Why Are We Obsessed with True Crime?

and what happens when the headlines are local

Last weekend, my family was supposed to go camping at one of our favorite campgrounds, deep in the Washington State mountains along Icicle Creek Canyon, a favorite rock climbing spot of ours.

We did not go.

We did not go because Travis Decker is still out there somewhere. If you haven’t heard, he kidnapped and murdered his three daughters, then fled into the wilderness. He has extensive military and wilderness training and is considered dangerous, possibly armed. I’ll add on likely desperate, given the many weeks he’s been surviving off the land.

A desperate psychopath. Hmm. I think not.

Officially, the area is open for recreation—hiking, camping, backpacking, rock climbing. And maybe it’s my very active imagination, but I can’t quite bring myself to take my family out to a place where a (cough cough alleged) killer may or may not be. One who has thwarted authorities for weeks. I’ve heard people say that there is no evidence to suggest he’d hurt strangers—those were his daughters. But if anything, I think that makes him more dangerous. In my opinion, a man who’s willing to kill his own children would kill anyone.

The Chelan County Sheriff’s office says on a recent Facebook update, “At this time, we do not have any additional information that would suggest there is a threat to public safety,” though they simultaneously encourage those recreating outside to “remain vigilant.” Many internet commenters on various posts regarding Travis Decker have argued that psychopaths and criminals could be anywhere—does that mean you shouldn’t leave your house?

Somehow, this feels different, though. As long as Travis Decker is at large, there is a threat to public safety.

Given how much land is out there, he might not be anywhere near us. Probably, we wouldn’t cross his path.

But we might.

They’re still searching the wilderness around Leavenworth, Washington, including the Enchantments region all the way south toward Teanaway Valley. Aircraft have been recorded flying over mountains to the east, and officials are asking people to check their front door cameras.

They must think he’s nearby.

As a thriller author, I spend a lot of time thinking about danger and safety. Perhaps I’m drawn to my genre because I’ve spent my life on high alert. My mother died when I was a child, so I had no illusion life was easy. My father made it very clear that the world was not a safe place and that most people couldn’t be trusted (if you’ve read my book, The Lucky One, the father character is loosely based on my own dad). I’ve been on first dates where I was acutely aware something wasn’t right and had to get myself out of a situation.

When I was in my twenties, a girl in our “good” neighborhood was kidnapped from her car in a mall parking lot and killed. Now I get in my car and immediately lock the doors.

I put my beautiful, incredibly kind daughter in martial arts, because I want her to know it’s okay to defend herself, and I want her to know how to do it, how to hurt someone in case anyone ever tries to hurt her.

When I’m uncomfortable with a situation—whether it’s a party or a crowd of people or whatever—I go with the slogan from the Crime Junkie podcast: Be weird, be rude, stay alive.

Apt in a world where so many women are taught to be polite, even at the expense of their own comfort and safety.

I’ve been thinking this week about our insatiable appetite for true crime podcasts and books, and why women in particular are so drawn to these terrifying stories.

Does learning about crimes from the past help us know what to do to survive the present?

One thing I like about Crime Junkie is that the focus is on the victim. Instead of treating true crime like entertainment and inadvertently glorifying a killer, the hosts are sensitive to the reality this was a person who lost their life—whose killer is often still living in the world while the victim is not. The podcast constantly covers cold cases, putting calls out asking listeners to contribute any information they have, and has aided in exonerating James Reyos, wrongfully imprisoned for murder. Their coverage has also highlighted cases that have received more attention as a result, aiding in investigations. They have raised hundreds of thousands of dollars in funds to continue working cold cases.

Ashley Flowers and Brit Prawat, co-hosts of Crime Junkie, have said they find true crime calming, because in a way, it prepares them for the worst. It tells them story after story about what could happen, and in a way, shares what to watch out for.

This makes me think of Lisa Cron, who wrote the legendary writing craft book Story Genius. She discusses why evolutionary biologists believe humans became wired to tell and hear stories. Around stone age hearths, they might have been talking about how they killed a beast, or how they avoided becoming prey.

“Story… allowed us to step out of the present and envision the future, so we could plan for the thing that has always scared us more than anything: the unknown, the unexpected. What better way to figure out how to outsmart… predators…?”¹

What are criminals other than today’s predators in the wilderness that is society?

I think true crime, in a way, is our own way of processing fears, of preparing for the worst. It’s certainly changed how I live my life. I double-check that doors are locked (criminals are often opportunists—you may not think anything of leaving your backdoor unlocked, and they find it quite convenient). I don’t presume that because I live in a “good” area, I’m safe—the Golden State Killer specifically preyed on these areas, at least in part probably because people made such assumptions, that their privilege bought them safety. I never assume that. And I don’t take my family camping when a murderer might be behind the next tree.

Is true crime our modern version of telling stories around the fire, warning our young to be cautious? I think it just might be, us acknowledging the world isn’t as safe as we pretend.

But I also think it’s easier to learn lessons from distant stories that happened in another time, another place. When I first learned about the recent murders of nine-year-old Paityn, eight-year-old Evelyn, and five-year-old Olivia, daughters of Travis Decker, all I could think was that these were girls who my own daughter would have probably loved to befriend, who were trying their hardest in sports like soccer and gymnastics (like my daughter), who loved their mom (like my daughter), who probably dreamed of mermaids and unicorns (like my daughter)… I felt horrified. Terrified. Like I simultaneously wanted to cry and puke. Who could do such a horrible thing? Not only that—it happened here in our home of Washington State.

It made me question how I interact with true crime. Because I’ll bet someone’s already made a podcast about these girls. About their father.

Maybe years of time and space allow us to view some crimes from a more removed place, where it’s a dull ache instead of sharp like a knife. What I hope is that if someone is creating a podcast, they’re doing it in such a way that we can learn something: we can learn how to better keep one another safe. We can learn what laws or interventions might have prevented these senseless murders.

In the Travis Decker case, because the kidnapper was a parent, it was assumed the children were not in danger (despite their mother insisting otherwise), and an Amber Alert wasn’t issued. But what if one was? I’ve heard the mother is pushing to change laws, to prevent something horrific like this from happening again.

It makes me think that we listen and read true crime in an effort to learn, to keep ourselves and our children safe. To understand what could happen to do everything we can to prevent it from actually coming to fruition. In a way, it offers meaning to something that otherwise seems a terrible waste of human lives that had so much potential. I still grieve for these little girls who I have no doubt were delightful human beings, beautiful inside and out.

Usually, I end my newsletters with a publishing update and a book rec. But this topic feels too heavy to shift gears and do that. So instead, I’ll simply end with some photos of my dogs and cats, because when times are hard, our furry friends are so often a temporary reprieve.

In the comments, I’m curious to know what you think about true crime—why are we, as humans, so interested in it? I’d love to hear your theories, or what it means to you.

Penny and Maggy being “garden dogs.” Every night, I step outside after dinner to water the garden—and last night, to repot these “Christmas trees” we got last December. Somehow, I’ve kept them alive, but they sure were happy to get in bigger pots!

It’s a little difficult to tell in the picture, but Frankie is staring into the kitchen from outside—his new way of begging to be let in. Except I climb the stairs from the basement and see a face staring through the window and it scares me every time. He has to get up on the window ledge to do this 😂

I’ll be back next week with a book recommendation (I’ve read so many good books lately it’s hard to choose what to feature!) as well as a kiddo book series my daughter is loving right now. See you in the comments! - Jessica

1. Lisa Cron, Story Genius (page 11)