The disappearance of Nancy Guthrie has gripped the nation, unfolding like a real-life thriller in the sun-baked suburbs of Tucson, Arizona. On the evening of January 31, 2026, the 84-year-old mother of three—including beloved “Today” show co-anchor Savannah Guthrie—was dropped off at her home in the Catalina Foothills after spending time with family. It was a routine end to the day, or so everyone thought. By the next morning, February 1, she was gone—vanished without a trace from the house she had called home for years.

Church friends raised the first alarm. Nancy, a devoted member of her congregation, failed to appear for a scheduled virtual service. When calls went unanswered and no one could reach her, relatives rushed over. They found the house eerily quiet: her phone, purse, medications, and other essentials still inside. No signs of a voluntary departure. The Pima County Sheriff’s Department arrived quickly, and what began as a welfare check swiftly escalated into a full-scale kidnapping investigation. Authorities confirmed early on that Nancy had been taken against her will, with evidence including blood on the porch later matched to her DNA through testing.
The case exploded into public view almost immediately. Savannah Guthrie, known to millions for her warm on-air presence and sharp journalism, stepped forward in raw, emotional videos posted to social media. In one clip shared days into the ordeal, she spoke directly to her mother: “We will never give up on you. Your children will not rest until we are together again.” Her siblings joined the plea, emphasizing the family’s desperation and willingness to cooperate fully with law enforcement—including potential ransom demands that surfaced amid the chaos.
Rumors of ransom notes circulated rapidly. Texts and calls purportedly demanding millions arrived, some shared with media outlets like TMZ before being passed to the FBI. Deadlines came and went without resolution, leaving questions about authenticity. One man, Derrick Callella, 42, faced charges for allegedly sending fake demands via text and a brief phone call to family members on February 4; he was released pending trial after his first court appearance. These hoaxes only deepened the anguish, turning hope into torment for a family already living a nightmare.
From the outset, investigators zeroed in on technology as a potential lifeline. Nancy’s home featured multiple security cameras, including a Google Nest doorbell. Early reports were discouraging: the camera had been disabled around 1:47 a.m. on February 1, and without an active subscription, footage was deemed inaccessible—overwritten in the cloud or lost to routine data purging. Pima County Sheriff Chris Nanos addressed the media on February 5, explaining that tech partners had exhausted options to recover anything usable. “They’ve run out of ways to recover that video,” he said, underscoring the frustration.
Yet persistence paid off. In a dramatic turn announced by FBI Director Kash Patel on X, advanced digital forensics—collaborating with private sector experts—unlocked “previously inaccessible” residual data from backend systems. Even without a subscription, snippets of motion-triggered video had lingered in transient cloud storage, buffers, and logs long enough for retrieval before full overwrite. Cybersecurity specialists weighed in: Kelli Burgin noted how Nest devices upload clips for processing; Eric O’Neill, a former FBI operative, described transient preservation mechanisms; and Kyung-Shick Choi highlighted residual server data recoverable with warrants.
On February 10, the FBI released the bombshell footage: grainy black-and-white images and short clips bearing the Nest watermark. They showed a masked figure—gloved, backpack-clad, and apparently armed—approaching the front door the morning of February 1. The individual appeared to tamper with the camera, detaching or disabling it, before stepping away. Visible details included a mustache peeking through the mask’s openings, a holster suggesting a firearm, disposable gloves, and a distinctive black backpack later identified as a 24- or 25-liter Ozark Trail Hiker Pack.\

Forensic analysis by the FBI’s Operational Technology Division sharpened the picture further. By February 12, authorities issued a public description: a male suspect, approximately 5’9″ to 5’10” tall, with an average build. The backpack became a key identifier—common yet specific enough to jog memories. Tips flooded in; the Pima County tip line alone received over 4,000 calls in a single 24-hour period after the release, with the FBI tally surpassing 13,000 overall.
Additional evidence emerged amid the surge. On February 11, agents combing the area near the home discovered a pair of black gloves discarded along a road or in nearby desert vegetation. These were promptly submitted for DNA analysis, raising hopes they matched those worn by the porch figure. FBI personnel, braving the Arizona heat with water bottles in hand, scoured yards, cacti, and boulders—knocking on doors and requesting neighbor footage from as early as January 11 (between 9 p.m. and midnight) up through the critical overnight hours of January 31 to February 1.
One brief lead fizzled: a man detained February 10 in Rio Rico, south of Tucson near the border, after matching some profile elements. He was questioned extensively but released without charges. Speaking to Fox News, he claimed he was simply a local delivery driver in the area—nothing more.

The investigation’s scale grew immense. Hundreds of detectives and agents from the Pima County Sheriff’s Department and FBI’s Phoenix Field Office fanned out, collecting neighbor videos, reviewing neighborhood surveillance, and chasing every credible tip. Additional footage surfaced miles away: one clip showed a man in a gray hoodie and jeans carrying two backpacks at 1:52 a.m. on February 1; another captured a backpack-wearing figure in the vicinity. These fragments, while not conclusive, built a mosaic of movement that night.
Nancy’s vulnerability amplified the urgency. At 84, she relied on multiple medications; without them, her health could deteriorate rapidly. The blood on the porch hinted at possible injury during the abduction, though details remained guarded. Experts described the case as “strange” and outlier-like: elderly victims in home invasions are rare, celebrity connections draw disproportionate attention, and the tech-recovery twist adds layers of intrigue.
To spur progress, the FBI escalated its reward on February 12 to $100,000 for information leading to Nancy’s location and/or the arrest and conviction of those responsible. Public appeals intensified, with Ring camera alerts pushed to local users and pleas for any overlooked footage.
Savannah Guthrie continued sharing glimpses of her mother—home videos capturing Nancy’s warmth, laughter, and everyday life—to humanize the search and keep hope alive. “We will not rest,” she vowed, a sentiment echoing across the family and the millions following the story.
As days stretch into weeks, the desert landscape around Tucson holds its secrets. The masked figure on the porch, the tampered camera, the discarded gloves, the Ozark Trail backpack—these clues tantalize, promising resolution if only the right witness steps forward. Every tip, every frame of video, every discarded item could be the thread that unravels the mystery.
The nation watches, hearts heavy for a family thrust into unimaginable pain. Nancy Guthrie remains missing, but the pursuit endures—fueled by technology, tenacity, and an unyielding determination to bring her home.