Halloween Horrors | The Candyman Killer | 2

t's a little after 10:30 p.m.

on Halloween 1974.

It's raining in Pasadena, Texas, and 31-year-old Ronald O'Brien's pacing on the sidewalk outside Southmoor Hospital.

Despite the chilly night, Ronald's sweating, his heart's racing too, and he can't get a handle on his thoughts.

He runs his hands through his hair, trying to calm himself down.

He knows that he needs to stay strong, and that's his job right now.

Behind Ronald, a nurse calls out to him from the doorway.

The doctor's looking for him.

Ronald feels his stomach clench.

He follows the nurse back into the emergency room, then through a set of double doors to a wide corridor.

After being outside, the fluorescent lighting feels sharp and bright to Ronald.

He glances towards a small waiting area built into an alcove.

His five-year-old daughter Elizabeth is busy coloring.

As the nurse goes to find the doctor, Ronald wonders when his wife will arrive.

She should be here by now.

Should he try calling her again?

There's a payphone on the wall to his right.

Just as he's fishing around in his pocket for a quarter, a doctor in a white coat emerges from a room and walks towards Ronald.

He can feel sweat beating on his forehead again.

Or maybe it's just rain.

The doctor's face is grim, his mouth drawn into a thin line, his eyebrows pulled together in concern.

He's bracing himself.

Ronald takes half a step back.

The doctor doesn't waste any time.

He's got some terrible news, he says.

Ronald's 8-year-old son, Timothy, is dead.

From Airship, I'm Jeremy Schwartz, and this is American Criminal's Halloween.

Looking back on your childhood, you probably heard plenty of terrifying urban legends, right?

Those stories the kids on the playgrounds swore were true, no matter how implausible they seemed.

I'm willing to bet that you fell for at least one of them, two of them, maybe three even.

There was always just enough detail to convince you that sewer alligators were a real thing, or that there was a man with a hook for a hand who lived in the woods and killed whichever kids crossed his path.

Now looking back on it, it all sounds kind of silly.

But then again, there are some urban legends that spring out of very real stories.

For example, those warnings to be careful about what candy you take from strangers on Halloween because there might be poison in them, or razor blades, or needles.

Well, while I can't personally attest to ever finding something sharp in a chocolate bar, I can assure you that the stories about poison candy are definitely true.

Well, one of them is.

And it proves that of all the horrible monsters and demons you heard about growing up, the ones you should fear the most are those twisted creatures called humans.

This is episode 2 in our Halloween Horror Series, The Killer Candyman.

It's right around 5 p.m.

on Halloween 1974.

In less than 6 hours, little Timothy O'Brien will be dead, but right now he's a bundle of energy.

In a suburb of Pasadena, the entire O'Brien clan is paying a visit to their friends from Church, the Bates family.

8-year-old Tim's playing with Mark Bates, who's 9.

Mark's dad Jim is sitting on the couch with Ronald chatting and drinking beers.

In the kitchen, Danene O'Brien and Gene Bates are fixing dinner for the crew.

Later, no one will remember exactly how it came up, but someone, maybe Ronald, suggests going trick-or-treating after they eat.

And why not?

It's Halloween.

That's what kids do on Halloween, right?

Danene and Gene aren't so sure, though.

It's been wet and miserable all day, and it's not showing any signs of letting up.

But once they've heard the idea, the kids won't let it go.

So eventually the moms relent, and the plates have been cleared away.

The dads wrangle the kids and find some paper bags to use for candy.

Jim puts on a rain jacket, hands Ronald an umbrella, and they set off just after 7 p.m.

It's already dark when they leave, and the rain gets a little harder right as they're about to get to the first house.

That's when Mark's older sister, Kimberly, decides the candy's not worth it and turns back.

The rest of them press on, though.

The dads using flashlights to keep an eye on the rest of the kids as they run ahead.

They're knocking on doors and ringing doorbells.

Now, the Bates's live in a tidy middle class subdivision called Bowling Green.

The streets are wide and the houses are relatively new.

So although it's damp, it's a nice place to be walking around on Halloween night.

There are pumpkins on porches and plastic skeletons peering through front windows.

Some of the houses are dark and the kids come away from those doors empty handed, but they're not worried.

