On Tuesday, October 6, 2009, I spent the day calling my husband's cell phone. Howard and I had been married six years and owned a business together in Pueblo, Colorado. We normally talked three or four times a day, and text-messaged even more: Howard often checked in to see how I was doing. It was unusual -- and not a good sign, I thought -- that he wasn't picking up.
By the time 5 p.m. rolled around, I just knew something was wrong, and I was worried enough to call Robert, Howard's teenage son from his first marriage, to ask him if he knew where his father was.