The Beltway Snipers: Trained to Kill— Ep. 3 | MK Confidential

And it's been a very long time. I'm a very close friend who has been working with me for several years.

“We are a family member and my friend was the one who said, "Look, there are some portal.”

"Go for a walk, then I'll show you everything." And that was the point.

So what I could do now, of course, is that the family has the first time in the night.

And there are, in the hotel, in the street, in the street, there are the last weeks in the, yes, over the weekend. But the chances of having the children to buy. "Start the Dining Spenden auf Ruf nach heute, in nur wenigen Minuten auf Gofant mi.com, Gofant mi.com, für Dining Spenden auf Ruf." This is an appetite to unzeige von Gofant mi. It is a drizzly Saturday evening in Tacoma, Washington, February 16, 2002.

On the corner of East 34th Street and East Roosevelt Avenue, there is a pale yellow house that

“looks out over this city's documents, the Puala River, and the fog sitting on commencement bay.”

The porch faces the street and the city's bread out below it. Aside the front door, a small sign reads, "Please remove shoes." This house belongs to a US Army soldier named Joseph Nichols and his wife, Issa. Neither of them is home, Issa has gone to collect their 13-year-old daughter, Tamara, from a sleepover. The only people in the house are the Nichols' 21-year-old niece, Kenya Cook, who lives here with her aunt and uncle, and Kenya's six-month-old daughter, Angelia.

There is food on the stove, upstairs the baby is lying on a towel on a bed, it's nearly bath time. At about seven o'clock, the doorbell rings. Kenya comes downstairs in a shirt, jeans and socks. The porch light is on, throwing light onto the

“front steps under the overhang that keeps whoever is standing out there dry. But it is dark,”

and the window set into the front door is a long narrow strip of cut glass. It's hard to see anything through it. Everyone who knows Kenya Cook says the same thing about her. She is careful.

She would never open that door to a stranger. So she has a reason. Maybe it's her

estranged boyfriend, who came by the house earlier in the day. Or maybe through that narrow strip of glass, whoever is out there simply looks like a kid from the neighborhood. Kenya opens the front door and looks out onto Roosevelt Avenue. A single bullet goes through the thin bone just below her left eye and lodges at the base of her skull. She goes down in the foyer. And then nothing happens. The ejected shell casing lies on the floor beside her. Upstairs the baby is still on her

towel waiting to be washed. In the kitchen the food is still on the stove. A few minutes later, headlights turn into the driveway. Ethan Nichols stays in the car to pull it into the garage. Her daughter gets out and walks around to the front of the home to go in the front door and

open the garage from the inside. The front door is wide open, which is odd. A second later,

the 13-year-old is running back to the car. Mommy, she screams mommy, hurry. Police look at Kenya's boyfriend first because he had been at the house earlier the same day. They bring him in. They question him and they let him go. After that there is nowhere to go. There was a young woman dead in a foyer, a brass casing on the floor and a doorbell that rang. The case is cold right from the start. Ethan Nichols has the blood cleaned out of the foyer. Her husband installs a camera above the

front door. There are no viable clues to go on. For eight months nobody knows who fired that shot but there would be more. Many more. I'm Megan Kelly and this is MK confidential. AI can clone your voice, forge your signature, even create fake documents that fool experts and criminals are using these tools right now to potentially steal from you. How? It's called title fraud. Your property records are public by law. Your name, address, even your signature.

It's all sitting in a database anyone can access. A cyber scammer can pull your records use AI to forge a transfer document, file it with your county and on paper. They are the new legal owner of your property. Then they can borrow against your equity or even sell your property long before

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you checked your title records? You can do it today. Use my promo code Megan at home title lock.com to get a free title history report plus a free trial of $1 million triple lock protection so you can make sure you're not already a victim. That's home title lock.com promo code Megan or use the link in the description. The person who rang Kenya Cook's doorbell is Lee Boyd Malvo. He is 16 years old two days away from his 17th birthday. How did this teenager end up on

that doorstep? And the question that has never been settled about him, not in a court room,

not in the 20 years since, how much of what he did was his to choose. He's born in Kingston, Jamaica, on the 18th of February 1985. His father is Leslie Malvo, a brick Mason who went as far