They're just on to the next place, energized by just being out.

Bags of candy swinging from their hands.

At one house, Jim waits on the sidewalk while Ronald follows the kids up to the porch.

It looks like no one's home at this place.

It's hard for Jim to see what's going on at the front door, but after a few moments, the kids come racing down the driveway, then head next door to try again.

Jim keeps an eye on the kids while waiting for Ronald, who soon swaggers up to him, holding several giant pixie sticks in one hand, a toothy grin on his face.

Look what I got, he says to Jim, waving the 20 inch tubes of sugar in the air.

You've sure got rich neighbors.

Jim's amused by Ronald's delight, but he's not surprised.

He knows that the O'Briens have been having money trouble lately.

The thought of someone giving such expensive candies to his kids must be exciting.

Jim also knows that Ronald's dream is to one day buy a place here in Bowling Green.

So maybe he's just also high on the idea of living alongside such kind neighbors.

When the dads catch up to the three kids, Ronald hands each of them one of the pixie sticks.

But they're so big that they poke out of the top of their treat bag, so he takes them back to carry for them.

And you can bet they make him promise not to lose such precious cargo.

By about 8 o'clock, the gang have hit all the houses in the Bates' Horseshoe neighborhood.

Once they get back to the dry and warm house, the kids excitedly show off their halls to their moms.

Ronald reminds them not to forget about the pixie sticks.

He gives one of the spares to Kimberly since she didn't get any candy.

And when a group of kids come to the door to trick-or-treat, he gives the fifth to one of them.

Timothy and Mark are desperate to tear into their candies, but the moms say it's far too late for that.

That's the cue to call it a night.

So Ronald and Daneen gather up their brood and head for home.

After their guests have left, Gene Bates sends Mark to take a bath, so a warm up after being out in the rain.

While he's washing up, she grabs a mop to take care of the mud and water that's been trekked into the house.

When Mark's finished in the bathroom, he comes out to the living room and asks, can I please have a pixie stick now?

Gene rolls her eyes and tells him absolutely not.

She's not having him spill sugar all over the floor.

She just cleaned.

That's an outside candy.

He'll just have to wait until tomorrow.

So Mark Bates goes to bed disappointed, not realizing that his mom just saved his life.

Across town, things at the O'Brien's apartment aren't so strict.

Daneen's gone to visit another friend from church and has left Ronald to get the kids to bed by himself.

Part of him wonders if she's left him in charge because he was the one who helped get them each a bag of sugar right before bedtime.

But Ronald's not worried about that.

Kids are meant to be having sugar at all times of the day, he thinks.

Little Elizabeth crashed as soon as they got home, but Timothy's, well, he's still awake.

So after he puts on his pajamas, Ronald tells him he's allowed to have one piece of candy, and Tim goes right for the pixie sticks.

At first, Tim can't work out how to get into the plastic straw, which is stapled shut.

So Ronald gives him a hand opening it.

Then he helps Timothy tip the straw back so he can take a big go.

Then another one.

After that, the kid pulls a weird face, says it tastes kind of bitter.

Figuring that a little more sugar can't hurt at this point, Ronald fetches his son a glass of Kool-Aid to wash the taste out of his mouth.

Then he takes him to bed and tucks him in.

But Ronald's barely made it to the couch when he hears Tim calling out to him, saying that his stomach hurts.

Ronald sighs and yells back that Tim should just try to get to sleep.

But the kid's already rushing out of his room, clutching his tummy.

Seconds later, Ronald hears the sound of retching in the bathroom.

Ronald races to Timothy's side, stroking his hair while he throws up.

But this isn't ordinary vomiting.

Tim's convulsing while Ronald holds him.

After a minute or so, Ronald leaves his son in the bathroom and races to the phone in the kitchen.

He can feel his heart pounding as he calls the fire department.

Desperately he asks for an ambulance.

Something's wrong with his son, he says, before giving their address and hanging up and running back to the bathroom.

A few minutes later, Ronald listens as sirens get closer, then unlocks the door when a police patrolman is the first to arrive on the scene.

The patrolman starts taking note of what's happened, asking Ronald to describe their night in detail.

Tim is lying on the bathroom floor, growing paler by the second.

When the paramedics show up, Ronald abandons the cop to lead them to the bathroom.

