Something Else Took Joan Gay Croft

She survived the tornado that destroyed her home — but something else took Joan Gay Croft.

On April 9th, 1947, the Woodward Hospital was one of the few structures still standing after a massive tornado tore through the Oklahoma plains. Survivors crowded into its basement—injured, frightened, and searching for loved ones.

Gerri and Joan

Among them were two young sisters: four‑year‑old Joan Gay and her older sister, Geri. They had been pulled from the wreckage of their home after the storm ripped it apart.

Their mother, Cleta Mae Croft, had been killed in the tornado.

Their biological father, Edwin Ernest Ralls, was not in Woodward that night. He and Cleta had divorced years earlier, and the girls had been living under the last name of their stepfather, Hutchinson Olin Croft.

Olin survived the storm but was critically injured and taken to another hospital, separated from the girls in the chaos.

The sisters were alone.

In the dim basement light, Joan clutched a doll someone had handed her. The storm had passed, but the confusion had not. Nurses moved from patient to patient. Families cried out names, hoping for answers. And in the middle of that chaos, two unidentified men walked into the room.

They asked for Joan by name.

They said they were taking her to another hospital for treatment.

No one questioned them.

No one stopped them.

And from that moment on, Joan was gone.

For nearly eight decades, her disappearance has remained one of Oklahoma’s most haunting mysteries.

Before the Storm

Before understanding how Joan vanished, we have to understand the world she lived in — and the storm that tore it apart.

Woodward was a quiet plains town where spring storms were familiar, but nothing prepared residents for what struck on April 9th, 1947.

The storm formed in the Texas Panhandle and intensified rapidly, feeding on warm, humid air sweeping north. By the time it reached Woodward, it had become a monster—nearly a mile wide, roaring like a freight train tearing through the night.

Witnesses described the sky turning a bruised green. Lightning flickered inside the funnel like a lantern trapped in a bottle. Animals grew restless. Radios crackled with static. And then the wind began to scream.

When the tornado hit, it didn’t just damage the town—it erased parts of it. Homes were lifted from their foundations. Cars were tossed like toys. Entire neighborhoods were reduced to splinters in seconds.

In the aftermath, the streets were unrecognizable. Fires burned where gas lines ruptured. Families wandered through the wreckage calling out names, hoping someone would answer.

And in the middle of this devastation were two little girls who had just lost their mother.

Joan was small for her age, with soft blonde curls and wide blue eyes. She was a bashful child — gentle, quiet, observant. She adored her older sister and carried a doll nearly everywhere she went.

It was this child — shy, sweet, and inseparable from her sister — who was swept into the chaos of the storm’s aftermath.

The Night Everything Broke

Inside the hospital, the storm’s violence still echoed. Windows had shattered. Dust drifted through the air like snow. The basement—normally a storage area—had become a refuge for dozens of injured survivors.

Joan sat on a cot with her legs dangling, her dress torn, her hair tangled with debris. A long splinter of wood had pierced her leg during the tornado, and nurses had carefully removed it, wrapping the wound in makeshift bandages. Even injured, she held herself with that small, careful posture — shoulders rounded, hands tucked close to her chest. When someone placed a doll in her arms, she clung to it as if it were the only familiar thing left in the world.

Family accounts say Joan repeatedly asked for her mother.

She didn’t know Cleta had died in the storm.

Nurses moved quickly. People whispered prayers. Others cried openly. The air smelled of wet earth and antiseptic.

It was in this atmosphere—raw, chaotic, and disorienting—that the two men appeared.

They asked for Joan by name.

Not “the little girl.”

Not “the child in the dress.”

They asked for Joan.

They said they were moving her to another facility.

They did not take her sister.

They did not show identification.

They were not wearing uniforms.

They carried no medical equipment.

They walked out with her on foot.

Geri, injured and unable to follow, watched her sister walk away with the men. She later recalled Joan glancing back at her — a small, confused look over her shoulder.

It was the last time anyone in the family saw her.

The Search in the Rubble

The tornado didn’t just complicate the investigation—it made it nearly impossible.

Records were destroyed.

Communication lines were down.

Roads were blocked.

Hospitals were overwhelmed.

And the storm struck during a nationwide telephone operator strike. With lines severed and operators scarce, communication across Oklahoma slowed to a crawl. Calls couldn’t be routed. Hospitals couldn’t confirm transfers. Families couldn’t reach one another.

If the phones had been working, Woodward might have received a warning about the tornado. Meteorologists in Amarillo had tracked the storm, but with operators on strike, the alerts never reached the town.

No sirens.

No calls.

No chance for families like the Crofts to take shelter.

In that silence, Joan’s trail went cold even faster.

Many children were separated from their families. Some were transported to makeshift shelters without proper documentation. Volunteers moved freely through the hospital, some in uniform, others in plain clothes.

In that environment, it wasn’t unusual for strangers to carry injured people to different locations. The chaos created the perfect conditions for Joan’s disappearance to go unnoticed until it was too late.

Investigators faced enormous challenges:

Conflicting witness descriptions

No documentation of a transfer

No confirmed sightings

A disaster zone with thousands displaced

The case grew colder with each passing decade.

The Children Without Names

As debris was cleared, workers found the bodies of several unidentified children. With no surviving relatives to claim them and no records left intact, they were buried quietly in Woodward — small graves for small lives.