“as the sixth grade. He has other children by other women, which in Jamaica at the time is neither”

unusual nor a point of conversation. Of all his children Leslie says Lee looks the most like him. His mother is Una James. She is 20 when she has him. As a girl she walked miles to find her own father and asked him to pay for her schooling and he said no. What she wants for her son is the education she was refused. Leslie, the father, is the soft one. The boy says he wants to be a pilot, so his dad folds him a paper plane and the two of them fly it around the furniture carefully,

so is not to break anything. When the boy does break his mother's porcelain vase and hears her shriek his name from the other room, it's Leslie who steps in front of him. Leave the boy alone he says I broke it. He takes his son everywhere. He calls him little man. Una is the hard one.

“Playing is an interruption of studying and by his father's account when Leslie is not there,”

she beats Malvo. In 1988 Leslie takes a Masonry contract in Grand Cayman, six months at a stretch. He sends money home twice a month and opens a savings account because he's going to buy them a house.

He never does. In August of 1990, Una empties the account, packs up the entire house

and moves the boy somewhere she is fairly sure Leslie will not find them. But Leslie does find them in the summer of 1991 and he brings two flight jackets covered in military tags because he remembered his son wants to be a pilot. And then he goes away for good. Malvo is only five. Malvo is nine the first time his mother leaves him. She boards him with a woman he met the day before. This is the first of many separations. Over the next five years Malvo is handed from

one household to another. When he's ten he goes looking for his father, finds him and asks if he can stay. Leslie tells him no. Malvo believes the real reason was the woman with whom his father was living, who treated Malvo like an intrusion. Through all of it, Malvo is consistently on the honor role at school. In January of 1999, Malvo's mother leaves Jamaica for the Caribbean Island of Antiga in the care of a friend and then of a teacher. She sends for him to join her in

the summer of 1999. He is fourteen when he reaches Antiga and his mother is the only person he knows on the island. In the early days of October 2000, in St. John's the capital of Antiga, there is an electronic shop called Zaza Yellows, where the neighborhood kids go to use the computers and play video games. Malvo goes there. The place is usually crowded so mostly he finds a corner and watches other people play. And on several Fridays, he notices a father and a son. They're playing

Microsoft Flight Simulator and they're laughing. The boy is flying from the outside view and his father says nice scenery, but remind me not to fly with you. Malvo stands in the corner and watches them. He's now fifteen years old. Malvo says later the level of trust their open-come lottery and the communication between them was something he had always dreamed of, but until then

had never experienced. Not since his mom first took him away from his dad. Malvo admires the father

in that shop. When he walks in, everyone straightens up. He talks to children the way he talks to adults. When someone speaks to him, he lets them finish. He repeats back what they said to make sure he

here's there's an American on the island who sells visas. She takes her son with her to the

“address on Rose Street. The American turns out to be the man from Zazayelos, who was so good”

with his own son. His name is John Allen Muhammad. He is a United States Army veteran. He lives on Antiga with his three children and he sells forged papers to people trying to reach America. While his mother negotiates, Malvo gets to know Muhammad's son. The boy's name is John Jr. and his nickname is Little Man. The same name Leslie Malvo used to call his son in Kingston before any of this. Little Man and I hit it off, Malvo writes in his journal,

when we learned we both wanted to be pilots. Una buys her papers, memorizes her cover story, and flies to the United States. She tells her son Malvo that she will send for him to come to the United States when she has the money. She pays for the rest of the term at his school covers two

“months rent and leaves him to fend for himself. In Antiga he has literally no one. He is 15,”

a few months later, alone in the house, Lee Malvo gets sick. It's a recurrence of the romantic fever he had as a child. His joints ache, his tonsils swell shut. For two days he cannot get out of bed to call anybody or even feed himself. By Malvo's own account given years later prepared with his defense team, he describes what happened next quote. Then Mr. Muhammad came by one day and found the back door slightly a jar. Upon entering he saw me in bed, sweating, and almost

delirious with fever. He lifted me out of bed and carried me out in his arms because I was too weak to walk. He took me to the doctor and then to his place of residence. I was fed with fluids and soup. What was truly amazing was that he spent a lot of time ensuring that I was okay