He explains that Timothy started throwing up about 10 minutes ago and doesn't know why.

The EMTs do a quick examination.

The eight-year-old's already losing color in his face.

They lift his small frame onto a gurney and start wheeling him out of the apartment.

As Tim's being carried downstairs, Ronald fetches Elizabeth from her bedroom and asks if the cop can bring her to the hospital for him.

His wife has their car and he doesn't want Elizabeth to have to ride in the back of an ambulance.

After that, Ronald rushes to catch the paramedics before they leave.

Once the ambulance arrives at the hospital about five miles away, a team of doctors and nurses take over.

They rush Timothy into an operating room while one doctor hangs back to ask Ronald some questions.

The doctor explains that Timothy's body is exhibiting no vital signs.

As if he's shutting down.

There are a number of things that might be wrong with him, but it seems likely that he's been poisoned.

So they need to know what has Tim had to eat and drink tonight.

Ronald's flustered mind spins as he thinks back over the evening.

What did they eat for dinner?

Pot roast and lima beans?

The doctor jots it down.

Anything else?

Some Halloween candy and Kool-Aid.

At that moment, the patrolman arrives carrying Elizabeth.

Ronald turns to take her, cradling her close to his chest, and the doctor excuses herself, vanishing into the OR.

As he stands in the fluorescent hallway, Ronald realizes that his wife doesn't know what's happening yet.

He leaves Elizabeth in a chair by the OR and heads to the nurses' station to ask to borrow the phone.

Once he's reached Daneen at their friend's house, he wanders back down the hall in a daze.

Someone's found a coloring book for Elizabeth so she's happy.

Ronald steps outside to get some fresh air.

He stands there in the rain until a nurse calls him inside to speak to a doctor.

It's been just 90 minutes since Ronald put his son to bed when he hears the awful news.

Timothy is dead.

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It's just before 11 p.m.

on Halloween night, 1974.

In Pasadena, just east of Houston, the neighborhood of Bowling Green is quiet.

On Citation Drive, the Bates home is dark and still.

The kids went to bed hours ago, and Jim and Jean have just fallen asleep themselves when a burst of frantic pounding on their front door startles them awake.

The couple bolt upright, trying to work out what's going on.

After a few seconds, the pounding on the door starts up again.

Jim pushes back the covers and heads to see who could possibly be out this late.

Surely it's not trick-or-treaters.

Even teenagers wouldn't be this bold, he thinks.

After he heads down the hallway towards the front door, Jim can see the eerie pulsing of red and blue light shining through their front windows.

This sight makes him pick up the pace.

Seconds later, he opens the door to find two uniformed cops standing on his porch.

They apologize for calling so late, but say he needs to check on his children.

Timothy O'Brien seems to have been given poisoned candy, they explain.

And he died just a few minutes ago.

The police know he was trick-or-treating with the Bateses.

Jim doesn't wait for the police to finish talking.

He just turns around and runs towards the kids' bedrooms, calling their names as loudly as he can.

Not many people get a good night's sleep in Bowling Green on Halloween.

Once Jim and Gene are certain that neither of their kids ate any of their candy, they and the police start making sure that everyone in the neighborhood knows there might be poisoned candy floating around.

One by one, households are woken up, and parents are told to keep all Halloween treats away from their kids.

The small hours of the morning are soundtracked by the near constant ringing of telephones as neighbors check in on one another to try and find out if anyone knows more than they do.

While panic ripples through Bowling Green, investigators get to work finding the source of the poison.

Timothy's bag of Halloween candy is brought in for testing, which shows that the pixie stick straw he was eating from contained cyanide crystals.

Armed with that information, Pasadena police fan out to find any other contaminated specimens.

Thanks to Ronald's account of the evening, they know that there are at least four pixie sticks out there.

Tim's sister Elizabeth has one, as do Mark and Kimberly Bates.

The last was the one Ronald handed a boy who came to the Bates' door.

And although Ronald recognized the kid from his church, he doesn't know his name.

Thanks to the neighborhood's vigilance though, the cops find the missing candy quickly.

10 year old Whitney Parker had gloated about being the one chosen to receive the premium candy and was planning to eat it that night, just like Mark wanted to.

