November 26, 2025 • 30 mins
Discover the shocking true crime story of the Landers-Donahue family massacre in Schaumburg, Illinois, where a baby’s baptism party turned deadly in August 2018. Five family members, including Mary Louise Landers-Donahue, her parents, sister, and visiting aunt, were shot execution-style while a single infant survived unharmed. The investigation revealed a chilling plot orchestrated by husband Derek Donahue and his mistress Natalie Ruiz, involving murder for life insurance, divorce, and custody motives. Police uncovered gunshot residue, surveillance footage, and phone records, while Derek even tried to frame his 10-year-old son. Follow the step-by-step true crime investigation, police interrogation, courtroom trial, and sentencing in this gripping story of family betrayal, murder-for-hire, and shocking deception.
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Transcript
Episode Transcript
Available transcripts are automatically generated. Complete accuracy is not guaranteed.
Speaker 1 (00:00):
It was supposed to be a day of blessings. In Schaumberg, Illinois,
August twenty eighteen, the weather was warm, the lawn was
freshly cut, and white folding chairs lined the backyard of
a brick home on Grove Avenue. Balloon shaped like doves
swayed in the humid air, and the smell of pasta,
salad and baby powder filled the breeze. Family and friends
had gathered to celebrate a baptism, but by dusk laughter
(00:23):
turned to screens inside the home. Five members of the
landers donahue family were dead. Only the baby, the child
being baptized, survived. It was August twenty eighteen in Chomberg, Illinois,
a warm, sticky month filled with backyard barbecues, back to
school shopping, and the hum of cicadas in the trees.
For Mary Louise landers Donau thirty three, it was supposed
(00:46):
to be one of the happiest weekends of her life.
She had spent days planning her baby's baptism, ordering white
dove shaped bullivans from Party City, choosing a pale yellow
dress from coals, and arranging folding chairs in neat rows
on the freshly cut grass of her Grove avenuev On.
Mary Louise was a high school Spanish teacher at Schomberg
West High where she was known for her colorful classroom
(01:08):
and contagious laugh. Her room smelled faintly of dry erase
markers and vanilla candles, and bright posters lined the walls.
Sigzeu weait and learn a language changed the world. Her
students said she made learning fun, even on tired Monday mornings.
She called them my other kids. Outside of school, she
was a devoted mother of two ten year old Jarson
(01:30):
and the baby being baptized that weekend. Friends say she
was always juggling grating papers at the kitchen table while
rocking the baby with one foot. Lately, though Mary Louise
had seemed distracted. She told a close friend she was
thinking about leaving her husband, Derek. She said the marriage
felt like walking on eggshells. She had even met with
a divorce attorney, quietly unsure of what to do next. Still,
(01:53):
on that August morning, she tried to put those worries aside.
Her mother, Carmen Landers fifty eight, arrived erily to help
set up the food. Carmen was a retired hospital receptionist,
a kind of woman who kept hand lotion in every
purse and still wore her old hospital id tag for luck.
She loved daytime talk shows, crossword puzzles, and always carried
(02:14):
butterscotch candies for her grandkids. That day, she wore her
favorite floral blouse and a gold cross necklace. Her father,
Richard Landers sixty one, came with a small toolkit in
the trunk of his car, just in case anything needed fixing.
A quiet, methodical man, Richard had worked as a machinist
for three decades at a local metalworks plant before retiring.
(02:37):
He kept a little spiral notebook of things to fix
leaky faucets, squeaky doors, uneven porch steps. Neighbors say he
wasn't very fond of his son in law, and sometimes
his disapproval showed in long silences at family dinners. Mary
Louise's younger sister, Angela Landers twenty seven, was the family extrovert,
a hairstylist who ran a small salon out of her basement.
(02:59):
She loved to talk, laugh, and post everything on Facebook,
from her new nail color to gossip about local clients.
She adored her older sister, but had recently told a
neighbor Mary Louise's marriage is cracking that Sunday she styled
Mary Luise's hair herself before the party, soft curls pinned
with a tiny pearl clip. Also visiting was on Lydia,
(03:20):
sixty six, who had flown in from Texas for the baptism.
Lydia was deeply Catholic and had crouchetted a white baby
blanket for the occasion, as she did for every baptism
in the family. She carried a rosary in her purse
and always said Grace before meals. By noon, the backyard
was filled with the smells of cattered pasta, salad and lemonade,
and the soft chatter of relatives snapping photos. The family laughed,
(03:44):
passed the baby around, and posed in front of the
brick house under a homemade banner that read, God bless
our little miracle. No one could have imagined that by dusk,
all five members of the Landers Donahue family, Mary Louise, Carmen, Richard, Angela,
and aunt Lydia would be dead. Each would be found
shot at close range, execution style inside that same happy home.
(04:06):
The only survivor would be the baby, still asleep in
her car seat, surrounded by silence. It was Sunday evening,
August nineteenth, twenty eighteen, just after six forty pm. The
summer light was starting to fade over Grove Avenue in Schaumberg, Illinois.
Neighbors were grilling dinner, children were riding bikes, and the
air was thick with humidity. From across the street, Harriet Cole,
(04:29):
a sixty seven year old widow who had lived there
for over thirty years, noticed something strange. She had been
watering her petunias when she heard a faint, rhythmic sound
a baby crying. At first, she thought it was coming
from a stroller or a passing car, but the sound
didn't move. It came from the Donihue house, where the
Landers family had been hosting their baby's baptism party earlier
(04:50):
that day. Harriet looked forward the driveway. The family's cars
were still parked there, the front door slightly open. Harriet
called out Mary, but got no response. The baby kept crying.
Feeling uneasy, she set down her watering can and slowly
crossed the street, her slippers sticking to the warm pavement.
(05:11):
She hesitated of the open doorway, pushing it gently with
one hand. Inside the house was too quiet, no music,
no laughter, no chatter. The smell of wine and pasta
salad still hung in the air, mixed with something metallic
and sharp. Then she saw it. On the floor of
the dining room, she spotted what looked like someone lying still.
She stepped closer, calling out again, and that's when she
(05:34):
realized there was blood everywhere. Panic shot through her. She
tried to back away, but slipped on the tile floor,
her foot catching a slick red stain. She fell hard,
twisting her ankle and feeling a sharp pain shoot up
her leg. Later doctors would say she had sprained it badly.
Harriet crawled backward toward the open door, trembling, her hands
(05:55):
shaking as she pulled out her flip phone. Her voice
cracked as she called nine one one. There's blood, she
told the dispatcher. There's a baby crying, Please hurry. The
despatcher asked if anyone was alive. Harriet could barely speak.
