The Cop Who Killed His Wives: The Drew Peterson Case | True Crime Documentary

Bolingbrook, Illinois. Just your typical suburb, stretched out and tidy about 28 mi southwest of Chicago. It’s calm, well-kept, safe, or at least that’s how it looks, especially if you happen to be a cop. In the fall of 2001, Kathleen Savio Peterson was 40 years old. She was living in a red brick house at 392 Pheasant Chase Drive.

And she was finally, after years of trying, starting to find a way out of a marriage that had been quietly destroying her for nearly a decade. Meanwhile, not even a mile away, her husband, Drew Peterson, was already involved with someone else, a 17-year-old girl he’d met during his night patrols.

Drew was a Bolingbrook police sergeant with 27 years on the job. Two lives moving side by side. One trying to break free, reach for something better. The other charging forward, locked on course, headed straight for a collision. Kathleen Anne Savio was born on June 13th, 1963 in Glendale Heights, Illinois.

Her parents, Henry and Mary, raised her in a big working-class Catholic family, one of five kids. Everyone called her Kitty. She was vivacious. People remember her laugh, loud, sudden, the kind that just bubbles up and pulls everyone else along. You could hear it from across the house, and pretty soon you’d find yourself laughing, too, even if you didn’t know why.

She never tried to be the center of attention, but it always seemed to work out that way. Kitty just stuck with you. She was sharp, especially with numbers. Accounting came naturally to her. But the folks who knew her best said there was something softer, a real gentleness, a fierce kind of love for her family. She grew up close to her siblings, Anna, Marie, Susan, Henry, and Nicholas.

They were tight-knit, Sunday dinners, holidays spent together, and someone always picking up the phone to check in for no reason except just to say hi. In 1992, at 29, she married Drew Peterson. He was 38, gave her that intense kind of attention that can feel overwhelming at first.

Within 6 months, he’d left his second wife and proposed. She told a friend she was drawn in by his bad boy cop energy. All swagger and certainty. They built a life together. Two sons, Thomas, born January 5th, 1993, and Christopher, born August 8th, 1994. They bought a bar, Suds Pub in Montgomery, Illinois. Kathleen took care of the books, kept the business running.

On the outside, it looked like she’d made it. Two boys, a house in the suburbs, enough money to feel safe and plan for what’s next. But their marriage was rocky from the start. In 1993, during a fight, Kathleen hit her head on the dining room table. The ER staff at Bolingbrook Medical Center noted this. The first recorded injury, though it wouldn’t be the last.

The police were called to their house more than once for domestic disturbances. By 2002, she’d had enough. She filed for an order of protection, laying out years of abuse, threats, violence, the works. She wrote it plain as day that she believed Drew wanted her dead and that he’d “burn the house down just to shut me up.”

She didn’t just write it. She said it. She told friends. She told police. She even marched up to the police chief in Bolingbrook and said, “If anything happens to me, it’s because Drew killed me.” People heard her. They wrote it down. It’s in the files. But nothing changed. By October 2001, things took another turn.

Kathleen found an anonymous letter in her mailbox. The letter said Drew was sleeping with a 17-year-old who worked for the village that all the cops in Bolingbrook knew and she needed to protect herself and her boys. She filed for divorce that month. It’s worth noting that the system meant to protect Kathleen Savio Peterson was the same one shielding Drew Peterson.

She didn’t fall through the cracks. Kathleen filed reports, made formal statements, and called him out by name. She went straight to the police chief’s office and said exactly what was happening. The same officers answering her domestic disturbance calls worked alongside her husband. The chief, she warned, knew Drew personally.

This isn’t a story about missed warning signs. The truth is the system just couldn’t act because the man she reported belonged to it. That’s not unlucky. To me, that’s a conflict of interest, plain and simple. Meanwhile, Drew Walter Peterson came into the world on January 5th, 1954 in Bolingbrook, Illinois.

