The Watts Family Massacre
01:01:40 Share

Moments of crisis can happen without warning. Are you prepared? SelectQuote makes it easy to compare policies from trusted life insurance providers and get a personalized quote in minutes. Go to selectquote.com slash crimehub and find the peace of mind you deserve.

Subtle results, still you, but with fewer lines. Botox Cosmetic, adipotulinum toxin A, is a prescription medicine used to temporarily make moderate to severe frown lines, crow's feet, and forehead lines look better in adults. Effects of Botox Cosmetic may spread hours to weeks after injection causing serious symptoms. Alert your doctor right away as difficulty swallowing, speaking, breathing, eye problems, or muscle weakness may be a sign of a life-threatening condition.

Patients with these conditions before injection are at highest risk. Don't receive Botox cosmetic if you have a skin infection. Side effects may include allergic reactions, injection site pain, headache, eyebrow and eyelid drooping, and eyelid swelling. Allergic reactions can include rash, welts, asthma symptoms, and dizziness. Tell your doctor about medical history, muscle or nerve conditions including ALS or Lou Gehrig's disease, myasthenia gravis, or Lambert-Eden syndrome and medications, including botulinum toxins, as these may increase the risk of serious side effects.

For full safety information, visit BotoxCosmetic.com or call 877-351-0300. See for yourself at BotoxCosmetic.com. In the sun-soaked suburbs of Frederick, Colorado, there was a house that seemed to glow from the inside out.

It was nearly identical to those that surrounded it, boasting a manicured lawn, perfectly trimmed hedges, and a backyard swing set gently creaking in the summer breeze. All it was missing was white picket fences. To anyone walking by, 2825 Saratoga Trail looked like a place where nothing bad could happen, at least not at first glance.

It stood as a monument to middle-class aspiration. Two stories, five bedrooms, three bathrooms, and a three-car garage. Inside lived the Watts family. The American dream personified.

They had all the ingredients that others craved: a handsome, devoted father, a doting mother with a brilliant smile, and an even more dazzling social media presence. Two beautiful children, a third on the way, and a life that, by all appearances, was full of love, prosperity, and unlimited potential. It was the kind of life that made others pause and wonder: how did they get so lucky? To tell the truth, luck played no part in it.

At the center of the Watts' reputation as the family next door was Shanann Catherine Watts, the glue that held their image together. Shanann was the kind of woman who left a lasting impression. Born in 1984 in Clifton, New Jersey, she was raised alongside her younger brother Frankie in Aberdeen, North Carolina, by parents Frank and Sandra Zuchek.

The couple instilled within her the belief that success came through relentless effort and, rather than shying away from her parents' values, Shanann embodied them. She flew from their nest, armed with a strong work ethic and a desire to make a positive impact. Not long afterward, she faced the first of life's hurdles. Shanann was diagnosed with lupus in her early 20s, an infamously nasty autoimmune condition.

It causes the body's immune system to attack its own tissues, leading to widespread inflammation, pain, fatigue, and damage to joints and vital organs, often making everyday life unbearable. Most sufferers struggle through even the most mundane tasks, but not Shanann. She had an unshakable drive to overcome adversity.

divining herself not by her condition, but by a newfound devotion to her health, and eventually becoming a successful sales representative for Lavelle. The multi-level marketing company was best known for its Thrive product line, which included nutritional supplements, shakes, and wearable health patches. Whilst multi-level marketing companies are controversial, to say the least, the job suited her.

It gave her a sense of purpose, financial freedom, and, perhaps most importantly, a platform. Shanann became prolific on social media, chronicling her life with curated intimacy. Her Facebook feed was a daily stream of smiling selfies, family updates, inspirational quotes, and product testimonials. A momfluencer in every sense of the word.

And video after video, she doted on her husband and two daughters, often describing them as her everything. And she meant it. This all-American family was everything she'd always wanted, one she came close to missing out on altogether. Her first marriage was rocky and eventually ended in divorce. Sick and newly single, Shanann put her dreams of motherhood on hold and threw herself into her work.

It was a lonely pursuit, but the fruits of her tireless labor were sweet. At just 25 years old, she bought her first home, an accomplishment she carried with quiet pride. She wasted no time starting renovations, eager to make it her own. Then she met Chris. Part 1: Prince Charming Sometime in 2010, the then 26-year-old sales rep got a friend request that piqued her interest.

It came from Christopher Lee Watts. His profile was largely bare, as he rarely posted or engaged with his few followers. What he lacked in his social media presence, however, he made up for in looks. Chris was disarmingly handsome, albeit in a conventional, clean-cut sense. The 25-year-old was swathed in sun-kissed skin that complemented his lean, athletic build.

A neatly trimmed beard lined his square jaw, adding a dash of rugged masculinity to his otherwise ordinary look. Chris's closely cropped hair didn't beg to be noticed, but made her look twice, sharpening his already symmetrical bone structure. It must be said, however, that it wasn't his all-American looks that captivated Shanann so, but the dependability they seemed to promise.

Chris's deep-set brown eyes, warm smile, and quiet charisma made him seem like the safest man in the room. So too did his actions. He didn't hound her, he didn't push. He placed the ball gently in her court and waited. He was polite to a fault, just as he'd been raised. Originally from Fayetteville, North Carolina, Chris was soft-spoken, introverted, and patient, precisely the steady presence Shanann needed.