I don't know, she said, I just see people. They're
not moving. She waited on the front lawn, clutching her ankle,
(06:16):
crying as she rocked back and forth. The baby's cries
echoed from inside the house. Within minutes, the first schoumbered
police patrol car arrived, followed by an ambulance and two
more squad cars. Officers entered the home at six forty
nine p m. What they found was beyond anything they
had seen before. Five adults shot execution styled in what
(06:36):
had just hours earlier been a joyful family celebration. In
the middle of it all, the infant slept in her carrier,
miraculously unharmed, but spattered with tiny dots of blood. Harriet
was treated at the scene for her ankle and later
told reporters it was supposed to be a happy day.
I just wish I hadn't seen it. By six fifty
(06:57):
p m. On that Hume at August evening in twenty
eight eighteen, flashing red and blue lights reflected off the
brick houses lighting Grove Avenue and Schomberg. Neighbors stood on
their lawns in disbelief as police cars, ambulances, and crime
scene vans crowded the quiet suburban street. The smell of
freshly cut grass mixed with the sharp scent of gunpowder
(07:17):
that still hung in the warm air inside the landers.
Domenheu hoom. Detective Brian Keating, forty two, was the first
to step through the doorway. A veteran investigator with fifteen
years on the force, Keating had seen plenty of violent crimes,
but this was different. It was eerily silent, he later said,
like time had stopped. The air inside was heavy. The
(07:39):
ceiling fan hummed quietly above the dining table, still set
with plates of half eaten food. Two glasses of roses
sat untouched, condensation running down the sides. Balloon shaped like
doves floated limply near the ceiling on the walls. Family
photos showed smiling faces, the same ones now lying motionless
on the floor. The scene told a story of four
(08:00):
horror that unfolded in mere minutes. According to forensic investigators,
the killer had used a forty five caliber handgun fitted
with the suppressor, allowing the shots to be muffled. Each
of the five victims, Mary Louise, Carmen, Richard, Angela, and
aunt Lydia had been shot between the eyes or through
the temple. The pattern was clean and deliberate, showing no
(08:22):
signs of a struggle. Experts later said this suggested the
victims were caught off guard or forced to kneel. Blood
spattered the tile floor in lower walls, forming dark pools
near the baseboards. Detectives found five spent shell casings under
the dining table and one lodge beneath a chair, like
the killer had stood close, aiming with precision. In the
(08:42):
middle of it all sat the baby's car seat, splattered
with blood but miraculously untouched. The infant had somehow slept
through the massacre, wreathing softly amid the silence. Detective Keating
gently carried her out to a paramedic, who wrapped her
in a clean white towel. It was the only moment
of relief we had, one officer later said. Crime scene
technicians from the Cook County parensic humit. Began their slow,
(09:05):
methodical work. They photographed every inch of the room, tagged evidence,
and bagged each casing. They sprayed luminal, a chemical that
glows under UV light, to detect hidden traces of blood.
The glowing blue streaks revealed faint shoe prints leading from
the kitchen toward the back door size eleven, consistent with
a man sneaker outside. Officers blocked off the property with
(09:28):
yellow tape. As reporters started gathering at the corner, a
small crowd whispered and took photos with their phones. Inside,
the detectives worked in near silence, the hum of the
air conditioner the only sound. By nightfall, Keating had one
clear thought, whoever did this have been calm, deliberate, and unhurried.
The killer had left behind no fingerprints, no forced entry,
(09:50):
and no weapon. It was as if they had vanished
into the warm August night, leaving behind only blood, silence,
and a sleeping baby. The first and most obvious suspect
was Derek Doniue, thirty five years old, husband to Mary Louise,
and father of the two surviving children. On the surface,
Derek appeared calm, polite, and professional. He worked as a
(10:11):
mortgage officer at a suburban bank and Schomberg, often seen
leaving for work in crisp shirts and shiny shoes. But
behind the kneat haircuts and business casual smile, people said
something darker was brewing. Neighbors knew Derek as the guy
who mowed his lawn at night and always had a
bluetooth in his ear. Even at nine thirty pm, the
steady buzz of his mower could be heard cutting across
(10:33):
Grove Avenue while other families were settling in to watch
TV or put their kids to bed. It was known
to be temperamental and defensive, especially toward his wife's side
of the family, the Landers. Several neighbors said they had
overheard Derek shouting during family gatherings in the backyard. He
reportedly called his in law's leeches, saying they were always around,
always eating, never helping. The tension had been building for
(10:57):
years over small things, who brought what to dinner, who
paid for birthday gifts, and who got to hold the
baby first. The Landers family disliked Derek almost from the start.
They said he never helped clean up after meals, made
jokes about their accents, and once told Carmen, Mary Louise's
mother that her enchiladas tasted like dog poop. Still, to outsiders,
(11:18):
Derek seemed like a man keeping it together, paying the bills,
keeping the house neat, smiling for photos. But in August
of twenty eighteen, detectives learned that his life was falling
apart behind closed doors. When police searched Derek's phone, they
discovered text messages that revealed Mary Louise had recently met
with a divorce attorney. In one message to her sister Angela,
she wrote unjust done being scared of him. In another,
(11:42):
she said she wanted peace for the kids. Investigators also
found a string of texts between Derek and Natalie rus
Mary Louise's best friend and the godmother of their baby.
The messages were flirtatious and explicit. Some were sent just
hours before the baptism party. During his first interview with Deteyss,
Derek appeared control but oddly detached. He arrived wearing a
(12:04):
navy polo shirt and khaki shorts, holding a bottle of
water but never taking a sip. He told Detective Brian
Keating and his partner, Detective Aaron Haughton, that he had
left the party around five thirty pm to pick up
baby formula from a nearby Walgreens. He said when he
returned home, he found the door open and everyone dead,
(12:24):
but detectives quickly noticed problems with his story. Surveillance footage
from the Walgreens showed Derek walking in at six twelve
pm buying nothing but a pack of gum and a soda.
His house was less than a mile away, meaning there
was at least thirty minutes unaccounted for. When asked where
he was during that time, Derrick hesitated, then said he
might have gone for a drive to clear his head.
(12:47):
His demeanor remained flat, almost robic. He showed no visible
emotion when told his wife and her family were dead.
At one point, Detective Keating asked if he wanted to
sit down. Derek replied, no, I'm fine, his voice steady
and cold. To police, Derek's calmness wasn't composure, it was control.
Every word felt measured, every pause seemed deliberate. As one
(13:11):
investigator later said, he wasn't grieving, he was managing. By
the end of the night, detectives had one clear thought.
Something about Derek Donahue didn't add up. The second person
investigators turned their attention to was Natalie Rue's, age thirty one,
a daycare worker, lifelong friend of Mary Louise, and godmother
(13:32):
to the baby who had just been baptized that Sunday afternoon.
