As some of you already know, up until recently, I was a detective in Solitude Heights, a small town in Kern County, California. Some of you might also know that circumstances surrounding my abrupt termination were messy at best and worthy of a lawsuit at worst (had I either the time or energy for legal assistance in my newfound state of unemployment.) The only positive to come from the whole situation is the fact that I can now answer the plethora of questions you all have sent my way without fear of retribution, since my leave was so hasty that the exit paperwork which would normally have silenced me remains unsigned. It brings me no pleasure to share these tales, but it is my hope that, in addition to satisfying your collective curiosity, these stories will also serve as valuable reminders regarding personal safety, situational awareness, and the power of, as my daughter puts it, “staying fuckin’ strapped”.
I am often asked about my “worst” case, with “worst” usually translating to “most messed up.” The most violent, saddening, and gruesome cases I will hold close to my chest forever, as I don’t see what benefit sharing them would bring, but the story I would like to share today is one of the most surprising due to the unusual relationship between the involved parties. Also surprising is the detail that during the investigation, I possessed a complete play-by-play of the events that occurred and the dialogue that was exchanged between parties. Much of what occurred was recorded by a baby monitor, which provided an auditory and limited visual account of the events that transpired on the night of February 3rd, 2014. The baby monitor was found in the nursery of the Hartmann residence, wherein, on the night of the 3rd, Claire Hartmann (née Callsen) was taking care of her four month old son alone while her husband, Jacob Hartmann, was out of state. The visuals are of little help—the camera is pointed at such an angle that we only see about a third of the small room. However, the audio recording, especially after being enhanced by some very skilled engineers, was an enormous help to the investigation.
Fortunately, due to my clumsy offboarding, I still possess the transcript made of the recording in its entirety, along with my notes at the time. I believe I’ve delayed long enough already, so without further introduction, I present the worst sound I’ve ever heard through a baby monitor:
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6:50 P.M., Wednesday, February 3rd, 2014. Twenty-four year old Claire Hartmann is in her home in south Solitude Heights, where she resides with her husband and child. She sits on the floor of her son’s nursery, folding baby clothes. We see a portion of her body through the baby monitor’s feed. Just out of view, a cell phone rings. Claire pauses, reaches into frame, and presumably taps accept on her cellphone, which lays on a table next to the baby monitor. She then taps the speaker button and returns to her previous position, resuming her folding.
C.H.: Hello?
J.D.: Hey, Claire.
C.H.: … I’m sorry, who is this?
J.D.: This is Jane.
Visible pause from Claire.
C.H.: Oh.
J.D.: Don’t sound too excited now.
C.H.: Sorry, I just … wasn’t expecting a call from you. I mean, wow, it’s been how long? Six years?
J.D.: Six years, four months, and thirteen days.
C.H.: Oh, wow, um … You really kept track there …
It is unclear if Jane does not respond or if she simply speaks too quietly to be heard through the baby monitor. Approximately thirty seconds of silence pass before there is what seems to be the sound of a passing car.
C.H.: Late night stroll?
J.D.: Something like that.
C.H.: I see. Where are you based these days, anyway? Still in California?
J.D.: [unintelligible]
Another long pause.
J.D.: So how are things? How’s Jacob?
C.H.: They’re good. He’s good.
J.D.: He takes you on a lot of business trips, doesn’t he? You were in Oahu last month, right? Looked like a blast.
C.H.: How’d you know that?
J.D.: You have a public Instagram with ten thousand followers; don’t sound so shocked. Anyway, it’s good that you travel. I always wondered why you and him didn’t move far away from this shithole, given all his tech money. I guess going on vacation every month makes it bearable.
C.H.: Why are you calling me?
J.D.: Why not? We were best friends once.
C.H.: That was a long time ago.
At this point, Sage Hartmann begins to cry. Claire sets down her laundry. She picks up her baby from his crib and sits in a rocking chair next to the desk. Only one of the rocking chair’s legs is in frame. Jane is quiet as Claire takes a few moments to comfort Sage, not speaking until the baby is quiet again.
