SEQUESTERED Blog

A male DNA profile—lifted from Julie and Lollie’s sleeping bag and tent flap—was finally strong enough to compare. When it entered CODIS, it hit. And then came the confirmation: a direct comparison verified by every marker, with odds of error less than one in 2.6 trillion.

The Department of Justice… will move to dismiss the indictment in U.S. v. Darrell David Rice. Additional investigation has yielded evidence that makes prosecution as a capital case inappropriate at this time.

On July 9, 1997, Yvonne Malbasha pedaled along Skyline Drive, climbing through the summer heat, when a red pickup truck began tailing her. The driver leaned out the window, shouting obscenities. Then he swerved toward her.

When Julie failed to call home on Memorial Day, her family’s worry grew. By May 31, her father contacted the park. Rangers quickly found the couple’s red Toyota Tercel at Stony Man Overlook and began a series of “hasty searches” through major trails.

On June 5, 1996, headlines across the country carried the story with stark, unflinching language: “Two hikers’ throats cut, FBI reports” — Richmond Times-Dispatch “Murder Invades Idyllic World of Backpackers” — Los Angeles Times “Women’s deaths spark fear on Appalachian Trail” — Associated Press

In May 1996, before smartphones, before GPS, when road trips started with a paper map and a full tank of gas, two young women loaded their gear, their dog, and their dreams into a red Toyota Tercel in Burlington, Vermont. Twelve hours of highway lay between them and Shenandoah National Park.

On the night of September 16, 2009, 24-year-old Mitrice Richardson — a vibrant, college-educated young woman from Los Angeles — drove to Geoffrey’s Malibu, an upscale restaurant perched above the Pacific. She ordered dinner, acted erratically, and couldn’t pay her bill. Sheriff’s deputies were called. Despite her mother’s pleas to keep her overnight for safety, Mitrice was released from the Malibu/Lost Hills Sheriff’s Station just after midnight, alone, without a phone, purse

On the night of January 2, 2000, 18-year-old Zebb Wayne Quinn finished his shift at a Walmart in Asheville, North Carolina. He was headed to look at a car with a friend — a quick errand before heading home. Zebb never made it back.

On Mother’s Day 2020, 49-year-old Suzanne Morphew set out for what was believed to be a bike ride near her home in Maysville, Colorado. It was a crisp spring morning in the Rockies, the kind Suzanne loved. By nightfall, she was gone.

On the morning of September 20, 1988, 19-year-old Tara Calico set out on her regular bike ride along New Mexico’s Highway 47. It was a familiar route — a straight, quiet stretch near her home in Belen. She told her mother to come pick her up if she wasn’t back by noon. Tara never returned.

On a humid August night in 2006, Brandy Hall, a 32-year-old firefighter, mother of two, and beloved friend in her small Florida town, finished her shift at the Malabar Fire Department and climbed into her green Ford F-150. It was just after 10 p.m. She was expected home. She never arrived.

Tonetta’s disappearance shattered a community. She was a bright, creative teenager, known for her smile, her music, and her closeness with her mom.