CrimeCon, Orlando, 2023

Murder & Mayhem Under the Florida Sun

It took me several weeks to consider the offer. My potential sponsor—a former military intelligence officer who had worked undercover in the Middle East—simply refused to take no for an answer. He said there would be professionals attending the event, including profilers, prosecutors, and FBI agents. Some of them would be delivering presentations; others would be leading seminars. Journalists and victims’ families would be there, too.

“I want you to speak to the FBI about your son, Kyle,” he told me over the phone. “They’ll have a table set up in one of the rooms. It’ll be easy; you speak the same language. Talk about evidence and only evidence.”  This was a subtle reminder that with law-enforcement professionals, I wouldn’t have to navigate the peculiarities of Scientology jargon.

“And mention the Department of Justice agents who analyzed the case,” he continued. “Tell the FBI how the DOJ concluded that there was an obvious connection between the Clearwater Police Department and the Church of Scientology.” (Over the years, I had kept this benefactor completely up-to-date about Kyle’s suspicious death, the resulting botched police investigation, and the unjust decisions by the Florida courts. He knew how the DOJ analysts—because of the numerous inconsistencies in the evidence, lack of evidence, and testimony—had urged the case be re-opened.)

Finally, I accepted my benefactor’s generous offer: an all-expense-paid trip to CrimeCon, a true-crime convention scheduled at the Orlando World Center Marriott on the third weekend of September 2023.

This murder and mayhem-related gathering has been around since 2017. “CrimeCon delivers it all,” reads the 2023 website.“From the latest cases to the latest scientific techniques. From binge-worthy TV shows and docs to the top podcasters… Made by fans, for fans, CrimeCon’s mission is to bring together the true crime community for a weekend filled with education, understanding, advocacy, and lots of fun.”

It was difficult to understand how a convention showcasing violent crime, murder, and sexual assault could be categorized this way. However, this is the world of the twenty-first century. After all, the Marriott World Center was expecting between four and five thousand attendees. My initial hesitation stemmed from my firm belief that the “true crime” genre is disrespectful to victims and their families. And despite CrimeCon founder Kevin Balfe calling it “a place where victims can feel loved,” I know from personal experience that true crime contributes to additional unnecessary suffering.

I support events that prioritize education, highlight the resilience of survivors, and aim to prevent similar tragedies through advocacy and outreach. This, I believe, is the way to move forward, the way to overcome and heal. The “real-life crime” genre, however, is rooted in the pains of the past. It reeks of exploitation; it’s also distasteful in a way fans don’t seem to consider—it normalizes, almost fictionalizes, cases involving family-crushing tragedies. Sometimes, it’s as if the victims were not even real people. You see them everywhere: Movies and TV shows focusing on violent crime stories, murders, sexual offenses, and cult-related narratives. They vary from dramatic reenactments performed by actors to docuseries that analyze actual crime footage, often exploiting the victim’s identities and painful experiences. Companies like Netflix, Hulu, and HBO frequently capitalize on tragic events by subverting them into entertainment. These shows are so prolific that our society has become desensitized.

In recent years, too, there’s been a significant increase in books and podcasts featuring some of history’s most horrific crimes. In the process, true-crime media succeeds in glorifying criminal behavior. And it has an obvious motive. Nowadays, re-creating traumatic events for entertainment means big money for filmmakers, TV producers, podcasters, and writers.

For surviving family members, however, knowing that their now-deceased loved ones are being exploited for entertainment and financial purposes—and turned into objects of morbid fascination by self-proclaimed experts—causes re-traumatization. More pain, more suffering, and usually no compensation.

Nonetheless, despite my misgivings, I decided to attend. My only obligations would be speaking with some FBI agents and making a daily call to my sponsor. With a clear purpose, I was free to explore, meet people, and attend various lectures. Additionally, the Orlando World Marriott Convention Center—the all-inclusive resort hosting the conference—is more than one hundred miles from Clearwater, where my precious son died. That was an important factor for me.

Sponsoring CrimeCon 2023 was the Oxygen Network, an “American cable and digital multicast television network” that “primarily airs true crime television and police procedural dramas.” Oxygen airs documentaries and reality shows such as “Killer Couples” and “Three Days to Live.” Not to mention “Snapped,” whose tagline claims: “From socialites to secretaries, female killers share one thing in common: they all snapped.”

