Living alone, I’m very careful about keeping things locked. Especially at night. VST was our armed sentry, always on watch. I never worried about safety, because he had that handled. Although, two years ago, there was an event that rocked Northern Nevada to its core while robbing me of a sense of innocent safety that I’ll never get back. The Gardnerville/Reno Murders of the winter of 2019.
Vacationing at the beach when the first murder was committed, I could hardly believe the headlines. Connie Koontz, 56, was shot dead in her kitchen. She was just the first, with three more victims to follow over the next nine days. Random, innocent senior citizens were shot and killed in their own unlocked homes. A few days between each murder, with miles and counties separating the crimes, citizens felt bone-chilling fear. Things like this didn’t happen in a place where many people didn’t even lock their doors.
Connie’s big crime was hiring a gardening service. One of the day laborers was an illegal immigrant who noticed more than the weeds. Nice home, with an open garage door. He would return to take her life, sneaking in and catching her unaware and off guard in her own kitchen, as her disabled mother slept quietly in the back room. Shot dead, she would still be alive if only she’d locked her doors. If only.
He stole a few things that Connie would have happily exchanged for her life. Electronic gadgets that the murderer’s mother enjoyed receiving. Her “good, sweet boy” was always bringing home unexpected treasures for her. So thoughtful. Such a good, good boy.
A few short days later and a mile south, Sophia Renkin, 74, was killed in her home. The killer entered through an unlocked door under the cover of darkness. Sophia, startled, put up a struggle. While being shot repeatedly, she tried to escape to safety in her bedroom. Sophia was shot with in the face with a .22 caliber bullet. When that didn’t do the job, the killer shot again and again, in the face and upper torso as she fought for survival, but lost. The cowardly killer didn’t even steal anything from her. Just her life, letting himself out the same way he he’d come in.
Sophia loved antique cars and her horse. She’d planned to see friends the next day. When she didn’t answer the phone after being late, the terrifying discovery was made. Now, two women lay dead, while the communities sheltered in place, fearful of who could be next. Not a ring video or witness had seen the murderer, just a random someone out there.
This monster wasn’t through yet. Fifty miles north, three days later, in the early morning hours he struck again. Sherri David, 81, was in the kitchen when the illegal alien opened fire, killing her. Her husband, Jerry David, 81, was killed next as he dressed for the day. Again, the killer entered through an unlocked door, ambushing them.
Sadly, this piece of human debris had worked with the same gardening service at all three properties. The vile rogue snuck into the David’s unlocked travel trailer and stole the guns that would be used to kill four people days before Connie’s murder. The David’s never even knew their guns were missing.
All elderly, these people were vital members of the community. Jerry and Sherri were active members of the Reno Rodeo Association and beloved community members. In their early 80’s, they still rode their horses as often as they could. Connie was cherished as a great mom, daughter, neighbor, and vital part of her WalMart team, while Sophia was a member of three antique car clubs and a civic minded individual. Sophia was taken from the horse she rode for pleasure. Four beautiful elders were stripped from families, friends, and the communities that loved them so much.
Two years later, the confessed murderer gets his three squares a day, while lawyers fight about his mental competency for a trial. No closure for the family. No justice for the small communities that were terrorized by a common thief stealing items to sell for his next fix. No consequences for the greedy mother that waited at home for her “good, sweet boy” to bring her more gifts. We all wait for justice that may never come.
I check my door locks every single night before I close my eyes. Gates remain locked. My neighborhood is very similar to those of all four victims. One afternoon, I insisted that VST drive by each home. Needing to understand these crimes, I assumed the victims must have lived in undesirable locations. Surely this couldn’t have happened in an upscale neighborhood. I was very wrong. Neat and beautiful, the four murder sites were manicured. But, of course they were. They all hired a gardener who employed illegal day workers.
A doorbell in the night conjures up all kinds of thoughts. I enjoy a neighborhood that’s quiet and remote. The only visitors are invited. After seven, it’s rare that I have company. Sad, but true. Last night, the bell rang. Dusk was turning to dark as I shouted out “Who’s there?”
No answer.
Wondering if a neighbor needed help, I slithered to the front window, peering out the blinds to see no one. Having an alcove by the front door, danger could be lurking there.
Calling out again, I received no answer.
Becoming more brave, I went to the sidelight next to the front door to gain a better view.
There, a small note and plant sat on the front porch. Murderers don’t usually come with flowers, do they? Relieved, I opened the door and retrieved the plant and card.
Ninja Neighbor! I love her so. No murderer ringing the bell. This time. Just a little surprise from my sweet firend next door.
Crisis averted. This time.
Remember to keep things locked No matter where you live, Mayberry doesn’t exist anymore. Bad guys can be Americans just like you and me, or a desperate illegal, working hard to get his next fix of heroin. Connie, Sophia, Jerry, and Sherry would tell you the same thing, if only they could.