J.D.: How’s Sage?
C.H.: He’s good. Healthy. He sure cries all day and night long, though.
J.D.: Is it hard taking care of him alone? When Jacob goes on his solo trips?
C.H.: A little, but I manage. It’s tough being a mom. I mean, I always knew it would be, but I really didn’t know the half of it. I’m still glad, though. Wouldn’t trade it for the world.
Claire laughs half-heartedly.
J.D.: [unintelligible] funny?
C.H.: Just weird to be talking about this with you. Feels like just yesterday you and I were kids ourselves.
J.D.: I know what you mean.
C.H.: I miss those days.
J.D.: Hm. I miss them up to a point, I guess.
C.H.: Ah … right. Well elementary school was fun. At least no one can deny that.
Light laugh from Jane.
J.H.: True. Nice not to have a fear in the world.
C.H.: It was. I really enjoyed going to Mammoth with you. Don’t know if I ever told you that, but that’s still one of my happiest memories.
J.H.: Really? I wouldn’t have thought that it would hold a candle to Bali and Tokyo and everything you’re doing these days, but I’m glad it does.
The sound of passing cars grows quieter. Likely, it is here that Jane Downing enters the neighborhood.
C.H.: So … What about you? How’s everything?
J.D.: Oh, you don’t wanna hear about my little life. I haven’t done anything exciting.
C.H.: Haha, come on, don’t lie to me. I’m sure you’ve done some interesting things in these past years.
J.D.: I wouldn’t lie to you, Claire.
C.H.: Well, maybe I don’t care about “exciting”. I’d like to hear what you’ve been up to. You kinda disappeared off the face of the earth after highschool.
J.D.: I was only ever a call away.
C.H.: I guess that’s fair. Well, come on—don’t leave me hanging. How’s life been for you?
A beat of silence.
J.D.: Well, I flunked out of college. I went to prison for a stint, and then a psych ward. Been in and out of terrible relationships all the while. I’ve tried every kind of medication I can get my hands on and I feel like none of them do a thing. So, yeah. I guess “miserable” is the best way to describe it.
C.H.: Oh …
J.D.: Are you going to hang up now?
C.H.: No. Why do you ask that?
J.D.: Because that’s how you always were. When I came to confide in you. When I told you I was being bullied, or that I wasn’t doing well, or what he was doing to me. Whatever I told you in confidence, you would brush it off and distance yourself.
C.H.: I was a kid back then, too. What did you want me to do?
J.D.: Anything.
C.H.: You didn’t call me just to bitch about how I was in high school, right?
J.D.: That’s not the only reason I called, no.
At this point in the call, the distinct sound of a wind chime plays over the phone speaker. Later investigations conducted by county officials would reveal a large copper wind chime hanging from a cottonwood tree near the front gate of the Hartmann’s three-acre property. According to Jacob Hartmann, this was gifted to Claire by her mother, an artisan who made and sold these chimes.
The rocking chair goes still.
C.H.: Where are you walking?
J.D.: [unintelligible]
Claire places Sage back in his crib and walks to the far end of the room. There is the sound of shutters being thrown open before Claire walks back to grab the phone from the table. She walks out of frame, returning to the window, although fortunately for our investigative efforts, she keeps the phone on speaker.
C.H.: Jane?
J.D.: You’re alone for the weekend, aren’t you?
C.H.: Why?
J.D.: I guess it doesn’t really matter if he’s there or not.
C.H.: Where are you, Jane?
J.D.: I’m home.
Both go quiet. Claire shuts the blinds, then closes and locks the door to the nursery. She returns to the table beside the crib, whereupon there is a house phone. She dials 9-1-1. As she explains the situation to the 9-1-1 operator, she continues to speak to Jane. Although we cannot see the screen of her cell phone, we assume that she mutes herself while using the house phone to speak with the operator. A full transcript of Claire’s call with 9-1-1 can be found in the Callsen’s directory.
J.D.: [unintelligible]
C.H.: You’re scaring me.
