Swindled

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Carol walks up to the front door of her townhouse.
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The autumn wind tumbles fallen leaves down the quiet street,
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echoing her unsettled mood. As she reaches the door, she
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pulls her keys from her pocket and shakes them together,
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ringing them like a bell. Usually one or two of
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her neighbor's cats would pop out of somewhere, softening her day,
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but today, nothing. It's quiet. It's eerie. She tries to
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focus as she searches for the right key, but unease
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prickles at her skin when she hears a truck pull
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up behind her. She turns to see her neighbor's on-again,
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off-again boyfriend pulling into the driveway. She watches as he
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gets out and starts walking towards the front door. Her
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voice wavers slightly when she stops him with a polite hello. Hey,
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haven't seen Jamie in a while. Tell her I say hi.
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The man doesn't miss a step as he responds. You
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won't be seeing much of Jamie anymore, he says quickly.
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She doesn't quite hear what he says next because her
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mind immediately starts racing. Fear clenching at her chest. It's
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something about Jamie having a new job with long work hours,
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but the words barely land. Carol says, trusts her intuition.
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And in this moment, her intuition is screaming at her.
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Something is wrong. Doubt courses through her, twisting her neighborly
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smile into a mask. She ends the chat with the
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usual pleasantries and steps inside her home. Once the door closes,
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she stands there, back against the wall, thinking. She knows, Jamie.
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She knows she had spent months saving for a trip,
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but now she'd be gone for weeks all of a sudden.
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In their neighborhood, the routine is obvious. Carol sees it all.
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The same cars, the same people, the same schedules. Everything
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is the same except for John Chapman. She's seen John
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coming and going from Jamie's townhouse for weeks, but no Jamie.
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Not even once. At first, she didn't think anything of it,
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but now, with him seemingly living there, she couldn't excuse
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the deviation from the routine. Suddenly, all the trash he'd
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been throwing out seemed a bit ominous. Carol pulls her
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phone out of her pocket, her pulse quickening. She opens
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up Facebook and searches through Jamie's friends list. She finds
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her best friend, Danielle, and messages her. She hopes, wherever
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Jamie is, that she's okay. The End Welcome to Sword
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and Scale Nightmares. True crime for bedtime. Where nightmare begins now.
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Danielle grew up with Jamie Fieden. They were less than
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a year apart in age, and she considered her sort
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of a little sister in more ways than one. Jamie
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was now 33 and independent. She lived by herself in
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a townhouse on Timber Ridge Drive in Bethel Park, a
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Pittsburgh suburb. She worked at an assisted living facility for seniors.
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And when she wasn't at work, she was at home
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with her cats. But even though Jamie was independent, Danielle
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still worried about her. Jamie had been born with Vader syndrome,
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a rare condition that affects multiple parts of your body
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before birth. At 33 years old, she stood just over
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4 feet tall and weighed barely 75 pounds. One of
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her eyes drifted slightly. Her voice stayed high-pitched and childlike,
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her sentences broken by deep breaths between words. Multiple surgeries
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throughout her life left her with a steel rod and
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fused vertebrae in her spine, forcing her to turn her
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entire body instead of just her neck. Jamie was small, trusting,
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and vulnerable. Danielle's phone chimes with a notification. She glances
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at it, even though she's busy. It's a Facebook message from... Carol? Carol?
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She recognizes the name only as Jamie's neighbor. She stops
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and taps the icon, and the app opens. Her hand
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starts to tremble as she reads Carol's message. She already
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suspects something is off with Jamie. Earlier, she'd gotten a
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message from Jamie saying she probably wasn't coming back to Pittsburgh.
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The message didn't feel like Jamie. Danielle's brow furrowed with
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confusion and worry. It just didn't sound like Jamie at all.
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Jamie has a house, a job, bills, and pets to
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care for. How could she just disappear? Unease coils inside Danielle,
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making the message impossible to shake. Now that she's reading,
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John Chapman is back. But Jamie isn't. Her body fills
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with dread. She taps the icon and calls Carol immediately.
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She listens as Carol explains all the trash, Jamie's absence,
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and John Chapman's explanation. You won't be seeing much of
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Jamie anymore. The words made Danielle shiver, so the two
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concerned women decided to test Jamie. They took turns messaging her.
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Carol asked Jamie to return the red purse she lent her.
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Jamie responded as any person would, but you see, that
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was the problem. Carol never lent a purse to Jamie.
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Danielle reached out to let Jamie know that her uncle
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Ralph had passed away. Jamie responded that she couldn't attend
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the funeral because she and John needed to focus on
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their relationship. Kind of a weird thing to say, no?
