Amidst the fantastic luxury, sexy celebrities, and hyped-up household politics, the nanny certainly has more to handle than diapers and bedtimes. But if you’re just looking for dirt, you won’t find it in these pages. Instead, authors Julie Swales and Stella Reid share anecdotes and insights about what happens when money, power, and fame intersect with the highly personal arena of raising children.

    He would be the final victim of John Wayne Gacy's horrifying compulsion. Then, ten days after the boy's disappearance. Detectives, finding a human bone in the crawl space of Gacy's house, dug into the lime-covered ground. With mounting horror, they pulled bone after bone from Gacy's suburban home until finally they had gathered the remains of twenty-eight more youths who had fallen prey to the killer clown. 16 Pages of Shocking Photos! "An unnerving true story of murder, terror and justice." –The Dallas Morning News

    From perverse acts of cannibalism and dark sexual fantasies to vicious acts motivated by greed and a simple lust for blood, this book reveals the methods and motivations of some of the world's most notorious serial killers, including Juan Corona, Ian Brady and Myra Hindley, Pee Wee Gaskins, and Ivan Milat.

    He received 430 responses. Among them was Bernd Juergen Brandes, who arrived at Meiwes's isolated country home literally to be eaten alive. Escorted to the "slaughtering room"--equipped with meat hooks, a cage, and a butcher's table--Meiwes assisted Bernd in a gourmet candlelight dinner of his own cooked flesh. Meiwes then stabbed his victim in the throat--bringing the ghastly videotaped ordeal to an end.From a childhood perverted by unhealthy obsessions to his notorious trial that ended in a stunning verdict, Cannibal discloses for the first time the true story of a real-life Hannibal Lecter and his victim. And with details never before divulged to the public, it takes readers step-by-step through the unspeakable crime that fascinated and revolted the world.INCLUDES PHOTOS

    But though Freud compared himself to Copernicus and Darwin, his history as a physician is problematic. Historians have determined that Freud often misrepresented the course and outcome of his treatments—so that the facts would match his theories. Today Freud's legacy is in dispute, his commentators polarized into two camps: one of defenders; the other, fierce detractors.Peter D. Kramer, himself a practicing psychiatrist and a leading national authority on mental health, offers a new take on this controversial figure, one both critical and sympathetic. He recognizes that although much of Freud's thought is now archaic, the discipline he invented has become an inescapable part of our culture, transforming the way we see ourselves. Freud was a myth-maker, a storyteller, a writer whose books will survive among the classics of our literature. The result of Kramer's inquiry is nothing less than a new standard history of Freud by a modern master of his thought.

    . . a story of redemption' Tony ParsonsMichael Maisey was excited the day he was locked up in the notorious Feltham Young Offenders Institute. He was going to be a legend to all his mates. The sixteen year old was in for attempted murder. He was innocent of this particular crime but amongst the violent and dangerous young men on his wing he was about to learn exactly how far he’d go to survive.In Young Offender we see what turned a good kid into a wanted criminal. Abused by his uncle, bullied at school, at the age of twelve he found the safety he craved in the ranks of a local gang in West London. He graduated from shoplifting to armed robbery and for five years Michael was in and out of Feltham, on a downward spiral of crime and drug and alcohol addiction. At rock bottom, he began attending AA meetings. But the road to recovery would mean changing himself in the deepest possible ways. Could Michael finally learn what it meant to be a good man?Honest and inspiring, this is a powerful story of redemption. Today Michael is a successful businessman and a loving father who spends time helping others find their way.

    Two days later, their bodies were discovered near an abandoned strip mine on the outskirts of town. After taking his victims at gunpoint, Marshall Wayne Stauffer raped and strangled fifteen-year-old Debbie and dispatched eighteen-year-old Mike with three shots to the back of his head.In this true crime memoir, Ed Morrison chronicles his journey nearly fifty years after that fateful night to learn the truth of what happened, illuminate the evil within a murderer, and find resolution. Gathering insight from interviews with former police investigators, attorneys, judges, a survivor of a similar attack, and prison personnel, Morrison exposes the raw emotions that accompanied the senseless killings. He traces the murderer throughout his life, uncovering facts and unknown stories about his cross-country crime spree, imprisonment, and eventual death.Bad Moon Rising is the gripping true story of one man's quest to uncover the truth fifty years after his brother and his brother’s girlfriend were murdered on prom night.