The event’s marketing was impressive, with a lengthy list of interviews and presentations featuring lawyers, expert criminologists, and celebrity victims. It featured varying ticket tiers with varying prices. You could attend as a “Platinum VIP” for a hefty fee of $1,799.00. These tickets sold out quickly, evidently—there was a waiting list—but here’s what you got: priority ballroom seating and attendance at a VIP cocktail hour, where you could mingle with your favorite true-crime celebrities for photo ops and autographs. The “Gold VIP” ticket was $899.00. The “Standard” ticket—the more reasonably priced $329.00 badge I’d be wearing—promised an experience I’d remember for a long time.

The CrimeCon lineup featured pedophile catcher Chris Hansen and Camille Vasquez, the lead attorney in the 2022 Johnny Depp vs. Amber Heard trial held in Fairfax, Virginia. Also attending: the reigning queen of true-crime, Nancy Grace. Critics accuse Grace of capitalizing on personal tragedies for personal gain. Others see her as a “victims’ rights activist.” Whatever your opinion, it’s indisputable that Grace is a trailblazer in the art of outrage. Her special skill? Exploiting the public’s fascination with missing white women, upper-middle-class murder, and the highly publicized alleged tot-killer Casey Anthony. Her hyperbolic stories typically feature the young, the beautiful, and the dead.

The presentations began at noon on Friday, September 21st, but I decided to pick up my official CrimeCon badge the evening before. The lines were long, with hundreds of people waiting patiently for their official CrimeCon swag bags. Thousands of black cotton bags featuring the word “EVIDENCE” were heaped in large piles against a wall. Inside each was a copy of Nancy Grace’s book, The Eleventh Victim, and a plastic key chain with the Oxygen Network logo.

I’d be remiss not to mention the event’s kickoff party. CrimeCon Orlando opened in the grand ballroom with a soiree rock concert featuring the “Sole Purpose Band,” one of whose guitarists was Creighton Waters, the prosecuting attorney for the much-reported-on Alex Murdaugh double-murder trial in South Carolina. The party theme was neon disco. Attendees were encouraged to wear pink, purple, orange, and yellow as they partied beneath the glittering disco ball. “Fun accessories will be provided to neon-up your wardrobe,” read the party hype, “and we’ll have some great surprises for you throughout the night.” I could “mingle and dance with CrimeCon staff, speakers, and podcasters while getting to know other attendees . . . all for an additional $99 to $179.00.”

I decided to pass.

By 8 a.m. Friday, the Orlando World Center was booked to capacity. Couples and groups of women—all proudly wearing their CrimeCon badges around their necks—noisily spilled from the resort restaurants and queued up for the events. I had already noticed that most of the attendees were women. I wondered if this convention, for them, was a bonding event. After all, most women come to understand at a relatively young age that they are just one wrong decision from becoming victims. Being solo at the event put me in the minority, but I didn’t mind. Spending two and half days hearing stories about the depths of human depravity would take its toll, no doubt, so it was a relief not having to engage in small talk.

The CrimeCon grand ballroom was quickly filling up as convention-goers gathered to hear Kathy Kleiner Rubin, who forty-five years earlier had survived an attack by serial killer Ted Bundy. Two members of her Florida State University sorority had not been so fortunate. For those looking to take a break from the multitude of murder-themed presentations, there was an Oxygen TV lounge where guests could relax in a massage chair while watching episodes of “Cold Justice.” I chose instead to take in some Florida sunshine on a chaise lounge beside the resort swimming pool. There, I was treated to the sounds of happy vacationers and children playing.

My first day at CrimeCon ended with a special ticketed event featuring an evening talk with “The Behavior Panel.” According to the schedule, it was a chance to “learn from the best and test one’s skills in spotting the world’s best liars.” I’d already mastered this skill while dealing with members of the Church of Scientology.

Titled “Signals & Secrets:” A Live Deception Detective Battle,” it had a ticket price of just thirty dollars, a bargain compared to the pricey neon-themed kickoff party. The “Behavior Panel” included Greg Hartley, a former interrogator with the United States Army and author of How to Spot a Liar, and I Can Read You Like a Book; Chase Hughes, a retired US Navy Chief who claims to be an expert in human behavioral science; Scott Rouse, a behavior analyst and body language expert who holds multiple certificates in advanced interrogation training; and Mark Bowden, an English author on body language and human behavior.

I arrived half an hour before show time, hoping to secure a seat closer to the stage. But a long line had already formed; these guys were even more popular than I’d anticipated. A few friendly, outgoing participants were handing out stick-mounted face fans featuring likenesses of the Behavior Panel guys. I asked for a Mark Bowden, but they were out. I settled for a Scott Rouse. 

