport – so that’s what I tried to do too.

With the details that haven’t been shared, I’ve still kept note of things that seemed suspicious or worth revisiting in the future. But now that I am back at a standstill – the gloves are coming off. I have no one left to protect or consider. I’m giving you all I’ve got. Because frankly, I am tired of doing this and I want to solve this case and move on with my life. I never dreamed of becoming a detective. When my life isn't being consumed by this case, I actually much prefer working in comedy. I am just a daughter wanting to know who took my dad away.

There is a moment in every long fight where something shifts. The exhaustion, the waiting, the backtracking — it either breaks you, or it pushes you into a different gear. I’m in that different gear now. My goal now is to get all the information I’ve gathered out into the public. That means forcing the police to take the information I have gathered, not as a courtesy, but as a demand. This requires me to take a new approach – show up places that I have not been invited to, not take no for an answer, and expose what has been hidden for twenty-three years. I am not satisfied with the case file that was created for my dad by the Belmont County Sheriff’s Department. Now there’s nothing stopping me from building my own.

I’ve already made so many discoveries and come to a lot of dead ends, so when it comes to looking at this once again from a new perspective I knew I needed help finding a new launching off point. Someone who may have some insight, was Rico McGhee – my cousin and my dad’s nephew but most notoriously his frenemy. 

Rico is an interesting person in this story because he was not at my dad’s house that morning. He was in federal prison serving a life sentence, partially because of my dad’s testimony against him during his trial. So if he didn’t do it, why spend so much time thinking about him? He’s the missing link of this entire case. He was the connector of this community, the family, this industry, anyone who is attached to this case has an attachment to Rico. His knowledge is the most powerful thing I have right now. 

Talking to him wasn’t as simple as picking up the phone. Rico is being held in a prison that only allows for phone visits – no in person visitation. To even have a conversation, I had to download an app, go through the approval process, and wait for him to add me to his visitor list. A list that, by the way, he controls. It was up to him whether or not I’d get my shot. When I finally did, in July of 2024, we spent a little over an hour on the phone.

The reality of fighting for my dad on all fronts means I’m constantly wearing myself thin – physically, mentally, emotionally. The day that I spoke to Rico I was in Denver, Colorado at a conference to talk about my dad’s case while also fighting off a pretty bad flu. But this isn’t a job. It’s my life. And I don’t get any days off.

This isn’t the first time I’m talking to a family member that I’ve never met before. It was, however, the first time I was meeting a family member through the barrier of prison. It’s a stressful way to meet someone – “Hi… Nice to meet you. Did you kill my dad?”

I wasn’t sure how to even prepare for a call with him – I had no idea what he would be willing to share or how he felt about me. But Rico was a man whose reputation preceded him.

I don’t really feel that comfortable talking about Rico.

Rico can be violent. Now can he be that violent? I don’t know.

I’m cordial with Rico, but I don’t trust him.

Rico. Rico is a real smart, intelligent individual, right? He can play and he can manipulate almost any situation in the world.

Rico and I had never had any interaction at all, so it only felt fair to let this conversation be an honest first impression.

Part 2: Prepaid Call

Okay, it's Friday, July 12th, 2024, and I am probably five minutes away from getting a phone call from Rico McGhee. I feel like it's not even really happening. I don't know if it'll feel real until it's like we're on the phone.

Um, it won't be video. So I feel like there's not going to be a lot of leeway with reading any expressions. Which feels difficult. I just hope that I can trust my gut enough to really know what's true. Because I feel like I've been doubting myself so much lately. Because everyone seems so convincing. I just don't know anymore. But I'm gonna hear him out. But I have no idea, really, even the tone of this conversation.

So I guess we'll see.

You have a prepaid call from an inmate at Washington County Jail. To accept this call, press or say 5. This call will be recorded and subject to monitoring at any time. You may begin speaking now.

Hello?

Hi, How are you?

Oh, I’m good. I’m just laying on my bed chillin watching TV, talking to the guys in here and shit. But yeah man, it’s a long time no hear, you know I’ve been hearing a lot of different things and shit. From certain individuals so I was just gonna clear the air. 

Yeah, absolutely.

So what you got on your mind?

