A month after Jayme Closs vanished, her hometown shrouded in gloom
BARRON, Wis. — After the grim news of what happened at the Closs place last month, some of the children here wonder if it’s OK to be happy anymore.
Adults who never thought twice about locking their doors are now double-checking deadbolts and installing security systems.
Even the local sheriff admits that the gruesome details of what happened in the wee hours of Oct. 15 get to him, prompting him to pause and take an extra-long look into his children’s bedrooms each night after another day of searching for clues in a haunting mystery that has put this northwestern Wisconsin town of 3,400 residents on edge.
“Who was the target here?” Barron County Sheriff Chris Fitzgerald said last week, shaking his head. “That’s the million-dollar question. Was it a robbery gone bad? Why do you pick that house? I wish I knew.
“The motive isn’t there. The reason isn’t there. I wish, wish, wish every night before I go to bed that we find a clue.”
More than a month after Denise and James Closs were shot to death in their home about two miles outside of town, police frankly admit that they’re stumped and desperate for clues as to who killed them and why. They have no leads, no weapon and no motive. What’s more, they have no idea of what happened to the Closs’ 13-yearold daughter, Jayme, who was home at the time of the killings and vanished.
Authorities have said they don’t consider her a suspect.
At least 20 officers, from the county sheriff’s department to the FBI, continue to work the case, Fitzgerald said last week. But that’s a far cry from the 200 or more law enforcement officers who tracked clues in the hours and days following the brutal killings and Jayme’s disappearance.
As the number of tips reported to police dwindles, residents remain anxious for answers, hoping and praying for an arrest and Jayme’s safe return.
“A lot of people are scared,” said Jennifer Smith, one of Denise’s sisters, who lives in town. “I’m scared. I check my doors 10 times a night . ... I peek out my windows. I don’t want to go out in the dark by myself.”
“It’s been very heavy around here, very dark,” said Patty Gerber, who was Jayme’s Sunday school teacher at a local Catholic church. “Obviously, a lot of people are just sad.
“I think there’s a new feeling of the unknown. Not knowing scares people.” The city of Barron, about 90 miles northeast of the Twin Cities, is divided by busy U.S. Hwy. 8 and dominated by the Jennie-O Turkey Store processing plant, where both James and Denise Closs worked most of their adult lives.
The constant roar of big trucks along the brightly lit highway overshadows the town’s small and quiet Main Street, just a few blocks away.
These days, the highway is dotted with signs — some asking motorists to pray for Jayme, others expressing support for Chris Kroeze, a local resident who’s competing on “The Voice,” a nationally televised talent competition. The two developments have put Barron in the strange position of celebrating an unlikely success while also mourning an unfathomable tragedy.