and he never asked for payment. After that they go everywhere together. Carmetta Alberas,

the social worker who later worked on Malvo's defense, describes them as disciple and guru. Muhammad talks Malvo listens. Malvo tells him about his father, his mother, and the beatings. Muhammad tells him they did not meet by coincidence, they met by destiny. He starts introducing Malvo as his son and Malvo starts calling him dad. Muhammad teaches him to speak with an American accent. On his 16th birthday he takes them shopping and replaces his entire wardrobe. He takes them to a

tailor and has a measured for three suits. One woman who watched them in Antigua says Muhammad treated Malvo like a little soldier, yes sir, no sir, like he was in the army. Malvo will later say these were the happiest days of his life. On the last day of May 2001, Lee Malvo enters the United States, flying out of Antigua with Muhammad and Muhammad's three children under a name that is not his.

He travels as Lindberg Williams, Muhammad's son by his first marriage. He is handed over to his mother

Una, now in Florida. He registers at a high school in Fort Myers and starts earning A's and B's. And in October, he runs. He leaves before dawn, takes a bus west, and gets off in Bellingham, Washington, 15 miles from the Canadian border. He's running toward a man who six weeks earlier, walked out of a Tacoma courtroom, without his own children. In August, Muhammad had applied for food stamps in Washington State and filled in his children's real names. The names flagged in a state

system. That led back to his ex-wife, Mildred, who had legal custody and a restraining order against Muhammad. On the 4th of September, a court commissioner in Pierce County, hands all three children back to their mother. There is tape of the hearing. So the children was having a myth,

“but they were about to win over known by mother. That's why the court apparently issued the”

grit, a universal respondent to the published summons for divorce. So are you telling me the reason why I don't have my children? And it won't be to keep my children because I don't have the product paperwork yet. No, I'm saying that you've been divorced. The court has entered orders. That mother had sole residential placement care and custody of the children. And that you get a no visitation at present without for the court order. So it's done. I'm not able to see

much of them. Mildred takes the three of them and disappears to the suburbs of Washington, D.C. John Muhammad has a name for that day. He calls it his own September 11th. So when the boy gets off the bus and belling him, he finds Muhammad now childless and living in a Christian homeless

leader tells authorities that Muhammad put the word out that he wanted his wife killed. He wanted

“its secret and anonymous. He talked about shooting her from a car. He talked about making a silencer”

out of a cop bottle. Then he talked about cutting a gun port into the vehicle. In February of 2002, Muhammad and Malvo move into an apartment near a golf course into coma. It belongs to a man named Earl Dancy, who works at the Seattle Tacoma airport. Dancy has things Muhammad wants. A Chinese-made version of the AK-47, a Winchester with a scope, a Remington 308 hunting rifle, a 44-magnum revolver, a 22-pistol, and a compact 6-hour 45. Dancy gives them the run of the

apartment and free use of the guns. Why would he do that? Years later, Dancy explains it in the documentary series, Orn To Kill. "Very manipulative. He gains your confidence. He gains your trust. Once he comfortables your trust, he'll use it to his advantage." They take the guns out to the Tacoma Sportsman's club and Dancy notices that Muhammad is obsessed with the boy's marksmanship. He coaches him. He brags about how well he's coming along. And when Malvo makes a mistake,

Muhammad makes him run laps and do push-ups. Malvo always obeys. The targets are paper men.

Here's Dancy again. "As period time, he'll bring targets to me. And the targets were better getting better and better, and then actually one where the target was actually dead shot, cinema." Two weeks after he first takes the boy to arrange Muhammad and Sima Gift, it's a t-shirt with the word "sniper" across the front. He tells Malvo he wanted in a sniper competition in the 90s. Malvo wears it. Muhammad tells Earl Dancy that he qualified as a sniper in the army.