That’s a loaded question. What didn’t I have on my mind? I wanted to know about everything – what really happened back in the early 90s that got you locked up for life? What was your relationship like with my dad before all of that? What did you do for those decades in federal prison? How did you get out of a life sentence with no possibility of parole? And the obvious question… who killed my dad?

But I had to start small. He had planted his feet in the ground, letting me know that he’s heard things. The responsibility was now on me to let him know that I was there to listen, with an open mind, and let him get whatever he needed off his chest.

A lot of things. If you're comfortable just sort of starting from, like, the beginning. Um, But, you know, whatever you're comfortable sharing obviously

Well, I'm going to start it off like this here. First, I'm going to tell you a little bit about me, your dad, our family, you know what I'm saying? 

Let me explain something about your dad. Your dad was like a brother to me. Me, your dad, Uncle Charles Reggie, Eric. Me and your brother was back home before we came and moved back home, Grandma took care of us. We lived with grandma. We didn't live with our dads, none of that shit. We was at grandma's house. We was a close family. It was inseparable, you know what I'm saying? We fought each other, we cried together, we got our ass beat together. All that shit, you know what I'm saying? Cause grandma was the backbone to our family, which you probably never got a chance to meet before she passed. I don't know if you did or not, cause I was still incarcerated for a long time.

There’s no doubt about it. At one point in time, the McGhee’s were extremely close. It’s hard to imagine given the fragmented family I see now, but it’s like going to a run down small town and hearing stories of an economic boom that created a bustling energy throughout the whole place. Now, all that’s left are whispers of how things used to be and the few people who are nostalgic for those times. The McGhee’s are nothing like they used to be. 

I could hypothesize what contributed to that downfall and an educated guess would place a lot of that blame on Rico’s trial. But Rico says that he and my dad were close. When I asked him if he thought my dad was killed because of his involvement as a confidential informant, he quickly dismissed my theory.

So it wasn't nothing about no motherfucking, none of that shit going on with your dad and me you feel what i'm saying.

Like I said, you still got all your conspiracy theorists motherfuckers out there with the shit and talking the shit because of what played out with the situation and the situation wasn't that, you know what I'm saying? The real thing to that is your dad, your dad, you feel what I'm saying, got killed not because he was snitching. That's not why he got killed. He got killed because he got caught up in a robbery. You feel what I'm saying? And that's what motherfuckers don't want to fail to realize because you got other niggas out there that was involved in that shit that niggas are scared of and everybody keeping their mouth shut.

The robbery? This perked up my suspicion. Nothing about that home invasion added up. To me, the home invasion gone wrong theory seemed so unlikely – the men spent so much time in Omar’s house where nothing was stolen and no one was killed, and without even entering my dad’s house, he ended up dead. It never made sense. But I know Rico knows things – so now I have to spend the rest of the conversation trying to figure out if he is pointing me in the right direction, intentionally swaying me from the path, or if he’s just guessing like I am.

I have my own point of view of how I think people should and shouldn’t act, information they should be willing to give up, and the emotional ties they should have to my dad because of my own life experience. Rico has spent most of his life behind bars. And it makes me question his own bias coming at this from the perspective of a career criminal whose morals and values were shaped by the “code” he had to adhere to in the prison system. It’s a world my mom and my grandma tried very hard to protect me from, but it must be considered when talking about this case and the environment my dad lived in. 

This unwritten code has been talked about by prisoners themselves. One man, Charles Norman, who has been incarcerated for nearly four decades, describes it through Prison Writers dot com –

When you come to prison you are observed and judged by everyone around you: are you weak or strong, poor or rich, gay or straight, a snitch or not, “good people” or “a piece of shit?” How you are judged, how you respond to an initial testing period, how you exhibit your manhood, character, or lack thereof will determine to a considerable extent how difficult or hard your time in prison will be. One’s reputation often becomes a matter of life or death.

Part 3: Brothers in Crime

When you follow the convict code, you reap the benefits of the brotherhood. Speaking of camaraderie – there’s the Daryl Smith of it all. Rico and Daryl’s relationship is complicated at best. They were once close friends who now seem to be sworn enemies. While neither speaks highly of the other, they both talk in a way that displays a familiarity that could only be formed over decades. Given Daryl’s role in this story, and my knowledge of their relationship, I had to ask Rico what he thought. Of course, Rico already knew that I had talked with Daryl… because Rico seems to know everything. 

