On a muggy June evening in 2014, the neighborhood of Wrenswood in Charleston, South Carolina, was cloaked in an oppressive stillness. The streets, lined with neatly kept homes and manicured lawns, seemed untouched by turmoil. But at the very end of a cul-de-sac stood the Robinson-Spiller house—a glaring exception. Its paint peeled from the walls, weeds overran the garden, and the windows were grimy with neglect. The house looked as though it had absorbed the tension brewing within.
William Spiller, 48, was a towering, heavyset man with a gruff demeanor. His only son, Nathan Robinson, was 28—a pale, withdrawn figure, consumed by his love for mathematics and the quiet rhythm of numbers. Their relationship was strained at best, poisoned by William’s constant ridicule of his son’s “lack of ambition.”
Everything came to a head when Nathan discovered a devastating betrayal. Years earlier, his father had taken out a loan in Nathan’s name, a debt William now refused to repay. It was a weight that had crushed Nathan’s credit, trapping him in financial ruin. Their arguments became louder, harsher, with Nathan’s voice trembling under the force of William’s booming shouts. But that June evening, after one final explosive fight, the house was eerily quiet.
The days that followed were unnervingly normal—at least on the surface. William went about his days in the living room, glued to the TV, beer in hand, ignoring Nathan entirely. Nathan, meanwhile, withdrew into himself, his mind spiraling into an abyss of cold, calculating thoughts. He had always been methodical. Now, that trait turned sinister.
One night, Nathan made his decision. While his father dozed in his recliner, the television humming in the background, Nathan approached, a kitchen knife glinting in his hand. The act was swift, brutal, and irrevocable. Yet, it was only the beginning.
In the days that followed, Nathan’s precision took over. He retrieved a power saw from the basement and set to work dismembering his father’s body. It was an arduous task; William had been a large man, weighing nearly 350 pounds. Each piece was carefully packed into plastic storage containers, bought in preparation for this grim task. The largest container, housing William’s torso, was covered with a cloth and repurposed as a TV stand in the very living room where he had spent his final moments.
For weeks, Nathan carried on as though nothing had happened. He answered text messages on his father’s phone, maintaining the illusion that William was alive and away visiting relatives in Florida. When nosy neighbors asked about the patriarch’s absence, Nathan offered convincing excuses, his voice steady despite the lies.