After high school, he joined the army and married his first wife, his high school sweetheart, in 1974. They had two sons, Steven and Eric. But after 6 years, the relationship broke down because Peterson cheated. Then in 1982, he married Victoria Connelly. Together, they ran a bar in Romeoville, but things were far from happy.

Victoria said Peterson abused her throughout their marriage, which lasted about 10 years. She claimed he threatened her life, telling her, “he’d know how to kill her and make it look like an accident.” Her daughter, Lisa Ward, grew up in that household and later talked about the physical and psychological abuse she experienced, too.

That relationship ended in 1992 when Victoria caught Peterson cheating again. This time with Kathleen Savio. Just three months after his divorce was finalized, Peterson married Kathleen. Back in 1985, Peterson had actually been kicked off the Bolingbrook Police Department for misconduct, running his own unauthorized investigation, and not reporting a bribe someone offered him.

The next year, officials decided there wasn’t enough evidence, so he got his badge back. Peterson stuck around, moved up the ranks, and got pretty comfortable in an institution that seemed to always give him the benefit of the doubt. Fast forward to 2001, Peterson started dating a 17-year-old named Stacy Anne Kales.

She was born January 20, 1984 in Downer’s Grove, Illinois, finished high school early, and worked nights at a hotel. Peterson, her night shift commander, met her when she was 16 and began dating her when she turned 17. Her dad was okay with it. Stacy’s sister, Cassandra, remembered how it began. “He used to go in there and check on her,” Cassandra told ABC News, “you know, sweep the hotel and make sure that everything was okay. That’s all it took for things to start.”

By October 2003, even though his divorce with Kathleen wasn’t wrapped up yet, Peterson married Stacy. She was 19. He was 49. They moved into a house at 6 Pheasant Chase Court, just down the road from Kathleen’s place.

Together they had two kids, Anthony in 2003, Lacy in 2005. Stacy actually adopted Kathleen’s sons, Thomas and Christopher, and seemed to love them like her own. Meanwhile, Kathleen was fighting tooth and nail across town, battling Peterson in court over custody, money from the bar, pretty much everything they’d built together.

Her lawyer, Harry Smith, said she got excitable and anxious anytime Drew’s name came up. One friend described Kathleen as a trapped animal swinging between panic, stress, and deep loneliness nobody could touch. By October 2003, the divorce was finally over. Kathleen kept her house on Pheasant Chase Drive.

5 months later, she was dead. On the 1st of March 2004, the body of Kathleen Savio was found on the morning of the 1st of March 2004 by a neighbor. She was lying face down in the dry bathtub of her home on Pheasant Chase Drive. Her hair was wet, her fingertips were wrinkled from being in water for a long time, but the bathtub itself contained no water at all, and there was a large, deep gash on the back of her head. She was 40 years old.

A wet body, wrinkled fingertips, a dry bathtub. Does any of that add up to you? First responders made their notes. The bathtub was dry and spotless. No signs of forced entry anywhere in the house. Since a Bolingbrook police officer was involved, Illinois State Police joined the case. They handed their early findings over to the Will County State Attorney, treating it as a possible homicide.

There’s a record of a state police investigator even testifying in front of a grand jury. But then things shifted. Instead of a regular investigation, the case landed in front of a coroner’s jury, a panel of six people from the community. They listened to testimony and decided how Kathleen died. This type of procedure isn’t taken seriously anymore.

And here’s the kicker. One of those six was a cop who knew Drew Peterson personally. The Chicago Tribune and other sources reported that this officer vouched for Drew, telling the rest that he was a good guy, someone who’d never hurt his ex-wife. In the end, the jury called Kathleen Savio’s death an accidental drowning. The case closed.

No investigation, no charges. Drew Peterson, who had a key to Kathleen’s house and was her life insurance beneficiary, set to collect a million dollars, got the money without any problem. Kathleen was laid to rest at Queen of Heaven Catholic Cemetery in Hillside. The funeral mass happened at St. Andrew Catholic Church.