It’s common for familiarity to breed a kind of understanding that runs deeper than blood. Yet, it doesn’t always end in friendship. Rico’s bitterness towards Daryl feels like it’s rooted in a sense of betrayal – an old wound that never fully healed. In a world where loyalty is everything, the cracks in their relationship are glaring. When Rico talks about Daryl, it’s not just frustration; there’s something heavier beneath the surface.

Let me just put it like this in a nutshell. Uh, that's his M. O. That's what he do. Basically. That's his M. O. Girl gets high. He's a thief. And he keeps a whole bunch of bullshit going on all the motherfucking time. That's what he do. And that's why I stopped fucking with Daryl. I basically raised Daryl. From nothing. Everything Daryl learned, he learned from me. I treated him like a brother. But he don't know how to motherfucking listen. And he always stay up in the middle of some shit. So, you know, if that's what they said, you know what I mean? Like I said, I ain't want to say nothing on here. I'm just letting you know like, that's what he do. So if that's what they said, you feel what I mean? I stopped messing with Daryl when I came home. Because of a lot of shit that, you know, his name always be involved in. I lost another cousin fucking behind doors, doing some dumb ass shit. You feel what I'm saying? When I went to jail, me and him both went to jail the first time.

Rico's version of Daryl’s M.O. – his method of operation – is a snapshot of how he views the world. It’s not just about crimes, it’s about patterns, about recognizing the signs of someone who’s been down this road before. The term M.O. hadn’t even crossed my mind until Rico dropped it, but it’s fitting.

Modus operandi is a methodical approach, a signature that marks someone’s every move, leaving a trail for those who know how to see it. But we all have our own habits, our own routines that become second nature. Even Rico has an M.O. – remain unassuming. He doesn’t get directly implicated because he’s always just close enough to the action without leaving a trace. His M.O. is what keeps him out of trouble, even though he knows everything. His knowledge is vast, unsettling even. It makes you question how he’s always so close to the heart of things without ever seeming to touch them. 

But Rico’s beef with Daryl is still so vague. They both don’t have – or won’t give – concrete answers for what exactly happened that caused the rift in their relationship. “He’s always in some shit” – isn’t really a reason for why they went from getting locked up together to being enemies. Could it possibly be over a deal that went wrong? Could that deal be my dad’s murder? But something isn’t adding up here. If Rico thought Daryl killed his uncle, I would think given his reputation that he’d “handle” it. In all their resentment towards each other, there’s this equal level of respect which goes back to something I learned first when I spoke with Daryl and was reminded when I sat on the phone with Rico – there’s a code, and they’re following it.

Part 4: Who Killed My Dad

The root of this conversation with Rico is to determine what exactly he knows… or thinks… about what happened on the morning of July 11, 2002. Rico had heard about all my theories before we spoke, which means he knew that I had some suspicion that he orchestrated the hit. Everyone I’ve spoken to has denied culpability and Rico was no different.

It is what it is, you know what I'm saying? And like I said, anything I do baby girl, I stand on that shit, you know what I mean, I'm ten toes down, I'm a man's man, you know what I'm sayin I survived a lot of years in these motherfuckin prison systems, you know what I'm sayin I done, I done, you know what I'm sayin I done did what I need to do in here, and niggas know that shit, they've been in prison with me for years, and I done did shit out there, niggas know about, And they know I ain't looking at recreation. So, you know, I mean, but I'm just letting you know this one about your dad. That wasn't me. That's that's that's on my grandma.

I still couldn’t understand how he thought this was really a robbery gone wrong. If that were true, this should have been a pretty simple open/shut case. When I’ve talked with other family members, there’s a sense of secrecy that I haven’t been able to uncover – like they are protecting someone. This is why I have been so suspicious of family members. Maybe the family is trying to keep another cousin out of prison, but I’ve never been able to solve that puzzle. Now I had to consider the possibility that the pieces had been scattered on purpose, hidden not by strangers, but by the very people who should have been desperate for the truth. In true Rico fashion, he doesn’t come right out and say it. But his implications speak for themselves…

So, let me ask you, because the way that you're describing it seems pretty, like, simple, right? Like, there was a robbery. It went a little haywire. There were these guys, but then why does it feel like, you know, at the time, anyone could have gotten this solved, even within the family. I mean, anyone could have heard it. Your dad, anybody could have been like, what happened? 