J.D.: Am I? Did I ever scare you when I came to you with a black eye? Or with cuts all over my skin? Were you scared when I came to you asking for help, telling you I was hurt and alone and that I didn’t know what to do? Were you scared then?
C.H.: I mean … I felt bad. Of course I felt bad. You were going through a tough time and I … I didn’t know how to help.
J.D.: You didn’t know, or you couldn’t be bothered to try?
Rustling sound. We believe it to be at this point that Jane Downing set down her bag and procured the murder weapon, carrying it in her hands for the remainder of her walk.
C.H.: Jane, the cops are on their way.
J.D.: I’m sure they are, but they won’t make it in time.
C.H.: In time? Jesus, look—you haven’t even done anything yet. Just leave now and we can figure things out, just the two of us.
J.D.: [unintelligible]
C.H.: You can’t be serious.
J.D.: I am. I think what hurts the most about all this is that you were the worst friend in the world, and the world rewarded you for it. Look at you, Miss Popular, Miss Married-to-Prince-Charming. You and I were so close for so long, and you watched me suffer for years without the slightest intervention, and then you took off without a word. [unintelligible] so beneath you that you couldn’t spare three words? All these years and you couldn’t have asked me just once “are you ok?”
C.H.: I’m sorry, ok? Is that what you wanted to hear? I was stupid, and selfish, and I was a bad friend. But, I swear to God, I’m a better person now. I have a kid! I can make it all up to you, okay?
There’s the sound of boots against wood as Jane ascends the porch steps. Claire’s voice takes on a confused edge. The stairs to the Hartmann residence are concrete.
C.H.: … Where ….
J.D.: Do you really want to make it up to me?
C.H.: Yes, I do. Just tell me how.
Jane opens the front door to the Callsen residence. Light sounds of conversation in the background fade as she enters the house. There is a scream.
J.D.: Here’s how you can make it up to me: you can listen to this, and you can know that you didn’t do a thing to stop it.
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At 7:12 P.M. on Wednesday, February 3rd, twenty-four year old Jane Downing entered the residence of the Callsen family in north Solitude Heights. Edward Callsen (57), Sharon Callsen (52), Emily Callsen (16), and Avery Callsen (16) were seated at the dinner table, halfway through their meal, when Downing walked into the room with a gun in her hands. We believe that Mr. Edward Callsen, whose cause of death was a gunshot wound to the head, charged the intruder immediately and was killed less than a minute after Downing’s entrance into the house. The other three members were not so lucky.
It took fifteen minutes for available officers, who were already en route to Claire Hartmann’s location on the opposite side of town, to reach the Callsen’s residence. Moments before police arrived, Downing inflicted fatal gunshot wounds on the remaining three members of the Callsen family before turning the gun on herself.
I will not describe in gratuitous detail the deaths of Sharon, Emily, and Avery Callsen. To do so I think would be besides the point. However, I will say that their executions were doled out with a special kind of cruelty. The three, under the pretense that they would be allowed to leave if they followed Downing’s instructions, were made to inflict severe bodily injury upon themselves and one another with the cutlery available to them.
To me, however, seeing the bodies in that pool of gore we found them in was less harrowing than the final moments of that recording. While I am grateful for the context that the recording provided, I feel that it served Downing’s mission. She set out with a kind of karmic justice in mind. Her goal was to make Mrs. Hartmann a helpless spectator—forced to listen but unable to prevent a horrible fate from befalling the people she loved. And now that their deaths are forever immortalized in that recording, each new listener becomes a powerless bystander as well.
I ask that you keep Mrs. Claire Hartmann in your thoughts tonight. While she and her young family have relocated to the East coast, where I hear that they remain in good health and finances, I cannot imagine the burden of survivor’s guilt that she bears on her shoulders. I also ask that, time willing, you take a moment to visit the obituaries of the four innocents taken from us on that winter day.
As always, lock your doors, no matter how small your town or close-knit you presume your community to be. Take care of yourselves, and take care of one another.
Until next time.