😱📲 “What Bryan Kohberger Did Right After the Murders: The Calls, the Texts, the Google Searches — It’s More Disturbing Than You Think”

 

The days after the brutal University of Idaho murders were a blur for the town of Moscow.

Four students — Ethan Chapin, Madison Mogen, Xana Kernodle, and Kaylee Goncalves — slaughtered in their off-campus house on King Road.

No suspect.

No murder weapon.

No motive.

Just a city suffocating under fear, confusion, and the eerie silence of a killer still walking free.

But Bryan Kohberger wasn’t silent.

Not digitally.

Investigators now reveal that Kohberger’s phone and laptop became a digital crime scene of their own — a space where paranoia met obsession, where his academic veneer unraveled, revealing a man spiraling into his own guilt or, perhaps worse, feeding off his own notoriety.

It began just hours after the killings.

Kohberger’s phone pinged off towers not far from the murder site — a chilling echo that investigators would later use to trace his movements.

But the truly disturbing part came in the form of what he did with his devices in the days and weeks that followed.

Google was his first confession booth.

Forensic analysis of his laptop shows that Kohberger began a frenzy of online activity within hours of the murders.

His search history painted a picture of someone watching himself from the outside — like a man both hiding and performing.

He Googled the murders.

Again and again.

Not just generic searches like “University of Idaho crime,” but specific phrases:

“Idaho murders update”

“Why would a killer go back to the scene?”

“How long does DNA last on a knife?”

“Can police trace cell tower data?”

“Bryan Kohberger news” — days before his arrest

Each search revealed a mind torn between fear of getting caught and a twisted curiosity in how the story was unfolding — as if he were a viewer of his own true crime series.

But it wasn’t just the searches.

It was who he was contacting.

According to data recovered from his phone logs, Kohberger made a flurry of strange calls in the days after the murders.

None to friends.

None to family.

Instead, investigators found repeated late-night calls to random numbers, short conversations, and in some cases, no one on the other end.

One source familiar with the investigation described it as “erratic dialing behavior — not someone trying to talk, but someone trying to feel like they weren’t alone.

Even more disturbing were the texts.

Kohberger reportedly sent anonymous messages — some from spoofed numbers, others from burner apps.

While the full content of those texts has been sealed, law enforcement confirmed that some appeared to be probing conversations about the case under fake identities.

Posing as a student.

Posing as a concerned local.

Posing as someone asking “innocent” questions.

One of the texts, according to a leaked affidavit, read:

“Do they think the killer might come back? Isn’t that something a psycho would do?”

The timing? Less than 48 hours after the murders.

And then came the Reddit rabbit holes.

Kohberger, a PhD criminology student, was no stranger to dark academic corners of the internet.

But in the weeks following the killings, he allegedly frequented forums discussing the case — sometimes lurking, sometimes commenting under pseudonyms.

Investigators traced activity that eerily mirrored the case details — asking questions that seemed too specific, too informed.

One comment, now deleted, raised eyebrows:

“They say he wore gloves, but didn’t take the sheath?”

This was posted before law enforcement publicly revealed the discovery of the knife sheath at the crime scene — suggesting the user knew something only the killer would.

While prosecutors haven’t confirmed if Kohberger wrote it, digital fingerprints from his laptop suggest he visited that exact thread multiple times.

Then there were the YouTube binges.

Between the hours of 2am and 5am — the same time window as the murders — Kohberger would watch endless videos on serial killers, body decomposition timelines, and legal breakdowns of how criminal cases unravel.

At one point, he searched:

“What happens if you commit a murder in another state?”

And even more unsettling:

“How long do police keep DNA evidence in cold cases?”

It was as if he was trying to prepare for a future investigation — or frantically trying to outpace the one already unfolding.

Friends from his past describe a man who was socially awkward but highly intelligent.

“Bryan was always the guy asking ‘how’ — how killers got caught, how they could’ve avoided it, how police work,” one former classmate revealed.

“I think he thought he was smarter than the system.

Until he wasn’t.

”

The digital data recovered has since become the spine of the prosecution’s case.

It’s not just circumstantial — it’s psychological.

It reveals a man not just fleeing from guilt, but dancing around it, almost daring the world to see what he’d done.

And now, with the trial looming, these digital footprints may end up being the most damning testimony of all.

Not because of what others say about him — but because of what his own hands typed, searched, clicked, and called.

There’s something uniquely horrifying about a killer who goes home and logs in.

Not to confess.

Not to run.

But to watch.

To scroll through news of the murders he committed, to read comments speculating about himself, to engage in online conversations about the tragedy he caused — as if he were both the director and the audience of his own twisted show.

Bryan Kohberger’s post-murder meltdown wasn’t loud.

It wasn’t visible to the public eye.

It didn’t involve a dramatic escape or a chilling manifesto.

It was quiet.

Digital.

Secret.

And it was all there — waiting on his phone and laptop.

The panic.

The ego.

The unraveling.

He didn’t have to confess.

His screen time did.