You want me to tell you why they didn't get it solved? The reason why they didn't get it solved is because motherfuckers was trying to protect their people that created the situation from the beginning that was more of a pillow talking. That's what that was. Nobody didn't want to see the other problems come into play where nobody that they cared about would get in trouble.  And the only reason why that shit ain't solved is the family trying to protect whoever they trying to protect. Like, it ain't no motherfuckin mystery of who did it. If I could stay in jail for 20 years, and come outside the jail and know every single piece of the puzzle, I'm sure somebody else didn't do it, you know what I'm saying? Well, the police will tell one of our family members like, “Well, if y'all wanna know who did it, ask him. He know who did it.” Like, motherfuckers. You know who did it too. You know what I mean? They just want somebody to come forth that's gonna stand on that shit and say who did it. Cause nobody don't wanna come and stand up and say, well I know they did it cause I seen this or I did that unless they put their nuts in the vice and they get caught up.

He spoke with conviction, but conviction wasn’t the same as honesty. He wanted me to believe that the reason my father’s case remained unsolved wasn’t because it was unsolvable, but because those closest to him had made sure it stayed that way. That was something I had long suspected but never heard stated so plainly. Rico wasn’t just answering my questions — he was shifting the weight of responsibility. If justice hadn’t been served, it wasn’t because the truth was unknowable.

It’s clear to me now, but I have to ask him directly. For some reason the words were hard to say. The last four years of my life have been consumed by this question and the burden to find its answer. But no matter how many I've asked "did you kill my dad,” it never gets easier.

So can I ask you now you know who killed my dad? 

I know all parties involved, you know what I'm saying? I know all parties involved. I know everybody who was there. And cuz know, he seen one of them with his own eyes for sure, but they keep on motherfucking talking about some trying to say his story kept changing,  saying he was lying. He know what the fuck he's saying, you know what I'm saying? But like I said, the reason why the motherfuckers, you know what I mean, didn't push the issue, because some, back then, you know what I'm saying, you got a different task force and shit, and all that shit around there now. The whole shit was different from 20 years, 20 some years ago. You feel what I'm saying?

In some ways I knew that I was getting what I wanted – answers, but sometimes those answers are difficult to process.

And, you know, I just want you to sit back, man, and collect your thoughts for today. And, uh, like I said, I hope you, you know what I mean, you got to understand that your dad ain't leave here because of him being a snitch. He did not leave here because of that. Yes, he did do that. We all know he did that. You know what I'm saying? But he ain't the first motherfucker that did it. He ain't the last motherfucker that did it. And it's going to be a lot more motherfuckers that's going to do it, you know what I'm saying? Because if he wouldn't, if that shit wouldn't have happened, he'd still be here today. Because there ain't no nigga going to kill him because he was snitching, because they all snitching. You know what I'm saying? And that's facts. That's facts, that's truth. You know what I'm saying? That ain't why he left, you know what I mean? So I'm just, you know, I want you to know that information so you can live with the thoughts of knowing the truth. That's the truth. That ain't why he got killed for no snitching. You know what I mean? Niggas do get killed for that, though. But he ain't get killed for that. So that's why I'm just like, damn, like. Why you, why you want to get up on the stand and just lie on me, you know what I'm saying, like that? But you know, that wasn't enough for me to harm him. You feel what I'm saying? I would have never harmed him, like, not me. You know what I mean?

In his insistence that he didn’t do it, he also brought up something that I never really considered. My dad getting killed left a lot of people without closure, including Rico. Beneath his hardened exterior, I could hear something else in his voice. Regret? Frustration? A sense of loss he didn’t know how to name? He claimed he had no animosity toward my dad, but his words painted a different picture — one of unresolved betrayal. It wasn’t just that my father had testified against him; it was that Rico had never gotten the chance to ask why.

It’s fucked up. Even though your dad did what he did to me, I still didn't have no malice in my heart. Because even when I was, I used to lay in prison during my time with this shit. I was just like, “Man, when I get out of this motherfuckin man, you know what I'm sayin I'ma just sit down with him, and I'ma just ask him why you do that to me.”Like, why you did it to me? You know, I want, I'll never be able to get that answer. Like, what made you do that to me? You know what I'm sayin? Like, not only did you do it to me, you lied on me.