    She had been driven to an isolated spot outside of Mansfield, Texas by star student David Graham while David's girlfriend, Diane Zamora, hid in the trunk. First David tried unsuccessfully to break Adrianne's neck, then Diane came out of the trunk to attack her with a set of weights. To finish off the job, David shot her between the eyes. For months, there were no leads on the killing until Diane confessed to her military school roommates about the secret she and her boyfriend would take to their graves...Tainted LoveThe brutal killing shocked the entire town of Mansfield. Even more shocking were the killers, David and Diane, model teenagers, devoted high school sweethearts, military academy-bound honors students-- and desperate lovers who feared that Adrianne's sexual encounter with David had come between them. Killing Adrianne was "the only thing that could satisfy [Diane's] vengeance," said David in his confession to police-- the only way, she told David, to restore the 'purity' of their love...Pure VengeanceHere is the unbelievable true story of a macabre love triangle-- and the startling lengths one couple went to in the name of... Blind Love

    From the author of the bestselling true-crime classic 'Fred & Rose', comes the astonishing inside story of the world's biggest cash robbery: the Tonbridge Securitas heist.

    While she was cleared by a grand jury, which believed her story that she had mistaken Billy for a prowler who had been recently breaking into neighboring houses, New York society was convinced that she had deliberately murdered Billy and that her formidable mother-in-law, Elsie Woodward, had covered up the crime to prevent further scandal to the socially prominent family. The incident became fiction in Truman Capote's malicious 1975 Esquire story, leading to Ann's suicide, and later was the subject of Dominick Dunne's The Two Mrs. Grenvilles. Now, after years of research, Braudy reveals the truth behind the legend. Tracing Ann's life from her difficult Kansas childhood through her early years as a model and aspiring actress to her stormy marriage to Billy Woodward and the sad years of her social exile after his death, Braudy shows how Ann, a victim of cruel gossip and class snobbery, could not have deliberately killed Billy.

    Freddie's friends lost Freddie. In this biographical volume of memories, Freddie Mercury's life is celebrated, remembered and recounted by a collection of his closest friends, lovers, collaborators and colleagues.

    He did not crave my company, cling to and cuddle me endlessly. He showed no need to bond with me, his father, and we did not. He exhausted me, he frustrated me and he scared me. I came to dread coming home from work sometimes, or those moments when it was my turn to wrestle him into bed and begin the long struggle to settle him. I said things that will forever haunt me, like “What is wrong with that child?” and “Is he always going to be this annoying?” What I didn't know then was that he was autistic.When that realisation came, so did the beginning of my mission to understand my son, and to understand autism. This book chronicles that search for understanding and answers. It documents one parent’s attempts to come to terms with, and accept, his child. It is raw and real, sometimes confused and frightened but also, I’d like to think, written with warmth and love and an ability to smile through difficult times.This book is for anyone starting out on a pathway with their child that they did not expect. It’s also for people who, like me, are a little further down that road but still learning, still asking questions and still getting it wrong sometimes. You are not alone.

    DiMaggio, one of the most decorated officers on the force during a career that spanned the years 1957 to 1991. Among his awards are two Superintendent’s Awards of Valor, Mayor Richard J. Daley’s Praiseworthy Acknowledgment Plaque for Exceptional Act of Bravery Involving Risk of Life, a Presidential Citation of Appreciation, the Illinois Police Association Award of Valor, and many more.Upon his retirement in 1991, DiMaggio wrote a fascinating account of his work as a cop. The manuscript languished among his personal effects until after his death in 2008, after which his family decided to resurrect it, spruce it up, and submit it for publication. It turns out that he was an excellent word craftsman and storyteller; in fact, he was no stranger to writing—for many years he wrote the “Ask Sarge” column for the Mystery Writers of America Midwest Chapter newsletter.Told in a conversational, “regular guy” voice in episodic fashion, “SARGE!” reveals to the reader what it was really like to be a cop. The manuscript in many ways takes the form of a prose treatment of a weekly television police drama. A large selection of PHOTOS is included.DiMaggio takes the reader back to the decades such as the turbulent 1960s, when the police department was making a painful transition from “old school” to modernization. The author describes firsthand the legendary riots that occurred in Chicago after the assassination of Martin Luther King Jr. He illustrates the integration of minorities into the department and how that played out. He also goes into famous cases of corruption and the politics of navigating such a large department. One of the “set pieces” of the book is the story of how DiMaggio, as part of the “Three Musketeers”—a trio that included two detectives who were close friends—investigated a series terrifying slasher attacks on women that occurred in the city in the mid-70s. The case became one of the police department’s most memorable. Among the other cases detailed in the book include how DiMaggio found himself entering the home of a crazed young man holding hostages with a shotgun; the investigation of the discovery of a headless corpse; the take-down of the Chicago “Mad Bomber”; how an anonymous audio tape provided clues to the identities of armed robbers; and the manhunt for a cop killer. A portion of all proceeds will be donated to The Chicago Police Memorial Foundation and The Chicago Police Foundation.

