The news broke like a thunderclap on that September morning, and by sundown all of Webster County, Mo., had heard about the carnage on Steve Buckner's farm: Buckner, 35, his wife, Jan, 36, and their sons, Dennis, 8, Timothy, 7, and Michael, 2, had been shot to death in the stillness before dawn. The killer had continued the rampage at the two-story white farmhouse where Steve's sister, Julie, lived with her husband, Jim Schnick. As Jim told it, the gunman had stormed into the house, shot and killed the sleeping Julie and put up a violent struggle before Jim could drive a butcher knife through his chest and finish him off with a bullet. When Sheriff Eugene Fraker got to the Schnick farmhouse around 6.30 a.m., he found the putative murderer in a bloody heap in the front hallway. It was Steve Buckner's 14-year-old-son, Kirk.
Even though Webster County has seen its share of homicide, something about the Buckner tragedy was especially disturbing. Neighbors who knew Kirk well could not imagine him carrying out so hideous a crime. A sweet-tempered, outgoing kid who toiled long hours on his family's struggling dairy farm, he wasn't the sort to harbor demons. A week after Kirk and his family were buried in the cemetery at Timber Ridge Baptist Church, Jim Schnick confessed that he had killed his wife, her brother and his family and tried to pin the murder on his nephew Kirk. Though the crime itself was appalling, Schnick's attempt to traduce the dead child seemed, to many, particularly cruel. The boy had gone to his grave in disgrace.
Even though Webster County has seen its share of homicide, something about the Buckner tragedy was especially disturbing. Neighbors who knew Kirk well could not imagine him carrying out so hideous a crime. A sweet-tempered, outgoing kid who toiled long hours on his family's struggling dairy farm, he wasn't the sort to harbor demons. A week after Kirk and his family were buried in the cemetery at Timber Ridge Baptist Church, Jim Schnick confessed that he had killed his wife, her brother and his family and tried to pin the murder on his nephew Kirk. Though the crime itself was appalling, Schnick's attempt to traduce the dead child seemed, to many, particularly cruel. The boy had gone to his grave in disgrace.
The news broke like a thunderclap on that September morning, and by sundown all of Webster County, Mo., had heard about the carnage on Steve Buckner's farm: Buckner, 35, his wife, Jan, 36, and their sons, Dennis, 8, Timothy, 7, and Michael, 2, had been shot to death in the stillness before dawn. The killer had continued the rampage at the two-story white farmhouse where Steve's sister, Julie, lived with her husband, Jim Schnick. As Jim told it, the gunman had stormed into the house, shot and killed the sleeping Julie and put up a violent struggle before Jim could drive a butcher knife through his chest and finish him off with a bullet. When Sheriff Eugene Fraker got to the Schnick farmhouse around 6.30 a.m., he found the putative murderer in a bloody heap in the front hallway. It was Steve Buckner's 14-year-old-son, Kirk.
Even though Webster County has seen its share of homicide, something about the Buckner tragedy was especially disturbing. Neighbors who knew Kirk well could not imagine him carrying out so hideous a crime. A sweet-tempered, outgoing kid who toiled long hours on his family's struggling dairy farm, he wasn't the sort to harbor demons. A week after Kirk and his family were buried in the cemetery at Timber Ridge Baptist Church, Jim Schnick confessed that he had killed his wife, her brother and his family and tried to pin the murder on his nephew Kirk. Though the crime itself was appalling, Schnick's attempt to traduce the dead child seemed, to many, particularly cruel. The boy had gone to his grave in disgrace.
Even though Webster County has seen its share of homicide, something about the Buckner tragedy was especially disturbing. Neighbors who knew Kirk well could not imagine him carrying out so hideous a crime. A sweet-tempered, outgoing kid who toiled long hours on his family's struggling dairy farm, he wasn't the sort to harbor demons. A week after Kirk and his family were buried in the cemetery at Timber Ridge Baptist Church, Jim Schnick confessed that he had killed his wife, her brother and his family and tried to pin the murder on his nephew Kirk. Though the crime itself was appalling, Schnick's attempt to traduce the dead child seemed, to many, particularly cruel. The boy had gone to his grave in disgrace.
