Missing December 29th 2013

Donnie Erwin

Ten years. Ten years is a long time to be lost, a long time for a family to live with the agonizing question of “where?” That’s exactly the weight that hung over the case of Donald L. Erwin. It’s the tail end of December 2013, in the heart of the Missouri Ozarks, when Donald vanishes. He’s 59, a man with a missing left leg, a reminder of battles fought and survived. The last anyone saw of him, he was driving a silver 2002 Hyundai Elantra, nothing too flashy, just a simple car, a simple piece of someone’s daily life. And then… silence. No answers, no leads, just a hollow echo in the lives of his loved ones. Fast forward to December 2023, ten years later, a freelance videographer and drone pilot named James Hinkle, takes an interest in Donnie’s story. This is a guy who’s not afraid to dig a little deeper, to explore those forgotten corners where answers might be hiding. He’s got a drone and a hunch, a feeling that there might be more to this case than what meets the eye. James Hinkle is also a Fire Fighter, Rescue Scuba Diver. James goes on private property near the area where Donnie was last seen, and with the property owner’s permission, flies his drone over a small pond. He gets that feeling, that something is just under the surface of the water. He goes back with his kayak, and low and behold, that feeling was correct. A car was discovered under the water, a vehicle that matches Donald’s. The local sheriff’s office is called in, and Donald’s Hyundai Elantra is pulled from the pond. It’s a moment of heart-stopping clarity after a decade of darkness, and a small step in the right direction, but is Donnie in that car? The car is investigated, and the search for remains begins. The use of cadaver dogs was able to pinpoint the most probable location and divers went into the pond to retrieve the human remains. Along with the remains was a prosthetic hip that matches the type of hip Donnie had. The remains are sent to a forensic pathologist, but the family has been notified and everyone knows that Donnie has finally been found. This story is a chilling reminder that secrets can be hidden in the most unsuspecting places. And that sometimes the truth lies just beneath the surface, waiting for someone with the passion and dedication to find it. It is also a reminder that sometimes, the public is the best tool in helping solve a cold case, when a fresh set of eyes and skills can help bring closure to a grieving family.

Angela Hammond

It’s the kind of night that makes you want to pull the covers up a little higher, April 4th, 1991 in Clinton, Missouri. The clock is inching towards midnight when we find Angela Hammond, a young woman with her whole life ahead of her, standing in a dimly lit phone booth outside a Food Barn store. She’s talking to her fiancé, Rob, a simple, everyday conversation that’s about to take a chilling turn. She tells Rob she’s too tired to meet up, that she’s going to go home and take a bath, but then the mood shifts. There’s a man circling the parking lot, she says. A “filthy, bearded man” in an old truck, a detail that’s unnervingly precise. He’s parked near the booth, she tells him, got out with a flashlight, as if he’s searching for something. And then… a scream, a sudden, gut-wrenching scream that abruptly cuts the connection and sends Rob into a panic. He races towards the phone booth, only to pass a late 60s or early 70s green Ford pickup, he hears her voice shout his name, he sees a truck that matches her description, a truck with a water scene decal covering the back window, maybe a white top and some damage on the front left fender, and he chases it, but then his own car gives out. His transmission fails, and just like that, he’s lost her, lost to the night. The police find her abandoned car in the parking lot, a grim sign that whatever happened was fast and violent. Rob is questioned, understandably, he’s a suspect, but the polygraph clears him. This case takes a more sinister turn, it may be connected to two other women in Missouri that went missing in the beginning of 1991, Cheryl Ann Kenney and Trudy Darby, they too worked at convenience stores. Trudy’s story is particularly horrific, she was found raped and murdered. We can’t help but wonder, is there a connection here? Was someone systematically targeting women in Missouri? We have a composite sketch of a man, a man in coveralls with a beard and dark-colored cap, a man who may hold the answers to this horrifying abduction. This isn’t just about one missing woman. It’s about a pattern, a series of events that makes you shiver with unease, and makes you look over your shoulder. This story isn’t just about Angela Hammond, it’s about fear, and the chilling fact that there are people in this world that could be lurking anywhere at anytime, they could be in the parking lot where you work or grabbing groceries. This is a story of the fragility of safety, and a reminder to always be aware, always be vigilant.