During the event, the panel cleverly incorporated Prince Andrew’s disastrous 2019 BBC interview. The audience, of course, was familiar with his highly publicized connection to financier and sex offender Jeffrey Epstein. Everyone was riveted to the large screen as the prince squirmed, licked his lips, shifted, and twitched. The panelists carefully analyzed each uncomfortable movement, often prompting laughter from the audience. It was a weak and flawed attempt on the prince’s part to deny the accusations of sexual assault and battery of a minor. When it comes to profiling, this was “Body Language 101.” It was as easy as “reading” a toddler trying to cover his tracks after looting a cookie jar.

The discussion was interesting, especially when the “experts” contradicted each other. Did they genuinely possess specialized scientific knowledge in nonverbal behavior, as they claimed, or was their specialty merely pseudoscience? Not surprisingly, I learned that the most skilled behavioral readers often began their education before the age of two. Typically, they grow up in an emotionally abusive family environment. Vulnerable children closely observe nonverbal behaviors such as gestures, tone of voice, and facial expressions. For a child who has been abused or neglected, reading these behaviors becomes essential for their safety and self-preservation. Will today be a good day? Or will it be a hide-under-the-bed day? Formative years immersed in dysfunction frequently lead to hypersensitivity. These toxic-family-drilled individuals need no academic certificates or specialized military intelligence training to read a room.

The Behavior Panel presentation was both entertaining and educational. It also encouraged me to attend another lecture by the panel titled “Deception Detection.” This session analyzed Alex Murdaugh’s body language while being questioned about the murders of his wife and son. It was a painful reminder that sometimes the most dangerous monsters do not hide in the shadows: they’re sitting beside you.

My benefactor—the former military intelligence officer—shares my interest in body language analysis. He also shares my desire to warn the unsuspecting public about the dangers of Scientology. It’s indisputable that the Church of Scientology, since its inception, has amassed numerous adversaries. The intelligence officer is among them, strategically working behind the scenes to dismantle the organization. In the case of Kyle’s suspicious death, he committed himself to helping expose agencies that had knowingly turned a blind eye to criminality.

One of those agencies was the FBI. As the principal investigative arm of the Department of Justice (DOJ)—headed by the Attorney General of the United States—the FBI investigates federal crimes including terrorism, white-collar criminal activity, public corruption, and civil rights violations. The DOJ’s mission is to uphold the rule of law, protect civil rights, ensure the country’s safety, and administer justice fairly. They’re supposed to do all of this without bias.

This sounds altruistic and noble, but from my experience, the FBI had plenty of bias. My experience clearly showed that no matter the evidence or the seriousness of the accusation, if the Church of Scientology was involved, the FBI would look the other way. This made me skeptical about garnering any new or valuable information at CrimeCon.

I learned everything I needed to know about the FBI in 2015 after I attended a criminal trial against twelve leaders of the Church of Scientology in Brussels, Belgium. The charges included bribery, extortion, fraud, and the unlicensed practice of medicine. However, the presiding judge ruled the case inadmissible, claiming the defendants were unjustly targeted, primarily due to their Scientology beliefs. Afterward, when I expressed my concerns to a U.S. government worker about this case, she launched into a lengthy tirade about another case she’d been monitoring.

“Let me tell you about the current state of the FBI,” she said with frustration. “I was there yesterday—paid them a visit about a case involving a doctor who had killed seven of his patients! I filed that God damn case eight years ago, and as of yesterday, that doctor is still practicing medicine.”

“The place was a disaster,” she continued. “The computers looked like relics from the ’90s, files stacked up everywhere. It was an unorganized mess.”

I wondered if my son’s case file was just one of many stacked up and forgotten in some dusty corner of a cluttered and disordered FBI office. My son, whom I loved more than life itself, wasn’t deemed a priority. To the agents of American justice, he was disposable.

