Editor's Note: This is a longer version of the Duxstads' letter than the version that was published in The Monroe Times print edition.
Last Tuesday, I received a phone call from my old neighbor, Randy Fike. He told me his daughter, Kelcey, died hours before from a fire in her trailer home. In disbelief and shock, I could offer only a few words of sympathy before hanging up the phone.
The next day, as my wife, Jenny, and I prepared for the journey to Kearney, Neb., I received a second call from Randy. This one, even more disturbing. Kelcey had not died from an accidental fire, but instead she had been murdered and the fire was intentionally set to cover up the crime.
We arrived in Kearney on Thursday evening. Kearney, while larger than Monroe, still is a small town by many standards. It has but one exit off the busy Interstate 80. Its downtown, like Monroe's, shows the effects of the big retailers situated on its edge. The local paper's stories on Kelcey reflected the community's shock to a horrific crime that occurred in its midst; and its Friday headline asked, "Who is Kelcey Fike?"
Sixteen years earlier, the Fikes had moved in next door to our house on a quiet street in Monroe. Our previous neighbors had become best of friends, and they were explicit in their instructions to the Fikes that we had earned the right to use their pool at any time via the special gate put in between our properties.
Kelcey Fike, then 5, quickly became friends with our two older daughters, who were 7 and 4. Our third and youngest child, Kelsey, soon was renamed Baby Kelsey by Randy, so as to avoid confusion as the children played in the pool with the parents poolside.
Over the years, Randy and his wife Mary Jo, my wife Jenny and I would spend many an evening, often first talking briefly about current events and politics. These discussions usually ended quickly with Randy being the sole dissenter. Inevitably, the discussion included the latest updates on the children. The latest adventure of Kelcey's older brother, John, the activities of the "girls," the appropriate bedtime for a teenager, who one should try to get as a teacher, as well as the usual trials and tribulations of being the "strictest parent."
Kelcey would grow to be a vivacious and spirited child, an accomplished dancer. A talented amateur hairdresser would fix our daughters' hair. She was "Dorothy" in the community play rendition of "The Wizard of Oz." Her driving skills were evidenced by a dent in the grey sedan's fender that would be parked in front of the house. She enjoyed having friends on the front porch and at poolside parties. She would sing repeatedly the annoying verses of "Achy Breaky Heart," in a clear and full voice on the front porch.
And not too infrequently, as we parents sat on the patio behind our house, she would come with ever-present smile, hand outstretched for that little stipend from Randy, so she could go off with her friends to the local Dairy Queen. The ritual was usually the same, a short admonishment by her Dad about what she needed to do by way of chores, a short inquisition about who she would be with, and the final warning about what time she was to return home. But, inevitably, she would get her $5 or $10 for an evening with friends and prance out the driveway. Kelcey, while not perfect, always was endearing.
Two years ago, after Kelcey graduated from Monroe High School and spent a year commuting to a nearby community college, she moved to Kearney with her parents. Her mother had found a job, which would allow her to be closer to Kelcey's grandmother, whose health was failing. Kelcey eventually would find work and a boyfriend, and move out on her own.
My wife and I spent time with the Fike family on Thursday evening. Their family had begun to gather for the next day's funeral. The conversation among old neighbors quickly returned to the old topics of current events, Mary Jo's garden, John's status, and our girls. We'd touch upon Kelcey's past and then retreat if the pain and sorrow grew too strong. As neighbors, we felt helpless.
That evening, the Kearney Hub reported on news conference held by the local authorities. While there are leads in the investigation, there are no arrests. Kelcey's boyfriend, who reminds us of our niece's clean-cut and devoted husband, is cleared of any suspicion, as he was away at training for the National Guard when the crime occurred.
Kelcey's funeral was attended by a few friends from Monroe, her extended family who are from several states, her many co-workers, and her new-found friends in Kearney. Her boyfriend was introduced to us by Mary Jo, and we expressed our thanks that Kelcey had found someone she loved. Her brother, who was like a lost puppy the day before, gave a moving tribute to his sister, exhibiting his passage from being the young kid next door to a wise adult.
Feeling both frustration and anger at the senselessness of the crime, we got permission from Kelcey's family to meet with the local investigator. My wife, a former police officer, and I, a former prosecutor, were greeted at the local police station within a half-hour of our call, by both the lieutenant and the detective in charge of the investigation. We quickly recognized their dedication to solving a crime that may be far-reaching and require substantial resources. It became readily apparent that there will be a need for a reward program to encourage any and all information to be brought forward as quickly as possible. Within minutes, four people from two distant communities, with the common bond of an unsolved crime of a beautiful young woman, agreed to seek support from those two small towns to help find and convict the person responsible for her death.
A call to the local bank set up the Kelcey Fike Reward Fund within the hour. As we traveled home, we got another call from the lieutenant, who was working after hours at home, confirming the details of a news conference and the fact that there has been contact with the Monroe Police Department. Another call to Kelcey's employer, Bob Wilson of Bob's Superstore, garnered local support in Kearney. A couple more calls to the Monroe media drew prompt and personal responses. The networking and commonality of two small towns was in full force.
Kelcey Fike was the daughter of your neighbor next door. Her death represents the greatest fear of any parent. She was a product of a small town, and it will be through the efforts of these two small towns that her killer will be brought to justice.
Please send contributions to the Kelcey Fike Reward Fund, c/o Wisconsin Community Bank, P.O. Box 100, Monroe WI 53566, Attn: Wendy Ellingson. Anyone with information concerning her death should contact the Crimestoppers at (308) 237-3424, the Kearney Police Department at (308) 237-2104, the Buffalo County Sheriff's office at (308) 236-8555 or the Monroe Police Department at (608) 329-2400.