Born in 1985 to Ronnie and Cindy Watts, he grew up in a working-class household. Like a good North Carolina boy, Chris loved cars, sports, and, true to his conservative upbringing, structure. After graduating from Pine Forest High School in 2003, he won third place in the North Carolina Automobile Dealers Association competition. The prize?

a $1,000 scholarship to the Universal Technical Institute and NASCAR Technical Institute in Mooresville. It brought him one step closer to realizing his boyhood dream, the chance to work on a NASCAR team. After earning a degree in mechanical engineering, he moved to Colorado where, in his mind, that dream died.

He found no fame nor glory, but a job as an operator working long shifts at Anadarko Petroleum. It was entirely mundane. Still, he never complained. Not outwardly, at least. Chris was your typical suffer in silence kind of guy. Easy and apathetic, if a little bland. To Shanann, however, he was her Prince Charming.

In a video she later shared on her Facebook page, Shanann recounted their first encounter. Initially, she was hesitant. Her divorce and health complications had stripped her of her confidence. Still, she was certain they would never actually meet. "What the heck?" she thought, before pressing accept. Chris quickly became a constant presence, messaging her consistently but gently, until she eventually agreed to meet up.

Within two years, the pair were married. It was the happily ever after Shanann had almost given up on. "One thing led to another, and eight years later we have two kids, we live in Colorado, and he's the best thing that's ever happened to me," she reminisced. Her infatuation with Chris stemmed from her belief that her condition made her unlovable. "He knew I was sick," she said in one post, "but he stuck with me. He loved me for me."

newlywed and ready to begin their life together. The young couple moved to Colorado in search of a fresh start. In 2013, Shanann and Chris welcomed their first little girl into the world, Bella Marie Watts. She was gentle and thoughtful, just like her father. Shy as she was, her dimpled smile was ever present and only grew wider when her sister came along. In 2015, little Celeste Catherine Watts was born,

Fondly known as Cece, she was a force to be reckoned with. Her bold energy and mischievous grin made her Bella's perfect counterpart. And the pair were seen in Shanann's posts, singing nursery rhymes and squealing through the living room. Soon, they would be joined by a third, little Nico, not yet born, but already loved. And then there was Chris, always in the background, quiet but present.

He was an attentive father, often captured in videos chasing his little girls through the yard or feeding them dinner with a tired smile. Despite his disinterest in the spotlight, Chris came across as the gentle husband, the hands-on father, the kind of man who'd clean the kitchen after dinner without complaint. To anyone following the couple's story, theirs was a marriage anchored in effortless devotion.

Their friends admired them. Shanann's followers envied them. But perfection is a fragile thing. Every post, every video, and every carefully shared moment painted the portrait of a life not just lived, but mastered. Then, all at once, it stopped, and the house on Saratoga Trail fell silent.

Huge shout out to Acorns for sponsoring the show. Acorns is a financial wellness app that makes it easy to start investing for your retirement because the sooner you start, the more of a chance your money has to grow. You don't need to be an expert. Acorns recommends a diversified IRA portfolio that can help you weather all of the market's ups and downs. You don't need to be rich.

Acorns let you get started with the money you've got right now. You'd be surprised at what just $5 a day could do. Plus, sign up for Acorns Gold and you'll get a 3% IRA match on new contributions in your first year. That's extra money for your retirement on Acorns. Sign up now and join the over 1 million all-time customers who have already saved and invested over $2.2 billion for their retirement with Acorns. Head to acorns.com slash crimehub or download the Acorns app to get started.

Pay non-client endorsement. Compensation provides incentive to positively promote Acorns. Tier 1 compensation provided. Investing involves risk. Acorns Advisors LLC, an SEC-registered investment advisor. View important disclosures at acorns.com slash crimehub.

Running a retail business can get messy fast, dealing with inventory issues, scattered data, and missed sales. But Shopify Point of Sale brings it all together in one seamless system. Shopify POS connects your physical and digital storefronts, giving you a single view of your business. Whether you have one location or thousands, everything stays in sync. Inventory, orders, customer data, and more. Your customers get flexibility. Buy online, pick up in-store, or have it shipped online.

to their door, and your team gets fast, intuitive tools to close every sale with confidence. On average, businesses using Shopify POS see an 8.9% increase in sales and a 22% better total cost of ownership. It's simple to use, easy to scale, and designed to grow with you. If you're ready to ditch the guesswork and deliver seamless retail experiences, head to shopify.com slash crimehub, all lowercase. That's shopify.com slash crimehub.

Your next step towards smarter selling. Part two, the house on Saratoga Trail. The last time Nicole Atkinson saw Shanann Watts was sometime around 2:00 AM on Monday, August 13th, 2018. They'd spent the weekend working a Thrive Conference, selling, networking, and posing for photos. The pair made time to bond too, of course. They shared a hotel room where they stayed up late talking about everything.

