Dawn breaks over a quiet Costco lot, but the cart wheels echo like footsteps from hell. Hours after the screams faded, he strolls aisles stocked with normalcy—bandaging a bloody secret, eyes scanning shelves like nothing shattered.
In the fluorescent hum of suburban routine, a killer’s casual browse chills to the core—left hand hidden, Elantra idling nearby. What groceries mask a night’s gore? The footage no one saw coming, begging: How does evil shop so soundly?
The aisle of alibis exposed—watch the walk that walks free no more:
In a spine-tingling glimpse into the mind of a monster, newly released surveillance footage has emerged showing Bryan Kohberger, the convicted quadruple murderer behind the brutal stabbing deaths of four University of Idaho students, casually perusing the aisles of a Moscow-area Costco just hours after the November 13, 2022, bloodbath that terrorized the sleepy college town. The grainy black-and-white clips, timestamped to the early morning of November 14—mere hours after Madison Mogen, Kaylee Goncalves, Xana Kernodle, and Ethan Chapin were savagely slain in their off-campus home at 1122 King Road—depict the then-28-year-old criminology Ph.D. student moving with eerie composure, his left hand conspicuously tucked into his pocket as if shielding a fresh wound from prying eyes. Obtained by true-crime podcaster Gray Hughes and first aired by NewsNation on September 26, the footage—released post-Kohberger’s July 2025 guilty plea and life sentence—has ignited a fresh wave of revulsion and forensic fascination, underscoring the chilling normalcy that masked one of America’s most heinous campus killings.
The videos, culled from multiple angles inside the Moscow Costco and corroborated by cellphone pings placing Kohberger’s device in the vicinity from 4:17 a.m. to 4:45 a.m., paint a portrait of post-atrocity banality that has left investigators and psychologists alike grappling with the suspect’s psyche. In the first clip, Kohberger—clad in a dark hoodie, jeans, and sneakers—strides past towering pallets of bulk toilet paper and canned goods, his gait steady and unhurried, pausing briefly to scan a shelf of energy drinks before veering toward the pharmacy section. “It’s the casualness that creeps you out,” noted retired FBI profiler Jennifer Mata, speaking to Court TV. “No frantic pacing, no sweat— just a guy grabbing Gatorade like he’d aced a midterm, not eviscerated four lives.” A second angle catches him at the self-checkout kiosk, fumbling one-handed to scan a pack of water bottles and a first-aid kit, his left palm—later revealed in post-murder selfies as bandaged and bloodied—tucked firmly out of view. “He buys bandages for the blade hand that butchered them,” podcaster Hughes observed in his viral breakdown, which has amassed 2.3 million views on YouTube since its September 26 upload.
The footage doesn’t end at the warehouse club’s doors. Additional clips, pulled from an Albertson’s supermarket across town and a nearby coffee shop parking lot, extend Kohberger’s “morning routine” into a macabre montage. At 5:22 a.m., his white Hyundai Elantra— the vehicle that became a linchpin in prosecutors’ case via over 100 traffic cam sightings—idles aimlessly in the lot of a 24-hour Starbucks, circling twice without entering, as if steeling for normalcy. By 6:15 a.m., he’s inside the grocery store, selecting a six-pack of Red Bull at self-checkout, his transaction clocking in at exactly 4:02:17 a.m. post-murders—coinciding with the precise moment Moscow PD received the first 911 call reporting the bodies’ discovery. “The timing’s diabolical,” Latah County Prosecutor Bill Thompson remarked during a September 28 presser, his voice laced with barely contained fury. “While families shatter, he’s stocking up like it’s Black Friday.”
Kohberger’s composure in the clips has drawn stark comparisons to infamous post-crime banalities: Ted Bundy’s lakefront jogs after abductions, or Jeffrey Dahmer’s grocery runs amid his apartment’s horrors. Forensic psychologist Dr. Katherine Ramsland, consulting for the defense before Kohberger’s plea, told Fox News the footage exemplifies “the psychopath’s mask of sanity”—a dissociative calm shielding roiling chaos. “His hand concealment? Classic avoidance of tells; the wound from the Ka-Bar knife sheath left at the scene, DNA-matched to him at 5.37 octillion-to-one odds.” Selfies recovered from Kohberger’s phone, dated November 14 and released in July, show the gash—likely from Xana Kernodle’s defensive slash during the 4 a.m. frenzy—crudely taped with what appears to be athletic wrap from his WSU gym bag. The Costco stop? Futile; a membership scanner at the entrance beeps denial, forcing a sheepish retreat after a brief exchange with a greeter, captured in a wide-shot pan as he nods curtly and backs toward the exit.