Joan’s aunt personally examined two of the unidentified children to make sure neither was Joan.

Neither was.

Some have suggested that one of the unidentified children might have been her. But the Croft family never believed that.

Those children were found in the wreckage.

Joan walked out of the hospital alive.

That difference is everything.

What Could Have Happened

With so few confirmed facts, only possibilities remain:

Mistaken Identity

Abduction by Someone Connected to the Family

Adoption Under a False Identity

Human Trafficking (Historical Context)

Death During the Chaos

Each theory explains something — but none explain everything.

The men asked for Joan by name.

They ignored her sister.

They carried no equipment.

They left no trail.

The truth remains elusive.

The Family Left Behind

For the Croft and Ralls families, the loss was devastating. Cleta was gone. Joan was gone. And Geri, who witnessed the moment her sister was taken, carried the memory for the rest of her life.

Their stepfather, Olin, searched for answers. Their biological father, Edwin Ralls, lived into the 1970s, long after the tornado, but never saw his daughters again.

The family fractured not by choice, but by disaster.

Still No Answers

Despite renewed interest over the years, the disappearance of Joan Gay Croft remains unsolved.

No confirmed sightings.

No verified identity matches.

No remains.

No definitive explanation.

The case endures because it sits at the intersection of disaster, confusion, and human vulnerability.

The Echo That Never Fades

Some mysteries fade with time.

Joan’s never did.

She survived the storm that destroyed her home — the storm that took her mother, the storm that left her and her sister alone in a basement full of strangers.

But the tornado wasn’t what took her.

Something else did.

And as the days that followed were swallowed by broken phone lines, a nationwide operator strike, and a town cut off from the outside world, the silence around Joan’s disappearance only deepened.

Decades later, the question still hangs over the town like a shadow that refuses to lift:

If the storm didn’t take Joan Gay Croft…

then who did.

Where the Desert Keeps Its Secrets: The Disappearance of Daniel Robinson

 

Where the Desert Keeps Its Secrets: The Disappearance of Daniel Robinson

By Robin Swan

Opening Reflection

The desert remembers everything — except the people it takes.

On a blistering June morning in 2021, a young geologist named Daniel Robinson drove away from his worksite and vanished into the vast, sun‑struck silence of the Sonoran Desert. Nearly a month later, his Jeep was found overturned in a ravine, his belongings still inside, but Daniel himself was gone.

No footprints.

No blood.

No trace.

Just a wrecked vehicle, a sealed phone, and a mystery the desert refuses to give back.

[Daniel Robinson, missing since June 23, 2021. His Jeep was found — but he was not.]

A Young Man Drawn to the Desert

Daniel Robinson was born on January 14, 1997, in South Carolina. He entered the world without his lower right arm, but those who knew him describe a young man who refused to be limited by anything.

Friends remember him as gentle, curious, and quietly determined.

“Daniel was the kind of person who would drop everything to help you,” one friend said. “He was loyal to the core.”

[Daniel standing at the edge of a canyon — drawn to the desert’s quiet power.]

Daniel Robinson: A Portrait

Daniel pursued geology because it challenged him — long days in the field, rugged terrain, physical demands that would have discouraged many others. He adapted to everything with quiet resilience.

He also had an artistic side. He played the French horn, an instrument that matched his steady, thoughtful nature.

Coworkers described him as soft‑spoken, intelligent, and deeply observant.

“He noticed things other people missed,” a former classmate said. “He saw beauty in places most people overlooked.”

He was 24 years old — young, hopeful, and building a life he was proud of.

A life he never got the chance to finish.

[Daniel Robinson — geologist, musician, and son. A quiet presence with a determined heart.]

Physical Description

Daniel Robinson is a young Black man with a medium complexion, slender build, and athletic frame. He was born without his lower right arm, a detail that makes him immediately recognizable. He stands 5 feet 8 inches tall and weighs approximately 150 pounds. Daniel keeps his hair short and typically wears practical clothing suited for fieldwork in the desert. His expressive eyes and warm smile reflect both his gentle personality and quiet resilience — a young man who moved through the world with determination and grace.

[Daniel exploring the outdoors — resilient, curious, and always seeking what lies beneath the surface.]

The Last Morning

On June 23, 2021, Daniel arrived at a remote job site near Sun Valley Parkway and Cactus Road. He was there to conduct a hydrology survey — routine work for him.

But that morning, something felt different.

A coworker later said Daniel seemed unusually quiet and distracted.

“He wasn’t himself,” the coworker recalled. “He seemed distant, like something was weighing on him.”

Around 9 a.m., Daniel got into his blue Jeep Renegade and drove away — without explanation.

“It was strange,” the coworker said. “He just got in his Jeep and left.”

He was never seen again.

When His Family Realized Something Was Wrong

Daniel’s father received a call that evening saying Daniel hadn’t returned home.

“When I got that call, I knew something was wrong,” David Robinson said. “My son always checked in.”

Daniel’s sister went to his apartment that night. His car wasn’t there. His lights were off. Nothing was disturbed.

By the next morning, the family knew something was wrong.

The Days Before: A Message and a Misunderstanding

In the week before his disappearance, Daniel had been communicating with a young woman named Katelyn, whom he met while delivering Instacart groceries. Daniel believed they were in a relationship. She told police they were not.