And Timothy did.

But by the time Whitney had taken a bath, it was time for bed.

He tried to open the pixie stick alone in his room when his parents weren't looking, but without any scissors, he couldn't get into the plastic straw.

So he set it aside and had other candy instead.

With all five of the pixie sticks collected, investigators run more tests to find that each of them contains enough cyanide to kill two or three people in a matter of minutes.

Timothy O'Brien never stood a chance.

They also noticed that each one has been stapled shut at the top.

But the plastic should be heat sealed.

So there's no way this could have been some tragic manufacturing mistake.

Whoever did this wanted to kill children.

As the sun rises on November 1st, news of Timothy's death spreads through Pasadena.

People who haven't already had a frantic phone call from a friend or neighbor read about it in the morning paper or hear it on the news.

City officials advise local parents to confiscate any candy their kids were given on Halloween, just in case.

And police tell the people of Bowling Green that they're to bring their candy to the nearest station ASAP.

The more people in the neighborhood talk about the tragedy, the more emotion it stirs up in the community.

Ever since the police arrived to wake the Bates family up, the subdivision's been in a growing state of fear.

And it only gets worse.

Loads of people with morbid curiosity come to the area, driving slowly down Bowling Green streets to get a glimpse of the kind of place where a child killer would live.

They're afraid and puzzled.

They're all certain that none of their neighbors would ever commit such a heinous crime.

So they start a reward fund for tips leading to the arrest and conviction of Timothy's killer.

After just a couple of days, there's a thousand dollars in the fund, which would be about seven grand in today's money.

Meanwhile, Ronald O'Brien accompanies detectives on a walk through the neighborhood to try and identify the house the Pixie Sticks came from.

As far as anyone can tell, the O'Brien and Bates party was the only group to be given any poison candy on Halloween.

Jim can't remember where it came from, so Ronald's their best shot at figuring out which house it was.

He walks up and down the streets, but he's just not sure.

He points out a few different places that it might have been, but it was dark and raining, so everything looked different.

But at Timothy's funeral on November 2nd, Ronald tells his relatives he's had a vision from God, who wants to help him bring the killer to justice.

He says that the man who gave him the pixie sticks had hairy arms and a bald patch.

When the police hear this, they canvass the neighborhood, and zero in on a man who's a very close match to the description.

But the man explains that he was at work all night on Halloween, so there was no one home at his house.

And not for nothing, his alibi checks out too, so there's no way he could be the killer.

Around the neighborhood, people start wondering if maybe someone broke into an empty house on Halloween just to hand out the poison candy.

It's the only explanation that makes any sense to them.

But the cops have a different idea.

On November 4th, detectives invite Ronald O'Bryan to the station to answer some questions.

They've learned that in the four days since his son's death, he's submitted claims on two separate life insurance policies on the boy.

Ronald had called the companies to cash in less than 24 hours after Timothy died.

And if that's not cause for suspicion, I don't know what is.

The police hook Ronald up to a polygraph, and by the time they're done questioning him, they're convinced he's their guy.

Just before midnight, they place him under arrest and charge him with the murder of his own son.

By the next morning, the O'Brien family is all over the news again.

The police put together a press conference to announce the arrest, hoping to calm fears that a child killer is loose in the city.

The story runs in the afternoon and evening editions of the papers.

When journalists call to ask for more information, though, the investigators don't have much to give them.

Because while they feel like they've got enough to file charges, they're still tying up some loose ends.

So while Pasadena locals discuss the shocking new development in the case, detectives search Ronald and Danean's apartment for evidence.

They don't find a smoking gun per se, but they've got enough to support their theory.

There's at least one letter from a creditor demanding payment on an outstanding car loan and a pair of scissors in a kitchen drawer that have got small slivers of bright plastic stuck to their blades.

Plastic that looks a lot like the Pixie Stix packaging.

The following day, they pay a visit to a local chemical sales room where David Jackson describes a man who came in asking about buying cyanide towards the end of October.

Now this guy apparently balked at paying 40 or 50 bucks for a five pound jug of the stuff, so David suggested some other places he might try to find a smaller quantity.

And the description he gives for the man sounds an awful lot like Ronald O'Brien.

Meanwhile, the local press are revisiting their own coverage of the murder.

