The call came in as a shooting at the Cove Grande Apartments in Navarre, Florida. Patrol officers rolled up to find a man down on the sidewalk, a large pool of blood spreading around him. The wound to his head left no doubt. He had been shot dead.
And whoever pulled the trigger might still be nearby. “The patrol officers were running around trying to figure out if there was still a shooter in the area,” one detective recalled. “Ma’am, you may want to stay inside. ”
Inside the victim’s apartment, deputies made a discovery that turned the scene even more horrific.
A toddler, maybe two or three years old, was standing alone. She had witnessed the murder. “Come here. Come here.
I got him. Come here, baby. ”
The deputy scooped the child up and carried her away to a safe place. The victim was identified as 24-year-old Colby Vinson.
He had moved to the area recently, and his apartment showed no signs of a struggle. Bags of groceries sat untouched. A stack of about $1,200 in cash was still sitting in plain sight. It wasn’t a robbery.
Colby was beloved by his friends. He had a huge heart, a contagious laugh, and a way of making anyone around him feel lighter. He could turn your whole day around just by being there. And more than anything, Colby loved being a father.
After a difficult split with his ex-girlfriend Rachel, Colby had fought a long, exhausting custody battle for their daughter. He had bought a new bed, new toys, everything he could to prepare for the first night he would finally have his little girl all to himself. A judge had just awarded him 50/50 custody. The first night he was supposed to have his daughter with him was the night he was murdered.
That detail hit detectives hard. They immediately turned their attention to the child’s mother, Rachel Moore. Rachel was brought in for questioning. She claimed she had been home all night and had no idea who could have killed Colby.
She hadn’t spoken to him in almost ten months, she said. But Detective Ramirez noticed something off. Rachel seemed upset, at times even appeared to cry, but there were no real tears. Her eyes weren’t watering.
The emotion just wasn’t there. “I was pretty sure Rachel had a big hand in this,” the detective said. Police retraced Colby’s final movements. A receipt from Walmart showed he and his daughter had left the store at 9:22 PM.
Less than half an hour later, he was dead. Witnesses described a white male in his 40s or 50s, wearing a camo jacket. He had walked past them calmly and said, “Hey, somebody got shot,” then continued on his way. Cool, calm, collected.
The trail led to Jason Curtis, a man who had once been married to Rachel’s mother. Rachel had grown up with him like a father figure and maintained a close relationship with him. He had a history of domestic violence and assault charges. Jason lived five hours away in Alabama.
None of his vehicles had been near the crime scene on the night of the murder. But there was a green Volkswagen Beetle registered to his girlfriend, and it had been seen entering Santa Rosa County on the day of the murder and leaving moments after it happened. Surveillance from a nearby liquor store confirmed it. Right after the custody exchange took place at the Publix parking lot, Jason Curtis and his girlfriend were seen walking into the store and buying two bottles of alcohol.
Investigators knew he was there. They just didn’t have enough to prove he pulled the trigger. Rachel was brought in a second time. She stuck to her story.
But when detectives seized her cell phone as evidence, something shifted. Away from the cameras, out in the hallway, Rachel told them she knew who did it. She agreed to give a truthful statement. Before the interview, her mother leaned in and whispered something to her.
“She’s saying to not say anything,” the investigator observed. “But Rachel responds, ‘Yeah, but the police officer knows. ‘”
Then Rachel started talking. “My ex-stepdad, Jason Curtis.
I grew up with him. I told him everything that was going on. He had sent me pictures of knives and guns. ”
“You think he would actually come down here and shoot him?
” a detective asked. “I don’t know. But he told me not to worry about it. And he called last night and said everything’s fine.
”
Rachel’s mother became physically ill, retching into a trash can. It was an extreme reaction to an extreme situation. Rachel was arrested. “I’m dead ass being arrested for something I did not do,” she said.
Jason Curtis was pulled over by Alabama authorities. A search of the Beetle revealed a . 357 Magnum under the driver’s seat. There was also a handwritten note describing Colby Vinson with chilling detail: his address, his build, his tattoos.
Everything someone would need to find and kill him. In the interview room, Jason Curtis sat twisted into himself, holding his own arms. “The reason we’re here is there was a warrant put out for your arrest. For the murder of Colby Vinson.
”
“Does that name even sound familiar to you? ”
“No. ”
“Do you have a stepdaughter named Rachel? ”
“Yes.
”
“Who was Rachel’s ex-boyfriend? ”
“I don’t know his name. ”
Detectives laid out the evidence. They told him Rachel was in jail.
They told him they had her phone and his phone. Every conversation, every picture. They could get it all. “I love her to death,” Jason said.
“I don’t want her going to jail for the rest of her life. Because I did not shoot the man. ”
He admitted sending her a picture of weapons, knives, a gun. But he would never confess to the murder.
“You don’t have anything on me. Nothing to prove. ”
When they pushed harder, he demanded a lawyer. Jason Curtis never admitted to pulling the trigger.
But the digital evidence filled in the gaps. Jason had never deleted his text messages. Rachel had deleted hers, but his told the whole story. What might have seemed like nervous joking about killing Colby was, in reading the messages, clearly something else.