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I mean, you can't attend a funeral because you're working
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on your relationship? What? When Danielle reads this message, her
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stomach sinks. She starts shaking her head in disbelief. Because
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if Jamie were really the person texting back, she would
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know that she didn't have an uncle named Ralph. A
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Bethel Park police officer cruises down Timber Ridge Drive towards
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Jamie's house. It's overcast, typical for November. The street is
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lined with identical townhouses on both sides, little blocks of
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eight at a time, with the only distinction between them
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being the decorations out front. He pulls up to Jamie's house.
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It's tucked in the middle of a row. It's a
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quaint three-story house with all the living quarters above the
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ground-level garage. He stares at her red door and the
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decorative wreath on it for a moment, before stepping out
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of the damp cold. He looks around at the unassuming
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neighborhood as he walks to the front door. Nothing seems
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out of place. The storm door swings open with a creak,
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and he knocks right in the center of the wreath.
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The pounding echoes inside. He waits for a moment before
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announcing himself. Still, no answer. He grabs the radio and
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tells dispatch he's going to make entry. He walks into
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the house, announcing himself. The home is silent. He walks
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up the stairs to the main level. It's just a
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few steps and he's in the living room. From there,
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he could see a bathroom and a kitchen. It strikes
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the officer as odd that the home lacks... what he
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would call a woman's touch. He walks up the stairs,
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his footsteps the only sound in the apartment. The third
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floor had two bedrooms and another bathroom. The home seemed
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lived in, but it was strangely empty. He pokes his
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head in the bathroom. It's devoid of any of Jamie's belongings.
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He starts going through every room, every closet. There was
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no sign of Jamie, let alone anyone. If he didn't
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know any better, he would say that no one lives
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in the apartment at all. The bathroom lacks all the
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female toiletries you would expect. The closets are empty. There's
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no clothing. The walls are bare. No photos whatsoever. No decorations. Then,
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at the bottom of the closet, he spots a lone backpack.
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It's a black tactical-style bag. He puts on gloves and
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kneels in front of the closet. Slowly, he unzips the bag. Inside,
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he finds an assortment of zip ties, some duct tape,
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and a pair of wire cutters. A knot ties in
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his stomach. This... Looks like a kill kit, he thinks,
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as he grabs his mic to radio dispatch. In minutes,
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Jamie's townhome is surrounded by police. The only sign of
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her is her cell phone, left behind on the table.
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For the officer, dread hardens in his stomach. In this
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day and age, no one goes anywhere without their cell phone. So,
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this is a bad sign. The police started searching for
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John Chapman immediately. They tracked down his last known address
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and called, but his mother answered the phone. He wasn't there.
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Minutes later, John called the detective back. When they told
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him they were looking for Jamie, he said he'd just
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seen her. He said that after he spoke with his mother,
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he realized the police were searching for Jamie. So he
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called her and told her. But, he said, she freaked
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out and ran to the trolley stop. He said he'd
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been driving around and looking for her ever since. He
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finished the call, offering to go to her house and
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pick her up when she returned and bring her to
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the police station so they would know she was okay.
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Later that night, John made his way to Jamie's apartment.
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As soon as he entered the neighborhood, though, he was
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stopped and taken into custody without incident. The police took
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him to the station and started questioning him about Jamie
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Fieden's whereabouts. John sits in the interrogation room as the
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detective walks in. The bright lights are a stark contrast
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to the pitch blackness outside. He glances at his watch.
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It's 2.30 a.m. He pulls out a chair and sits
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across from John. The faint odor of stale coffee catches
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his nose. He grabs a half-empty cup from the table
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and tosses it into the trash. He thumbs through his notes,
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then stops and stares at John. John sits with his
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hands in his lap, staring back. He wears a black
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hoodie and blue jeans. His hair is short, his eyes narrow-set.
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He wore a blank expression on his shaven face. The
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detective thinks about how this guy looks like a regular
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everyday citizen. But he's worked this job long enough to
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know looks can be deceiving. They always look like that.
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Even the really bad ones. The detective leans forward and
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puts his elbows on the table. John senses the interview's
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about to start. His hunched body tilts forward. So, you
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live in Maryland, the detective asks. John's lips part as
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he prepares to answer. Then he starts to speak. And
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John talks a lot. A nervous energy fills the sterile room.
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John confirms he lives in Maryland and has been married
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for a year. Not to Jamie, they were just friends.
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He did stay at her townhouse last night, though. He
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tells the detective about his irritable bowel syndrome. from greasy
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foods before he lets it slip that he was on probation.
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You're on probation here or in Maryland? The detective asks.
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John clarifies he was on federal probation for wire fraud
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and identity theft, but not anymore. John had run a
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tax scheme, filing false tax returns 26 times. all using
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the identities of Supplemental Security Income Recipients, or people with disabilities.
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A program he was also a recipient of because he, too,
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had a disability. John said he had Asperger's, Tourette's, and ADHD.