On June 22, Daniel sent her a final text message — the last confirmed words we have from him:

“The world can get better, but I’ll have to take all the time I can or we can, whatever to name it.”

The Last Conversation With His Father

The night before Daniel disappeared, he spoke with his father on the phone. It was warm, easy, and reassuring.

“He sounded good. Normal,” David said. “There was nothing in his voice that made me think something was wrong.”

And importantly, Daniel had no history of mental illness.

“He wasn’t in crisis,” his father said. “He wasn’t that kind of kid.”

It was the last time he ever heard his son’s voice.

[Daniel’s smile — warm, steady, unforgettable. His absence leaves a silence that echoes.]

The Jeep in the Ravine

For nearly a month, there was nothing.

Then, on July 19, 2021, a rancher found Daniel’s Jeep overturned in a ravine about four miles from the worksite.

Inside the Jeep were Daniel’s wallet, phone, and keys.

But there was no blood.

No footprints.

No sign that anyone had walked away.

The rancher later said:

“It didn’t look like someone had just wrecked and walked off. It looked like it had been sitting there.”

Investigators found several of Daniel’s clothes scattered near the Jeep. Even more unsettling, one of his boots was discovered underneath the overturned vehicle.

[Daniel’s Jeep as it was discovered: overturned, intact, and impossibly clean. No blood. No footprints. No sign of escape.

The Unopened Water + Clothing Mystery

Daniel had an unopened case of water inside the Jeep.

“Nobody walks into that desert without water,” a search volunteer said. “It doesn’t make sense.”

Equally baffling was the clothing left behind. Why would Daniel strip down in the desert, leaving his shirt, pants, and even one of his boots behind?

Nothing about the environment, the weather, or Daniel’s known behavior explains why he would abandon both water and clothing — two things no one willingly parts with in the Sonoran Desert.

The Search That Found Nothing

Helicopters swept over ravines, washes, and open desert.

Teams on foot combed through the rugged terrain.

“We covered that ravine,” one volunteer said. “The Jeep wasn’t there.”

Despite extensive efforts, nothing was found — not a footprint, not a trail, not a single sign of Daniel.

Forensic analysis of the Jeep revealed:

no blood

no touch DNA

no biological evidence at all

“For a crash that violent, you’d expect something,” an investigator said. “But there was nothing.”

[Search teams investigating a desert structure near Buckeye, Arizona. The terrain hides more than it reveals.]

A Ravine Already Searched

Search teams had already covered the ravine where the Jeep was eventually found.

Yet nothing was discovered there during earlier searches.

The fact that the Jeep appeared in a location that had supposedly been cleared only deepened the questions surrounding when — and how — it actually arrived in that ravine.

Bodies Found in the Desert — But None Were Daniel

As searches expanded, investigators and volunteers made grim discoveries: multiple sets of human remains, none of which belonged to Daniel.

The Sonoran Desert is a place where the missing are often found by accident — migrants, victims of violent crime, and people who vanished without a trace.

Search teams described the landscape as unforgiving, a place that hides more than it reveals.

A Region Riddled With Cartel Activity

The area where Daniel disappeared is also known for something darker. Locals, ranchers, and even law enforcement have acknowledged that the remote stretches west of Buckeye are active corridors for cartel trafficking — routes used for drugs, weapons, and human smuggling.

It is a region where criminal activity often unfolds far from public view, where vehicles appear and disappear without explanation, and where violence leaves few witnesses.

While there is no confirmed connection between Daniel’s disappearance and cartel operations, the environment itself adds a chilling layer of context.

In a desert where so many bodies have been found, the fact that none of them were Daniel’s only deepens the mystery.

The Black Box: A Mechanical Witness

The Jeep’s Event Data Recorder revealed something startling:

The Jeep had accelerated before plunging into the ravine.

There was no braking.

No swerving.

No attempt to avoid the crash.

Crash Data Findings: The Most Haunting Contradiction

Crash data showed that the Jeep’s airbag deployed during a prior impact — and after the airbag deployed, the vehicle was driven an additional 11 miles.

“That’s not normal,” a private investigator said. “Someone drove that Jeep after the crash event.”

The data also showed multiple attempts to restart the engine after the crash.

But the most chilling detail:

The person who drove those 11 miles left no trace behind.

The Cellphone Left Behind

Daniel’s phone was found inside the Jeep, intact and untouched.

Private investigators later found irregularities in the phone’s activity log — signs that someone may have attempted to access it after the Jeep was already in the ravine.

There were also irregularities on Daniel’s computer, suggesting access or attempted access after he went missing.

“Someone interacted with his digital life after he was gone,” a PI said. “That’s deeply concerning.”

Two Clues, Two Stories

The Jeep’s black box and Daniel’s cellphone tell two different stories:

The black box suggests motion, force, and intent.

The digital activity suggests interruption, removal, or someone else stepping in.

Together, they form the central contradiction of the case:

The Jeep was driven into the ravine with purpose — but the person who should have been driving it left no trace.

The Evidence Returned

Months after Daniel vanished, police returned several pieces of evidence from the Jeep directly to his father.

“It felt like they were closing the case around me,” David said. “I’m not ready to accept that.”