He's telling Dancy other things too. That his ex-wife and one of her friends

conspired to take his children and that he's going to get them for it. He has Dancy sit down

at his computer and search for "Mildrid Muhammad" on the internet. Dancy finds her, she's in the Washington D.C. area, which brings us back to a doorbell into coma, shortly before a cross-country journey will begin. Everybody's talking about weight loss injections because the results can be so dramatic. They work by lowering blood sugar and reducing appetite. But what if you're looking to lose weight

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plan. Visit TakeLeen.com and enter Kelly for your discount. That's promo code [email protected]. My name is Adixandra and it's up to you to meet me in Dimissin Spen, on the way to the company. I'm a family in the city of Leipzig and it's been a very long time. I'm a very close friend who has been working with me for several years. I'm a family and my friend

“was the one who said, "Look, there are some portal. Gofautenia is a secret." Then I was a person and that was the”

answer. So what I could do now is to have a family with a note and a note that has been in a hotel, in the hotel, in the last week, in the summer, but the chances of having a child to buy. This is an appetite to unsiega fungo fund me. Failure is not an option. Your pace must be certain. He tells him like a man who knows where he's going.

knock on the door, ask for Esa. If it's Esa, good. If it's not, say you have a message for her.

“And then use this. Esa Nichols, whose home this is, used to manage the Muhammad's books.”

She became Mildred's close friend and testified for her during the custody fight. Esa is one of the people Muhammad blames for the loss of his children, but she isn't home. Her niece is Kenya Cook answers the door. She's 21 and has nothing to do with Muhammad's custody fight. She tells Lee Boyd Malvo where her aunt has gone. He shoots her anyway. By his account he runs to a phone booth, sweating and crying. Muhammad pulls up and Malvo gets in.

I watched you, Muhammad tells him you did perfect. Then he hands the boy a wallet with a new

ID card in it. Malvo reads the name on it. John Lee, Muhammad. Lee Boyd Malvo no longer exists.

“Muhammad says and starts the engine. Malvo says he stood in the shower for hours and couldn't”

get clean. That Muhammad got impatient and knocked on the bathroom door and that the knocking on the door was the worst part. Two days later, it says 17th birthday. Muhammad takes him to the mall and buys him slacks, shirts, ties, cufflinks and sneakers. And he takes him bowling and then to the movies. The film is John Q with Denzel Washington. A man's son needs a heart operation he cannot pay for, so he takes an emergency room hostage. And while they are bowling, Malvo will later say,

Muhammad lectures him on the importance of a man doing whatever he has to to save his children. A month later, there in Arizona. On the 19th of March, at a golf course in Tucson, a 60-year-old

“frozen food salesman named Jerry Ray Taylor is practicing his game after lunch. He goes down on the”

course, shot in the back. However, shot him drags his body into the underbrush, appears to have pulled out Jerry's wallet, but leaves it next to him, the cash and cards still inside. And that is how it goes for seven months, a murder in one state, then a bus ticket, then a murder

in another one under a different name in a jurisdiction that is never heard of the last one.

September 5th, 2002, half past 10 at night, a strip mall in Clinton, Maryland, restaurant owner Paul Larufa has just closed for the night. He walks out across the lot with an employee and a customer carrying a black leather briefcase with about $3,500 in it and a laptop. He opens the back door of his green Chrysler, puts them both on the seat and gets in the driver's seat. There is a shadow at the driver's side window, a small figure you will say.

Then the window comes apart and bullets go into his arm and his chest and his side. And as he leans away from it, someone yanks open the back door of his car and lifts the briefcase and the laptop off of the seat. Larufa gets his door open and staggers out onto the lot. Shouting for someone to call 911, telling himself over and over, that he is not going to die in this parking lot. And he doesn't. He's been shot five or six times, but he lives.

That $3,500 pays for what comes next. On September 21st, outside a liquor store in Montgomery, Alabama, a manager named Claudine Parker is shot dead. The 24-year-old cashier Kelly Adams is also shot through the neck and lives. Officers are close enough to hear it. They chase a man and he gets away. And on the ground, where he ran, they find something and they bag it and they file it away. Two days later, in Baton Rouge, Louisiana, a woman named Hong Eme Ballinger locks up the beauty

supply store where she works and reaches her car with her keys in her hand. She is killed by a single shot to the head. A few blocks from that strip mall in Clinton, Maryland, where Paul Larufa was shot and his $3,500 were stolen. There is a subdivision with streets named Black Willow and May Apple and Quiet Brook Lane. Living on Quiet Brook Lane, that September, is the woman Earl Dancy found on the internet. A 41-year-old divorced mother of three who moved across the

