Dear Rachelle

I started listening to *Dear Rachelle* expecting another true crime audiobook that would leave me numb by the 30-minute mark. Instead, I found myself gripping my phone tighter, rewinding to catch names or details I’d missed. The narration—though the performer’s name isn’t listed—is immersive in a way that feels unsettlingly intimate. There are no overacted emotional crescendos or manipulative musical cues; instead, the voice carries the weight of someone who’s done their homework and isn’t here to entertain. That said, the pacing hinges entirely on the story’s momentum, and there are moments where the legal jargon and family politics slow to a crawl. If you’re not familiar with Australian jurisdictional quirks, some tangents might feel dense, but pushing through pays off: the book’s climax—a recorded interview with a key figure—is chillingly raw and feels like the first time this story has truly been heard. My only real gripe? The production cuts out completely during one critical phone call transcript, leaving a jarring silence that disrupts the flow. Minor, but noticeable. This isn’t a book for the faint of heart, nor is it a book for those who want tidy endings. It’s for listeners who want true crime that refuses to let you turn away—and it delivers.