He keeps the evidence sealed, untouched, stored in his shed — preserved like relics of a story that still refuses to resolve.

David has also spoken about concerns regarding Daniel’s apartment — items out of place, digital traces that didn’t match Daniel’s routines, and timing that didn’t align with the disappearance.

A Father Who Refuses to Stop Searching

No one has fought harder for answers than Daniel’s father.

“No father should have to search alone,” he said. “But I’ll keep going until I bring my son home.”

A retired Army veteran, he moved to Arizona and began organizing his own searches when official efforts slowed. He has walked miles of desert terrain, hired private investigators, and kept his son’s name alive long after media attention faded.

Timeline of Events

June 22, 2021 — Daniel sends his final text message.

June 23, 2021 (morning) — Arrives at worksite; coworker notes unusual behavior.

June 23, 2021 (9 a.m.) — Daniel drives away from the job site.

June 23 (evening) — Family notified he has not returned home.

June 23 (night) — Sister checks his apartment; he is not there.

June 24–July 18 — No sightings, no evidence, no activity.

July 19, 2021 — Jeep found overturned in ravine; belongings inside.

July 2021–2025 — Ongoing searches, private investigations, digital anomalies discovered, evidence returned to father.

Major Theories

1. Voluntary Walk‑Away

Doesn’t fit: phone left behind, no footprints, violent crash, no mental health history.

2. Accident + Disorientation

Doesn’t fit: no blood, no tracks, acceleration before impact.

3. Foul Play

Fits some evidence: acceleration, no trace of Daniel.

Unproven: no confirmed third party.

4. Staged Crash

Fits: lack of evidence at scene.

Speculative: no official confirmation.

5. Heat‑Related Fatality

Doesn’t fit: no remains found despite extensive searches.

Inconsistencies

Jeep accelerated before impact.

Airbag deployed during a prior impact, yet the Jeep was driven 11 more miles.

Crash data shows no braking, no swerving, no evasive action.

Multiple engine‑restart attempts recorded after the crash.

No biological evidence in a violent crash.

No blood found anywhere in or around the Jeep.

No touch DNA recovered from the Jeep’s interior.

No footprints or drag marks.

Phone, wallet, keys left behind.

Clothes found at the scene.

One of Daniel’s boots found under the Jeep.

Unopened case of water left behind.

Why would he strip down in the desert?

Helicopter and ground searches found nothing.

Ravine had been searched before the Jeep appeared.

Evidence returned to family.

26‑day gap with no trace.

Unexplained phone activity after the crash.

Irregular access to Daniel’s computer after he went missing.

Signs someone may have entered his apartment afterward.

Jeep damage inconsistent with the ravine crash site.

No history of mental illness.

Bodies found in the desert — but none were Daniel’s.

Key Unanswered Questions

Why did Daniel leave work so abruptly

Why did the Jeep accelerate into the ravine

Did Daniel ever reach the crash site

Was the Jeep staged

Why was evidence returned

What happened in the 26‑day gap

Why has no trace of Daniel been found

Who attempted to access Daniel’s phone after the crash

Who accessed his computer after he disappeared

Who, if anyone, entered his apartment after he went missing

Where did the Jeep actually crash

How did a boot end up under the Jeep

Why was there no blood or touch DNA in a violent rollover

Why did earlier searches miss the ravine entirely

Why would Daniel abandon water and clothing in the desert

Who drove the Jeep 11 miles after the airbag deployed

What We Still Don’t Know

Despite searches, private investigators, digital forensics, and national attention, the case remains suspended in uncertainty.

The desert is vast.

But the silence around this case is even larger.

Somewhere within those miles of sun‑struck emptiness lies the truth of what happened to Daniel Robinson — a truth that has not yet chosen to surface.

Author’s Note

By Robin Swan

I wrote this piece because Daniel’s story deserves more than silence. Cases like his often slip out of the public eye long before the truth is found, and families are left to carry the weight alone. My hope is that by telling his story with care, clarity, and respect, we keep the light on a young man who should never be forgotten.

If this story moved you, please share it.

Awareness is sometimes the only tool we have to push a stalled mystery forward.

Missing Frame — The Jean Spangler Story

Hollywood has always been good at vanishing acts. Stardom flickers into obscurity. Names are etched in sidewalk stars, then stepped over. But in October 1949, one woman didn’t just fade from the spotlight—she disappeared entirely.

Los Angeles, 1949. The city was a furnace with diamond teeth. 

“You want a name in lights? First, they’ll carve it in shadows. I learned that fast.”

The air smelled like exhaust and gardenia. Jean Elizabeth Spangler—5’6”, striking, 26 years old—had the kind of face directors remembered. Long dark hair, curled soft at the edges. Green-hazel eyes full of dare. Lips curled into a half-smile like she already knew your secret.

She wasn’t famous. Not yet. But she lived on the fringes of fame—the chorus line, the party crowd, the second glance on a studio lot. A dancer at Florentine Gardens. Extra work in Technicolor dreams: *When My Baby Smiles at Me*. *Young Man with a Horn*. You might’ve seen her. One blink in a wide shot. She moved like liquid joy.

Her life wasn’t some starlit fantasy. Behind the makeup and pasted-on grins, she was a single mother to five-year-old Christine. Divorced from Dexter Benner—a man who didn’t take losing custody lightly. Jean had clawed her way to independence: living with her mother Florence and sister-in-law Sophie, dodging bills, sewing hope into every hemline.