By all accounts, Natalie was well liked. She was described
as cheerful, dependable, and the kind of friend who always
remembered birthdays. She and Mary Louise had met years earlier
while working at a pre school in Schomberg and had
stayed close ever since. On August twelve, twenty eighteen, she
(13:52):
was invited to the family's small backyard celebration after the
baptism at Saint Matthew's Catholic Church. The afternoon had been warm,
around eighty ten two degrees, with the faint hum of
cicadas and the smell of grilled corn and hamburgers in
the air. Photos taken by relatives shown Navally smiling beside
Mary Louise, both women wearing sundresses, Mary Louise and Floral
(14:13):
Navally in pale yellow, and the baby cradled in Navale's arms.
Nobody could have guessed that hours later, five people in
that saying photo would be dead. When police arrived at
the Donahue home that evening, Navalie was one of the
first witnesses they questioned. She was standing outside, barefoot, clutching
her phone, her dress spotless. According to her statement, she
had been in the living room when the gunfire began.
(14:36):
That room, investigators later confirmed was where most of the
victims were shot. Natalie told officers she had ducked under
the table and stayed there until everything went quiet, but
detectives immediately noticed something strange. She didn't have a single
drop of blood on her, even though the walls, floor,
and furniture around her were covered in it. The victims
(14:57):
had been shot at close range with a forty five
caliber hand leaving heavy spatter across the room. Crime scene
photos showed bullet holes inches from where Natalie said she
had been crouching, yet her clothing, her hair, and even
her sampals were completely clean. Forensic tests found no gunshot
residue or biological material on her body. For someone who
(15:17):
claimed to be in the middle of that chaos, she
looked like she just stepped out of a photo shoot,
one investigator said. During her first police interview, Natalie appeared
shaken but oddly composed. She spoke quickly and repeated herself
several times, saying she didn't see anything and just froze.
Detective Aaron Haughton later described her answers as overly rehearsed.
(15:39):
When detectives checked their phone records, they found something even
more troubling. Multiple calls and texts exchanged with Derreck Donahue
that same afternoon, some only minutes before the murders. One
message from Derek read we'll talk after they leave. Another
from Natalie said, I'm still here. Everyone's eating. When confronted
with this information, Navily denied any wrongdoing. She told police
(16:03):
that Derek was just a friend who needed advice about
his marriage and insisted he was innocent. But her story
didn't sit right with investigators. How could she have survived
untouched in a room where everyone else was killed, Why
were her clothes spotless when blood had splattered across the ceiling,
and why had she been texting Derek, the one man
with the most to lose, right before the massacre began.
(16:25):
By the end of that week, Detective Keating wrote in
his notes, Ruse's breasts must be bigger than her brain.
Her behavior defies logic. Either she's the luckiest woman in Shombert,
or she knows exactly what happened in that house. Two
days after the massacre, on Tuesday, August twenty one, twenty eighteen,
Schombert police received a shocking phone call that changed the
(16:47):
direction of the case. It was just after three o'clock PM,
a humid afternoon when thunderstorms were rolling across Cook County.
The call came from Derek Doniue, the husband of victim
Mary Louise Landers Doniue's voice was tight and shaking. You
need to come, he told the dispatcher. My boy says
he did it. My son says he shot them. Officers
(17:08):
from the Schomburg Police Department rushed to the family's rental
home on West Weathersfield Way, just five blocks from the
crime scene. Neighbors stood on their porches watching his Police
cars pulled up, red and blue lights flashing across the
quiet suburban street. Inside, they found ten year old Jarson
Donahue sitting on the living room couch, wearing a faded
cub's T shirt and holding his baby sister's bottle. His
(17:30):
hair was messy and his socks didn't match. He looked calm,
too calm, one officer would later say. When detectives gently
asked what he meant, Jarson stared at them blankly and said,
they're all sleeping. The boy's words made little sense, but
Derek insisted his son had confessed. According to his statement,
Jarson had come to him earlier that afternoon and said, Daddy,
(17:52):
I made them go asleep. Derek claimed the boy had
described details of the crime, details that had not been
released to the public. Detectives tried to question Jarson further,
but the child began to hum softly and rock back
and forth, still clutching the bottle. His hands were small
and unsteady, his eyes wide, but juvenile crisis counselor was
(18:13):
called to assist, and the boy was taken to Saint
Alexius Medical Center for evaluation. Outside, reporters began to gather,
shouting questions towards the house. Could a ten year old
really be behind one of the most brutal family killings
in Illinois history. By the time police arrived at the
Donihue home on August twenty one, twenty eighteen, the late
(18:34):
summer sun was starting to sink behind the roof tops.
The air was thick with humidity, the smell of cut
grass still hanging in the evening heat. On the front steps,
ten year old Jarson Donniu sat quietly, barefoot, clutching his
baby sister's bottle. His hair stuck to his forehead and
his eyes looked dazed. As officers approached, he rocked back
(18:54):
and forth and repeated softly, they're all sleeping. It was
an eerie scene. Moments later, inside the house, his father,
Derek Donigue, made a call to nine one one, his
voice tense and trembling. My boy says he did it.
He told the dispatcher, he said he shot everyone. Detectives
rushed to the scene. Jarson was taken gently into the
(19:14):
living room, where Detective Brian Keating and child specialist Laura
Medina tried to ask him questions. The boy spoke slowly,
sometimes stopping to stare off into space. When asked what
happened at his grandparents' house, Jarson said, I used Daddy's
black gun from the top drawer. His words sent chills
through the room, but when investigators checked, Derek's forty five
(19:35):
caliber handgun was found locked in a safe and forensics
confirmed it had not been fired. Detectives asked Jarson to
show them how he held the gun. The boy picked
up a toy block with both hands and made a
jerky motion, his small arms trembling. His hands were far
too small to operate the heavy weapon that had been
used in the killings, especially when equipped with the suppressor.
(19:56):
Then came the moment that changed everything. As Detective Keating
and gently asked why he said he did it. Jarson
looked down at the bottle in his lap and whispered.
Daddy said to tell them I did it, or he'd
stuff me in the closet. The room fell silent. The
officer's exchanged looks. The child's voice was barely above a whisper,
but his words were clear. Over the next several hours,
(20:18):
Jarson's story unraveled. He couldn't describe the sound of gunfire,
the smell of gunpowder, or where the victims had been sitting,
all details the real shooter would have known. His hands
tested negative for gunshot residue, and there were no fingerprints, footprints,
or DNA linking him to the scene. Jarson was shy, quiet,
and love playing Minecraft and Marry o'cart. Teachers at his
(20:40):
school described him as gentle and easily frightened. Detectives soon
concluded he wasn't capable of committing such violence. Instead, they
believe he was coached or threatened, possibly by his own father.