    Once the old, cantankerous Sam Clevenger and his wife, Charlotte, hired Frank Willson and John Johnson to help with the move, their fate took a dark turn. These true events were documented by journalists through the 1887 trial and well into the 1900s, and stories have been told of Sam’s unfound treasure for nearly 130 years. But, this is the first detailed, documented, and vetted account of their bizarre and fascinating tale.

     As a child, I was known as "Jessica Pelley." When I was nine, I went to a sleepover at a friend's house for the weekend. While I was away, my entire family was murdered. I would spend the next 30 years fighting, crawling, and clawing my way through the darkness. This wasn't just a national news headline, a cold case, or a true crime show. It was my family. And my life. I was the broken little girl left behind to tell this story. I am now "Jessi," in the pages of this unapologetic memoir, set free. *** JESSI - APRIL 29, 2016 April 29, 1989. A date I cannot forget. Numbers forever seared deep into my soul. It was 27 years ago, today. Jesus. Get a grip, Jessi. They’re just numbers. They don’t mean anything. You’re giving them power over you, again. That’s what I tell myself. But the numbers—those damn numbers—they haunt me. They always will. I cannot escape them. Not now. Not ever. For most people, dates are just numbers on a calendar. No big deal. Random markers of time affixed to the top left corner of small, white squares on a page to depict days filled with choices, chances, and opportunities. At least that’s what they are for the normal people. But I’m no longer one of them. For me, they serve as numeric reminders of the girl I used to be. A tragedy that would irrevocably and mercilessly alter the life of a little girl wearing dark blue jeans, canvas lace-up sneakers, and a white tee shirt, accessorized by prominent coke bottle glasses, her hair hanging in a messy bob. Her life would be forever dismantled. Gone. The moment they told me the words. The ones that I will never forget. At that moment, my life froze and shattered into pieces, splintering like bits of broken glass, dropping down onto the ground around me, like the remnants of a cracked windshield, falling fast before the spinning mind and broken heart of a wide-eyed little girl. Life, as I knew it, was over in that moment. What happened on April 29, 1989, has scarred me forever. A day that started out normally, before it became ensnared in marred memories, tucked between folds of tragedy and darkness. The lingering memories cut straight to the core of the hollow girl left behind. The darkness delivers itself to me, every year, on schedule. Steadily. Greedily. On the 29th day of April. Relentless. Haunting. It taunts the pieces of me that remain. Every single year. I try to lift myself out of the darkness. I tell myself the numbers shouldn’t matter. Not after 27 years have passed. Jessi, It’s just another day. You can do anything you want with it. Don’t slip into the darkness. But not even the voice in my head believes those lies I tell myself. Year after year, my happiness recoils, my thoughts run to a dark place filled with foggy memories and a void that swallows me whole. The door of despair opens and I’m trapped: alone, numb to the bone, emotionally deplete, void of all reality, space, and time. I hate the helplessness as I slip further into that dark place. A place that, long ago, was filled with light. A place where three little girls would sing happy songs, pick flowers, hold hands while skipping through tall blades of grass, and sit down at the dining room table, where they would bow their heads to pray before plates filled with food, in a home filled with laughter. Then it hits me—the life-defining, self-inflicted images of horror—of their final moments—dragging me deep into the darkness.