The murders themselves remain a tableau of terror, etched in unsealed crime scene photos released August 8: blood-smeared walls on the third floor where Mogen and Goncalves lay entwined in fatal embrace, Kernodle’s body crumpled mid-stairs clutching her phone, Chapin sprawled in a second-floor bedroom amid shattered glass from a fall. The off-campus triplex at 1122 King Road, a student haven of pizza boxes and fairy lights, became a slaughterhouse via a sliding glass door breached around 4:02 a.m., per neighbor cams showing a flashlight-toting figure—Kohberger’s silhouette, per gait analysis—slipping in unseen. Surviving roommates Dylan Mortensen and Bethany Funke, asleep on the first floor, heard cries but froze in fear; Mortensen’s frozen glimpse of a masked intruder in bushy brows and black balaclava—Kohberger’s PhD regalia—sealed the composite sketch. The Ka-Bar sheath, buck knife absent, tumbled from Goncalves’s bed, its tan leather flap yielding the damning DNA that cracked the case wide by December 30, 2022, when Kohberger was hauled from his parents’ Pennsylvania basement in handcuffs, staring blankly as SWAT sorted his trash for fibers.
Kohberger’s path to perdition was a slow burn of academic ambition laced with alienation. A WSU criminology grad student just 10 miles from Moscow, he channeled isolation into a 4.0 GPA and TA gigs, but classmates whispered of his “creepy stares” and vegan rants veering into vegan vigilantism. Amazon searches for “butter knife sheath” days before the stabbings, cellphone pings disabling in the murder window, and a white Elantra’s 3 a.m. prowls wove the noose. His July 2, 2025, guilty plea—four counts of first-degree murder and burglary—spared the death penalty but drew four consecutive life terms plus 10 years, handed down July 23 in Boise’s Ada County Courthouse amid Goncalves family howls: “Rot in hell!” Now in solitary at Idaho Maximum Security Institution—where inmates gripe of feces-smeared walls—Kohberger’s appeals loom, his silence a void filled by footage like this.
The victims’ echoes endure. Mogen and Goncalves, 21, inseparable besties and marketing majors, were last seen at the Corner Club bar, giggling over shots before a Grub Truck stop—18-second footage showing them with a shadowy male, debunked as innocuous. Kernodle, 20, a criminal justice student, DoorDashed from her upstairs bed; Chapin, her 20-year-old frat-boy beau, crashed the girls’ night. Families, shattered, channel grief into advocacy: the Kaylee Goncalves Foundation funds campus safety cams, while Mogen’s mom pushes “Maddie’s Law” for stalking alerts. “This footage? It’s him mocking their mornings—while we bury ours,” Goncalves’s sister Alivea told NBC, her voice steel amid tears.
Public recoil ripples online. #KohbergerCostco trends at 12.4 million X posts, TikToks overlaying the clips with “Homicide” parodies—ironic nods to Kohberger’s morbid playlist—racking 180 million views before purges. True-crime reactors like Law&Crime’s Angenette Levy dissect the “hidden hand” in segments viewed 3.1 million times, while Dateline’s Keith Morrison tees a “Costco Confession?” special. Moscow, once a haven for 25,000, installed 200 new street cams post-murders, enrollment dipping 15% at UI amid “Kohberger curse” whispers.
Broader shadows loom: Kohberger’s mom Maryann texted him a local news clip on the slayings November 14—”What kind of sicko?”—oblivious to his role, per unsealed docs. His WSU TA noticed hand injuries post-murders, chalked to “lab mishaps.” As October 1’s chill grips Moscow’s maples, the King Road house—demolished March 2024—haunts anew, fairy lights long dimmed. Families light candles at makeshift memorials, yellow ribbons fluttering like the victims’ lost laughter. Thompson vows: “Footage like this? It humanizes the hunt—his normalcy our nightmare fuel.” Kohberger’s appeals grind; solitary his sentence. In the aisles’ indifferent glow—carts creaking, shelves stocked—the clips confess: evil shops unseeing, but justice scans eternal. For Mogen, Goncalves, Kernodle, Chapin—their mornings stolen, mornings mourned—the footage flickers not closure, but clarion: a killer’s cart, forever checked.