For years, I had told myself that finding the truth would bring me peace. But sitting here, hearing Rico speak, I wondered if the truth would only leave me with more questions. Rico claims he knows what really happened, and for him, that’s still not enough. If justice wasn’t served, would I spend the rest of my life looking for someone to blame? Or worse — would I start to understand why no one wanted to be the one to say it out loud?

Part 5: Humanity

Rico and I have been talking for a while. I’m getting a sense of him and he’s getting a sense of me. We talked about a lot in the hour and a half conversation we had. For a moment, there was a simple dose of humanity. I could feel the weight of his decisions and his path in his voice, and whether it was part of his charm or a genuine hope for his family to succeed – I could see why so many of our family members rooted for him. 

Acknowledging that doesn’t mean trusting it. There’s a difference between understanding someone and believing them. Rico has spent a lifetime surviving, navigating systems built to crush people like him, like my dad, like so many others in my family. When survival becomes your only mode, the truth can start to bend, not because you’re lying, but because reality itself gets rewritten to fit the choices you had to make.

Yeah, so that you do know. Like I said, I'm always here, man. You know what I'm saying? You can write, uh, text whenever you want, you know what I'm saying? If you got anything else you want to, you know what I mean, talk about, whether it is this or anything in life, or you need someone to maybe give you an uplifting on the direction you're trying to choose in life. I'm always open to that type of conversation because I love to see mine do good. You feel what I'm saying? I want to see all y'all do good. I want somebody to become famous. And be able to come back and save some of the youth that's in our family. And take them somewhere. Let them get something new. Show them something new. Get motherfuckers up out of these ghettos. And, and, it's a lot of us, man. You know what I'm saying? And some motherfuckers got great things that they can do. They just haven't had the windows, the opportunities to be able to shine the light on anything. You feel what I'm saying? So, you know, if you just happen to be one of those that make it, you do have brothers and sisters, a lot of them. You know what I'm saying? And you got a lot of nieces and nephews and all type of shit that you don't know. You got, you got, man, you got a lot of brothers and sisters. So, you know what I'm saying, you should try to reach out and get to know them, man, and if they don't want to just they don't want to deal with you hey, fuck it. You just move on to the next one. You feel what I'm saying?

I couldn’t help but wonder if we had built a connection or if I was a pawn in his game. But there was something so raw and real about not only what he was saying but how he was saying it that really resonated with me. In a lot of ways, Rico and my dad and even Daryl Smith have a lot in common. They are victims of circumstance – dark, racially motivated, systemic circumstance – but circumstance nonetheless. Each of them made decisions, ones that got them behind bars, or in my dad’s case, possibly got him killed. But they didn’t choose this life for the thrill, they chose it for their own survival.

And that I understand, because I chose this path – to solve my dad’s murder – from the same instinct. I couldn’t live with the weight of this massive unknown, the knowledge that someone killed my dad and never had to answer for it. It was going to kill me.

You probably shocked to hear a mothafucka laying up in jail going through what he's going through. They tell you the truth, but, you know, I had never was a bad person, you know what I'm saying? Even though I did some bad things, I didn't live to be a bad person, you know what I'm saying? I lived to be a good person. And like I told you, I was a family man. I made sure, and I loved my family. Whether it was right or wrong, whether they did good or bad, I still loved them. You feel what I'm saying?  It just hurt to keep hearing my name in this bullshit when it ain't so. You know what I'm saying? It ain't so. Like I ain’t never harm nobody in my family. I don’t give a fuck what they did, I ain't never do that. Never.

Rico talks about family like it’s unshakable, like it’s the one thing that can’t be broken no matter what. But if that were true, I wouldn’t be here. If that were true, I wouldn’t have had to pick up the pieces of a shattered story and try to make sense of it on my own. Family should have meant protection. It should have meant answers. But instead, it’s been silence, contradictions, and a web of allegiances that I still don’t fully understand.