Her family buried her with an official record that claimed her death was just an accident. They never believed that for a second, but the paperwork said otherwise. And that paperwork, it came from the very system that gave her killer his power. While Kathleen Savio’s funeral was going on, Stacy Peterson was only 20, still barely an adult, living nearby with her newborn.

She didn’t wake up one morning with this big revelation about Drew Peterson. It was slower than that. Small things, one after another, and eventually the truth just stood out. It started off harmless enough. Drew would call her nonstop every time she stepped outside. Friends told her they’d seen his police cruiser parked at the grocery store when she went shopping.

Sometimes he left work just to hunt her down. If Stacy wanted time to study for nursing school, he wouldn’t look after the kids. He didn’t even let her get a job. All those tiny moments stacked together made it impossible for Stacy to keep pretending things were fine. Leaving work just to spy on your own wife, that’s a whole new level of control.

Stacy poured herself into being a mom. Anyone could see it. She was always making life better for her kids. She decorated Anthony’s room by herself. She loved turning their house into something warm and safe with all those little touches. And she didn’t just focus on her own children. She took in Kathleen’s sons and treated them like family.

She was nearly done with her nursing degree at Joliet Junior College. There were a few stops and starts since 2001, but she was getting there. Then, out of nowhere, Stacy disappeared. For the people who knew her, Stacy seemed loving and loyal, but cracks started to show. On March 1st, 2004, the same night the police discovered Kathleen dead, Stacy woke up and realized Drew wasn’t beside her.

She waited for him. Early that morning, she saw him slip back into the house through the laundry room, dressed completely in black with a bag in hand. She watched him peel off his clothes and shove whatever he’d been carrying straight into the washing machine. When Stacy asked about his night, she later told Reverend Neil Shory that “Drew admitted he killed Kathleen and made it look like an accident.”

He warned Stacy on exactly what she should or shouldn’t say if the police came around. Years later, Stacy confided everything to Reverend Shory. She told him she was afraid of Drew and wanted out. She told her divorce attorney, too, the weird things Drew did the night Kathleen died and her fear that what she knew was dangerous.

That’s what built the foundation of a murder case. But before anything came of it, Stacy Peterson vanished. She talked to her pastor. She talked to her lawyer. She admitted her fear and her plans to leave. She told people around her what was happening and why she was scared. But in the end, she was gone before anybody could help.

That’s the thing that gets to you. By October 28th, 2007, 3 years after Kathleen Savio’s death, people around the Petersons only used one word to describe their marriage: Fear. Stacy told friends she was desperate to get out. She was terrified of Drew, especially thinking about what he’d do if she asked for a divorce. Bruce Ziterich, a family friend, told reporters Stacy often said, “I’m going to tell him I want a divorce.”

He remembered she always looked over her shoulder. She said it always checking, always scared. Sunday, October 28th, 2007. Stacy was 23. She was supposed to help her sister paint that afternoon, but she never showed up. Drew later told police Stacy had called him that night, saying she was leaving for another man.

He claimed she even drove her purple 2002 Pontiac Grand Am to O’Hare International Airport, parked it, and left with someone else. Police found the car parked at the airport less than half a mile from the Peterson house. Drew said he picked it up himself. After that, nothing. No calls, no texts, no sign of Stacy anywhere.

Her sister, Cassandra, reported her missing early Monday morning when she realized Stacy hadn’t reached out once. Three women, all with stories that should have sent alarms ringing. Victoria Connelly warned people Drew knew exactly how to kill and cover his tracks, but nobody listened. Kathleen Savio wrote her fears down in legal papers, told the police chief to his face, but ended up dead in a dry bathtub just a year and a half after her divorce.

And Stacy Kales, who told her pastor she saw Drew come home in black clothes the night Kathleen died and told friends she was too scared to ever try to leave. Three women, three warnings, all living in the same suburb. And not one time, not after Connelly spoke out, not after Kathleen filed for protection, not even after she told the police chief what terrified her, did anyone put it all together.