The Frontier flight home from Arizona had landed late, but Nicole insisted on getting her best friend home safely. It was the least she could do. Shanann was going through enough as it was. The Arizona heat had been draining, and her pregnancy left her stomach churning and her feet aching. On the flight home, she confided in Nicole that Chris had barely spoken to her all weekend.

no good mornings or good nights. Instead, he seemed withdrawn, even indifferent. She told Nicole that she felt him slipping away. Just days earlier, she'd written him a heartfelt letter, trying to bridge the distance that was growing between them. Shanann still believed they could fix things. She had to believe that, though she still didn't know exactly what needed fixing. Chris wasn't big on communication. Even in her weariness, however, there was hope.

She was going home, back to Bella and Cece. Her heart fluttered. She could already hear their giddy squeals. It felt good to be missed, but they weren't the only ones she was itching to see. Their unborn son, Nico, was 15 weeks along, and in just a few hours, she was scheduled to hear his heartbeat for the very first time. The rest of the day was reserved for work. Her calendar peppered with video calls and team check-ins.

If Lupus couldn't stop her, neither could pregnancy. As they pulled into the driveway, Shanann grabbed her suitcase, insisted on carrying it herself, and promised to text in the morning to let Nicole know if she needed a lift to her appointment. Then she was gone. Nicole watched from the car as Shanann approached the front door, her silhouette illuminated by the porch light's amber glow.

Weighed down by worry and exhaustion, she never turned to wave before disappearing inside. The porch light blinked off a few seconds later, and that was it. The last time Nicole saw her best friend. Nicole woke to a flurry of messages typical of any Monday, but none of them were from Shanann. She texted her friend, expecting a response, and never got one. Then, she called but no one answered. At first, she tried to reason with the silence.

Maybe morning sickness had gotten the best of her. Perhaps she was soothing a tantrum or catching up with Chris. Still, something didn't sit right with her. Shanann was many things, and Silent was not one of them. If Shanann made a promise to you, she kept it, no matter how small. If she had a doctor's appointment, she showed up. If she couldn't, she called. Now, however, she wasn't doing either.

Her 9:00 AM appointment came and went, and the first pang of dread hit. Her OBGYN hadn't heard from her, and by 11:00 AM, neither had her team. Shanann missed a conference call with them, then another, and another. Nicole called again, an unfamiliar fear rising in her chest. This time, it went straight to voicemail. She tried Chris, but he didn't answer either. That was the moment concern overstepped courtesy.

At 12:10 p.m., Nicole drove to the Watts' house with her teenage son in tow, just in case. They rang the doorbell, pounded on the door, and peered through windows, but nothing stirred within. The house on Saratoga Trail remained eerily silent, though it wasn't the silence that unnerved her so. It was the presence of Shanann's belongings and the absence of her.

Nicole could see Shanann's Lexus still parked in their garage, and the shoes she wore every day sat neatly by the front door. Without wasting another second, Nicole called 911. While they waited, Chris finally returned her calls, but did little to calm her nerves. He said Shanann had taken the girls on a playdate. He conceded that they were going through a separation, which could explain her unusual behavior. But this only fueled Nicole's fears.

Shanann wouldn't take her children to an unplanned playdate with an unnamed friend on a Monday morning, and she certainly wouldn't do so without her car and purse, which is precisely what Nicole told the responding officer. Officer Scott Coonrod arrived to conduct a welfare check and found Nicole pacing the driveway, her voice tight with urgency. She told him everything she knew and, more importantly, everything she didn't.

In short, Shanann was pregnant, diabetic, distressed, and missing, along with her two toddlers. Her husband was on the way from work, but none the wiser. Officer Coonrod immediately searched the perimeter of the home until Chris pulled up about 30 minutes later in a white company-issued Anadarko truck. Bodycam footage shows Chris stepping out slowly, composed but expressionless. His demeanor, while not cold, was oddly flat.

Nicole approached him immediately, pelting him with questions. Chris barely made eye contact. He repeated what he told her earlier. That's when Officer Coonrod asked to enter the home. Chris didn't hesitate. There was no evidence of forced entry nor signs of a struggle.

Bella and Cece's room looked undisturbed, their blankets folded and their tiny beds neatly made. Shanann's half-unpacked suitcase sat at the bottom of the stairs, and her wedding ring lay still on the nightstand. Her medication, including those for her lupus, hadn't been touched. Her purse was on the kitchen counter, still zipped, with her keys and wallet inside.

Her phone, which had been turned off, was discovered lodged deep between the couch cushions, and the girls' car seats were still strapped in their mother's car. Chris was mostly silent as he led the officer through his empty home. He was cooperative, offering up his phone and answering questions, but rarely elaborating. He didn't check the bedrooms or call out their names. He seemed more uncomfortable than concerned, and lacked the urgency of a father who couldn't find his children.

But that wasn't unusual for him. Chris didn't process emotions well. And who are we to dictate the right way to fall apart? In search of answers, Chris led Officer Coonrod next door to the home of Nate Trinisich, a neighbor whose security camera faced their driveway. Eager to help, Nate pulled up the footage on his TV. It was grainy, black and white, but clear enough.

At 5:17 AM, Chris was captured backing his work truck into the driveway at an unusual angle, reversing it almost all the way into the garage. This alone caught Nate's attention. The men stood in silence, watching as Chris made multiple trips between his house and car, carrying objects obscured by the low resolution feed. Standing beside the TV, Chris explained that he was simply loading tools for work.