Specific weapons were discussed. Locations. Addresses. How to get there.
This was a plan, not a rogue thought. “He thought that because he lived five hours away, we would never be able to prove he was here,” the detective said. “He thought he was going to get away with it scot-free. ”
At trial, Jason Curtis’s demeanor shifted as the evidence mounted.
He looked more and more defeated. The jury convicted him of first-degree premeditated murder. He was sentenced to life in prison. Almost a year later, it was Rachel’s turn.
“At trial, Rachel tried to paint a picture that she was a protective mother who would do anything to protect her child,” the investigator said. “But the irony was that she had someone murder the father of her child directly in front of her child. ”
The jury found Rachel Moore guilty of first-degree premeditated murder and tampering with evidence. She was sentenced to life without parole.
The little girl who witnessed her father’s murder will carry that memory for the rest of her life. His friends will carry the loss. “He did everything for his daughter,” one friend said. “And for a man who devoted his life to have that moment back, to have it ripped away like that, it’s just absolutely horrific.
”
—
In Billings, Montana, a different kind of nightmare was unfolding. Laura Johnson’s sister made the call to the dispatcher. “My daughter has been in contact with any of us for over two and a half weeks. I’d like to report her missing.
”
Laura, 49, had recently moved to Billings to start a new life. She was the oldest sister, the one who always took care of everyone else. She loved to bake, to dance, to fill her home with music and light. She had five sons who adored her.
By 2012, her sons had grown and moved out. Laura and her husband separated. She moved to Nevada and began dating again. That’s where she met Greg Green.
At first, he was attentive, caring, romantic. The kind of relationship that seemed ideal. They were on and off for five years. Then Greg took a job in Billings, a thousand miles away.
Laura followed a month later, working a temporary job delivering pizzas. In September 2018, Laura’s son Steven called his aunt. “Have you heard from Mom? ”
No one had.
At first, it seemed like she might have relapsed. Laura had struggled with depression, anxiety, and addiction. But she had been fighting her way back, attending a daily methadone clinic, taking control of her life. Her family was proud of her progress.
Greg Green told police that Laura had simply taken off. He came home from work one day and she was gone, all her belongings packed. She had done it before, he said. Half a dozen times.
Laura’s sons, two states away, took matters into their own hands. They posted flyers, scoured social media, and drove to Billings to start knocking on doors. When one of Laura’s sons went to the home she shared with Greg, something caught his eye. A camera on the neighboring property, pointed directly at the front of Greg’s trailer.
The investigator requested the footage. What it showed changed everything. On September 13th at 7:00 PM, Laura arrived home from work in Greg’s white Buick. She walked up the driveway, a dog greeting her.
She went inside. She was never seen coming back out. Almost three hours later, Greg left in his truck. The white Buick stayed in the driveway.
That night, surveillance caught Greg at a store buying odd items: saw blades, a paint tray, gray spray paint. He had a fresh, considerable scratch on his face. The next morning, before 7:00 AM, Greg pulled the white Buick into the garage and shut the door. That evening, he loaded a shovel and two red suitcases into his truck, deliberate and unhurried.
Then came the most chilling clip. Greg was carrying something large, wrapped in something like a blanket, cradled against his chest. There was no motion. It was still.
And it looked heavy. Greg was brought in for an interview. “Honestly, you’re the best person to talk to,” the detective said. “We’re trying to get a timeline of events, at least your version of them.
”
Greg claimed Laura had left while he was at work, taking two red suitcases. But the surveillance showed him carrying those same two red suitcases. When the detective pressed, Greg shut down. “I ain’t going to say nothing else.
”
Police didn’t have enough to arrest him. They let Greg walk, but they seized his truck. Inside, they found tiny specks of blood. When they searched his home, the smell of new carpet stood out immediately.
Why would a renter install new carpet? In a desk drawer, they found a folder of torn-down missing persons flyers for Laura. Greg had been going around removing them. Investigators learned more about the relationship between Greg and Laura.
He had systematically broken her down. He’d insinuate she looked terrible, criticize her body, and mock her. He even took photos of her when she was high or passed out, half undressed, and sent them to her employer, getting her fired. “He said, ‘Is this somebody that you would trust as security for your company?
‘” the investigator recalled. “And she got fired. ”
Just before she disappeared, Laura had told her family they were done. She was staying in the same house but in separate rooms.
She had a job. She was saving money to buy a ticket back home. The last time my sister spoke with Laura, Laura promised she’d call if she felt scared. “I’ve got the taser,” she said.
Blood found in Greg’s truck came back as Laura’s. It was the evidence they needed. By then, Greg had moved back to Nevada. Police tracked him down.
In the post-arrest interview, Greg’s reaction to being charged with deliberate homicide was telling. “Huh,” he said. No shock, no protest, no horror. In February 2020, Greg Green stood trial.
His demeanor was unsettling. He made eye contact with the cameras. He looked smug. “It was almost like he enjoyed all the attention,” the investigator said.
The jury found him guilty. He was sentenced to 100 years in prison. But Greg Green has never revealed where Laura’s body is. Her sister still holds out hope of bringing her home.
“I just want my sister home. I want to put her to rest. It’s not over until she’s put to rest.
“
