Just before 11am on a Friday morning in Florida, a man rides a bicycle towards a welding shop on North River Drive.

He's 51 years old. He's wearing a Panama hat pulled low over his face and slung over his shoulder is a shotgun.

Inside the shop, it's business as usual, welding torches hiss, metal screams as it's cut,

the air is thick with heat and noise.

Eleven employees are scattered through the building, some in the office, others out on the floor, focused on their work.

No one notices this man at first. He doesn't come through the front. Instead, he slipped through a side door, moving with this calm, almost practiced purpose.

No rush, no hesitation. He just stands there for a moment,

taking it all in. Then he speaks, I want to shoot everybody. This is Red Rum, stories about

the true victims of crime. I upload episodes on Mondays and Thursdays, so make sure you're

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The man who starts this case, Carl Robert Brown, was born in November of 1930 in Chicago, Illinois,

long before anyone would associate his name with violence.

Growing up, Carl was intensely patriotic, not performative or loud, but rigid, devoted.

The kind of man who believed in structure and hierarchy in order, so when he joined the United

States Navy, it sort of felt inevitable.

His service passed without incident. No disciplinary issues, no psychological flags. He did his

job, followed orders, and left with an honourable discharge in 1954. Later, people would say that even decades on, he never really left the military behind.

There was always something formal about him.

The posture, the way he spoke, the way he carried himself, like authority was something

you wore. He really seemed to believe this.

A year after leaving the Navy, Carl heads south to Florida, looking for a fresh start and something to anchor himself to.

He enrols at the University of Miami, splitting his time between history and accounting.

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