He spoke calmly, hands in his pockets and barely glancing at the screen. Officer Coonrod nodded as he asked questions and took notes. It was all procedural at this point. The moment Chris left the room, however, the atmosphere shifted. Nate turned to the officer and lowered his voice. "He's not acting right," he said, citing what he considered to be nervous fidgeting. What's more, in the years he'd lived across the street, he'd never once seen Chris park his car that way.

There was no accusation in Nate's tone, just unease. Officer Coonrod noted down the neighbors' observations, but didn't jump to any conclusions. The first suspect was always the spouse, and there was no hard evidence that it was anything more than a domestic dispute. And yet, the public eye was already watching. By nightfall, the story had broken, with news anchors announcing the disappearance of a pregnant mother and her two little girls.

Photos began circulating of Shanann smiling in selfies, the girls in matching outfits, and Chris holding them close in family portraits. The following morning, standing on his front porch, Chris held his first interview. He spoke in the present tense, referred to his daughters by name, urged the public to help, and thanked the police. He said all the right things. Nicole Atkinson, however, wasn't convinced.

Something inside her screamed. She couldn't explain it or prove it, but she felt it in her bones. Something was wrong with Chris. Part Three: Three Questions Chris Watts was the image of dependability. Neighbors described him as a reserved man who kept his lawn trimmed and his voice low. Coworkers said he was diligent, punctual, and always followed protocol. Even after his wife and children vanished, that image held.

Of course, there were whispers. The public scrutinized his every move, as is common in missing persons cases of the modern world. Self-proclaimed sleuths labeled him as detached, suspicious of everything he did and didn't do. He couldn't hold eye contact or shed a tear. He answered questions, but didn't ask many. He blinked too much, then too little. But grief is deeply personal and rarely predictable.

Some break down, others withdraw, and Chris was never the expressive type. Besides, he publicly pled for their safe return, cooperated with police, and had no history of violence. So, the world watched and waited for answers, while investigators diligently searched for them. The FBI, Colorado Bureau of Investigation, and local authorities joined forces from the moment Shanann was reported missing.

By August 14th, they had pulled call logs, text messages, and GPS data, and traced every ping from the couple's phones. Shanann's phone was last active at 2:00 AM on August 13th before going dark. Chris's phone, however, told a different story.

In the weeks leading up to the disappearances, investigators found long, late-night phone calls between his number and one that wasn't listed as his wife's. Now, it wasn't a crime to fall out of love. Investigators weren't even sure that that was the case. But a 111-minute call to the same number on August 12th, the day before his family vanished, raised questions. And they wanted answers.

That same evening, Chris was subjected to a four-hour interview with FBI agent Graham Coder. He maintained that he and Shanann had a civil conversation about separating when she returned home and denied any argument or wrongdoing. On the surface, it seemed plausible, but there were inconsistencies. He gave slightly different timelines and remained strangely controlled, even when discussing the possibility that someone had taken his little girls.

Just as investigators began suspecting something was amiss, however, Chris did what any concerned husband would, and readily consented to a polygraph. It was scheduled for the following day, the very same day that the case would crack wide open thanks to three questions, two confessions, and one unexpected visitor. On the morning of August 15th, Chris returned to the Frederick Police Department for his polygraph.

He sat in a small room with FBI agent Tammy Lee, who asked him to speak candidly about his wife and daughters. He smiled softly as he spoke about them. "They're my light," he said. "My everything." Then, the test began. He was asked three simple questions: Did you physically cause Shanann's disappearance? Are you lying about the last time you saw her? Do you know where Shanann is now? To all three, he answered "no" and failed.

Badly.

This episode is brought to you by LifeLock. Between two-factor authentication, strong passwords, and a VPN, you try to be in control of how your info is protected. But many other places also have it, and they might not be as careful. That's why LifeLock monitors hundreds of millions of data points a second for threats. If your identity is stolen, they'll fix it, guaranteed, or your money back. Save up to 40% your first year. Visit LifeLock.com slash podcast for 40% off. Terms apply.

Chronic spontaneous urticaria, or chronic hives with no known cause. It's so unpredictable. It's like playing pinball. Itchy red bumps start on my arm, then my back, sometimes my legs. Hives come out of nowhere. And it comes and goes. But I just found out about a treatment option at treatmyhives.com. Take that, chronic hives. Learn more at treatmyhives.com.

According to Agent Lee, a score of negative four or below would suggest the subject was being deceptive. Chris scored negative 18. Of course, whilst polygraphs have historically been used to rule out or convict suspects, their validity has been widely disputed. Today, they're mostly used to provoke confessions rather than prove any wrongdoing or innocence. In this case, it worked.

Agent Lee returned to the room a short time later and confronted Chris with the results. He buried his face in his hands and, for what seemed like forever, he said nothing. Then, he asked for his father. Ronnie Watts' hand shook as he opened the door to the sterile, windowless interrogation room. The walls were blank, the floor covered in institutional gray tile, and a single surveillance camera hung in the corner, its red indicator light glaring, always watching.