By midnight, police had cleared the boy of suspicion. Detective
Keating later said Jarson wasn't a killer. He was a
scared kid, repeating what he'd been told to say. The
(21:03):
chilling confession had been a lie, one that pointed investigators
straight back to Derek Doniu. By the fourth day after
the massacre, investigators had finally pieced together what really happened
inside the Landers Doniu home. It was Thursday, August twenty three,
twenty eighteen, another heavy summer day in Chaumberg, Illinois, the
air thick with the scent of rain and cut grass.
(21:25):
Forensic teams were still calming through evidence when the pieces
began to connect, and they all pointed to one man,
Derek Doniue. Police had long suspected Derek, but until then
her evidence was mostly circumstantial. That changed when lab results
came back from the State crime Lab. Technicians discovered gunshot
residue on the inside cups of Derek's white dress shirt,
(21:47):
as sure he had changed out of before calling nine
to one one. The residue was microscopic, but it was
enough to prove he had fired or been near a
recently discharged weapon. Investigators now believed Derek had orchestrated the
killer to eliminate his wife before she could file for divorce,
and to gain control of her assets and custody of
their children. He also thought that by killing her family,
(22:09):
he could erase any legal opposition. The motive became clearer
with every new detail. According to financial records, Mary Luis's
life insurance policy had been increased just two months earlier.
Derek was also drowning in credit card debt and behind
on his mortgage. Then came the biggest break. Detectives discovered
that Natalie Ruse's phone, The Godmother and Derek's echo grit
(22:31):
lover it pinged at a strip mall parking lot near
Grove Avenue just fifteen minutes before the shootings. When investigators
pulled surveillance footage from a nearby BP gas station. The
video showed Derek walking briskly across the lot, wearing a
baseball cap in sunglasses. At four twelve pm, he opened
the trunk of Napoli's silver Nissan Altima and pulled out
(22:51):
a black gym bag. Forensic tests later confirmed that bag
had contained the forty five caliber hand Bend with the suppressor,
the same weapon used in the murders. The plan, investigators
concluded was coal and methodical. Derek and Napli had plotted
to kill Mary Louise and her family so they could
start a new life together using the baby's life insurance
payout and Mary Louise's savings. Derek staged the scene to
(23:14):
look like a botch break in, but when police quickly
ruled it out, he panicked. In the hours after the killings,
Derek tried to shift suspicion by chorusing his ten year
old son, Jarson, into confessing. Detectives later learned that Derek
had rehearsed the story with the boy that night, telling
him if you helped Daddy, I'll fix everything. When confronted
with the evidence, Natalie Ruis broke down during questioning in tears.
(23:38):
She admitted to helping Derek plan the attack, but insisted
she didn't believe he would actually go through with it.
She agreed to cooperate and testify against Derek in exchange
for a reduced sentence. That evening, at nine twelve pm,
officers surrounded Derek's home on Weathersfield Way. He stepped outside quietly,
still wearing his bluetooth therapies, and muttered, only you can't
(24:00):
prove it as detectives placed him in handcuffs. When news
of his arrest reached the surviving Landers relatives, they wept.
Justices started. Mary Luis's cousin told reporters, but nothing, nothing
can bring them back. The trial of Derek Donahue began
in March twenty twenty two, almost four years after the
baptism party that ended in the debts of five members
(24:23):
of the Landers Donahue family. By then, Schomberg had long
moved on to new headlines, but for the surviving relatives,
the wounds were still open. Courtroom seats were filled each
day with teachers from on High School, Mary Luise's co workers,
and neighbors who still remembered the sirens that core through
Grove Avenue that August night. The prosecution was led by
(24:45):
Elaine Dorsey forty six, a sharp and relentless assistant state's
attorney known for her clear arguments and calm delivery. In
her opening statement, she called Derek a man ruled by greed,
control and jealousy, telling jurors he had slowt uttered five
innocent people to protect his secrets. She laid out a
timeline built from phone records, Sir Gallant's footage, and forensic evidence.
(25:08):
Dorsey described how Derrick's shirt had gunshot residue inside the cuffs,
how Natalie Rouse his phone pinned near the scene, and
how Derek had tried to frame his own son, ten
year old Jarson to cover up his crime. Sitting at
the defense stable, Derek showed little emotion. He wore thick
glasses and a neatly ironed blue shirt each day of
(25:28):
the trial, often taking notes but rarely looking at the jury.
His defense attorney Mark Jensen fifty two, argued that Derek
had been set up by a vengeful mistress and that
the real shooter had never been found. Jensen said Nably
Rouse had manipulated Derek and pinned the murders on him
to save herself. In a shocking claim, he repeated Derek's
(25:50):
long standing accusation that Jarson, now fourteen years old, was
the real killer. A child's confession, he told jurors should
not be ignored. The courtroom gasped when Jensen said it,
and Derek nodded, insisting his son had told the truth
from the start. Prosecutor Dorsey quickly countered that the gun
was far too large for a child to use, and
(26:12):
that Derek had coached Jarson out of desperation. The most
emotional moment came when Natalie Ruse took the stand, now
thirty five. Dressed in a plain gray suit, She spoke
softly but clearly, describing how Dereck had planned every detail
and how. He told her afterward that it had to
be done. She admitted to helping him hide the weapon,
(26:33):
but said she didn't believe he would actually go through
with the gillings. Her testimony sealed his fate. After three
weeks of testimony and nearly forty witnesses, the jury began deliberations.
It took them only four hours to reach a verdict.
On March twenty ninth, twenty twenty two, Derek Donihue was
found guilty on five counts of first degree murder, as
well as obstruction of justice and child coercion. The judge
(26:56):
sentenced him to life in prison without the possibility of parole.
Natalie Ruez received a twenty five year sentence for her
role in the conspiracy. In the court room gallery, Mary
Luis's family cried quietly as the sentence was read. Some
held hands, others stared straight ahead outside. Her colleague from
from on High told reporters it's justice, but it will
(27:17):
never bring peace. Even as he was led away in handcuffs,
Derec turned to reporters and said, you've got it wrong.
