Drop Dead Serious: The Spencer and Manique Tepee Murder Mystery

By Ashley Banfield | January 2026

I. Vermont, True Crime, and a Case That Won’t Let Go

The snow outside is silent, blanketing the Vermont slopes in a hush that belies the storm raging in my mind. This isn’t my usual studio, but tonight it hardly matters. I’m Ashley Banfield, and this is Drop Dead Serious. The backdrop may be different—ski boots by the fire, latte in hand—but the obsession remains the same. I am consumed by the murders of Spencer and Manique Tepee, a case that has gripped not just me, but hundreds of thousands of viewers, each of us searching for answers in the cold.

I’ve skied these mountains since I was a child, but tonight, my mind isn’t on the powder. It’s on a family of four, torn apart in the dead of night. It’s on two children, orphaned in a moment that defies explanation. It’s on Dr. Michael McKe, a man whose life was spent saving others—now accused of the unthinkable.

II. A Stunning Arrest

The news broke like a slap: Dr. Michael McKe, a vascular surgeon with licenses in Illinois, California, and Nevada, arrested for the murders of his ex-wife Manique and her husband Spencer. No criminal history. No warning. Just a brutal, heinous act that left two young children without parents and a community in shock.

What drives a man with fifteen years of education, a career dedicated to healing, to allegedly destroy everything? The question haunts me—and everyone following this case. If he’s guilty, it’s a waste beyond words. If he’s innocent, the real killer is still out there.

III. The Evidence Trail

Police didn’t stumble into this arrest. Investigators combed through surveillance footage from every angle around the Tepee home. In the icy darkness of an Ohio night, a car appeared just before the shootings and left soon after. It was a night with little traffic, the kind of night where every passing vehicle is a clue.

They tracked that car—just as Idaho investigators did with a white Elantra in another infamous case. Cameras, Ring doorbells, license plate readers: the digital breadcrumbs led straight to Dr. McKe. The same vehicle surfaced in Rockford, Illinois, and whatever was inside tied back to him.

The arrest warrant listed the offense at 3:52 a.m. Not a window of time, but a minute. How did they know? Was it the Ring Cam, motion sensors, or perhaps a nanny cam in the children’s rooms? Maybe a fitness tracker registered a sudden spike in heart rate—the terror of waking to violence, or the final moments before death.

IV. The Scene and the Victims

Spencer and Manique Tepee were well-liked, admired, always smiling. Their home was filled with laughter, children’s toys, and the normal chaos of family life. On that night, all of it was shattered.

Three shell casings. Two shots to Spencer, one to Manique. The details are harrowing—where the bullets landed, whether the killer collected casings on the way out. The family gathered for a visitation in Upper Arlington, and later, a celebration of life in Columbus. The pain is unimaginable, the loss incalculable.

V. The Children: Witnesses and Survivors

The children—just seventeen months and four years old. There is no way gunshots didn’t wake them. The four-year-old might have heard a name, a shout, a struggle. “Michael, no.” The fibers on a shoe aren’t enough, but a child’s memory could be the linchpin.

Reports swirl, unconfirmed, that the killer tried to protect the children from seeing the aftermath. It’s hard to know what’s true. Could a four-year-old be kept away? Did the killer lock a door, set up a gate? The details are murky, but the trauma is clear.

VI. The Psychology and the Motive

Why would anyone do this? Why would someone with so much promise, so much skill, throw it all away? Dr. McKe’s marriage to Manique lasted just seven months—a decade has passed since. Was this obsession, rage, or something deeper?

Unconfirmed reports suggest he was abusive, that he didn’t want a divorce. Was he still hung up on her after all these years? Did social media stoke old wounds, jealousy, anger? The “if I can’t have her, no one can” mentality has led to tragedy before.

VII. The Investigation Continues

Police are building their case, piece by piece. Every footprint in the snow, every fiber, every digital trace. Electronics seized from Dr. McKe’s home—phones, laptops, gaming devices, fitness trackers—may tell a story he hoped to keep hidden.

License plate readers, toll tags, fuel purchases, geolocation data—all of it builds a mountain of evidence. The defense will argue reasonable doubt, point to the others who trampled the crime scene, but the prosecution is relentless.

VIII. Digital Breadcrumbs: The New DNA

In today’s world, murderers leave more than fingerprints—they leave digital trails. The investigators in the Tepee case know this well. Dr. Michael McKe’s electronics were seized within hours of his arrest. His phone, laptop, and tablet became silent witnesses, each with its own story to tell.

Cell phones are more than communication devices; they’re GPS trackers, digital diaries, and alibi-busters. Investigators looked for patterns—late-night drives, suspicious stops, repeated visits near the Tepee home. Did Dr. McKe’s phone ping a tower in Ohio at 3:52 a.m.? Did it go dark, as in so many cases, only to light up again miles away? Every movement, every search, every call could be a clue.