Chris sat hunched over the table, the weight of the morning's failed polygraph test bearing down on him. When Ronnie entered, however, the mood shifted. Chris didn't leap into his father's arms or proclaim his innocence. Instead, he folded inward, speaking in a voice so soft the microphones barely caught it. "Something," he said. Ronnie sat down slowly across from him, his face lined with confusion and concern.

He leaned forward, waiting. Chris hung his head and whispered that Shanann had hurt the girls. She smothered them. Ronnie's face dropped. He blinked repeatedly, ran his hand over his face, and stared at the table. He said very little at first, as a horrific realization dawned on him. Chris continued, confessing that, after finding his little girls lifeless and blue-lipped, he lost it. There was a long, crushing silence.

Ronnie's voice trembled when he finally spoke. He asked in disbelief. Chris nodded, eyes fixed on the floor. He whispered. Ronnie's face contorted with grief. He buried his head in his hands, rubbing his forehead as if trying to tear the words from memory. For a moment, it seemed like neither man could breathe. Thankfully for both, the officers watching from the next room had heard enough.

Chris hadn't only admitted to killing Shanann, but also admitted to how and why. She'd snapped in some unthinkable moment of despair and smothered the toddlers in their beds. In the wake of that horror, blinded by grief and rage, he'd done the unthinkable in return. It didn't make sense, but senseless tragedies such as this rarely do.

Besides, what else could drive a man like Chris, a loving husband and father by all appearances, to destroy the very thing he cherished the most? The confession was devastating and it felt, in some twisted way, tragically human. On August 15th, 2018, Chris Watts was taken into custody, not as a monster, but as a man shattered by the woman he loved, or so it seemed. Part 4: How to Get Away with Murder

For a brief moment, the story Chris told seemed almost believable. It was shocking, devastating, but not unheard of. Maternal filicide challenges every cultural and biological expectation we have of motherhood. While less common than paternal filicide, it still occurs with disturbing regularity, especially when driven by desperation.

Devastated by their separation, Shanann had murdered her own children. Then, consumed by a grief so violent he couldn't contain it, Chris was dragged into a moment of madness that wasn't his own. That was his story. He didn't weep as he told it, nor beg for forgiveness. In fact, it seemed that he was wallowing in self-pity rather than grappling with remorse. Investigators were certain there was more to his story, and they were right.

Just as Chris was crafting his own narrative, another was preparing to tell the truth. That same afternoon, on August 15th, a woman named Nicole Kessinger walked into the offices of the Weld County Sheriff's Department. She was nervous, pale, and shaking. She hadn't been summoned. She came voluntarily and had a confession of her own.

Nicole had been dating Chris for weeks. Investigators quickly realized that it was her number he'd been calling late at night while his pregnant wife waited up for calls that would never come. Ashamed, but resolute, Nicole explained that she'd met Chris in early June when she joined Anadarko Petroleum as a contract employee in the environmental safety department.

Their connection had been immediate and unmistakable, but she'd never intended to tear a family apart. Chris had told her his marriage was over and that their divorce was practically finalized, claiming that he was living in the basement of their home. He was ready for a new beginning with her, and she believed him. But then Shanann and the girls disappeared. Suddenly, Nicole saw her lover's face plastered across national news broadcasts.

The headlines spoke of a missing mother and children, and a man pleading for their safe return. And then, like a slap, came the detail Chris had kept from her. Shanann was 15 weeks pregnant. Nicole's stomach churned. What else had he lied about? Nicole handed her phone over to investigators, and Chris's image as a devoted husband and father shattered.

Her data was promptly analyzed against his, providing insights into their relationship and his mindset leading up to the murders.

The evening before her nightmare began, the pair were on the phone from 9:28 p.m. to 10:40 p.m. According to court documents, that same night, Nicole had been scouring a porn site for videos of threesomes. Soon after, she spent 45 minutes Googling how to prepare for anal sex and the anal sex guide. Then there was the call at 5:00 a.m. on August 13th, just three hours after Shanann was last seen alive.

In the weeks leading up to her disappearance, the texts between the lovers had been intimate and not limited to words alone. Upon closer inspection of Chris's phone, investigators found naked pictures of Nicole hidden in a secret calculator app that could only be accessed with a four-digit code. Of course, she insisted that their relationship was more than just sexual. It was love.

They fantasized about their future together. Though only now did a chilling truth come into focus. He'd never spoken of his daughters. Reinvigorated by a promising new lead, investigators combed through the lovers' internet search histories.

Just nine days before the disappearances, Nicole had spent two hours searching Google for wedding dresses. Not once, but multiple times. She browsed bridal websites and Googled "how to marry your mistress", though investigators were more interested in the searches that came after the news of the disappearances.

Curiously, Nicole began looking into Amber Frey, the infamous mistress of convicted murderer Scott Peterson. She wanted to know if the public hated her for her infidelity and seemed interested in how much money the mistress made in her eventual book deal. Though insensitive to say the least, Chris's search history was far more chilling.

Forensic analysts recovered queries like how to prepare for a lie detector test, can police trace text messages, and the most incriminating of all, how to get away with murder. He'd also looked up the exact time and location of Shanann's return flight from Arizona and her OB/GYN appointment. This wasn't a man blindsided by rage. This was a man preparing for something, and his disturbing digital trail didn't end there.

