The opinions expressed in the following episode do not necessarily reflect those of the minds of Madness podcast.

Listener discretion is advised.

British schoolchildren are instructed to memorize this rhyme as a clever mnemonic to remember

the faiths of each of Henry VIII's wives.

Divorced beheaded died, divorced beheaded survived, and tragically for the four wives of one crooked police officer,

a similar mnemonic could be utilized, divorced, divorced, murdered and missing.

However, instead of taking place in 16th century England, this chilling case began to unravel in the heart of suburban Illinois two decades ago.

Join me now as we delve into the saga of broken marriages and an unfaithful husband who discarded wives like a modern day Henry VIII.

You'll hear about a murder for higher plot and a case that examines the thin blue line between those who enforce the law and those who break it.

Joining us to help unravel this case is my good friend and fellow true crime podcast host Heather Ashley.

Heather hosts the very popular podcast Big Matt True Crime, and what I love most about Heather's podcast is their no-nonsense approach to true crime, which I know our listeners will appreciate.

In fact, her tagline at the front of her show is Small Talk Sucks, so let's dive in.

Heather was also the one who actually recommended us covering this case, and after digging into it, I can see why.

Hey guys, Heather Ashley here. This is one of those cases I have just never been able to stop thinking about.

It's the kind of evil that hides in plain sight and makes you question everyone and everything.

This case first begins to unravel in the suburb of Bowling Brook, Illinois, just a 35-minute drive southwest of Wendy City, Chicago.

It's a village so idyllistic, it's made its way this year on the Forbes list of the 50 best places for families to live.

It was there in October of 2001 when a mysterious letter arrived in the mailbox of Kathleen Peterson.

Although the envelope was thin, there was something about it that made it seem substantial.

Maybe it was because the letter was casually addressed to the woman of the house as Kathy Peterson instead of Kathleen.

Almost like the letter had come from a friend, but there was no return address on it.

38-year-old Kathleen snapped the mailbox shut and walked back up the driveway of her suburban home in Bowling Brook, Illinois.

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