Robert Holmes, one of Muhammad's oldest army friends, would later say he believed Mildred was

“always the real target. Mine way of thinking was Mildred was the target in the mission,”

because if it was just a terrorized people or to kill people even, I could have been done anywhere. If you kill 10 people and she's one of the 10, then it's less likely. I mean, it's still a chance that you're going to get caught, but it's less likely. By the second week of October, 11 people are dead in this killing spree, six of them in the DC area this month. Two more shot and still alive, and thousands of local and state police share of deputies, federal agents, marshals,

and technicians are now hunting to men, who may still believe may be a single sniper in a white van. Roadblocks shut down interstates within minutes of each murder. The task force knows that there's a rifle and there's a vehicle. They know the crimes are connected by the same gun, and that is it.

“October 9, the next victim. A 53-year-old civil engineer named Dean Myers is working late at his”

office in Minassus, Virginia, because he works late almost every night. He was drafted in 1969 and

shot on a patrol north of Saigon. He came home with a purple heart and an arm that never fully

worked again. A little after eight, a colleague in the next cubicle says good night. Okay, Myers says see you tomorrow. Myers has a long drive, and he needs gas. He pulls his black Mazda into the battlefield Sanoko on Sudley Road. He is standing in the white light of the pump island, in the cold and the wet, when a shot cracks, and a 223 round out of a rifle, very like the one he carried in Vietnam, hits him behind the left ear. He is dead before he lands. Police seal the roads

from miles. They find nothing. October 11, two days later. A 53-year-old businessman from Philadelphia

“named Kenneth Bridges pulls off interstate 95 near Fredericksburg, Virginia, to fill his tank.”

He has six children, and everybody has warned him about this stretch of road. He stops anyway. Kenneth calls his wife Jocelyn from the pump island to tell her where he is. She thinks about warning him one more time. She doesn't. He'll be out of there in a few minutes, she thinks, and there's a Virginia State Trooper 50 yards away, working a fender bender. Surely no one would fire a rifle with a trooper standing right there. At 9.28 AM, Kenneth Bridges puts the nozzle in

his tank. The trooper hears the shot, runs to him, and works on Kenneth until the rescue squad arrives.

By then there is no pulse. The trooper never sees a man with a rifle. No one at that gas station does.

October 14, three days later. Just before half past seven in the evening, Ted and Linda Franklin drive their red mercury into the parking lot at the home depot in the seven corners shopping center near Falls Church, Virginia. Linda Franklin is 47, and an intelligence analyst at the FBI. She has recently had a double mastectomy, and she's still in physical therapy. Her daughter is about to make her a grandmother. They spend an hour and a half inside buying shelves for a house

they're about to move into. A little afternoon they wheel the cart out to the car. One of the shelves will not fit. It's too long for the trunk so they put the back seat down and try to feed it through, which doesn't work either. Ted holds the cart to stop it from rolling, while Linda tries to wrestle the shelf in through the passenger door. She's having trouble with it. Why don't you come and hold the cart? Ted says, "I'll see if I can put it in." They switch places.

As Ted is ducking in and out of the car with the shelf, he hears aloud noise and feels something

spray across his face. He assumes the noise came from inside the store where they're always

dropping pallets. The spray is what gets his attention. When he turns around, his wife Linda is on the pavement. Inside the store, people are screaming. Employees are shouting at each other to shut the doors. Within minutes, the lot fills with police. No one's standing in it can tell anybody where the shot came from. Malvo will tell investigators years later exactly where he had been lying. In the documentary series, Born to Kill, Ballistics Expert Jeff Miller walks through

that account. Malvo said that he was lying here in this parking lot here at the community center near the stairway. While Mohamed was providing a lookout for him, he was able to look across this

And Mr. and Mrs. Franklin were loading purchases into the back of their car. And the two of

“them were standing just underneath the home in the Home Depot store about halfway through the parking lot.”