When investigators examined Chris' phone, they discovered he'd deleted dozens of texts and photographs tied to his mistress, all purged by Chris in the hours before his arrest. It wasn't impulsive, but systematic, calculated, even premeditated. Even Nicole had picked up on his sudden shift from a distraught husband and father to a man with something to hide.

She explained that she'd grown increasingly uncomfortable in the final days before the murders. Chris had been clingy, insistent, and possessive, like she owed him for some great sacrifice made in her honor. But she hadn't asked for Shanann to disappear. He betrayed her, used her,

In her interview, Nicole said she felt "disgusted" by him. That said, Nicole wasn't just an innocent bystander. She was also scrambling to protect herself. Forensic analysts recovered deleted Google searches from her phone that were made after the murders, but before Chris was arrested. They included "Can cops trace text messages?" and "How long do phone records stay on file?"

It wasn't clear what she knew or when she knew it, but what was clear was this: she was trying to minimize her involvement. Whether out of guilt, fear, or something more complicated, Nicole had her own secrets. And not all of them had been volunteered. Though we may never know the true extent of her involvement, investigators couldn't find any proof that she was aware of her lover's intentions or participated in his crimes.

Surprisingly, even Chris didn't implicate her. Nicole would later be cleared, with law enforcement officials, including the Weld County District Attorney, stating that there was no evidence linking her to the murders. She voluntarily came forward just days after the disappearances, cooperated fully with the investigation, and endured intense scrutiny without complaint.

While Nicole did delete some messages and Google searches, investigators determined that it wasn't done to hide any crimes, but to distance herself from a man she no longer recognized. Even so, the public had little sympathy for her. Many viewed her interest in profiting from the crimes through a book deal as distasteful, even suspicious. In the end though, Nicole wasn't charged. She was misled. She was afraid.

Despite her innocence, however, Nicole will always have to live with the fact that, whilst she may not have been an accomplice, she was certainly the catalyst. As more witnesses were interviewed, a fuller picture began to emerge. Chris had told friends in North Carolina that his marriage was struggling long before Shanann picked up on it. He claimed she was controlling, complaining that he felt trapped. What he didn't say, however, was that he had already begun his new life without her.

Coworkers and friends began to recall subtle, unsettling changes. In the weeks leading up to the murders, Chris had lost weight, started working out obsessively, and began paying closer attention to his appearance. He smiled more, laughed louder, and spoke of feeling free. Those around him thought he seemed happier. In hindsight, however, it wasn't happiness. It was delusion.

He was shedding his old life and prepared to wipe the slate clean. It was clear that his obsession with Nicole drove him to get rid of Shanann. She was in the way of his future and his freedom. But what about his little girls? Chris's claim that Shanann had smothered them as they slept no longer stood up to scrutiny. The evidence told a different story, and soon, so did he. Part 5: Bella Knew

The morning after Nicole revealed all, on August 16th, Chris finally followed suit. It wasn't the full truth, not yet at least, but it was enough for now. After days of pressure, a failed polygraph, and indisputable evidence against him, Chris agreed to lead investigators to where he'd buried Shanann's body, in a shallow grave hidden in the desolate oil fields where he worked. The Colorado plains have a way of swallowing sound,

Bone dry and barren, they stretch out endlessly into a horizon blurred by heat and dust. Rusting oil rigs protrude from the sun-bleached land like long-forgotten tombstones, just like those of Roggen. An unmarked clearing near an Anadarko Petroleum site where Chris worked. The location was remote, 45 miles from the Watts' home.

a search and recovery team pulled off a dirt road nearby just after sunrise guided by Chris's directions. He'd marked his pregnant wife's grave using satellite imagery with law enforcement in the early morning hours, describing it as being just beyond the service road near the oil tanks covered loosely with dirt.

The team brought cadaver dogs along, but they proved unnecessary. The disturbed patch of soil stuck out, lightly packed, out of place, and partially shielded by a sheet of black plastic.

The scent of decomposition hung in the warm air. It was exactly as Chris had described it: shallow, hasty, incomplete. Within it lay Shanann Watts, her pregnant corpse wrapped haphazardly in their fitted bedsheet, her skin already mottled by the early stages of decomposition. Her arms were pulled close to her chest, as if clutching something precious.

But she was alone, that is, aside from Nico, her unborn son. The fetus had been expelled from her womb as gases bloated her body, leaving him bloody and exposed in the dirt beside her. Determined to reunite Shanann with her daughters, even in death, the team began searching for Bella and Cece. Of course, recovering their tiny bodies in the vast desert sprawl proved nearly impossible.

Eventually, investigators turned to the rigs that towered nearby, certain that Chris couldn't be so callous, but obligated to look anyway. They climbed the creaking ladders 20 feet into the dry, stifling air until they reached two separate 400-barrel crude oil tanks. Each had an opening just 8 inches wide, but only one had a tuft of blonde hair snagged on the edge of its hatch.

As the men peered inside, they were hit with the acrid stench of sulfur. There was something else though. They couldn't see it, but they could smell it. Rot. Bella and Cece were there, long dead, deep within the rig's steel belly. Hazmat crews were called in and forced to work slowly, draining the tanks inch by inch so the girls could be removed intact. The sulfurous fumes were suffocating and tainted by death.