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Weird how all three of those can be faked by
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just about anyone, with no objective way to tell if
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you actually have anything or not. In total, he had
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scammed more than $ 100, 000. He spent some time in prison
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and on probation after that. Now he mostly delivers Uber
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Eats for income. The detective just sits back and lets
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him talk. It's a standard practice to let the interviewee
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get comfortable before starting the really hard questions. This was
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also a good opportunity to let him talk himself into
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a corner. Which... Stupid criminals usually do. John continues to
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talk about his relationship with Jamie. He says he sees
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her multiple times a week, even though they broke up
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more than a year ago. They like going to the movies,
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out to eat, or hiking in the woods. The detective's
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ears perk up at this admission. In the woods, he asks? Yeah,
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John replies. Jamie likes to, um, have sex. in the woods.
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The detective couldn't help but ask, You spent so much
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time with Jamie, why didn't you marry her? It's because
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of her size, John shamefully admits. I don't want people
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thinking I'm a pedophile because she looks like she's eight.
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The detective just nods. What do you tell your wife
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you're doing during these visits? She thinks I work for Google,
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so I just tell her I have an emergency. John admits.
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The detective steers the conversation back to Jamie. John claims
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he last saw her at about 4.30 when he left
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her house to go home to his wife. Later, after
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he learned from his mother that the police were looking
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for her, he started messaging her while driving back to
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her townhouse via voice-to-text. He offers to show them the
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Facebook Messenger thread. When the detective asks why she would
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freak out about the police, John only says that when
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she gets worked up, she's a different person. John, the
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detective says, we need your help. Where do you think
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she's at right now? The detective watches John's demeanor shift.
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You had a conversation with her, right? The detective follows up.
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Did you use your phone? I was at my computer
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at my house. The detective interrupts John. Wait, you said
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you did voice to text. That was like on my
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other phone at home, John stammers. You said you were driving,
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the detective says with an angry tone. Oh, John exclaims.
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That was probably the black phone in the back pocket
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of my truck. The detective sends an unconvinced look across
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the table. What's the passcode to your phone? He asks abruptly.
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I don't know, John says. It takes a fingerprint. Try it,
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the detective insists. John claims he never set it up,
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but the detective tells him to try it anyway. He
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watches as John tries several fingers until the phone is disabled. John.
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The detective pauses for a long time. You called dispatch
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on this phone. You know the password. What's the password?
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The tension in the room increases as the detective leans in.
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I know it's bullshit. We traced the number Jamie was
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messaging her family from, and it's connected to a burner app.
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One linked to your phone. We know it was you.
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who has been impersonating her for a month, maybe more.
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You've manipulated everything. Where is Jamie? The detective urges. I
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don't know. I lied, John says. I haven't seen her
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for weeks. You've been in her house for weeks, though,
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the detective asks. John's answer? squeaks out of him. Yeah?
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With her phone, the detective adds. Yeah? John says. Where
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are her clothes or things? The detective's questions land heavily.
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I don't know, says John. grasping his head with both hands.
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Give me a second to think. I want to do
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the right thing. The detective leans in, softening his voice
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a little. Then tell us where she's at. After a
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long pause, longer than is comfortable for anyone, John looks
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up and slowly says, It happened in Las Vegas. The
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sunrise paints the desert floor as it rises over the
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El Cortez, a hotel and casino off the Strip. One
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of the ones that they make for poors. Ain't that right, Segura?
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John and Jamie had been in Vegas for three days
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after driving across the country. Jamie is giddy that their
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relationship is taking a turn. She scrolls through the real
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estate listings trying to decide which houses to look at.
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A smile appears on her face as she thinks about
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living in a new house in a new town with
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her new husband. That's why they're there. To buy a house,
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get married, and start a new life together. John interrupts
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her daydream with only a sly grin on his face. Hey,
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let's do a little photo shoot, he says with a
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naughty look. He sits next to her on the bed
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and pushes a strand of hair behind her ear Maybe
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I could tie you up a little, he says, trying
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to gauge her response. We could drive out to the desert.
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It'll be sexy, he pleads. Jamie doesn't want to disappoint John. Besides,
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sounds like fun. So, she agrees. The drive into the
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desert takes a while, but they don't want to get caught.
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Minutes later, Jamie stands in the desert as the sun
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beats down. John says, puts zip ties around her wrists
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and ankles. Scoot your feet back, he says. She positions
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her feet closer to the lone metal pole in the
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middle of nowhere. The cold metal feels good on her skin.
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John adds another zip tie, binding her hands and feet together,
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and to the pole. He steps back, pulls out his phone,
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and starts taking pictures, then pauses. Something's missing, he says
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as he digs through his backpack. A tactical-style bag he
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brought all the way from Pittsburgh. He pulls out a
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roll of duct tape and starts tearing a piece off
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as he walks towards Jamie. Hold still, he says as
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he slaps it over her mouth. Jamie stands there with
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her hands tied behind her back and her mouth covered.