They print photos taken at Timothy's funeral, paying particular attention to where Ronald stood, what his face was doing, who he spoke to.

His wife, Dayneen, has taken their surviving child and is hiding out from the press.

The Bates family have also taken refuge, holed up inside their own home, away from the photographers who come by asking for pictures.

Jim and Gene can't believe what their friend did, and are still trying to come to terms with the fact that he was willing to kill their children to try and cover his tracks.

They knew he was having money troubles, but they never imagined he'd do something like this.

As for Ronald, his pastor and his lawyer both speak to the press on his behalf.

Using them as mouthpieces, he says that he's shocked that anyone would think him capable of murder.

He's heartbroken over Timothy's death, he says, just heartbroken.

But brokenhearted or not, on November 11th, Ronald's indicted on one count of murder and four counts of attempted murder for the other pixie sticks he gave out.

And because the state's alleging that it was a murder-for-profit scheme, he'll be facing the death penalty.

Unless he can make some kind of deal.

But the next day, Ronald O'Bryan stands up in court, cutting a sorry figure in a crumpled suit.

He shakes his head firmly when the charges against him are writ.

And when it's time for him to speak, he raises his voice and pleads not guilty.

He's going to fight this all the way to death row, if he has to.

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It's May 19th, 1975, in a Houston courtroom.

Nearly eight months ago, Timothy O'Brien was murdered with poisoned Halloween candy.

Today is the first day of testimony in the trial of his father, 31-year-old Ronal.

He's sitting at the defense table, his gaze on a fixed point on the ground.

But few people in the courtroom are focusing on the accused.

All eyes are on the witness stand, where the prosecution has summoned Jim Bates to testify.

Following the prosecutor's gentle prompts, Jim walks the court through the night of October 31st, how Ronald accompanied the kids up the porch of a house with no lights on, then came back triumphantly waving the giant pixie sticks in the air and talking about how rich these people must be.

Jim wasn't surprised to hear his friend fixate on the value of the candies, he says, because Ronald had been struggling and seen obsessed with money.

When Jim says that, a few members of the jury flick their eyes to the defense table, but Ronald doesn't stir.

And he won't.

For the next few weeks, he'll show little emotion as the state paints a picture of a man evil enough to kill his own son.

Before his arrest last November, Ronald worked as an optician for a large chain.

He'd held the position for about 10 months, and would often boast to family and friends that he'd made $100 a day plus expenses.

If that figure were true, he'd be earning the equivalent of about $175 grand today.

But hardly anyone bought Ronald's bravado.

Plenty of people knew that the O'Briens were struggling to make ends meet.

He'd always had a hard time holding down a job, and although not many people knew it, he was on shaky ground at his latest one, too.

There had been some theft reported, and Ronald was the chief suspect.

But no one really knew just how badly in the hole Ronald had gotten his family.

It had reached the stage that he had to sell their house to pay down his debts.

With that done, the O'Briens moved into an apartment.

Still owed a lot of money, though.

But late that summer, Ronald was chatting with Jimmy Bates, who asked if things were okay on the money front.

He was worried about his friend.

But Ronald laughed off Jim's concern and told him not to worry.

He was expecting a pretty big windfall before the end of the year.

In fact, he was so confident there'd be big money coming his way that he started talking about buying a house again.

And not just any house, he wanted a place in Bowling Green, the new middle class subdivision where Jim and his family lived.

Jim was skeptical that Ronald could afford to buy a house in the area, but he agreed to keep an eye out in case any of his neighbors put their places on the market.

He also agreed to keep the plan a secret from Daneen.

Ronald wanted to surprise his wife.

Just what this windfall was supposed to be, Ronald never told Jim, but around the same time he started talking about his grand ambitions, he set out to make his premonition come true.

In September, he took out life insurance policies on his two children, each for about $20,000.

The agent suggested that he opt for a policy that would be worth $5,000 now, then grow to over $25,000 once the kids reached adulthood.

It would be a better deal on the premiums, he explained.

But Ronald was determined to go for the larger payout.

He wasn't planning on paying the premiums for long anyway.

But $40,000 wasn't enough.

So in the lead up to Halloween, he told Daneen that they ought to get policies on themselves to protect the kids, he said.