The toddlers had been submerged in crude oil for four days, their bodies bloated and their skin ravaged by decomposition and chemical exposure. The oil saturated their pajamas, obscured their features, and stripped away their innocence. Of course, the injuries their little body sustained had not only come from their toxic tomb, but their own father's hands.

Chris had forced them through the narrow hatchways. The tight, eight-inch wide openings were meant for valves and inspections, not for this. Bella's tiny body bore deep scratches across her back and buttocks, consistent with being shoved through the steel rim. It was her clump of hair that had remained behind, a careless mistake making their morbid grave.

Cece, younger and smaller, had slipped in with less trauma, but the oil had still burned through layers of her skin. Tragically, it became evident that her older sister had endured more than desecration after death. Autopsy results later revealed a haunting reality: Bella knew it was coming. Her gums were bruised and her tongue bitten, indicating that she'd struggled desperately to breathe.

Though too young to fully grasp the horror she faced, Bella's innate instincts to survive predicted her end. But the four-year-old simply couldn't overpower the man who was meant to protect her. The brutality of it all shook even seasoned investigators. How could her father methodically dispose of his toddler's bodies in industrial containers meant for waste? In the weeks following his arrest, psychologists and criminologists sought to find the answer.

What emerged was a portrait of a man whose pathology mirrored one of the most chilling criminal archetypes, the family annihilator. Part six, from father to family annihilator. The term refers to a specific subset of male offenders who are often middle-aged, outwardly successful, and deeply invested in protecting their image.

They don't just kill their families, they erase them, often without warning or prior violence. And when they do, it's not in a moment of madness, but cold clarity born out of a desire to escape. Chris fit the profile almost too well. In public, he was passive and non-confrontational, but behind closed doors, he was tightly wound.

Former friends and co-workers described him as robotic, disciplined, and empty, with an obsessive focus on routine and image. He avoided conflict at all costs, often conceding to Shanann in arguments, then internalizing resentment rather than addressing it.

Psychologists labeled this behavior as covert narcissism, a condition marked by low self-esteem, emotional detachment, and a carefully curated persona meant to hide a deep fear of inadequacy.

Some experts, including former FBI profiler Candace DeLong, took it a step further, describing Watts as a malignant narcissist, a subtype marked by deep-seated insecurity, a need for admiration, and a readiness to exploit others. They pointed to his staged grief and his startling lack of empathy as signs of psychopathy. Chris didn't lash out. He festered, fantasized, and eventually, he acted.

Throughout July, when Shanann took the girls to visit his family in North Carolina to give him space, Chris began living as though his old life had already ended. He and Nicole spent nights together, took a weekend trip to the Great Sand Dunes National Park, and snuck away during work hours. While Shanann texted Chris in the days and weeks before her death, desperate to save their marriage, Chris was texting his girlfriend, sharing apartment listings alongside nudes.

She fought for her family until the very end, even sending her husband counseling books that ended up in the trash. Chris, on the other hand, scoured the internet for secluded vacation spots, shopped for jewelry, and took his mistress on expensive dinner dates using the credit card he shared with his wife. He was barely trying to hide it at that stage. He thought the truth would be buried, along with her.

After annihilating his wife, daughters, and unborn child, Chris didn't succumb to grief or guilt. He vacuumed, made himself a protein shake, and called Bella and Cece's school to unenroll them, citing an unspecified family emergency. Astonishingly, he then texted a real estate agent about selling their home, emailed their mortgage company, and even began researching apartment listings.

During evaluations conducted after his arrest, Chris displayed a staggering level of emotional flatness. He described the murders in clinical terms, rarely using Shanann, Bella, or Cece's names. He minimized, rationalized, and lied until he couldn't. At no point did he admit to feeling anger or fear. He just wanted to start over. Experts noted this as classic "annihilator psychology."

The idea that murder becomes the means to an end. For most, the end was literal. An end to suffering or the shame they felt would befall their family. For Chris, however, the end was freedom. Not just from Shanann, but from fatherhood, family, marriage and obligation. In some twisted way, it fit.

A court psychologist noted that Chris had an excessive need for approval and a low tolerance for failure. He couldn't face the social shame of infidelity, the financial toll of divorce, or the discomfort of telling Shanann he didn't love her anymore. So, he quietly disposed of her, along with their daughters. Of course, hindsight is a sobering thing. Nothing in Chris' past suggested he could commit such heinous crimes.

There were no warning signs nor prior arrests. That's what makes family annihilators so terrifying. They're utterly and entirely ordinary. But Chris would never go again unnoticed. The world now knew what he was capable of and wanted justice.

Ryan Reynolds here from Mint Mobile with a message for everyone paying big wireless way too much. Please, for the love of everything good in this world, stop. With Mint, you can get premium wireless for just $15 a month. Of course, if you enjoy overpaying, no judgments, but that's weird. Okay, one judgment.

Anyway, give it a try at mintmobile.com slash switch. Upfront payment of $45 for three-month plan, equivalent to $15 per month required. Intro rate first three months only, then full price plan options available. Taxes and fees extra. See full terms at mintmobile.com. At Capella University, you can learn at your own pace with our FlexPath learning format.

