His case represents a particular pattern of postwar evasion — decades lived under a false professional identity, in a country that had no knowledge of his wartime role. Dailidė served in the Lithuanian Security Police during the German occupation, a force implicated in the persecution and killing of Jews, and was ultimately convicted in 2006 for actions tied to the Vilna Ghetto. The conviction came when he was in his eighties, illustrating how long the legal reckoning for wartime collaboration could be deferred.

His method was deliberate and patient: marry, inherit, and eliminate — then ensure the evidence never survived him. Operating without arousing sufficient suspicion for a murder conviction, Cline accumulated the equivalent of over a million dollars in today's money across eight marriages, each ending in a death certified as natural causes. The practice of cremating later victims reflected a calculated evolution in concealment, and it ultimately kept him beyond the reach of homicide charges entirely.

Operating over just a few months in 1986, Makarov targeted some of Leningrad's most vulnerable — children and an elderly woman — gaining entry through deception before carrying out attacks of unusual ferocity. His stated motivations were mundane to the point of being disquieting: financial pressure, domestic humiliation, and a curiosity about what violence felt like. It was ultimately a clerical error — a blood-stained book brought to a secondhand store — that ended a brief but brutal series of crimes.

Her victims were among the most vulnerable imaginable — infants and toddlers left in her care — and the deaths accumulated over two years before investigators connected them. A pattern obscured by misdiagnoses and a lost police note allowed the killings to continue long after the first warning signs had appeared. She ultimately confessed to three murders, citing auditory hallucinations as the compulsion, and pleaded guilty in 1982.

Operating in the Daytona Beach area over a span of roughly a decade, Hayes evaded identification for years while investigators struggled to close in on a suspect — a gap that, by DNA evidence, proved fatal for at least one more victim in 2016. His case illustrates how forensic timelines can stretch across years and jurisdictions before accountability arrives.

As commander of the Army of Republika Srpska during the Bosnian War, he oversaw campaigns that included the siege of Sarajevo — the longest siege of a capital city in modern warfare — and the massacre at Srebrenica, where more than eight thousand Bosniak men and boys were killed in what the ICTY formally determined constituted genocide. His ability to operate within a chain of political and military command, combined with years of protection by security services and family after the war's end, shaped both the scale of the atrocities and the prolonged difficulty of securing accountability. The convictions handed down in 2017 placed him among a small number of individuals found guilty of genocide by an international tribunal in the post-Nuremberg era.

What brought Madame LaLaurie to public reckoning was not investigation or confession, but a fire — and the discovery it forced upon those who responded to it. For years she had moved through New Orleans society while subjecting enslaved people in her household to prolonged abuse hidden from view. She fled to France before justice could reach her, and the mansion associated with her name remains a French Quarter landmark, its history inseparable from what was uncovered there in 1834.