My boy did it. After the trial concluded in March,
twenty twenty two, life for the surviving members of the
Landers Donahue family changed dramatically. The two Donahue children, now
living without their mother and extended family, were placed in
(27:39):
the custody of Mary Luis's cousin, who had moved back
to Schaumburg to provide stability. Friends and neighbors described the
transition as quiet but necessary, with the children attending school
under the careful watch of counselors and relatives. Derek Donniu
meanwhile began serving his life sentence without parole at Menard
Correctional Center in southern Illinois. Despite the over whelming evidence
(28:00):
and the jury's verdict, he continued to claim his son, Jarson,
was the real killer. In letters and recorded phone calls
from prison, he insisted the child had been falsely accused
and that the authorities had made a mistake. Corrections officers
reported that Derek remained defiant, refusing to accept responsibility for
the August twenty eighteen murders that had stunned Stromberg. Natalie
(28:23):
Rueis is serving her twenty five year sentence at the
Decadur Correctional Center. She has since expressed remorse for her
role in the planning and execution of the crime, cooperating
with authorities in hopes of a reduced sins Still, she
remains a constant reminder of the conspiracy that allowed Derek
to carry out the killings. For the police, the case
left a lasting impact. Detective Brian Keating, who led the investigation,
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retired in March twenty twenty four, calling the Landers Donahue
murders the hardest case of my career. He later spoke
at community forums about the emotional toll of investigating crimes
that involve children and close family members. His partner, Detective
Aarreon Haughton, transferred to a federal task force, but remained
in touch with the surviving family, offering support as they
(29:07):
adjusted to life after the tragedy. The family home on
Grove Avenue was eventually sold, but neighbours say had never
fully lost its shadow. Some report that new residents move
in for only short time, citing a strange heaviness in
the house. Each August, on the anniversary of the baptism,
white balloons sometimes appear on the front fence, a quiet,
somber tribute to a day that was meant to celebrate
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new life but instead ended an unimaginable tragedy. For the
Landers Donahue children, the years following the trial have been
a mix of therapy, school, and slow adjustment to a
life without their parents and grandparents. Friends of Mary Louise
continue to honor her memory through scholarships for Spanish students,
while the surviving relatives work quietly to rebuild routines and
(29:50):
keep the memory of the family alive. Even as time
moves forward, the case remains a chilling reminder of the
consequences of greed and betrayal within a family. Derek's his
insistence on blaming Jarson underscores the lingering trauma a family
destroyed not only by violence, but by manipulation, deception, and
the cold calculation of a man who sought to control
(30:10):
life and death. What began as a celebration of new
life ended as one of Illinois's most haunting family murders.
Five lives lost, one baby spared, and behind it all
the betrayal of trust, love and family. This is true
crime Case files
It was supposed to be a day of blessings. In Schaumberg, Illinois,
August twenty eighteen, the weather was warm, the lawn was
freshly cut, and white folding chairs lined the backyard of
a brick home on Grove Avenue. Balloon shaped like doves
swayed in the humid air, and the smell of pasta,
salad and baby powder filled the breeze. Family and friends
had gathered to celebrate a baptism, but by dusk laughter
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turned to screens inside the home. Five members of the
landers donahue family were dead. Only the baby, the child
being baptized, survived. It was August twenty eighteen in Chomberg, Illinois,
a warm, sticky month filled with backyard barbecues, back to
school shopping, and the hum of cicadas in the trees.
For Mary Louise landers Donau thirty three, it was supposed
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to be one of the happiest weekends of her life.
She had spent days planning her baby's baptism, ordering white
dove shaped bullivans from Party City, choosing a pale yellow
dress from coals, and arranging folding chairs in neat rows
on the freshly cut grass of her Grove avenuev On.
Mary Louise was a high school Spanish teacher at Schomberg
West High where she was known for her colorful classroom
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and contagious laugh. Her room smelled faintly of dry erase
markers and vanilla candles, and bright posters lined the walls.
Sigzeu weait and learn a language changed the world. Her
students said she made learning fun, even on tired Monday mornings.
She called them my other kids. Outside of school, she
was a devoted mother of two ten year old Jarson
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and the baby being baptized that weekend. Friends say she
was always juggling grating papers at the kitchen table while
rocking the baby with one foot. Lately, though Mary Louise
had seemed distracted. She told a close friend she was
thinking about leaving her husband, Derek. She said the marriage
felt like walking on eggshells. She had even met with
a divorce attorney, quietly unsure of what to do next. Still,
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on that August morning, she tried to put those worries aside.
Her mother, Carmen Landers fifty eight, arrived erily to help
set up the food. Carmen was a retired hospital receptionist,
a kind of woman who kept hand lotion in every
purse and still wore her old hospital id tag for luck.
She loved daytime talk shows, crossword puzzles, and always carried
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butterscotch candies for her grandkids. That day, she wore her
favorite floral blouse and a gold cross necklace. Her father,
Richard Landers sixty one, came with a small toolkit in
the trunk of his car, just in case anything needed fixing.
A quiet, methodical man, Richard had worked as a machinist
for three decades at a local metalworks plant before retiring.
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He kept a little spiral notebook of things to fix
leaky faucets, squeaky doors, uneven porch steps. Neighbors say he
wasn't very fond of his son in law, and sometimes
his disapproval showed in long silences at family dinners. Mary
Louise's younger sister, Angela Landers twenty seven, was the family extrovert,
a hairstylist who ran a small salon out of her basement.
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She loved to talk, laugh, and post everything on Facebook,
from her new nail color to gossip about local clients.
She adored her older sister, but had recently told a
neighbor Mary Louise's marriage is cracking that Sunday she styled
Mary Luise's hair herself before the party, soft curls pinned
with a tiny pearl clip. Also visiting was on Lydia,
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sixty six, who had flown in from Texas for the baptism.
Lydia was deeply Catholic and had crouchetted a white baby
blanket for the occasion, as she did for every baptism
in the family. She carried a rosary in her purse
and always said Grace before meals. By noon, the backyard
was filled with the smells of cattered pasta, salad and lemonade,
and the soft chatter of relatives snapping photos. The family laughed,
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passed the baby around, and posed in front of the
brick house under a homemade banner that read, God bless
our little miracle. No one could have imagined that by dusk,
all five members of the Landers Donahue family, Mary Louise, Carmen, Richard, Angela,
and aunt Lydia would be dead. Each would be found
shot at close range, execution style inside that same happy home.
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The only survivor would be the baby, still asleep in
her car seat, surrounded by silence. It was Sunday evening,
August nineteenth, twenty eighteen, just after six forty pm. The
summer light was starting to fade over Grove Avenue in Schaumberg, Illinois.
Neighbors were grilling dinner, children were riding bikes, and the
air was thick with humidity. From across the street, Harriet Cole,
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a sixty seven year old widow who had lived there
for over thirty years, noticed something strange. She had been
watering her petunias when she heard a faint, rhythmic sound
a baby crying. At first, she thought it was coming
from a stroller or a passing car, but the sound
didn't move. It came from the Donihue house, where the
Landers family had been hosting their baby's baptism party earlier
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that day. Harriet looked forward the driveway. The family's cars
were still parked there, the front door slightly open. Harriet
called out Mary, but got no response. The baby kept crying.
Feeling uneasy, she set down her watering can and slowly
crossed the street, her slippers sticking to the warm pavement.
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She hesitated of the open doorway, pushing it gently with
one hand. Inside the house was too quiet, no music,
no laughter, no chatter. The smell of wine and pasta
salad still hung in the air, mixed with something metallic
and sharp. Then she saw it. On the floor of
the dining room, she spotted what looked like someone lying still.