But she made space for fun. Friends said she was flirtatious, warm, quick with a laugh. Lipstick that left ghosts on coffee cups. Fast talk and louder laughter.

“People remember me smiling, and that’s fair. But I had grit, too. You don’t survive in this town on charm alone.”

**October 7, 1949 — The Last Known Day**

That afternoon, Jean slipped out of her Park La Brea apartment. Told Sophie she was meeting her ex-husband about child support, then off to a night shoot. Winked as she left, like she knew something the rest of us didn’t.

She phoned later to say she’d be working late.

But the Screen Extras Guild confirmed—Jean wasn’t scheduled to work that night.

She simply vanished.

**Griffith Park, October 9, 1949**

 “They say the city never sleeps, but the park does. It dreams in silence. That’s where they found my purse—like a whisper left behind.”

Two days later, a groundskeeper named Henry Angu spotted her handbag at the Fern Dell entrance of Griffith Park. The strap was torn—violently, or suddenly. Inside were her ID, compact, lipstick… and one note.

 “Kirk: Can’t wait any longer. Going to see Dr. Scott. It will work best this way while mother is away,”

It ended with a comma. As if she’d meant to come back to it. As if someone—or something—cut her off.

Police ruled out robbery—her sister-in-law said Jean hadn’t left with any money. More than 100 volunteers and 60 officers combed the 4,000-acre park.

They found nothing.

Well—nothing but a denim jail uniform, half-buried in the soil. Unrelated, they said.

But eerie.

 “They said I liked to flirt with danger. Maybe I did. But I never thought it would flirt back.”

Jean had been seen with two men before she vanished: **Davy “Little Davy” Ogul** and **Frank Niccoli**. Enforcers in Mickey Cohen’s crime syndicate. Both under indictment. Both dangerous.

And both—gone.

Ogul vanished on October 9, two days after Jean.  

Niccoli had disappeared earlier—his car keys found in a sewer.

People said they saw Jean with them in Palm Springs. In Vegas. One El Paso hotel clerk swore she checked in with the two men. Border agents thought she crossed into Mexico.

But there was no paper trail. No receipts. Just traces. Just shadows.

“They said I got around. Maybe I did. But I wasn’t careless. I was curious. There’s a difference.”

That note—"Kirk… Dr. Scott…" It echoed louder than any scream. It was Jean’s handwriting. It was unfinished.

Police interviewed every Dr. Scott in Los Angeles. No one admitted to knowing her. Not officially.

But L.A. has always had two maps. One you read. One you whisper.

In 1949, abortion was illegal—and terrifying. Women turned to backroom clinics. Retired med students. Strangers with dirty instruments.

Jean’s friends said she was three months pregnant. She hadn’t named the father. But she had said: “I’m going to take care of it.”

There were rumors. A man called “Doc” who worked the Sunset Strip. A fixer in the shadows.

But no one ever found him. Maybe he vanished when Jean did.

 “I wasn’t reckless. I was careful. But when you’re a woman in 1949 with a secret, your choices shrink fast.”

#### 🔪 *Botched Procedure*

She died during the abortion. The doctor panicked. Disposed of her body and planted the purse as a distraction.

#### 🎭 *Staged Disappearance*

Was the note a red herring? A final act? But why write it in her own purse—unless she meant for it to be found?

#### 💣 *Mob Involvement*

If Jean was pregnant by someone powerful—someone connected—was it all arranged? And when it went wrong… was silence the only outcome?

Despite the leads, "Dr. Scott" was never found. No one charged. Nothing confirmed.

Jean's mother, Florence, said a man named “Kirk” had picked her up before. Always stayed in the car.

The city moved on. But Christine waited.

 “They kept looking for me. In diners. In border towns. In the faces of strangers. I became a rumor with lipstick.”

The years that followed weren’t silent—they *rattled*. Sightings, whispers, near misses.

 A gas station attendant in Central California saw a distressed woman mouth:  

 “Have the police follow this car.”  

  The man drove off. The police never found them.

In El Paso, a customs agent swore Jean checked in with Ogul. Hotel staff confirmed her likeness. But there were no names in the ledger.

A 13-year-old girl in North Hollywood said she saw Jean in a car with an older man.  

 “She looked nervous,” she said.  

  The tip went cold.

 “I became a face in the fog. A name whispered in diners. A question no one could answer.”

 “It’s funny. They try to solve me like a puzzle, but I was never the kind with edges that fit.”

Even now—75 years later—these are the dominant theories:

#### 🧬 1. *The Secret Pregnancy*

The botched abortion theory remains the strongest. But there’s no body. And no “Dr. Scott.” 

However, there was Kirk. Jean had recently worked as an extra on the film Young Man with a Horn, alongside rising star Kirk Douglas. He later claimed he barely knew her. But the tabloids had questions. Was "Kirk" in the note him?

#### 🕴️ 2. *Mob Retaliation or Escape*

She fled—or was silenced. Ogul vanished too. The connection runs deep.

#### 👔 3. *The Ex-Husband*

Jean told her family she was meeting **Dexter Benner** that night. He denied it. His wife backed him.  

