A single 911 call from a quiet spring night in Columbus, Ohio, cast a lingering shadow over the lives of Spencer and Monique Tepe, only to be clarified months later as the investigation into their murders reached a fever pitch. On April 15, 2025, at 2:45 a.m., a woman’s tearful voice filled the emergency line from the North 4th Street home in Weinland Park. After an abrupt hang-up, she returned the call, apologizing through sobs. “Yeah, I’m sorry. I’m OK,” she told the dispatcher. When asked about the nature of the disturbance, she explained, “Because me and my man got into it, but I’m OK, I promise.” She insisted no physical violence had occurred—“No, no physical”—and begged not to send officers. The dispatcher logged the incident as a “domestic dispute” and canceled the response, leaving the matter unresolved in the system.

That recording resurfaced with devastating force after December 30, 2025, when Spencer Tepe, 37, and Monique Tepe, 39, were found fatally shot in their upstairs bedroom. No forced entry, no recovered weapon, no signs of a struggle beyond the bullet wounds that ended two lives. Their children—a 4-year-old daughter and a 1-year-old son—were discovered unharmed inside the house along with the family dog, a small detail that only deepened the tragedy’s senseless cruelty. Police quickly ruled out murder-suicide, turning the case toward an external perpetrator and prompting a frantic search for motive and identity.

In the days following the discovery, the April call became fuel for speculation. Online forums, true-crime podcasts, and even some early media reports floated the possibility that it revealed hidden cracks in the Tepe marriage. Was this a glimpse of domestic tension that had escalated fatally eight months later? The theory gained traction because the address matched exactly, and the timing—early morning, emotional distress—mirrored the window when the murders were believed to have occurred (between 2 a.m. and 5 a.m. on December 30). For a grieving family already reeling, the insinuation felt like salt in an open wound.

Rob Misleh, Spencer’s brother-in-law, refused to let the narrative stand unchallenged. In a series of interviews, most notably on the “Surviving the Survivor” podcast, he spoke with calm certainty. “If you listen to the voice, it’s quite clearly not Monique,” he said. “Everybody has seen the wedding video and has heard Monique talk, and it’s obviously not Monique who’s calling.” He described the couple’s frequent hosting of friends and family. “Spencer and Monique had people over a lot. Sometimes at these parties, people get a little too drunk.” Multiple guests from that April gathering confirmed his account: a female attendee had become overwhelmed—perhaps by alcohol, personal conflict, or a momentary psychological lapse—and dialed 911 in distress while arguing with her own partner. She was not Monique. She was a guest. The call had nothing to do with the homeowners.

Columbus police later corroborated Misleh’s explanation. On January 7, 2026, Fox News Digital reported the department’s confirmation that the caller was not Monique Tepe and that no prior domestic-related emergency calls were linked to the couple. The clarification arrived like a lifeline for the family, redirecting public focus from baseless rumor toward the real mystery: who entered that home in the predawn darkness and why?

Spencer Tepe had been the picture of dependability. A proud Ohio State University alumnus, he practiced at Athens Dental Depot, where patients remembered his gentle reassurance and genuine care. Colleagues described him as punctual, empathetic, endlessly patient—a man who loved children so deeply he ordained himself to officiate weddings for friends and spent countless hours playing with little cousins. Monique matched his warmth with her own radiant presence. Family statements called her an “amazing mom,” patient, joyful, the emotional anchor of their household. The couple, married in 2021, had been excitedly counting down to their fifth anniversary in January 2026—a celebration that never came.

The chain of discovery began with absence. Spencer did not show up for work on December 30. His boss, Mark Valrose, vacationing in Florida, sensed something wrong and requested a welfare check. Around 10 a.m., a friend arrived, looked through the window, and made the second haunting 911 call of the case: “There’s a body… He’s laying next to his bed, off of his bed in this blood. I can’t get closer to see more than that.” Officers entered to find both adults dead from gunshot wounds. The children and dog were safe, but the scene spoke of targeted violence.

Surveillance footage released that same day became the investigation’s cornerstone. Grainy images showed a person of interest walking through an alley near the residence during the early morning hours. Dressed in a dark coat and light pants, the figure moved with deliberate purpose. Combined with vehicle tracking, the footage led investigators across state lines. On January 10, 2026, Michael David McKee—Monique’s ex-husband—was arrested without incident at his home in Rockford, Illinois, roughly 300 miles away.

McKee, 39, was a vascular surgeon with an impeccable professional record: residencies and fellowships completed across Virginia, Nevada, Maryland, and Illinois; licenses in multiple states; a career spent repairing life-threatening circulatory damage. His brief marriage to Monique had lasted from August 2015 to June 2017 and ended without public acrimony—no children, no restraining orders in court records. Yet family members later described emotional abuse during that period. After the divorce, Monique met Spencer, rebuilt her life, and started a family. McKee continued climbing the medical ladder. The contrast between his role as a healer and the accusations now leveled against him stunned those who knew him professionally.

Charges escalated rapidly from murder to two counts of aggravated murder with premeditation, a designation under Ohio law that signals “prior calculation and design” and carries the possibility of life without parole or, in extreme cases, the death penalty. On January 12, McKee appeared in a Winnebago County courtroom, shackled and wearing a yellow jumpsuit. Calm and composed, he waived extradition through his public defender, who stated he intended to plead not guilty and believed returning to Ohio quickly would aid his defense. A status hearing was set, with transfer to Franklin County expected soon for arraignment.

The case has exposed painful truths about perception and reality. The April 911 call, once thought to hint at private turmoil, proved to be a red herring—a moment of someone else’s crisis that became unfairly entwined with the Tepes’ story. It serves as a stark reminder of how quickly assumptions can spread in the vacuum left by tragedy, especially when grief and mystery collide.

Weinland Park, a neighborhood in the midst of renewal with new community spaces and neighborly bonds, now carries the weight of intrusion. Residents have responded with heightened vigilance—additional cameras, informal watch groups—while city leaders call for expanded mental health services and domestic violence prevention programs. The broader pattern remains troubling: ex-partner homicides frequently stem from unresolved control, jealousy, or perceived betrayal, even years after separation. National data consistently ranks intimate partner violence among the leading causes of homicide for women, with the period after leaving a relationship carrying elevated risk.

For the Tepe children, the loss is incalculable. Orphaned before they could fully understand permanence, they now depend on extended family for love, stability, and therapeutic care. Family statements capture both devastation and resolve: “heartbroken beyond words,” yet determined to “honor their lives and the light they brought into this world.”

As Michael McKee prepares to stand trial in Ohio, the legal process will demand precision. Prosecutors must prove premeditation through timeline evidence, forensic links, digital footprints, and possibly motive reconstruction. Defense strategies may contest identification, chain of custody, or offer alternative explanations. Whatever unfolds, the pursuit of truth will be watched closely across the country.

Monique and Spencer Tepe’s story is one of love interrupted, of ordinary joy made extraordinary by its sudden end. The mistaken 911 call, now clarified, stands as a small but significant victory for accuracy amid grief. It reminds us that facts, painstakingly gathered, can protect memory from distortion. In Columbus’s heartland, where trust once felt unbreakable, this double murder has forced a reckoning with vulnerability, rumor, and the fragile line between safety and danger.

Justice, though slow and imperfect, moves forward. For the children left behind, for the family that loved them, for a community forever changed, that movement offers the only path toward healing in the wake of unimaginable loss.