She stepped closer, calling out again, and that's when she
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realized there was blood everywhere. Panic shot through her. She
tried to back away, but slipped on the tile floor,
her foot catching a slick red stain. She fell hard,
twisting her ankle and feeling a sharp pain shoot up
her leg. Later doctors would say she had sprained it badly.
Harriet crawled backward toward the open door, trembling, her hands
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shaking as she pulled out her flip phone. Her voice
cracked as she called nine one one. There's blood, she
told the dispatcher. There's a baby crying, Please hurry. The
despatcher asked if anyone was alive. Harriet could barely speak.
I don't know, she said, I just see people. They're
not moving. She waited on the front lawn, clutching her ankle,
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crying as she rocked back and forth. The baby's cries
echoed from inside the house. Within minutes, the first schoumbered
police patrol car arrived, followed by an ambulance and two
more squad cars. Officers entered the home at six forty
nine p m. What they found was beyond anything they
had seen before. Five adults shot execution styled in what
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had just hours earlier been a joyful family celebration. In
the middle of it all, the infant slept in her carrier,
miraculously unharmed, but spattered with tiny dots of blood. Harriet
was treated at the scene for her ankle and later
told reporters it was supposed to be a happy day.
I just wish I hadn't seen it. By six fifty
(06:57):
p m. On that Hume at August evening in twenty
eight eighteen, flashing red and blue lights reflected off the
brick houses lighting Grove Avenue and Schomberg. Neighbors stood on
their lawns in disbelief as police cars, ambulances, and crime
scene vans crowded the quiet suburban street. The smell of
freshly cut grass mixed with the sharp scent of gunpowder
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that still hung in the warm air inside the landers.
Domenheu hoom. Detective Brian Keating, forty two, was the first
to step through the doorway. A veteran investigator with fifteen
years on the force, Keating had seen plenty of violent crimes,
but this was different. It was eerily silent, he later said,
like time had stopped. The air inside was heavy. The
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ceiling fan hummed quietly above the dining table, still set
with plates of half eaten food. Two glasses of roses
sat untouched, condensation running down the sides. Balloon shaped like
doves floated limply near the ceiling on the walls. Family
photos showed smiling faces, the same ones now lying motionless
on the floor. The scene told a story of four
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horror that unfolded in mere minutes. According to forensic investigators,
the killer had used a forty five caliber handgun fitted
with the suppressor, allowing the shots to be muffled. Each
of the five victims, Mary Louise, Carmen, Richard, Angela, and
aunt Lydia had been shot between the eyes or through
the temple. The pattern was clean and deliberate, showing no
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signs of a struggle. Experts later said this suggested the
victims were caught off guard or forced to kneel. Blood
spattered the tile floor in lower walls, forming dark pools
near the baseboards. Detectives found five spent shell casings under
the dining table and one lodge beneath a chair, like
the killer had stood close, aiming with precision. In the
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middle of it all sat the baby's car seat, splattered
with blood but miraculously untouched. The infant had somehow slept
through the massacre, wreathing softly amid the silence. Detective Keating
gently carried her out to a paramedic, who wrapped her
in a clean white towel. It was the only moment
of relief we had, one officer later said. Crime scene
technicians from the Cook County parensic humit. Began their slow,
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methodical work. They photographed every inch of the room, tagged evidence,
and bagged each casing. They sprayed luminal, a chemical that
glows under UV light, to detect hidden traces of blood.
The glowing blue streaks revealed faint shoe prints leading from
the kitchen toward the back door size eleven, consistent with
a man sneaker outside. Officers blocked off the property with
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yellow tape. As reporters started gathering at the corner, a
small crowd whispered and took photos with their phones. Inside,
the detectives worked in near silence, the hum of the
air conditioner the only sound. By nightfall, Keating had one
clear thought, whoever did this have been calm, deliberate, and unhurried.
The killer had left behind no fingerprints, no forced entry,
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and no weapon. It was as if they had vanished
into the warm August night, leaving behind only blood, silence,
and a sleeping baby. The first and most obvious suspect
was Derek Doniue, thirty five years old, husband to Mary Louise,
and father of the two surviving children. On the surface,
Derek appeared calm, polite, and professional. He worked as a
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mortgage officer at a suburban bank and Schomberg, often seen
leaving for work in crisp shirts and shiny shoes. But
behind the kneat haircuts and business casual smile, people said
something darker was brewing. Neighbors knew Derek as the guy
who mowed his lawn at night and always had a
bluetooth in his ear. Even at nine thirty pm, the
steady buzz of his mower could be heard cutting across
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Grove Avenue while other families were settling in to watch
TV or put their kids to bed. It was known
to be temperamental and defensive, especially toward his wife's side
of the family, the Landers. Several neighbors said they had
overheard Derek shouting during family gatherings in the backyard. He
reportedly called his in law's leeches, saying they were always around,
always eating, never helping. The tension had been building for
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years over small things, who brought what to dinner, who
paid for birthday gifts, and who got to hold the
baby first. The Landers family disliked Derek almost from the start.
They said he never helped clean up after meals, made
jokes about their accents, and once told Carmen, Mary Louise's
mother that her enchiladas tasted like dog poop. Still, to outsiders,
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Derek seemed like a man keeping it together, paying the bills,
keeping the house neat, smiling for photos. But in August
of twenty eighteen, detectives learned that his life was falling
apart behind closed doors. When police searched Derek's phone, they
discovered text messages that revealed Mary Louise had recently met
with a divorce attorney. In one message to her sister Angela,
she wrote unjust done being scared of him. In another,
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she said she wanted peace for the kids. Investigators also
found a string of texts between Derek and Natalie rus
Mary Louise's best friend and the godmother of their baby.
The messages were flirtatious and explicit. Some were sent just
hours before the baptism party. During his first interview with Deteyss,
Derek appeared control but oddly detached. He arrived wearing a
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navy polo shirt and khaki shorts, holding a bottle of
water but never taking a sip. He told Detective Brian
Keating and his partner, Detective Aaron Haughton, that he had
left the party around five thirty pm to pick up
baby formula from a nearby Walgreens. He said when he
returned home, he found the door open and everyone dead,
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but detectives quickly noticed problems with his story. Surveillance footage
from the Walgreens showed Derek walking in at six twelve
pm buying nothing but a pack of gum and a soda.
His house was less than a mile away, meaning there
was at least thirty minutes unaccounted for. When asked where
he was during that time, Derrick hesitated, then said he
might have gone for a drive to clear his head.
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His demeanor remained flat, almost robic. He showed no visible
emotion when told his wife and her family were dead.
At one point, Detective Keating asked if he wanted to
sit down. Derek replied, no, I'm fine, his voice steady
and cold. To police, Derek's calmness wasn't composure, it was control.
Every word felt measured, every pause seemed deliberate. As one
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investigator later said, he wasn't grieving, he was managing. By
the end of the night, detectives had one clear thought.