Everyone treated their stories like they were separate, isolated problems, when really they were dealing with the same man, and Drew Peterson had exactly the power and connections he needed to tilt every investigation in his favor. By November 2007, the Illinois State Police went public. Drew Peterson was officially a suspect in Stacy’s disappearance.

And right then, on November 9, a judge gave the green light to exume Kathleen Savio’s body. Peterson didn’t lay low. In fact, he seemed to live for the spotlight, showing up on the Today Show, laughing on talk shows, looking downright relaxed while people frantically searched for Stacy and whispered about Kathleen.

It made your skin crawl. Cops saw it. The public felt it. Nobody missed the weird calm he had. Just days later, on November 12, Peterson left the Bolingbrook Police Department after almost 30 years. One day after that, they dug up Kathleen’s body at Queen of Heaven Cemetery. Dr.

Michael Baden, a legend in forensics, handled the new, much deeper autopsy for the Savio family. Those results blew the whole accidental story to pieces. Kathleen’s injuries looked nothing like a fall. The photos showed bruises and scrapes all over her body, her back, torso, even her face. The gash on her scalp, way too deep for a simple bathroom slip.

14 bruises on her front, each one separate. No way did that come from one fall. Baden didn’t mince words. Someone drowned Kathleen after a vicious fight, then put her in the tub. On February 21st, 2008, Will County State Attorney James Glasgow finally changed the record. “Now Kathleen’s death was labeled homicide. A homicide staged to look like an accident,” he told reporters.

For the Savio family, hearing that was a punch and a breath at the same time. For years they’d said this. For years nobody with a badge listened. And now finally it was in the record. It stung to realize it took losing Stacy for anyone to look again. On May 7th, 2009, police arrested Drew Peterson for first-degree murder in Kathleen Savio’s killing. Bail 20 million bucks.

The trial kicked off July 31st, 2012 in Will County Circuit Court with Judge Edward Burmila in charge. Prosecutors went all-in on hearsay evidence, what Kathleen and Stacy had confided before they were silenced. Normally, that stuff would never see the light of a courtroom. But in November 2008, Illinois lawmakers created Drew’s Law, allowing hearsay when the defendant kept a witness from testifying. The law was clear and sharp.

Lawmakers didn’t want murderers walking because victims couldn’t sit on the witness stand. James Glasgow stated, “These would be statements made to third parties that uh previously uh have not been admissible in Will County courts, been ruled hearsay. And uh in essence, what you’re basically allowing the victim of a violent crime to do is to testify from the grave.”

Two witnesses especially made the state’s case. Reverend Neil Shory, Stacy’s pastor, testified that Stacy had told him everything. She woke up one night, Drew gone from bed. She saw him come in dressed in black with a bag, watched him wash his clothes and whatever was in that bag. Stacy told him Drew flat out said he killed Kathleen and staged it, then made her lie to the police.

Harry Smith, Kathleen’s divorce lawyer, backed the story. Stacy gave him the same account. Juror Ron Supupalo, the last hold out, said those two witnesses turned him around. He said the hearsay evidence was big. Everything pointed back at Peterson. Then came something harder. Jeff Ptor, a former coworker, told the jury that Drew once offered him $25,000 to find a hitman to kill Kathleen before she died. Ptor didn’t do it.

But after Kathleen was found dead, Peterson told him, “That favor I asked you, I don’t need it anymore.” But that five-year gap from Kathleen’s death in 2004 to Drew’s arrest in 2009 wasn’t just paperwork and waiting. Peterson married Stacy, had two kids, terrified her, made her talk, then made her disappear.

If the coroner’s jury had gotten it right in 2004 like police wanted, Peterson would have been a murder suspect while Stacy was still a teenager. Instead, accident stayed on file and Peterson kept his uniform, stayed close, and dragged Stacy deeper into his life. Judge Burmila kept any mention of Stacy’s disappearance out of court.

The jury never heard she was missing and presumed dead. Stacy spoke only through those she’d trusted. After 13 hours of deliberation, the jury, seven men, five women, delivered their answer. On September 6th, 2012, Drew Peterson was found guilty of first-degree murder of Kathleen Savio. Judge Burmila didn’t hesitate.

