Mike Boudet

If it sounds garbled, it's probably because of the cheeseburger he was eating.

This guy's maybe the chillest killer they've ever interviewed.

He went on to say that while police car sirens blared and lights flashed, while voices boomed over the megaphone yelling for him to come out, he was listening to his mother's wind chimes, smoking cigarette butts from the ashtray, and thinking about his childhood.

At several points throughout the more than eight hours of interrogation, Michael alluded to a loveless childhood of neglect.

According to him, his mother prioritized appearance and money over him.

As much as detectives wanted to make him comfortable and hear about his past, they still had a job to do.

And it wasn't to be a therapist for a killer.

Yes.

That's it.

That's where Michael lived.

But all of a sudden, it was not really his place.

His baby mama's name was on the lease, and people just sort of came and went, all helping pay the bills together somehow in some sort of weird collective.

You know, anybody could have been there.

Anybody could have had access to that garage.

He argued that he was in and out of the apartment and hadn't been in the garage for weeks.

The body was put in the garage less than a week before.

All the detectives wanted was for him to fess up and tell them what he did.

And they weren't getting anywhere.

It was time to bring God into it.

Little did they know that they had just made a massive overreach.