Bullet entered the left side of her head and as it exited her head, it started to fragment inside and caused a very traumatic injury to her head. When Lee Malvo eventually goes on trial in Virginia, his defense is built by Carmetta Alberis, who traveled to Jamaica and Antiga and interviewed his family. And by the psychologists who spent months with Malvo, they describe a course of instruction. The boy has given tapes and he listens to them nightly and years later he can still name them,

message to the black man, the Willie Lynch speech. Malcomax played in question and answer sessions while riding along on Mohamed's rounds. And this is not only Malvo's account.

On Antiga, the woman who first took Mohamed's family in, had noticed Mohamed borrowing her CD player

“and playing tapes to his own children after they'd fallen asleep. Her daughter watched him do it.”

He was subliminally indoctrinating and hypnotizing them, she says. Dr. Dewi Cornell was Malvo's court-appointed psychologist. He spent 53 hours with Malvo trying to understand his motivation. It really started to remind me very quickly of someone who was part of a political underground or maybe part of a cult movement who had been brainwashed or indoctrinated. Lee Malvo basically killed because John Mohamed wanted him to kill.

The prosecution in Virginia argued the opposite. That Malvo was a willing and equal participant

and the investigators who have worked the case have never accepted the word brainwashing.

They had witnesses who put the two of them apart, they said. Malvo had every opportunity to leave. Dr. Evan Nelson conducted a court-ordered sanity evaluation of Malvo for the prosecution. He interviewed Malvo and came to a very different conclusion. In my opinion, it wasn't brainwashing. This was the case of a young man who was eager to learn things

“and an older man who was eager to teach. So I think that young Mr. Malvo found somebody who he could”

idolize and adore and choose to follow as compared to being brainwashed. By the time the DC area shootings begin, Mohamed and Malvo are operating out of a blue 1990 Chevrolet Caprice with more than 100,000 miles on it and New Jersey Plates. They bought it for $250 from a used carla in Trenton called of all things. Sure shot auto sales with the money taken off of Paul the roof as backseat. It is a former police cruiser and so unremarkable that police

run its plates again and again during the spree and keep handing it back clean. The backseat has been cut loose and re-hunged so the seat backs wings up on a hinge at the top like a hatch. And in the trunk lid, just above a license plate, there is a hole, a gun port. Inside the trunk they have built a small platform so the rifle's bipod stands at exactly the height of that hole. A man can lie flat on his stomach with his feet braced against the back of the front

seat and point the muscle through the port in the trunk. From outside, no one sees a shooter. They see a parked car with tinted windows. The trunk lid only has to open two inches to allow the shooter to aim. The car simply drives away. The setup was not invented on the road halfway through a killing spree. It was designed out loud in a homeless shelter in Bellingham, Washington, a year earlier by a man explaining how he intended to shoot his wife and get away with it.

By the middle of October, the task force is enormous and it is looking for the wrong man. The profile television keeps repeating is a lone gunman, white, military trained, angry, driving a white van. But at Quantico, in a room where FBI profiles are arguing about this case around a table, two of them are studying something the shooters left behind earlier in the spree. A tarot card, with a handwritten message for the police, and they aren't seeing that man at all.

One is supervisory special agent Jim Clementi. The other is his colleague James Fitzgerald or Fitz, who's been building a new discipline inside the bureau called forensic linguistics, which looks at what a person's word choice reveals about them. When Jim Clementi sat down with me, he described that room. He says this is for you, Mr. Police, as if he's looking up to the police,

Nobody in that room wants to hear it. The shooting is too disciplined, it's too well planned,

“professionally executed, to have been done by a kid, which leaves Clementi with two options,”

and he puts them both on the table. Either we have a situation where we have a 45-year-old man who's incredibly experienced, who's incredibly great at planning and executing these shootings,

“but he decompensates when he's communicating with us, and he acts like a teenager,”

or for the first time in U.S. criminal history, we have a sniper team, and everybody blew up.

No, snipers don't play well with each other, they don't, they work alone. A Clementi and

“Fitzgerald have a different idea. They think this is a pair. One old enough to plan it all,”

one young enough to communicate like a child. Next time, an MK confidential. Clementi and fits back together again, an exclusive MK confidential interview. Plus, the haunting words, call me God, your children are not safe anywhere at any time. A police chief negotiating with a killer through a bank of microphones, a whole country watching the wrong vehicle, and a letter,

nailed to a tree behind a steakhouse that finally tells the task force what these two men actually want.