He even brought the entire family to the bank the day he went to set the whole thing up.

He just left everyone in the car while he went inside.

Once he was alone, Ronald told the staff that he only wanted accidental death insurance policies on his kids.

The bank signed him up for $10,000 policies on both Timothy and Elizabeth, then sent him on his way.

Once he got back in the car, Ronald told Daneen about the kids' policies, explaining that it was a bargain.

She was dumbfounded.

What's the point in having life insurance on their children?

But Ronald said that he knew best.

Daneen had a very good point.

They had no money.

They were scraping by paycheck to paycheck.

Adding more insurance bills to their load just didn't make sense.

But Ronald, who'd clearly never been great at managing money, was determined to pull this off.

And it would take some careful timing.

By mid-October, his checking account had just $2.17 in it.

But he needed more to cover the cost of the premiums.

So on the 29th, he deposited $10 into the account.

It was just enough to keep the plans from lapsing.

Three days later, mere hours after his son had died, Ronald made two quick phone calls to ask how soon he could expect to pay out from each policy.

By the time they're done, the prosecution has masterfully woven a tale of a man in dire financial straits, one willing to methodically plot the murders of his own children to pay off his debts.

Not only that, but testimony from various sources suggests that Ronald thought he'd have enough money left over to take a long vacation, buy a house and help pay for relatives' tuition fees.

Even when he'd only managed to kill one of his children, he still believed about 30 grand would be enough to pay for all that and more.

Like I said, not great with money.

There's no physical evidence to tie Ronald to the crime, besides the scissors that may or may not have been used to cut open the pixie sticks.

There's nothing the state can hold up to decidedly prove their case.

But they bring to the stand witnesses who testify that Ronald asked them where he could buy cyanide, whether it was deadly and in what doses.

It's hard to imagine that any of that is a coincidence.

In response, the defense puts up witnesses who testified to Ronald's supposed sweet nature.

He's a deacon at his church and sang with the choir.

A man like that couldn't possibly be a killer.

Then Ronald himself takes the stand and claims that the life insurance policies on his kids were quote unquote estate builders, whatever that means.

And judging from the looks on the faces of the jury, no one's buying it.

On June 3rd, they take just 46 minutes to deliberate and come back with their verdict, guilty.

The following day, they take a little over an hour to decide on their recommended sentence, death.

As Ronald adjusts to life on death row over the coming months, the people of Pasadena are forced to confront the idea of celebrating Halloween again.

One year after a desperate and greedy father used the holiday to do the unthinkable, newspapers published think pieces lamenting the crime that ruin Halloween forever.

Houston City Council issues official warnings against children going trick or treating.

Never mind that this was the act of a man targeting his own kids, no one wants to take the chance that it'll happen again.

That's the legacy Ronald O'Bryan leaves in his wake.

Soon enough, the memory of the real crime fades, swirling with various reports of people finding razor blades and needles hidden inside candy bars.

Eventually, all that's left are rumors and gossip about disgruntled neighbors killing kids with poisoned and booby-trapped candy.

Not that Ronald's concerned about any of that.

While he's behind bars, he maintains his innocence, filing appeal after appeal in the hopes of having his sentence overturned.

But in early 1984, the US.

Supreme Court rejects his final plea for a new trial.

On March 31st that year, nearly a decade after he killed his son, Ronald Clark O'Brien is executed by lethal injection.

Outside the prison, death penalty opponents chant and wave signs protesting the state-sanctioned killing.

Hundreds more join them outside the gates, but they're there to celebrate.

They cheer when the word comes through that Ronald's dead.

They throw candies at the other demonstrators and shout three little words.

Trick or treat.

From Airship, this is Episode 2 in our series on Halloween Horrors.

On the next episode, the true crime behind the most famous haunted house in America.

This episode may contain reenactments or dramatized details.

And while in some cases, we can't know exactly what happened, all our dramatizations are based on historical research.

American Criminal is hosted, edited, and executive produced by me, Jeremy Schwartz.

Audio editing by Mohammed Shahzi.

Sound design by Matthew Phillips.

Music by Thrum.

This episode is written and researched by Joel Cowley.

Managing producer, Emily Burke.

Executive producers are Joel Callan, William Simpson and Lindsey Graham.