Benner had motive. He hated losing custody. After Jean disappeared, he got their daughter—and fled the state.

Just... plausibility.

#### 🧠 4. *The Black Dahlia Echo*

Two young starlets. Two unsolved disappearances. Both in Hollywood’s orbit.  

Coincidence? Or something colder?

#### 🧤 5. *Voluntary Disappearance*

Could she have staged it? Started over?

She had no funds. No passport. No one heard from her again. And she loved Christine fiercely.

 “If I ran, it wasn’t away—it was toward something.  

If I stayed, it wasn’t willingly.”

### 🎬 *A Cold Case Still Warm*

Jean Spangler’s case remains officially **open** in Los Angeles. No remains. No suspects. No closure.

 “Maybe I wasn’t meant to be solved,” she might’ve said.  

 “Just… remembered.”

Betrayed by the Badge: The Disappearances of Felipe Santos & Terrance Williams.

Felipe Maximino Santos was humble and hardworking, and his hobbies included basketball and soccer. He spoke fluent Spanish and limited English. He was born on January 1st, 1979, in Oaxaca, Mexico and was the second of five brothers.

Around the year 2000, Felipe moved to Florida and started working as an undocumented immigrant in the farm fields and construction sites. Most of his salary went back to his family.

In May 2003 Felipe's wife had given birth to a daughter. He loved being a father, and he didn’t go out much. He was most often seen going to and from work or the laundromat. Felipe's brother Salvador wrote that “His dreams were to get ahead, to have a home where he lived with his family.”

On October 14, 2003, 24-year-old Felipe woke up not feeling well. His wife told him to stay home from work, but he left at 6:30 am anyway. He was driving with two of his brothers to work at a concrete and masonry company when his white Ford Tempo collided with a Mazda Protege near the Green Tree Shopping Center, at the intersection of Airport-Pulling and Immokalee roads in North Naples. Afterwards, Felipe and the Mazda’s driver, Camille Lach, pulled into a gas station parking lot. Lach told an investigator that one of Felipe's brothers offered her money if she wouldn’t call the police. Lach called the police anyway.

Collier County sheriff’s deputy, Corporal Steven Henry Calkins, was dispatched to the scene. He arrived at 6:55 a.m. and quickly determined that the crash that caused minor damage had been Felipe's fault. Felipe had no driver's license and no insurance. Calkins cited Santos for reckless driving and driving without a license or insurance and placed him in his patrol car and drove away. Felipe has never been seen since.

Later in the afternoon, Felipe's construction foreman contacted the Collier County jail so his brothers could post bail, but he was told that Felipe had never been brought into either of the county jails. Calkins claimed that he changed his mind about the arrest, because Felipe was "polite and cooperative". "I decided to issue him citations for the offenses instead of taking him to the jail… I didn’t want to leave him by his car, ‘cause I was afraid he was gonna drive off, as I’ve seen in the past. Um, so I went down just a few blocks away to the Circle K store located on Immokalee Road and Winterview Drive. Once there, I brought the driver outside and we talked, and I issued him his citations and I gave him a copy of the crash report and I gave him back his car keys and I explained to him not to drive his car anymore until he could get a valid driver’s license."

Lach contradicted that report, stating that Calkins was agitated about Felipe's lack of documentation. "He just stated that he was tired of pulling people over that didn't have licenses."

There was no evidence that Felipe ever arrived at the Circle K. Calkins' whereabouts after leaving the site of the accident was uncertain for nearly two hours. It was also uncertain why Calkins would have driven him there. Felipe and his brothers weren’t far from work, and their foreman was on the way to pick them up.

Felipe's family started calling hospitals. They also wondered since Felipe was undocumented, that maybe he’d been picked up by immigration authorities.

On October 29, two weeks later, after Calkins submitted his incident report, Felipe's family filed a missing person's report, as well as a complaint against Calkins. 

The sheriff’s office opened an internal-affairs investigation and assigned it to Sgt. Doug Turner to the case. On November 4, Turner interviewed Calkins. Turner said that he had found Calkin's story a little odd. Turner wondered why Calkins didn’t take him to jail and to the Circle K instead. 

On November 27th, a judge issued a bench warrant for Felipe after he failed to appear in court. The same day Capt. Jim Williams reviewed the internal-affairs investigation cleared Calkins of any wrongdoing. He wrote "I can find no basis for linking Cpl. Calkins with the alleged disappearance of Santos … I believe that Calkins’s actions in this situation were reasonable, lawful and proper." Felipe's wife, Apolonia Cruz-Cortez, has questioned the quality of the investigation into the disappearance, citing the fact that she had not been interviewed by investigators.

On December 2, Calkins was exonerated of "carelessness in duty performance" in the disappearance of Felipe Santos.

Terrance Deon Williams was an easy going and quiet man who liked reading about Socrates. He was born on January 17th, 1976, in Chatanooga, Tennesse to Marcia Williams. Marica was 17 when she had Terrance, so she basically grew up with him. He was her little buddy, and they would do pretty much everything together.

When Terrance was a teenager himself, he became a father and would go on to have four children by four different women.

In the 1990's Terrance was charged with trespassing and spent time in prison for aggravated robbery.

In 2001, Marica moved to Naples, Florida and Terrance came along with her at got a job in construction and as a cook at Pizza Hut in Bonita Springs. He also moved in with Jason Gonzalez who was a co-worker of Marica's.