Something about Derek Donahue didn't add up. The second person
investigators turned their attention to was Natalie Rue's, age thirty one,
a daycare worker, lifelong friend of Mary Louise, and godmother
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to the baby who had just been baptized that Sunday afternoon.
By all accounts, Natalie was well liked. She was described
as cheerful, dependable, and the kind of friend who always
remembered birthdays. She and Mary Louise had met years earlier
while working at a pre school in Schomberg and had
stayed close ever since. On August twelve, twenty eighteen, she
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was invited to the family's small backyard celebration after the
baptism at Saint Matthew's Catholic Church. The afternoon had been warm,
around eighty ten two degrees, with the faint hum of
cicadas and the smell of grilled corn and hamburgers in
the air. Photos taken by relatives shown Navally smiling beside
Mary Louise, both women wearing sundresses, Mary Louise and Floral
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Navally in pale yellow, and the baby cradled in Navale's arms.
Nobody could have guessed that hours later, five people in
that saying photo would be dead. When police arrived at
the Donahue home that evening, Navalie was one of the
first witnesses they questioned. She was standing outside, barefoot, clutching
her phone, her dress spotless. According to her statement, she
had been in the living room when the gunfire began.
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That room, investigators later confirmed was where most of the
victims were shot. Natalie told officers she had ducked under
the table and stayed there until everything went quiet, but
detectives immediately noticed something strange. She didn't have a single
drop of blood on her, even though the walls, floor,
and furniture around her were covered in it. The victims
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had been shot at close range with a forty five
caliber hand leaving heavy spatter across the room. Crime scene
photos showed bullet holes inches from where Natalie said she
had been crouching, yet her clothing, her hair, and even
her sampals were completely clean. Forensic tests found no gunshot
residue or biological material on her body. For someone who
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claimed to be in the middle of that chaos, she
looked like she just stepped out of a photo shoot,
one investigator said. During her first police interview, Natalie appeared
shaken but oddly composed. She spoke quickly and repeated herself
several times, saying she didn't see anything and just froze.
Detective Aaron Haughton later described her answers as overly rehearsed.
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When detectives checked their phone records, they found something even
more troubling. Multiple calls and texts exchanged with Derreck Donahue
that same afternoon, some only minutes before the murders. One
message from Derek read we'll talk after they leave. Another
from Natalie said, I'm still here. Everyone's eating. When confronted
with this information, Navily denied any wrongdoing. She told police
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that Derek was just a friend who needed advice about
his marriage and insisted he was innocent. But her story
didn't sit right with investigators. How could she have survived
untouched in a room where everyone else was killed, Why
were her clothes spotless when blood had splattered across the ceiling,
and why had she been texting Derek, the one man
with the most to lose, right before the massacre began.
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By the end of that week, Detective Keating wrote in
his notes, Ruse's breasts must be bigger than her brain.
Her behavior defies logic. Either she's the luckiest woman in Shombert,
or she knows exactly what happened in that house. Two
days after the massacre, on Tuesday, August twenty one, twenty eighteen,
Schombert police received a shocking phone call that changed the
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direction of the case. It was just after three o'clock PM,
a humid afternoon when thunderstorms were rolling across Cook County.
The call came from Derek Doniue, the husband of victim
Mary Louise Landers Doniue's voice was tight and shaking. You
need to come, he told the dispatcher. My boy says
he did it. My son says he shot them. Officers
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from the Schomburg Police Department rushed to the family's rental
home on West Weathersfield Way, just five blocks from the
crime scene. Neighbors stood on their porches watching his Police
cars pulled up, red and blue lights flashing across the
quiet suburban street. Inside, they found ten year old Jarson
Donahue sitting on the living room couch, wearing a faded
cub's T shirt and holding his baby sister's bottle. His
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hair was messy and his socks didn't match. He looked calm,
too calm, one officer would later say. When detectives gently
asked what he meant, Jarson stared at them blankly and said,
they're all sleeping. The boy's words made little sense, but
Derek insisted his son had confessed. According to his statement,
Jarson had come to him earlier that afternoon and said, Daddy,
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I made them go asleep. Derek claimed the boy had
described details of the crime, details that had not been
released to the public. Detectives tried to question Jarson further,
but the child began to hum softly and rock back
and forth, still clutching the bottle. His hands were small
and unsteady, his eyes wide, but juvenile crisis counselor was
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called to assist, and the boy was taken to Saint
Alexius Medical Center for evaluation. Outside, reporters began to gather,
shouting questions towards the house. Could a ten year old
really be behind one of the most brutal family killings
in Illinois history. By the time police arrived at the
Donihue home on August twenty one, twenty eighteen, the late
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summer sun was starting to sink behind the roof tops.
The air was thick with humidity, the smell of cut
grass still hanging in the evening heat. On the front steps,
ten year old Jarson Donniu sat quietly, barefoot, clutching his
baby sister's bottle. His hair stuck to his forehead and
his eyes looked dazed. As officers approached, he rocked back
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and forth and repeated softly, they're all sleeping. It was
an eerie scene. Moments later, inside the house, his father,
Derek Donigue, made a call to nine one one, his
voice tense and trembling. My boy says he did it.
He told the dispatcher, he said he shot everyone. Detectives
rushed to the scene. Jarson was taken gently into the
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living room, where Detective Brian Keating and child specialist Laura
Medina tried to ask him questions. The boy spoke slowly,
sometimes stopping to stare off into space. When asked what
happened at his grandparents' house, Jarson said, I used Daddy's
black gun from the top drawer. His words sent chills
through the room, but when investigators checked, Derek's forty five
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caliber handgun was found locked in a safe and forensics
confirmed it had not been fired. Detectives asked Jarson to
show them how he held the gun. The boy picked
up a toy block with both hands and made a
jerky motion, his small arms trembling. His hands were far
too small to operate the heavy weapon that had been
used in the killings, especially when equipped with the suppressor.
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Then came the moment that changed everything. As Detective Keating
and gently asked why he said he did it. Jarson
looked down at the bottle in his lap and whispered.
Daddy said to tell them I did it, or he'd
stuff me in the closet. The room fell silent. The
officer's exchanged looks. The child's voice was barely above a whisper,
but his words were clear. Over the next several hours,
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Jarson's story unraveled. He couldn't describe the sound of gunfire,
the smell of gunpowder, or where the victims had been sitting,
all details the real shooter would have known. His hands
tested negative for gunshot residue, and there were no fingerprints, footprints,
or DNA linking him to the scene. Jarson was shy, quiet,
and love playing Minecraft and Marry o'cart. Teachers at his
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school described him as gentle and easily frightened. Detectives soon
concluded he wasn't capable of committing such violence. Instead, they
believe he was coached or threatened, possibly by his own father.
