Some crimes are so heartbreaking or shocking that they change laws, change society, or even

earn the label, Crime of the Century.

But the stories that made headlines in decades past aren't necessarily remembered today.

I'm Amber Hunt, a journalist, an author, and in each episode of this show,

I'll examine a case that's maybe lesser known today, but was huge when it happened.

This is Crimes of the Centuries.

Thank you. This is Crimes at the Centuries. The Catalina foothills sit north of Tucson, where the desert starts climbing toward the Santa Catalina

mountains, and the houses get bigger and quieter and farther apart. The neighborhood is all tans

and reds, the colors of the desert itself, broken up by spots of green from the trees and cacti

that somehow thrive in the arid heat. It's the kind of

place that feels removed from the city, even though the city is right there. The houses don't

announce themselves from the roadway. You have to know where you're going. Nancy Guthrie's house is

like that. You can't really see it from the street. On the evening of January 31st, 2026, a family member dropped Nancy off at home.

It was a normal night.

She had spent time with family, and now she was back.

She went inside.

The family drove away.

Sometime in the small hours of February 1st, Nancy's doorbell camera was disconnected. At

212 in the morning, its software detected motion, minutes before her pacemaker stopped sinking

with her Apple devices. There was no active subscription to save the doorbell footage. It should have been gone.

But it wasn't, not entirely.

More than a week later, investigators would pull imagery from residual data buried in

...