But it’s not just phones. Fitness trackers and smartwatches record heart rates, sleep cycles, and steps. If Dr. McKe was wearing one, it might show a spike in adrenaline at the exact moment of the crime. It could reveal when he finally went to sleep that night, or if he was awake and moving in the hours before and after. These devices, meant to improve lives, can also unravel lies.

Investigators also examined his car’s digital footprint. License plate readers along the route from Chicago to Columbus logged every crossing. Toll tags, fuel purchases, and even convenience store surveillance filled in the blanks. The car was tracked from the Tepee neighborhood all the way back to Rockford, Illinois—each sighting another nail in the coffin of any false alibi.

IX. The Community Reacts

The shockwaves from the Tepee murders rippled through Columbus and beyond. Friends, neighbors, and even strangers gathered for vigils, clutching candles against the winter cold. The family’s statement was simple, heartbroken: “As the case proceeds, we trust the justice system to hold the person responsible fully accountable. Manique and Spencer remain at the center of our hearts and we carry forward their love. As we surround and protect the two children they leave behind, we will continue to honor their lives and the light they brought into this world.”

The pain was raw, but so was the resolve. The Tepees were remembered for their warmth, their laughter, their generosity. The tragedy united a community in grief—and in a quiet determination to see justice done.

Online, the case became a true crime phenomenon. Viewers dissected every clue, every rumor, every new report. The body cam video showing police at the wrong house sparked outrage and confusion, but also crowdsourced investigation. Armchair detectives traced addresses, matched porch photos, and corrected official records. In a world where every phone is a camera, every citizen a reporter, the truth became a collective pursuit.

X. The Legal Chess Game

As Dr. McKe sat in custody awaiting arraignment, the legal maneuvering began. Would he exercise his right to a speedy trial? Would his defense team argue for more time, hoping to chip away at the prosecution’s mountain of evidence?

The prosecution, meanwhile, was relentless. They knew that one piece of evidence could be explained away—a footprint here, a fiber there. But as the coincidences stacked up, the case grew stronger. Eight, ten, twenty “kinky dinks” become a pattern, not a fluke.

Death penalty eligibility loomed over the proceedings. Ohio’s moratorium was in place, but the law allowed for capital charges. The city’s jury pool was liberal, but the crime’s brutality might sway even the most skeptical. The prosecution prepared for every contingency: change of venue, gag orders, media scrutiny.

XI. The Psychology of the Accused

What drives a man to commit such an act? The question haunted everyone—from police to family, from journalists to viewers. Dr. McKe was a respected surgeon, a neighbor described as “delightful,” a man with no criminal record. Yet the allegations painted a different picture: obsession, resentment, perhaps even untreated mental illness.

Unconfirmed reports suggested he had tried to ingratiate himself with the surviving family, offering help, expressing shock. Was it genuine grief, or something darker—a killer seeking proximity to his crime? The psychology of murder is rarely simple. Some killers insert themselves into investigations, seeking control, validation, or absolution. Others retreat, consumed by guilt or fear.

The defense would argue innocence, point to Dr. McKe’s achievements, his oath to “do no harm.” But the prosecution would ask: What happens when obsession overrides reason? When a decade-old wound festers, when jealousy becomes rage?

XII. Ripples in the Water: Family, Friends, and the Search for Answers

In the aftermath of the murders, the investigation widened its scope. Detectives began with the concentric circles of Manique and Spencer’s lives, reaching out to family, friends, colleagues—anyone who might hold a piece of the puzzle. They asked hard questions: Was there acrimony? Had Manique expressed fear or frustration about her ex-husband? Did Spencer mention any threats, any strange encounters?

The answers were elusive. When Ashley Banfield spoke with the children’s uncle—Spencer’s brother-in-law—he couldn’t name a single enemy. “They were just so well-liked and admired by everyone,” he said, still in shock. “Always smiling, always laughing.” The possibility that Manique’s ex-husband might be involved hadn’t even crossed his mind.

But as detectives pressed deeper, unconfirmed reports began to surface. Some suggested Manique had been afraid of Dr. McKe, even years after their brief marriage ended. Others hinted at controlling behavior, angry messages, and a lingering obsession. The investigators knew that in cases like this, time doesn’t always heal—sometimes, it only hides.

Women’s shelters, counselors, and advocates recognize the pattern. “If I can’t have her, no one can,” the logic goes—a twisted rationale that has ended countless lives. The police looked for evidence: phone records, text messages, social media posts. Had Dr. McKe commented on Manique’s Instagram? Had he reached out to her friends, tried to insert himself into her new life?

XIII. The Children: Innocence and Trauma

The youngest victims of the Tepee murders were not the ones whose lives ended, but those whose lives were forever changed. At seventeen months and four years old, the children were old enough to be awake, to hear gunshots, to remember voices in the night. Investigators hoped they might recall a name, a shout, a moment of terror—“Michael, no!”—that could tip the scales of justice.