Echo Michelle Lloyd

It’s May 10th, 2020, Mother’s Day in the small town of Edwards, Missouri, a day that should be filled with love and celebration, but for the Lloyd family, it marks the beginning of a terrifying mystery. Echo Michelle Lloyd, a 48-year-old woman, simply vanishes. It’s her daughter, Kelsey, who first raises the alarm. She travels to her mother’s house to deliver a Mother’s Day present, but gets no response. She leaves the gifts on the porch thinking that maybe her mom was just not home, but then, the next morning, still no answer to her calls. It’s that kind of silence that makes your stomach drop, that sends chills down your spine. Kelsey, worried, goes back to her mother’s home and breaks in through a window. What she finds inside is disturbing. The house isn’t ransacked, but there’s something off, something wrong. Her mother’s purse is there, with her wallet, ID, and cash, but her keys, pistol, cell phone, and medication are all missing. It’s a strange detail, the kind that makes you realize something unnatural took place. Kelsey tells Law Enforcement that there is a pile of trash and moldy food, not the way her mother would have left it. This is a woman who’s meticulous, who has OCD, that’s not like her at all. The scene suggests that someone was there, not Echo. Authorities conduct a grid search of the area, they involve fire departments, the water patrol, conservation and other volunteers. But the search finds nothing. They find no evidence that will help find Echo. The case is then turned over to the Missouri State Highway Patrol’s Division of Drug and Crime Control (DDCC). They bring in expert cavers to search the extensive cave systems in the area. They follow tips and interview people that had contact with Echo. Nothing turns up. Echo is petite, around 5’4 and 110 pounds, with brown hair and brown eyes. She has a very personal tattoo on her wrist, her children’s names – Kelsey, Kace, Kaitlyn, and Kylie – and another on her forearm that says “Let it be,”. Her family believe foul play is involved. They just can’t believe that she would just up and leave. A Facebook post from the Benton County Sheriff says that the DDCC is still actively investigating. He explains that they have followed many leads and tips, and have spent thousands of man-hours to find her. The only suspect in the case is an unnamed neighbor that was a meth user, and who was later charged with rape. It has been said that he was manipulating her, and had a romantic interest in her. This story is a reminder of the hidden darkness that can lurk in small towns, and the devastating impact that a disappearance can have on a family and community. It’s about a search for answers, the fight for justice, and the enduring hope that one day, Echo will be found.

Randy Leach

It’s April 15th, 1988, a Friday night, the kind of night when you’re young and the possibilities feel endless. Randy, a senior at Linwood High School, is headed to a pre-graduation party, a rite of passage for many teens, one last hurrah before they’re supposed to step out into the world as adults. But for Randy, that night took a dark turn. He starts his evening at 6:30 pm, leaving home to head to the party in a rural area outside of town. He stops for snacks and gas at a convenience store, catches up with some friends, and even checks on the old car he’s restoring in De Soto. This is a kid who’s got things going on, he’s busy, he’s active. He is running late to the party, he doesn’t show up until 9:30 or 10:00 pm. He’s driving his mom’s gray, four-door 1985 Dodge sedan, carrying a little bit of cash, the usual for a night out. The party itself is the typical scene of teenagers cutting loose – drugs, alcohol, the kind of revelry that comes with being on the cusp of adulthood. Witnesses said Randy was acting drunk, but no one is certain that he actually drank anything, in fact, he tells a friend that he doesn’t know what’s wrong. He disappears into the chaos of the party. Some say he left around 1:30 or 2:00 am, others say they saw him a little later, but the truth is, no one actually saw him leave. Then, just like that, he’s gone. Vanished without a trace. His parents, expecting him home by his 12:30 am curfew, wake up at 6:00 am, and find his bed empty. A frantic search ensues, they call his friends, and then they reach out to the police. Investigators arrive at the party location, but it’s been cleaned up, the evidence wiped away. There are rumors, whispers of a Satanic cult, a man claiming to have seen Randy’s body in a cave, but the police investigation turns up nothing to confirm it. Some men are arrested and then released. Then, a severed foot appears on the banks of the Kansas River, not Randy’s but another disturbing sign. A man, an acquaintance of Randy’s, one of the last people to see him, drove by Randy’s house very slowly the morning he went missing. He later died, taking whatever secrets he may have had with him. It is like a mystery written in a maze of dead ends, this case. A young man, a promising future, gone, leaving behind only questions and the painful ache of not knowing. It’s a stark reminder that sometimes, even in the midst of a party, with people all around, someone can slip through the cracks and vanish without a trace.

Linda Roberts

Okay, let’s talk about Linda L. Roberts. It’s December 23rd, 1994, the air is crisp with that pre-holiday chill, and families are gathering, maybe for a last-minute gift run, or settling in for a cozy evening. In Marshall, Missouri, a small town nestled in Saline County, Linda, a 42-year-old woman with a life marked by loss and quiet turmoil, disappears. She’s a petite woman, just over five feet tall, with a cascade of brown curls framing a face usually hidden behind metal-framed glasses. Her green eyes, the kind that can hold a lifetime of stories, are now unfocused, missing. Her brother, the one who eventually reports her missing, paints a somber picture. Linda, he says, seemed depressed, haunted by thoughts she had whispered, thoughts of taking her own life. It’s a chilling detail, one that hangs like a heavy fog over the official police report, a report filled with the stark reality of her clothing – a flowered shirt, slacks, a silver coat, and white tennis shoes – the mundaneness of the description contrasting with the mystery of her disappearance. She’s been through a lot, a divorce and the death of her grandfather and father. She also has a criminal investigation hanging over her head. The missing piece in this puzzle is a vibrant red, 1989 Oldsmobile Cutlass Ciera, her get-away car, a machine that is just as silent now as she is. There’s no evidence of a struggle, no witnesses to any foul play, just Linda and her car vanishing into the December night. It makes you wonder, doesn’t it? What does it take for someone to disappear? To seemingly step off the edge of the earth and into the void? Did the weight of her struggles finally win, or was there some other sinister force at play that caused her to vanish? It’s a case that leaves a lot of unanswered questions.