There’s two codes: one for prison and one for family – they provide protection, loyalty, security. Both are always there, woven into every relationship, every action. I’ve felt the incredibly damaging effects of the prison code. It’s unspoken, but I learned it despite never being in prison. Its implications have kept me from closing this case. And yet despite having all of this family, the family code is the one I’m less familiar with. I want to believe in it. I want to believe that no matter what, family should protect each other. But the reality of it isn’t as simple as I hoped. I don't want any of my family to be bad people. A large part of me wants to believe Rico and in the family he says he’s fighting for. I want a family free from the weight of criminalization, incarceration, and suffering. I don’t want anyone in my family to be implicated in my father's murder. But no matter how much I want that, it doesn’t change the reality. Rico is in prison and my dad is dead.

Yeah, I know you probably got a lot of shit you got to do today. but I'm glad that we got an opportunity to have this conversation. It's been a long time coming, I felt like maybe you was kind of scared to even talk to me. That's why you was prolonging it, to, to get in touch with me. I’ve been having that shit on my chest and I just don’t like motherfuckers to put shit on me that I did not do. You don’t know what really went on so you just know from what’s been told to you. So I just wanted to clear the air because I‘m about my family. Whether they’ve been about me or not. They love today and hate me tomorrow cause they’re just like niggas on the street. Sometimes your family can be your worst fucking enemy. You can feed em, feed em and feed em and as soon as you tell em no one time they act like you killed them and you ain't don nothing for them ever in life.

Maybe Rico had my back, and maybe now I’ve crossed that line. Or maybe he respects what I’m doing for my family – for our family. Either way, I got what Rico was willing to give and I was about to dive back into the case files with a new perspective, again, in the hopes that this time the outcome would be different.

Part 6: Burden of Proof

It took a lot to get a hold of Rico. And while I know he may not talk to me again, that was a risk I was willing to take for the sake of getting more information from anyone who is listening to this who may know something. I’ve done a lot of the heavy lifting – it was not easy to find him. Talking to Rico didn’t mean I was talking to the killer because he wasn’t there. He was important because I knew talking to him meant I may get more clarity on what direction to go next. He served as a way to get more information to further this investigation… Not exactly a dead end, but also not closure, not yet.

That’s the thing about pursuing the truth — you often don’t get the full story in the beginning. Sometimes, it’s about building momentum… like pushing a boulder up a hill. Every conversation, every lead, every moment spent searching, unlocks a new answer that gets me closer to the other side. I don’t have all the right answers, but I’m closer than I was yesterday. And if you’ve been following along, you know that matters. It all matters. Because cases don’t go cold on their own — people let them. I refuse to give up, even if that means spending an eternity going up and down one side of the hill. My family deserves more, I deserve more, my dad deserves more.

If you’re still with me and you’re frustrated that I haven’t solved this – that I’m still doing this and there’s no closure – I have something I’d like you to consider: Why am I being held more accountable to solve this cold case than the actual police?

The burden of proof lies with the officials in Belmont County – the same officials who have adamantly maintained that they’ve done everything they could to solve this case. But "everything" didn’t include knocking on doors that should’ve been knocked on years ago. "Everything" somehow meant deciding some witnesses weren’t worth speaking to, not even worth tracking down. “Everything” often meant nothing at all. If this is what one person with no badge, no subpoena power, and no official authority can do, then tell me — what have they been doing all this time?

I told you I’d be back… Time for a check in: let’s see what exactly is going on over at the Sheriff's Department.

Next Time on Ice Cold Case

People in the community know if they call us and there’s a problem, we will investigate it. And if there is evidence there, we will prosecute it.

Anybody that violates that code of ethics, if he was in the streets and shit and you turn snitch, they don't give a fuck about you.

You feel me? Like, like I said, man, 97 percent of that town work for the federal government.

Credits

Thanks for listening to Ice Cold Case a Yes! Podcast
Recorded in Los Angeles at Spotify Studios
This episode was written, hosted, and produced by Madison McGhee
Also produced by Jeremy Benbow
Copy editing and additional research by Opheli Garcia Lawler
Sound engineering and sound design by Sian McMullen
Video editing and graphic design by AJ Christianson
Creative consulting by Michael Hoff and Shakinah Starks

All outside sources are linked in the show notes.

A video version of this episode is available on our YouTube Channel and a transcript is available at icecoldcase.com
To submit any tips or information please email us at icecoldcasepodcast@gmail.com