Take one or two courses at a time and complete as many as you can in a 12-week billing session. With FlexPath, you can finish the bachelor's degree you started in 19 months and under $19,000. A different future is closer than you think with Capella University. Learn more at capella.edu. Fastest 25% of students. Cost varies by pace, transfer credits, and other factors. Fees apply. Part 7. Letters from Prison.

On August 21st, 2018, just five days after the bodies of his victims were recovered, Chris was formally charged with nine felony counts. These included three counts of tampering with a dead body, one count of unlawful termination of a pregnancy, one count of first-degree murder for each toddler, and two for Shanann.

one as a pregnant woman and one as an individual. Expecting a fight, prosecutors in Weld County began preparing for trial, but a trial never came. On November 6th, Chris accepted a plea deal.

In exchange for pleading guilty to all charges, the state would not seek the death penalty. The decision, prosecutors said, came at the request of Shanann's family. Despite their anguish, they wanted to avoid the pain of prolonged proceedings and protect their grandchildren's memory from being weaponized in court. They had suffered enough. Two weeks later, on November 19th, the autopsy results were released to the public.

revealing the true nature of the brutal injuries he inflicted upon his own family. The autopsies were conducted just days after the grim recovery efforts in the oil field. The results, however, were sealed and withheld from the public, the press, and even Shanann's extended family. Not out of respect, but out of necessity. Prosecutors feared the gruesome findings might compromise the integrity of the case and prejudice the jury should they go to trial.

One can understand why. Shanann had not been smothered, an act involving an item that separates the killer from the victim. Now, she was face to face with her husband as he strangled her with such force that he crushed the bones in her neck. The two toddlers, however, had been smothered. It seems Chris did have one ounce of humanity left within him, leaving him unable to look into his daughter's eyes as the light left them.

The very same day his cruelty was laid bare, Chris returned to the courtroom to be sentenced. He entered dressed in an orange jumpsuit, shackled and true to his nature, expressionless. As the hearing began, family members stood to speak. Frank Zuchek addressed his daughter's killer directly. "I trusted you to take care of them, not kill them. They were my family, my grandchildren. You disgust me." His voice cracked.

Eventually, unable to continue, Shanann's brother, Frankie Zuchek Jr., took his father's place. "You heartless monster. I hope you see their faces every time you close your eyes at night," he cried. The courtroom fell silent under the weight of their words, only stirring when Judge Marcelo Copcow handed down a sentence fit for a family killer.

Chris was slapped with five life terms without the possibility of parole, 48 years for unlawful termination of a pregnancy, and 36 years for tampering with a dead body. In short, whilst Chris evaded the death penalty, he would die in prison alone and abhorred. The judge called the murders "the most inhumane and vicious crime I have handled out of the thousands of cases I've seen."

Even so, Chris offered no apology. He simply stared down at the table, but his silence didn't last. Shortly after his sentencing, Chris was transferred to Dodge Correctional Institution in Waupon, Wisconsin, due to safety concerns in the Colorado prison system. There, inside the confines of a maximum security facility, he began to write.

One person Chris wrote to was Sherilyn Cato, an author who reached out to him and eventually published their conversations. In his letters, Chris finally revealed the full truth of what happened on the morning of August 13th. He admitted that after Shanann returned home, he confessed to cheating on her and demanded they get divorced.

It came out of nowhere, for her at least. It quickly escalated into a bitter fight and, according to Chris, Shanann snapped, telling him he'd never see their children again. In the heat of the moment, she'd pushed him over the edge, effectively and unintentionally sealing her fate. Chris flew into a rage, pinned her to their bed, and strangled her to death while their daughter slept nearby.

Overcome with exhaustion and shock, she never screamed nor struggled under his weight as she slipped away. After wrapping Shanann's body in a sheet, he loaded her into his truck. Bella and Cece followed, alive but confused, with blankets and juice boxes clutched in their tiny hands. He drove them 45 miles to the Anadarko oil site. He had ample time to turn around, to spare his daughter's lives. Of course, he never did.

Little Cece was the first to go. Chris never described the moment, but he did concede that Bella had seen it all. "Is the same thing gonna happen to me as Cece?" She whimpered before he smothered her too, ignoring her final muffled cry of "Daddy, no!" For a moment, it seemed as though Chris was ready to repent, to accept responsibility for his abhorrent crimes.

it didn't last. Incredulously, he said the murders felt like someone else was doing it, claiming he'd been possessed by Satan and described feeling a demonic presence overtake him. It was almost laughable and widely rejected. Experts, survivors, and victims' advocates saw the letters not as confessions, but as manipulation. A final bid for relevance by a man who could not bear to be remembered as the monster he truly was.

The courtroom had sentenced him to life, but in his letters, he reached for something else, absolution, attention, and a chance to control the narrative one last time. All three remain out of reach, however, and he remains in prison, surrounded by photos of the family he murdered and the notion that the only version of Christopher Lee Watts the world will ever remember is the one he tried the hardest to hide.

Looking for another true crime podcast that's both chilling and captivating? Crime After Dark is your next obsession. With a relaxing female voice guiding you through infamous cases and little-known mysteries, it's time to add Crime After Dark to your podcast library. Perfect for late-night listening and long commutes. Tune in to Crime After Dark wherever you get your podcasts. Direct links in the episode description.