Hi, Crime Junkies. I'm your host, Ashley Flowers. And this week is going to be a little different.

So only about 10% of you guys follow me or the show on social media. So this might come as quite a shock to you.

I gave birth to my very own mini crime junkie. Her name is Josie, and I know I'm biased, but she is perfect.

Like, would debut at number one on the baby charts if that were a thing?

So because I literally just pushed a baby out of my body, I need a minute.

But I would also never leave you guys high and dry on a Monday.

So I have something extra special for you. Our partners at Serious Institure are amazing.

And they're letting me give you guys for free a series I did that was behind their paywall.

The series is called precedent. And it's actually just like a crime junkie episode, but there's a little more meat behind it.

Because not only am I going to tell you a true crime story, I'm going to specifically tell you the stories behind the words and phrases that are integral to our true crime vocabulary.

The cases that set a precedent forever changing our criminal justice system for the better or in some cases for the worse.

This Monday, you're getting two episodes and then me and Brit will be back.

So in the meantime, let me tell you about a precedent setting case.

I've covered a lot of cases involving missing kids on crime junkie.

And one of the number one questions people asking the aftermath of a disappearance or murder is in those first few hours did police go talk to all the registered sex offenders in the area.

It seems like a logical question. Why wouldn't we know we're all the violent sexual predators live.

But for many, many years, there was no registry.

No way for the public to access information about the dangers lurking right there in their neighborhoods and communities.

And it took one family's shocking and heartbreaking tragedy to change that before there was a sex offender registry.

There was Jacob Wetterling and this is his story.

It was already cold and dark in St. Joseph, Minnesota when 11 year old Jacob Wetterling and his brother Trevor and their friend Aaron set out on their bikes to go to a local convenience store on the night of October 22nd, 1989.

St. Joseph isn't a big city, so the boys rarely encountered many people on that route, one that they'd taken many times, a car here, some other kids there.

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