Terrance’s young son Tarik lived nearby with Marcia. Terrance and Tarik played video games and went to the mall together, and Terrance regularly cut Tarik’s hair. He was a skilled barber who dreamed of opening his own shop. 

On Sunday January 11th, 2004, 27-year-old Terrance attended a work party at a friend's house.

Monday, Terrance was driving to work in his 1983 Cadillac. He was due at work at Pizza Hut at 10.a.m. when a patrol car with its lights flashing pulled up behind him. Terrance pulled into a parking space at the Naples Memorial Gardens cemetery. He didn't have a license due to it being suspended for driving under the influence he also didn't have proper registration. 

Jeff Cross, a family service counselor, was standing on the porch of an administrative building at the cemetery as he watched Terrance and sheriff's deputy Steve Calkins get out of their vehicles. The deputy then patted Terrance down. Terrance kept patting his pockets and putting his hands in the air, making it clear he didn’t have a driver’s license. Calkins put Terrance in the back of the patrol car and drove away.

Sometime after noon that day, the Calkins returned to the cemetery to have the Cadillac towed away. At 12:49, he placed a recorded call to dispatch. It was answered by Cpl. Dave Jolicoeur, a patrol deputy who was filling in on the dispatch desk. 

Calkins: "Yes, this is One Alpha 30 North Naples could you run a VIN for me, please?"

Dispatch: "For 30 bucks. You gotta give me 30 bucks first."
Calkins: "How about 20?"
(Laughter)

(Inaudible)

Calkins: "I got a homie Cadillac on the side of the road here. Signal 11, signal 52, nobody around."(Signal 11- abandoned, and Signal 52-disabled.)

Calkins: "The tag comes back to nothin’, it’s a big old white piece of junk Cadillac,” Calkins said. “I’m towin’ it."

Calkins: "It’s gonna come back to one of the brothers up in Fort Myers."

(LAUGHTER)

Dispatch looked up the number in a database and told Calkins the vehicle had no assigned registration. 

(LAUGHTER)

Dispatch: "It’s a homes’ car."

Calkins: "We just drive it, man."

Dispatch: "We don’t follow no rules, sucka."

Calkins: "We just be driven' it, man."

Dispatch asked where the car was, the deputy said it was at the cemetery at the corner of Vanderbilt and 111th.

Calkins: "Maybe he’s out there in the cemetery. He’ll come back and his car will be gone."

At 1:12 p.m., Calkins called to ask for warrants check on Terrance D. Williams and said the date of birth was April 1st, 1975. It was not Terrence's real date of birth; it was a false one that he would sometimes give the police when he was in a jam. After this call, Calkins was unaccounted for nearly an hour; this period may actually be closer to two hours, as Calkins' claims of other activities are not corroborated by any documentation.

The next day Gonzalez woke up and looked at his phone and realized that he had numerous missed calls from Terrance. Terrance never returned home, and his mother hadn't heard from him either. Marica had a bad feeling and went to Collier County to report Terrance missing. They told her that he was an adult and that he was free to do what he wanted to do and shrugged her off.

Gonzalez called every hospital and police department, but Terrance was nowhere to be found. Terrance's family called every place they could think of and one of those places was a tow company. It turned out that Terrance's car had been from Naples Memorial Cemetery after obstructing traffic and the officer that had it towed was Deputy Steve Calkins of the Collier County Sheriff's Department.

Marica went to the cemetery to talk to the workers. They told her that a Calkins had pulled Terrance over and had put him in the back of the cruiser and drove away with him. The name on the name tag was Steve Calkins. Before Calkins drove away, he asked the cemetery employees if he could leave the Cadillac in the lot. Calkins was witnessed returning to the cemetery between fifteen minutes and an hour later and moving the Cadillac from a parking spot to the side of the road. The car keys were found on the ground beside the car.

Marica had a friend that was a notary and had her come to the cemetery and have the workers sign sworn avadavats of what they saw. She then went to the sheriff's department and told them that she had proof that Terrance had been picked up and put in the back of a police cruiser. Dispatcher Kathy Maurchie called Calkins and asked him if he remembered having towing Terrance's car.

Kathy Maurchie: "Steve."

Calkins: "Yeah."

Kathy: "I hate to bother you at home on your day off, but this woman’s been bothering us all day. [LAUGHS] You towed a car from Vanderbilt and 111th on Monday? A Cadillac? Do you remember it?"

Calkins: "No."

Kathy: (PAUSE) "Do you remember — she said it was near the cemetery."

Calkins: (PAUSE) "Cemetery."

Kathy: "Anyway, the people at the cemetery are tellin’ her you put somebody in the back of your vehicle and arrested him, and I don’t show you arresting anybody."

Calkins: "I never arrested nobody."

Kathy: "That’s what I thought. Okay."

Calkins: "I gotta think about this one for a while."

Kathy: "But you’re sure no one was with that vehicle."

Calkins: "No."

Kathy: "It was around 12:30 in the afternoon?"

Calkins: (SILENCE) (LAUGHS) "Jesus, I can’t remember."

Kathy: (UNINTELLIGIBLE) "… you’re gettin’ to be my age, huh?" (LAUGHS)

Calkins: "Damn."

