Both victims had precision wounds centered around their necks—was this a medical person?
Anthony Garcia seemed to have made it. He pushed through a severe learning disability, earned a medical degree from the University of Utah, and entered Creighton University's pathology program. Then the story starts to snag. Garcia washed out of that program and two that followed, leaving behind professional failures that later feel hard to wave away as background noise. Four murders came five years apart. All four victims had ties to Creighton's pathology program, so the old academic failure starts to look less like setup and more like motive. Jill and Dick take their time with it. They move through childhood, medical training, residency trouble, and the kind of record gap that makes a credentials committee sit up straight. The Brumback inquiry stalls first. Moyes looks into Mary Brumback's life and finds no obvious grudges, just a kind and considerate woman beloved by friends and acquaintances. That path has nowhere to go. Investigators are already looking back toward Creighton, so the pathology department records become the map. Employees get sorted into binders. Moyes receives the one marked Dr. Anthony J. Garcia, and the case tightens around a name with dates attached. The one-year gap is the detail that keeps sticking. Garcia earned his medical degree in May 1999 but did not start the Creighton residency until July 2000, and Dick treats that delay as a real warning sign. It is small, but it does not go away. A normal path would have moved from graduation into residency, so the missing year needs an answer. The tone stays grave and plain. The disbelief comes through practical questions about gaps, records, and whether someone could have stepped in before more people died. By the end, the case is crowded with what ifs. Not dramatic ones. The quieter kind, sitting in a file, a failed residency, a dead-end inquiry, and a doctor who maybe should have been stopped sooner.