He gave Drew Peterson 38 years for killing Kathleen Savio. Peterson was 58 and he barely blinked. Just sat there blank. No emotion at all. Outside, Kathleen’s stepmom, Marcia Savio, stepped up to the mics. “Finally, somebody heard Kathleen’s cry,” she said. Her brother Nick tried to read his statement but broke down, calling Peterson a cold-blooded killer and insisting everyone gets payback for what they have done to others.

Sue Dolman, Kathleen’s sister, added, “Bittersweet, like I said before, I’ll never have my sister again. I still have to go see her in the cemetery. But at least I know that she got justice and a cold-blooded killer is locked up there. It makes me feel real good that he’s never going to get out of jail again.”

Looking back, none of them knew just how true that was. After the guilty verdict, Peterson turned against his own lawyer, Joel Brodsky. He blamed Brodsky for losing, especially for bringing in a divorce attorney whose testimony stung. Peterson filed motion after motion, saying Brodsky messed up so badly the conviction didn’t count. Things got messier when Brodsky began hinting to reporters he might spill secrets Peterson had told him.

Brodsky said, “I know everything about both of his wives. Everything. I was thinking that, you know, maybe it’s time. I feel bad about what uh you know, Drew not taking responsibility and Stacy still being missing that I’m thinking about um maybe, you know, revealing what happened to Stacy and and and what where she is.”

The court shut that down quickly, slapping Brodsky with a gag order. Attorney-client privilege meant silence. End of story. Brodsky ended up losing his law license not long after. Peterson landed in Menard Correctional Center in Chester, Illinois. But mortality in prison walls weren’t enough to keep him quiet.

In November 2014, locked up and desperate, he approached another inmate, Antonio “Beast” Smith, a gang member serving 40 years, and asked them to organize a hit on Will County State’s Attorney James Glasgow. Smith played along, then went straight to the prosecutors and wore a wire, hours of audio, enough to leave no doubt.

Peterson drew up the plan himself, left nothing vague. Later standing in court, Peterson tried to say he was suicidal and had been putting on an act, a way to distract from his pain. The Randolph County jury didn’t buy a word of it. By May 2016, Peterson was convicted of solicitation of murder and murder for hire.

Judge Richard Brown hit Peterson with another 40 years stacked on top of the 38. No overlap, no shortcuts. If he ever sees parole, it’s 2047 and he’ll be 93. Odds are he won’t even make it that far. The judge didn’t mince words, calling the murder plot a slap in the face to justice. Glasgow stared Peterson down and called him a patronizing con man.

He called the plot a moral outrage. He told the judge and jury none of it was fiction. Those tapes proved it for everyone. And that’s pretty much the end for Peterson. Now he’s locked up in Indiana, just another inmate with a sentence hanging over him that’ll outlast his body. He won’t ever get out.

But even so, the story isn’t really finished. Stacy Peterson, she’s never turned up. Her body’s never been found. Her case still open. Peterson is still listed as a suspect, but nobody’s made charges stick. Stacy’s sister, Cassandra, hasn’t stopped searching or believing. Convinced Stacy died October 28th, 2007, and her body is somewhere in the Sanitary and Ship Canal.

Her sister-in-law, Norma Peterson, started Document the Abuse, a project helping abuse survivors lock down their stories so nobody can erase what happened, even if they disappear. That idea came straight from Kathleen Savio, who spent years filing reports and keeping receipts. But Kathleen’s story isn’t about the sentence or what anyone said in the courtroom.

It’s in the scraps of who she was. Her family called her Kitty. She had a wild laugh that drew everyone in. She ran the books for the bar she owned with her husband and never got the money. She adored her sons, Thomas and Christopher. You could see it right away. She grew up in Glendale Heights in a Catholic family. When she died, she was buried from a Catholic church at Queen of Heaven Cemetery.

The same people who carried her casket in 2004 stood outside that courthouse years later, finally able to say she’d been heard.