Kathy: (LAUGHS)

Calkins: "What do they want?"

Kathy: "Well, there’s somebody at the cemetery who’s telling the mother that you picked up the driver and he’s been missing since Monday."

Calkins: "Oh, for Pete’s sakes."

Kathy: "And I said, 'He didn’t arrest anybody.'"

Calkins: "No."

Kathy: "But she keeps calling and (saying), ‘Well, there’s got to be some way you can get a hold of ’im.’ … I think she spoke to every dispatcher in here today."

Calkins: (SIGHS)

Kathy: "Anyway, I was trying to figure out what color the Cadillac was. I forgot. I got it right in front of me. You picked it up at 12:27, on Vanderbilt and 111th. And Coastland came and got it. A large white Cadillac."

Calkins: "Large white Cadillac. I got to look it up in my notes. I don’t remember. God almighty."

Kathy: "But you’re sure you didn’t — you’re sure there was no one with it?"

Calkins: "No."

Kathy called Terrance's aunt.

Kathy: "Hi this is the sheriff's office. I talked to deputy Calkins."

Pamala Willams: "Mmm hmm."

Kathy: "And he did not pick up anybody with that vehicle."

Pamala: "He did not?"

Kathy: "He did not."

Pamala: "People at the cemetery said that they saw a police officer in a Collier County Sheriff's department car put him in the car and take him away."

Kathy: "Ok. If there was an officer out there... there's over 900 officers here. We'd have to have a car number to know who it was. There is no way i can find out if somebody gave him a ride somewhere."

Pamala: "When i called they said that the way you could track him would be the report at the street that he was picked up on."

Kathy: "There was no report taken. That is what i am telling you. There was no report taken from that area on Monday. No one picked him up. So, whoever is telling you this is either giving you the wrong information or it's not the same person."

Pamala: "Ok."

Kathy: "Ok?"

Pamala: "Thanks."

Kathy: "You're welcome."

A few days later, Calkins's supervisors asked him to submit an incident report. His report states that he first came in contact with Terrance when at 12:15 pm, after noticing that his car was driving "in distress". This was contrary to the time the cemetery workers claimed and didn't make sense since Terrance was due at work at 10 a.m. Calkins claimed he followed Terrance to the cemetery parking lot, and that he had asked for a ride to a nearby Circle K convenience store because he was late for work. Calkins claimed that he told Terrance “He had better make plans right away to get his car and he said that he would take care of it, and he thanked me. I asked him for his name, and he said Terrance. I also warned him that his tag was expired but he said the receipt and proper registration were in the glovebox, if I wanted to check it out." 

Calkins wrote that he returned to the Cadillac and discovered that the proper registration was not in the car, so he called Circle K from his work-issued cell phone and asked to speak to Terrance. “I now phoned the Circle K and asked for Terrance and the clerk that answered the phone said she did not know any Terrance. I now felt that that Terrance had deceived me. I now called for a wrecker … thinking that the Cadillac was now abandoned … and maybe even stolen. After Coastland Towing removed the car, I went back to the Circle K and the surrounding area to search for Terrance … but I could not locate him.” Investigators checked his phone records and could find no proof that he called the Circle K. 

According to the report, Calkins then called in the license plate number and found that the plates were expired. However, further investigation revealed that there was no sign of Terrance or Calkins on surveillance footage from the Circle K, and the phone records from Calkins's cell phone showed no call to the Circle K. Circle K employees were interviewed, and no witnesses could be found to place Calkins or Terrance there. 

A frustrated and worried Marica called the local CBS news station desperate for someone to help her find out what happened to Terrance. She also went around town putting up missing person flyers and knocking on doors.

Calkins took a polygraph which showed some deception.

In August of 2004 Calkins was fired by the sheriff's department because they couldn't get him to fully cooperate in the investigation in Terrance and Felipe's disappearances.

In October 2004 a grand jury invited Calkins to testify. He refused but wasn't indicted.

The Mexican Consulate in Miami contacted Marcia to tell her about Felipe who had vanished in a similar fashion. Calkins claimed that he had dropped off Felipe at another Circle K, approximately four miles from the location where he claimed he dropped off Terrance.

Terrance was declared dead in 2009.

In January of 2016, Calkins sold his home and moved to Cedar Rapids, Iowa. The new owners of Calkins' former home let the police search the property without a warrant, but nothing was found.

Fast forward to 2018. Tyler Perry had saw Marica's pleas on tv. He put her in touch with civil rights attorney Benjamin Crump. On August 30, a wrongful death lawsuit was filed against Calkins. In December of 2020 Calkins was compelled as part of the civil suit to sit for a four-and-a-half-hour deposition. During his sworn testimony, Calkins explained that he didn't take Terrance Williams to jail because what he remembered he "seemed like a really nice guy." That is pretty much all he claimed to remember. And he grew angry when a plaintiff's attorney tried to jog his memory.

Later that year, court appointed arbitrator ultimately ruled against the lawsuit, citing a lack of evidence. When Crump's attorneys missed a filing deadline to take the suit to trial, the judge sided with the arbitrator, dismissing the case and ruled that Marcia Williams had to pay Calkins around $5,600 for costs related to the lawsuit.

As of today Felipe and Terrance's disappearances remain unsolved.