Last Tuesday, I received a phone call from my old neighbor, Randy Fike. He told me his daughter, Kelcey, died hours before from a fire in her trailer home. In disbelief and shock, I could offer only a few words of sympathy before hanging up the phone.
The next day, as my wife, Jenny, and I prepared for the journey to Kearney, Neb., I received a second call from Randy. This one, even more disturbing. Kelcey had not died from an accidental fire, but instead she had been murdered and the fire was intentionally set to cover up the crime.
We arrived in Kearney on Thursday evening. Kearney, while larger than Monroe, still is a small town by many standards. It has but one exit off the busy Interstate 80. Its downtown, like Monroe's, shows the effects of the big retailers situated on its edge. The local paper's stories on Kelcey reflected the community's shock to a horrific crime that occurred in its midst; and its Friday headline asked, "Who is Kelcey Fike?"
Sixteen years earlier, the Fikes had moved in next door to our house on a quiet street in Monroe. Our previous neighbors had become best of friends, and they were explicit in their instructions to the Fikes that we had earned the right to use their pool at any time via the special gate put in between our properties.
Kelcey Fike, then 5, quickly became friends with our two older daughters, who were 7 and 4. Our third and youngest child, Kelsey, soon was renamed Baby Kelsey by Randy, so as to avoid confusion as the children played in the pool with the parents poolside.
Over the years, Randy and his wife Mary Jo, my wife Jenny and I would spend many an evening, often first talking briefly about current events and politics. These discussions usually ended quickly with Randy being the sole dissenter. Inevitably, the discussion included the latest updates on the children. The latest adventure of Kelcey's older brother, John, the activities of the "girls," the appropriate bedtime for a teenager, who one should try to get as a teacher, as well as the usual trials and tribulations of being the "strictest parent."
Kelcey would grow to be a vivacious and spirited child, an accomplished dancer. A talented amateur hairdresser would fix our daughters' hair. She was "Dorothy" in the community play rendition of "The Wizard of Oz." Her driving skills were evidenced by a dent in the grey sedan's fender that would be parked in front of the house. She enjoyed having friends on the front porch and at poolside parties. She would sing repeatedly the annoying verses of "Achy Breaky Heart," in a clear and full voice on the front porch.
And not too infrequently, as we parents sat on the patio behind our house, she would come with ever-present smile, hand outstretched for that little stipend from Randy, so she could go off with her friends to the local Dairy Queen. The ritual was usually the same, a short admonishment by her Dad about what she needed to do by way of chores, a short inquisition about who she would be with, and the final warning about what time she was to return home. But, inevitably, she would get her $5 or $10 for an evening with friends and prance out the driveway. Kelcey, while not perfect, always was endearing.
Two years ago, after Kelcey graduated from Monroe High School and spent a year commuting to a nearby community college, she moved to Kearney with her parents. Her mother had found a job, which would allow her to be closer to Kelcey's grandmother, whose health was failing. Kelcey eventually would find work and a boyfriend, and move out on her own.
My wife and I spent time with the Fike family on Thursday evening. Their family had begun to gather for the next day's funeral. The conversation among old neighbors quickly returned to the old topics of current events, Mary Jo's garden, John's status, and our girls. We'd touch upon Kelcey's past and then retreat if the pain and sorrow grew too strong. As neighbors, we felt helpless.
That evening, the Kearney Hub reported on news conference held by the local authorities. While there are leads in the investigation, there are no arrests. Kelcey's boyfriend, who reminds us of our niece's clean-cut and devoted husband, is cleared of any suspicion, as he was away at training for the National Guard when the crime occurred.
Kelcey's funeral was attended by a few friends from Monroe, her extended family who are from several states, her many co-workers, and her new-found friends in Kearney. Her boyfriend was introduced to us by Mary Jo, and we expressed our thanks that Kelcey had found someone she loved. Her brother, who was like a lost puppy the day before, gave a moving tribute to his sister, exhibiting his passage from being the young kid next door to a wise adult.
Feeling both frustration and anger at the senselessness of the crime, we got permission from Kelcey's family to meet with the local investigator. My wife, a former police officer, and I, a former prosecutor, were greeted at the local police station within a half-hour of our call, by both the lieutenant and the detective in charge of the investigation. We quickly recognized their dedication to solving a crime that may be far-reaching and require substantial resources. It became readily apparent that there will be a need for a reward program to encourage any and all information to be brought forward as quickly as possible. Within minutes, four people from two distant communities, with the common bond of an unsolved crime of a beautiful young woman, agreed to seek support from those two small towns to help find and convict the person responsible for her death.
A call to the local bank set up the Kelcey Fike Reward Fund within the hour. As we traveled home, we got another call from the lieutenant, who was working after hours at home, confirming the details of a news conference and the fact that there has been contact with the Monroe Police Department. Another call to Kelcey's employer, Bob Wilson of Bob's Superstore, garnered local support in Kearney. A couple more calls to the Monroe media drew prompt and personal responses. The networking and commonality of two small towns was in full force.
Kelcey Fike was the daughter of your neighbor next door. Her death represents the greatest fear of any parent. She was a product of a small town, and it will be through the efforts of these two small towns that her killer will be brought to justice.
Please send contributions to the Kelcey Fike Reward Fund, c/o Wisconsin Community Bank, P.O. Box 100, Monroe WI 53566, Attn: Wendy Ellingson. Anyone with information concerning her death should contact the Crimestoppers at (308) 237-3424, the Kearney Police Department at (308) 237-2104, the Buffalo County Sheriff's office at (308) 236-8555 or the Monroe Police Department at (608) 329-2400.
