Stephanie Ramos

Brett drove me the length of Drummond Avenue to where the cul-de-sac ended.

The Prier's home was knocked down a few years ago, and a different, modern house now sits in its place.

Crime scene pictures show that the Priers' house was a colonial-style red brick home, two stories tall with white columns flanking the front door.

In the photos, the house looks perfectly symmetrical, neat as a pin.

Brett and I stopped right out front where the Priers' house once stood.

And then if I get right here, this is where I would think about Leslie.

Brett's tour of the neighborhood had ended right where he was 25 years ago, looking up at a perfect house on a perfect street, totally unaware of what was lurking inside.

We need some water.

I love the sound of cooking.

You're a good cutter.

On the morning of May 2, 2001, it was sunny, warm, and approaching 11.30 a.m.

when Brett Reedy pulled up at the prayer house and walked up to the front door.

Brett recognized Leslie's husband when he pulled into the driveway just after him.

Sandy Prier was broad-shouldered, with reddish hair and thick glasses.

The two men weren't friends, but they'd met before.

Sandy worked in an office nearby.

When Brett told Sandy that Leslie hadn't shown up at work, Sandy told his boss he had a family emergency and left immediately to go to the house, arriving moments after Brett.

Brett later told police that he felt he saw the blood moments before Sandy.

When Sandy did notice it, he said, Oh, my God.

The men were standing in the foyer.