Let's be a Forensic Files evidence trio that solves the case!

I’m the sweaty spouse claiming innocence, but that one carpet fiber from a van stuck on his shoe that CHANGES EVERYTHING

I'm a suspicious internet search, a speck of blood, and a crumpled receipt from a fast-food restaurant.

I’m the lovely woman’s very first overnight shift at the local gas station- that couldn’t have gone any more wrong.

I'm a bounced check, a missed dental appointment, and some fancy footwork.

I'm a discarded Q-tip, a suspicious ATM withdrawal, and a rare button.

I am the freshwater-only diatoms curiously found in the victim's hair, ears, and vaginal canals... only the vic was found in the middle of the desert.

Oh, yeah--they found more of me in the suspect's underwear and on his brake pedal.

I'm a strand of carpet fiber, an exotic dancer, and a shaky alibi.

I'm the seemingly happy marriage that harbored a dark secret, a forged signature on a life insurance policy, and the gas chromatography-mass spectrometer.

I'm the lonely country road, what at first seems to be a mannequin wrapped in a blanket, and a shocking discovery.

I'm the bleach and rope purchased at the hardware store. Cctv cameras caught me in plain sight

I'm the posters that don't quite grasp the meaning of TRIO!

I'm an ATM slip, a restaurant reservation, and an expired library book.

I'm a half-eaten candy bar, a garbled voicemail, and a dead parakeet.

I'm an acquaintance from the past, a torn skirt, and a bloody towel.

I'm a Murdaugh.

I'm a cigarette butt, a plastic bottle cap, and a convenience store surveillance camera.

I'm the overhead shot from the drone. I show an overcast sky and a blanket of snow covering everything except the roads that are merely wet and devoid of any traffic.

I’m grainy video footage from the bodega across the street from the crime scene, the unreliable drunken hobo eyewitness, and the insomniac neighbor who was smoking on the stoop and heard a loud fight coming from apartment 3A at 12.36am exactly cause I remember looking at my watch.

I'm a gallon of expired milk, a steak knife, and a wad of chewing gum.

I'm the strands of hair , the arsenic and the garbage can

I'm a traffic cone, faulty wiring, and a woman with an incredible story.

Boring

I'm Kitty Carryall, a blue and white housekeeper's uniform, and a broken vase

I'm a half-full glass of milk & pepsi, a bloody sweater with a large embroidered "L", and a baseball bat.

I'm a used condom, a rosary, and a Pope's hat

I'm dog's vomit and a squished hamburger bun on the bathroom floor.

I'm a disarmed home alarm system (that only 3 people know, 2 of them being dead), the bullets used to murder that match one of the victim's box of ammo in the family safe, and the lack of substantiated alibi for several hours on the night the murder took place.

I'm a bloody dumbbell on the sidewalk next to the body, a stolen heart-shaped diamond necklace, and a husband who only cares whether a product was involved.

I’m the smell of bleach, the four running fans in the living room and that pesky luminol test.

I'm the burner phone, the absence of fingerprints in the victim's own car, and Barb, the Best Friend Who Just Wouldn't Let the Case Go.

I the butt plug you neglect to remove.

I'm a glove that can shrink like magic, a white Bronco that can outrun a cop car, and a judge who can't keep his eyes off the TV camera.

I'm THREE life insurance policies taken out on ONE person. How it is legal for one person to take out a life insurance policy on another person baffles even my paper brains. Only in America?

I'm a soiled caftan, a broken earring, and an empty bottle of Gin.

I'm the leftover stomach remnants of cod and prune, a Sunday Missal, and the receipt for a local catering company.

[quote]—Seriously, who takes out a life insurance policy on another person?

It's not that unusual at all, really.

A lot of business partners take out insurance on the other for their part in the business.

For example, I make the widgets, you sell them. I die, there's no more widgets being made for you to sell. You took out insurance on me to cover for that possibility.

Though the person has to be aware there's insurance on them and they must agree to it.

I'm Vivian Vance's corpse, a can of spam, and a fire extinguisher.

I am Locard's Exchange Theory. Because of me, it's nearly impossible to get away with murder now.

Looks like you kids don't need me for this one.

I'm a missing cellphone, an odometer that has several hundred suspicious miles on it, and a sister who knows Shelley would NEVER miss their weekly pedicure appointment.

All the insurance policies serving as a motivation for murder seem to have been taken out on people who had no idea about them. Sometimes multiple policies taken out on one unassuming person by the murderer. It's creepy.

[quote] I'm the leftover stomach remnants of cod and prune, a Sunday Missal, and the receipt for a local catering company.

I would never use a local catering company. I am a local catering company.

I'm the victim, grandson of a Morgan banker, left to die in woods near my home. And I'm the brother who spent a lifetime overcoming that tragedy. Me? I'm the man whose lifetime became very short because of it.

I’m the tool marks left on electrical wiring found at the scene, the unique tear patterns from a piece of duct tape that match a roll in the suspect’s house, and a unique mass spectroscopy profile that links a box of trash bags in the suspect’s home to a bag used to dispose of body parts.

I'm a torn evening gown, a half-eaten lean cuisine, and an electric drill.

I'm black-light stains on a yoga mat, a missing scrapbook, and a fit-fat husband who isn't crying at press conferences.

I'm a video game arcade, a slice of pizza, and a janitor with an unbelievable story.

Fucking loved this show. This and Unsolved Mysteries were my gateway into the true crime genre as a kid. If I weren't watching horror movies from Full Moon Entertainment and Troma and erotic thrillers on USA I was watching those two shows.

I was a mostly free range kid growing up.

I'm semen on a washcloth, a used gift card and a series of phonebooth hang-up calls on the answering machine.