It was Saturday, my last full day at CrimeCon, and it didn’t appear the enthusiasm for true crime was waning. Murder, in all its manifestations, hung over the bustling atmosphere like a black shroud. It was overwhelming. That morning, I escaped to one of the resort’s outdoor gardens for sunlight and solace. Looking over the CrimeCon itinerary, I decided to attend Camille Vasquez’s talk mainly because I knew murder wasn’t a part of the story. Vasquez and her team won fifteen million in compensatory damages for Depp. In the process, they garnered worldwide attention while exposing the failed marriage’s scandalous details. Social media was suddenly fascinated by questions like, “Who pooped in the marital bed?” (Was it Heard or their dog, Boo?) Vasquez, an assertive and attractive lawyer from California, also caught the attention of millions, bringing her fame and an invitation to speak at CrimeCon Orlando. The key points I remember from the lecture are that Vasquez and Depp had never dated, and the only love they shared was a fondness for “curiously strong” cinnamon Altoids. (Of course, even if she had dated Depp, she wouldn’t have admitted it to a packed CrimeCon ballroom. Such an admission would damage her reputation and possibly bring about sanctions from the bar.)

Just outside the Grand Ballroom stood CrimeCon’s most poignant and meaningful display: the “Wall of Remembrance.” Posted under a banner reading “Remember Their Names” were photos and brochures regarding missing persons, murder victims, cold cases, and individuals seeking justice for their loved ones. I pinned a picture of Kyle to the board.

Finally, it was time for the main event. A wave of excitement swept through the ballroom as eager fans anxiously awaited Nancy Grace, the “Patron Saint of Trauma.” She began her career working for nearly a decade as a special prosecutor with the Atlanta-Fulton County District Attorney’s office. Then came twenty years of small-screen stardom. She hosted Court TV’s Closing Arguments from 1996 to 2007 and HLN’s Nancy Grace from 2005 to 2016. Nowadays, her speculative theories have generated considerable criticism. To Grace, the verdict always seems to be “guilty.” And everyone is treated like a monster, often before all the evidence has been presented. People forget, but she’s been wrong many times.

Nancy Grace strode to the waiting lectern amid an explosion of cheers and thunderous applause. She spoke passionately about personal loss and grief, her voice rising to a crescendo as she emphasized the importance of resilience and perseverance in triumphing over tragedy. Her ability to deliver a fervent message was impressive; the exuberant crowd didn’t hesitate in letting her know.

“We’re mad as hell, and we are not going to take it anymore,” she shouted at the captivated audience. They immediately parroted the phrase back in a collective room-filling rage.

“She’s good, isn’t she?” a soft voice beside me whispered. It belonged to a woman resembling actress Thandie Newton. Was she reading my thoughts?

“She sure is,” I replied, nodding my head. “It’s umm … quite a performance.”

“And it is a performance,” Thandie responded with a hint of cynicism.  

“Are you a fan of Nancy Grace?” I asked.

“Hell no!” she replied, forcing a laugh. “Not at all! I’m here with my husband.”

“So, he’s a fan?”

“Fuck, no, he hates her,” she exclaimed.

“My husband is a prosecuting attorney in Atlanta,” she continued, “and he says Grace has messed up one too many cases . . . You can’t tell by this crowd, but not everyone likes her. She has enemies.”

As the boisterous crowd exited the auditorium, I caught a final glimpse of Thandie’s twin and her husband holding hands, her slender wrist adorned with a thick layer of delicate gold bangles. Clearly, this Atlanta prosecutor, who harbored a deep contempt for Nancy Grace, adored his wife. 

Undeniably, it was a fitting conclusion to my CrimeCon lecture-attending experience.

While there, I realized why women far outnumbered the men at CrimeCon and why they bond over true crime. The answer lies in the cold, stark reality that they are just one dark alleyway, one seemingly benevolent stranger, or one lonely highway breakdown away from becoming a victim themselves.

Since my attendance, I’ve thought a lot about true crime. There’s growing concern that the genre exploits those who have suffered. True crime can desensitize us to victims and their tragic stories, making it easy to forget they’re real people. Even in death, victims deserve the right to privacy. Often, true crime creators disregard journalistic ethics, standards, and, most certainly, the feelings of those affected by the tragedies and crimes they portray. Is there an ethical way to introduce these stories? Fans of true crime need to recognize the suffering victims and survivors have experienced is never truly in the past—it is always present, lurking just beneath the surface.

Finding the FBI at CrimeCon Orlando wasn’t difficult. They were set up behind a nondescript table in the Expo Hall, free from the plastic swag giveaways that covered neighboring tables. As for my conversation with them, that remains confidential. At least for now.

Ethics and True Crime

https://victimsofcrime.org/media-ethics-and-true-crime

https://www.reddit.com/r/podcasts/comments/1d1o9yg/moral_dilemma_of_listening_to_true_crime/

Copyright © 2026 Victoria L. Britton