But trauma is a tricky thing. Children process grief and fear in unpredictable ways. Forensic interviewers approached them gently, using toys, drawings, and stories to coax out memories. The goal was not to retraumatize, but to understand. Even the smallest detail—a word, a gesture, a memory of footsteps—could matter.

There were rumors, unconfirmed, that the killer had tried to shield the children from the scene. Had he locked a door, set up a gate, or simply hoped they would stay asleep? The truth was murky, but the pain was real.

XIV. The Forensics: Tiny Clues, Big Breaks

No piece of evidence was too small. Investigators combed the crime scene for footprints in the snow, fibers on the carpet, dirt in the treads of shoes. Every visitor—first responders, neighbors, family—complicated the picture, but the forensic team pressed on.

Footwear analysis became a focus. Could a bootprint in the snow match a shoe from Dr. McKe’s apartment? Could a unique type of gravel or dirt, found at the Tepee home, be lodged in his soles? The defense would argue contamination, but the prosecution knew that a mountain of coincidences could become a mountain of proof.

DNA, touch evidence, and even digital handshakes—Wi-Fi connections, device pings—were added to the mix. The killer’s movements before and after the crime, his stops at gas stations, his license plate caught on readers, all painted a picture. It wasn’t a single smoking gun, but a constellation of clues.

XV. The Media and the Public Eye

The Tepee case became a media sensation. True crime podcasts, news outlets, and social media sleuths dissected every detail. Ashley Banfield’s Drop Dead Serious drew hundreds of thousands of viewers, each episode adding new theories, new evidence, new urgency.

Crowdsourcing played a role. Viewers corrected police errors, identified houses on body cam footage, and shared tips with investigators. The line between journalism and investigation blurred, but the mission was the same: find the truth, honor the victims, protect the children.

The family’s statement resonated: “We trust the justice system to hold the person responsible fully accountable. Manique and Spencer remain at the center of our hearts and we carry forward their love. As we surround and protect the two children they leave behind, we will continue to honor their lives and the light they brought into this world.”

XVI. The Courtroom: Justice in the Balance

The day of Dr. Michael McKe’s arraignment arrived with a chill in the air. Reporters lined the courthouse steps, cameras rolling, microphones poised. The city of Columbus held its breath, waiting to see the man who, until now, had been a respected surgeon, a neighbor, a father.

Inside the courtroom, the atmosphere was tense. Dr. McKe appeared older, diminished—a stark contrast to the confident professional in earlier photographs. His defense attorney, seasoned and unflinching, requested more time to review the mountain of evidence. The prosecution, equally determined, laid out the case: surveillance footage, digital trails, forensic findings, and the emotional testimony of those left behind.

The judge listened, weighing every word. The charges were severe: two counts of first-degree murder, with the possibility of capital punishment should the moratorium ever lift. The defense argued reasonable doubt—contamination of the crime scene, the presence of others, the lack of a clear motive. The prosecution countered with the accumulation of facts, the pattern of behavior, the damning timeline.

The public followed every twist, every new revelation. Social media buzzed with theories, support for the family, and calls for justice. The children’s fate was central to every discussion. Would they find healing? Would they remember the love that once filled their home?

XVII. The Long Shadow of Trauma

As the legal process unfolded, the Tepee family faced a new reality. Grief became a daily companion, but so did resilience. Friends and relatives rallied around the children, offering stability, affection, and the promise of a future not defined by tragedy.

Therapists, counselors, and advocates worked quietly behind the scenes, helping the children process their trauma. The four-year-old’s memories were fragile but vital, and every effort was made to protect their innocence while honoring the truth.

The community responded with generosity. Vigils, fundraisers, and support groups sprang up, each one a testament to the impact Spencer and Manique had on those around them. In their names, scholarships were established, gardens were planted, and acts of kindness multiplied.

XVIII. Lessons and Reflections

The Tepee case was more than a headline—it was a lesson in the complexity of human nature, the importance of vigilance, and the enduring power of love. It reminded everyone that evil can wear the face of familiarity, that obsession can fester for years, and that justice, while imperfect, is worth pursuing.

For Ashley Banfield and the Drop Dead Serious audience, the story became a call to action. To look closer at the signs of domestic trouble, to support those at risk, and to demand accountability from the systems meant to protect us. It was a reminder that the smallest details—a footprint, a whispered name, a digital ping—can change everything.

XIX. Conclusion: The Light That Remains

In the end, the mystery of Spencer and Manique Tepee’s murders was not just about how they died, but how they lived—and how those left behind would carry their light forward. Their children, surrounded by love and support, began the slow work of healing. The family’s grief, though profound, was matched by their determination to honor Spencer and Manique’s memory.

The trial would take months, perhaps years, and the outcome remained uncertain. But the story had already changed lives, inspired action, and reminded a nation of the fragility and strength of the human spirit.

As Ashley Banfield signed off from Vermont, she left viewers with a simple message: “The truth isn’t just serious—it’s drop dead serious. And somewhere in the snowy quiet, it waits to be found.”