The discovery of the bodies, according to local reports, came after friends and coworkers couldn’t reach the couple. Police found Spencer and Monique shot inside their home; their two young children were physically unharmed. There were no signs of forced entry or theft, only a sense that the violence had been precise and deeply personal. Early on, investigators released a sliver of surveillance footage and asked the public for tips, while confirming the killings likely happened in the predawn hours. The uncertainty only intensified interest.
On January 10, 2026, federal agents took McKee into custody near his workplace in Rockford, Illinois. Columbus police said a silver SUV seen on neighborhood cameras arriving near the Tepes’ home before the shootings and leaving shortly afterward was traced to McKee through distinctive features and license plate clues that linked the vehicle to addresses in Illinois and to his hospital. He was arrested without incident and, days later, a Franklin County grand jury indicted him on four counts of aggravated murder and one count of aggravated burglary; he has pleaded not guilty.
Court filings unsealed the following weeks expanded the picture prosecutors intend to present. An affidavit describes weeks of alleged stalking behavior and cites witnesses who told detectives that Monique had long confided fears about McKee, including allegations of abuse, strangulation, and threats that he could kill her at any time and that she would “always be his wife.” Investigators also say video placed McKee on the couple’s property on December 6, while the Tepes were out of town at the Big Ten Championship game—an incident that friends recalled because Monique abruptly left the outing, upset about something involving her ex‑husband.
Detectives say the investigation then pivoted on forensics and digital breadcrumbs. In a press briefing, Columbus Police Chief Elaine Bryant said that a firearm recovered from McKee’s Chicago residence preliminarily matched evidence from the crime scene through a national ballistics database, reinforcing what the surveillance trail suggested about a targeted attack. Meanwhile, phone records indicated McKee’s device was inactive for roughly seventeen hours spanning the window of the murders, which investigators believe occurred around 3:50 a.m. on December 30. The absence of forced entry, the lack of a recovered weapon at the home, and the presence of the couple’s children and dog—unharmed—added to the portrait of a planned, intimate crime rather than a random invasion.
Local and national outlets have since chronicled the shockwaves through the community, highlighting friends’ memories of the couple and advocates’ reminders that abuse can hide in plain sight. In interviews, those who knew Monique described her warmth and resilience, while officials emphasized that tips from the public and neighborhood video were crucial to moving the case from mystery to arrest. The case, now squarely in the courts, remains active, and McKee’s legal team has entered not‑guilty pleas while declining detailed comment on the allegations.
As winter deepens, the story has shifted from “who did this?” to “how will the evidence hold up?” Forensic testing continues, and prosecutors will now be tasked with turning an array of surveillance clips, phone gaps, and ballistics hits into a cohesive narrative that answers the hardest question of all: why. For the Tepes’ family, the arrest offers the first fragile outline of accountability, though the ache of an empty home and two children’s altered futures can’t be undone by a docket number. The neighborhood remains changed by what happened behind a familiar front door, and the city watches as the case moves toward trial—an intimate tragedy entering its public phase, where each quiet fact must carry the weight of two stolen lives...
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