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John then tears another strip of tape and seals it
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over her nose. She looks at him, an annoyed expression
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on her brow. John steps back. Jamie tries to talk,
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but it comes out as mumbles. She tries to draw
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a breath, but she can't. Panic starts to set in.
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She looks at John, then back to her feet. She
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starts to struggle, but with her small frame, it's useless.
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She looks back at John, her eyes pleading to be
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let go. John just stands and watches, coldly. Jamie's body
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starts to heave, trying to suck in air, and not
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being able to. A few minutes tick by, and Jamie collapses, unconscious.
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She crumples at the base of the pole, her body
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lying in an uncomfortable position. John waits a few more minutes,
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enough time to let her die. Then he walks over
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to her lifeless body and snips the zip ties. He
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pulls the tape off of her purple face and strips
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her naked. John leaves Jamie there, nude, in the desert,
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and drives back home. 90 miles outside of Las Vegas,
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a man was driving down the road. He was returning
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from an antique train exhibit. He'd taken his grandson and
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his grandson's friend along. It was a lot of fun.
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They spent the better part of the day touring the
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train and hearing about its history. The kind of nerd
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shit I would love to do, if I wasn't here
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talking to you people. But now, they were on their
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way back home, and The long ride took a toll
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on the young boys. They needed to pull over. The
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man sees a little dirt road off the main highway
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and starts slowing to take it. He turns onto the
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road and drives a little further down. He doesn't want
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to stop right next to the highway. He finally pulls over,
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puts the truck in park, and steps into the desert heat.
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The boys hop out of the truck and start relieving
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themselves when his grandson shouts, I see something over there.
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I think it's a dead coyote. His grandfather ushers the
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boys back into the truck and heads to check it out.
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As he gets closer, he slows down. He squints his
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eyes as he inches forward, scanning the desert floor, wary
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of snakes. He sees it in the distance, next to
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an old, washed-out road sign. Its skin looks like dried leather.
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baked in the sun. But the closer he gets, the
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less it looks like a carcass of a coyote, and
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the more it looks like a human body. His hand suddenly, involuntarily,
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covers his mouth to muffle a startled gasp. He nearly trips,
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backing away from the sight. He thinks, it must be
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a child. Who could do this? He rushes back to
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the truck and immediately calls police. This was almost a
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month before Carol and Danielle called for a welfare check
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on Jamie. Weeks passed after John Chapman's arrest before her
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body was identified with dental records. She'd been in the
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desert nearly two weeks and was reduced to a husk.
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In the aftermath, John's current wife had to face a
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very hard reality. John lied about She thought he worked
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for the CIA. He had a fake badge. She believed
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he was on a two-week training session at Area 51,
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if you can believe that, when he committed this murder.
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And after the truth came out, she made another painful discovery.
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In the closet was a collection of organized, labeled Ziploc
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bags full of women's underwear. He had never been truthful
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nor faithful. During the investigation, John finally admitted why he
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did it. He had Jamie under his thumb, just stringing
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her along as long as he got what he wanted.
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She gave him money, $ 200 a week from her trust fund.
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But when she started to complain that he was never
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around anymore, he got tired of dealing with her. He
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still wanted the money, though. Before they ever left Pittsburgh,
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he had prepared a backpack of supplies and knew what
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he was going to do. He was going to kill her,
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stay with his wife, and still collect that now $ 800
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a month. She wouldn't need it, after all. In the
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state of Pennsylvania, John was charged with the criminal use
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of a communication facility for impersonating Jamie to her friends
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and family. He was also charged with obstruction for misleading police.
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But once her body was identified, it became clear that
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she was transported across state lines under false pretenses. It
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became a federal kidnapping case, resulting in death. It would
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be years before the case went to trial, delayed in
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part by the possibility of the death penalty and also
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by the slowdown of the courts during the COVID pandemic.
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That annoying power grab. Finally, in September 2022, John Chapman
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pleaded guilty to kidnapping resulting in death. in exchange for
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prosecutors not seeking the death penalty. In February 2023, he
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was sentenced to life in federal prison without the possibility
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of parole. Back on Timber Ridge Drive, the routines eventually returned.
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The same cars, the same people, the same schedules. But
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Jamie Fieden never came home to the townhouse where she
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once lived alone with her cats, saving money and dreaming
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about a new life in Las Vegas. John had taken
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all of her cats to the Humane Society while dismantling
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the rest of her life. Instead, Jamie died beside a
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rusted signpost in the Nevada desert, abandoned by the man
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who spent years pretending to love her. If you enjoyed
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the show, please consider joining PLUS at swordandscale.com Sweet dreams
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and good night.