Bill Murray grants a rare interview and appears to admit, among other things, that he occasionally approaches strangers from behind on the streets of NYC, puts his hands over their eyes, and says “guess who.”

Far outside of Juarez, villagers in rural areas are trapped without supplies or protection as rival cartels attempt to starve each other out of ranch hideouts. A heavily armed convoy attempts to deliver pensions behind siege lines.

The cop says she nabbed an online sexual predator. He says he was just willing to chat whatever it took to get laid in real life. Their story, from both perspectives.

Arnold Weiss escaped Germany as a kid in 1938, leaving his family behind. He returned seven years later, now a U.S. intelligence officer tasked with tracking down fugitive Nazis. The ultimate revenge story.

A profile of Teodoro Nguema Obiang Mangue, the Malibu-dwelling, “fantastically corrupt” dictator-in-waiting of Equatorial Guinea. Teodorin, as his friends call him, is considered by U.S. intelligence to be “an unstable, reckless idiot.”

Thomas Hargrove is building software to identify trends in unsolved murders that can detect serial killers that police never knew existed.

Sheryl Waldman lived a reclusive life with her sister, Lynda, in their family’s old home. Over the years she faded from view until she vanished, and no one seemed to notice—until one cold evening last December.

Once a Red Sox hero, Curt Schilling’s loud climb towards right-wing media fame may have cost him a spot in the Baseball Hall of Fame. He doesn’t care.

Look, this is about Russia. So I think if [Robert Mueller] wants to go, my finances are extremely good, my company is an unbelievably successful company. And actually, when I do my filings, peoples say, “Man.” People have no idea how successful this is. It’s a great company. But I don’t even think about the company anymore. I think about this. ’Cause one thing, when you do this, companies seem very trivial. O.K.? I really mean that. They seem very trivial. But I have no income from Russia. I don’t do business with Russia. The gentleman that you mentioned, with his son, two nice people. But basically, they brought the Miss Universe pageant to Russia to open up, you know, one of their jobs. Perhaps the convention center where it was held. It was a nice evening, and I left. I left, you know, I left Moscow.

Christian Longo brutally murdered his familyand then posed in Mexico as a New York Times reporter named Michael Finkel. From death row, Longo asked the real Finkel to attend his execution.

“Love you when you hate us,” Rock proclaims with arms spread. “Welcome to the greatest fuckin’ show on Earth.”

Facebook was supposed to open up societies like Cambodia—but instead it has wreaked havoc on the fragile political order and destroyed opposition leadership.

As it scrambled to compete, the tech company cut tens of thousands of U.S. workers, hitting its most senior employees hardest and flouting rules against age bias.

How one of New York’s major trash haulers does business.

Barack Obama and a tradition of letter-reading.

A profile of a “49-year-old man whose father has just yelled at him,” Frank Sinatra Jr., a son living under the longest shadow.

On the lengths Mark Zuckberberg and Sheryl Sandberg have gone to protect their power.

A Q&A with Twitter’s CEO on right-wing extremism, Candace Owens, and what he’d do if the president called on his followers to murder journalists.

On life in New York with an impossible neighbor named Jared.

Ankle bracelets are promoted as a humane alternative to jail. But private companies charge defendants hundreds of dollars a month to wear the surveillance devices. If people can’t pay, they may end up behind bars.

Russia is dead set on being a global power. But what looks like grand strategy is often improvisation—amid America’s retreat.

It took only a handful of people to wrongly convict Ed Ates of murder. It took an army to free him from prison. Now comes the hard part.

No one can seem to agree on his surviving merits. He wrote like an angel, the consensus goes, except when he was writing like a malfunctioning sex robot attempting to administer cunnilingus to his typewriter.

Until recently, it was possible to believe that there was a middle way, or to be in denial that a decisive moment would come. That’s no longer the case.

Faith Hope Consolo had the entire press fooled, including us. Then a message came in.