By midnight, police had cleared the boy of suspicion. Detective
Keating later said Jarson wasn't a killer. He was a
scared kid, repeating what he'd been told to say. The
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chilling confession had been a lie, one that pointed investigators
straight back to Derek Doniu. By the fourth day after
the massacre, investigators had finally pieced together what really happened
inside the Landers Doniu home. It was Thursday, August twenty three,
twenty eighteen, another heavy summer day in Chaumberg, Illinois, the
air thick with the scent of rain and cut grass.
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Forensic teams were still calming through evidence when the pieces
began to connect, and they all pointed to one man,
Derek Doniue. Police had long suspected Derek, but until then
her evidence was mostly circumstantial. That changed when lab results
came back from the State crime Lab. Technicians discovered gunshot
residue on the inside cups of Derek's white dress shirt,
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as sure he had changed out of before calling nine
to one one. The residue was microscopic, but it was
enough to prove he had fired or been near a
recently discharged weapon. Investigators now believed Derek had orchestrated the
killer to eliminate his wife before she could file for divorce,
and to gain control of her assets and custody of
their children. He also thought that by killing her family,
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he could erase any legal opposition. The motive became clearer
with every new detail. According to financial records, Mary Luis's
life insurance policy had been increased just two months earlier.
Derek was also drowning in credit card debt and behind
on his mortgage. Then came the biggest break. Detectives discovered
that Natalie Ruse's phone, The Godmother and Derek's echo grit
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lover it pinged at a strip mall parking lot near
Grove Avenue just fifteen minutes before the shootings. When investigators
pulled surveillance footage from a nearby BP gas station. The
video showed Derek walking briskly across the lot, wearing a
baseball cap in sunglasses. At four twelve pm, he opened
the trunk of Napoli's silver Nissan Altima and pulled out
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a black gym bag. Forensic tests later confirmed that bag
had contained the forty five caliber hand Bend with the suppressor,
the same weapon used in the murders. The plan, investigators
concluded was coal and methodical. Derek and Napli had plotted
to kill Mary Louise and her family so they could
start a new life together using the baby's life insurance
payout and Mary Louise's savings. Derek staged the scene to
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look like a botch break in, but when police quickly
ruled it out, he panicked. In the hours after the killings,
Derek tried to shift suspicion by chorusing his ten year
old son, Jarson, into confessing. Detectives later learned that Derek
had rehearsed the story with the boy that night, telling
him if you helped Daddy, I'll fix everything. When confronted
with the evidence, Natalie Ruis broke down during questioning in tears.
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She admitted to helping Derek plan the attack, but insisted
she didn't believe he would actually go through with it.
She agreed to cooperate and testify against Derek in exchange
for a reduced sentence. That evening, at nine twelve pm,
officers surrounded Derek's home on Weathersfield Way. He stepped outside quietly,
still wearing his bluetooth therapies, and muttered, only you can't
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prove it as detectives placed him in handcuffs. When news
of his arrest reached the surviving Landers relatives, they wept.
Justices started. Mary Luis's cousin told reporters, but nothing, nothing
can bring them back. The trial of Derek Donahue began
in March twenty twenty two, almost four years after the
baptism party that ended in the debts of five members
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of the Landers Donahue family. By then, Schomberg had long
moved on to new headlines, but for the surviving relatives,
the wounds were still open. Courtroom seats were filled each
day with teachers from on High School, Mary Luise's co workers,
and neighbors who still remembered the sirens that core through
Grove Avenue that August night. The prosecution was led by
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Elaine Dorsey forty six, a sharp and relentless assistant state's
attorney known for her clear arguments and calm delivery. In
her opening statement, she called Derek a man ruled by greed,
control and jealousy, telling jurors he had slowt uttered five
innocent people to protect his secrets. She laid out a
timeline built from phone records, Sir Gallant's footage, and forensic evidence.
(25:08):
Dorsey described how Derrick's shirt had gunshot residue inside the cuffs,
how Natalie Rouse his phone pinned near the scene, and
how Derek had tried to frame his own son, ten
year old Jarson to cover up his crime. Sitting at
the defense stable, Derek showed little emotion. He wore thick
glasses and a neatly ironed blue shirt each day of
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the trial, often taking notes but rarely looking at the jury.
His defense attorney Mark Jensen fifty two, argued that Derek
had been set up by a vengeful mistress and that
the real shooter had never been found. Jensen said Nably
Rouse had manipulated Derek and pinned the murders on him
to save herself. In a shocking claim, he repeated Derek's
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long standing accusation that Jarson, now fourteen years old, was
the real killer. A child's confession, he told jurors should
not be ignored. The courtroom gasped when Jensen said it,
and Derek nodded, insisting his son had told the truth
from the start. Prosecutor Dorsey quickly countered that the gun
was far too large for a child to use, and
(26:12):
that Derek had coached Jarson out of desperation. The most
emotional moment came when Natalie Ruse took the stand, now
thirty five. Dressed in a plain gray suit, She spoke
softly but clearly, describing how Dereck had planned every detail
and how. He told her afterward that it had to
be done. She admitted to helping him hide the weapon,
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but said she didn't believe he would actually go through
with the gillings. Her testimony sealed his fate. After three
weeks of testimony and nearly forty witnesses, the jury began deliberations.
It took them only four hours to reach a verdict.
On March twenty ninth, twenty twenty two, Derek Donihue was
found guilty on five counts of first degree murder, as
well as obstruction of justice and child coercion. The judge
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sentenced him to life in prison without the possibility of parole.
Natalie Ruez received a twenty five year sentence for her
role in the conspiracy. In the court room gallery, Mary
Luis's family cried quietly as the sentence was read. Some
held hands, others stared straight ahead outside. Her colleague from
from on High told reporters it's justice, but it will
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never bring peace. Even as he was led away in handcuffs,
Derec turned to reporters and said, you've got it wrong.
My boy did it. After the trial concluded in March,
twenty twenty two, life for the surviving members of the
Landers Donahue family changed dramatically. The two Donahue children, now
living without their mother and extended family, were placed in
(27:39):
the custody of Mary Luis's cousin, who had moved back
to Schaumburg to provide stability. Friends and neighbors described the
transition as quiet but necessary, with the children attending school
under the careful watch of counselors and relatives. Derek Donniu
meanwhile began serving his life sentence without parole at Menard
Correctional Center in southern Illinois. Despite the over whelming evidence
(28:00):
and the jury's verdict, he continued to claim his son, Jarson,
was the real killer. In letters and recorded phone calls
from prison, he insisted the child had been falsely accused
and that the authorities had made a mistake. Corrections officers
reported that Derek remained defiant, refusing to accept responsibility for
the August twenty eighteen murders that had stunned Stromberg. Natalie
(28:23):
Rueis is serving her twenty five year sentence at the
Decadur Correctional Center. She has since expressed remorse for her
role in the planning and execution of the crime, cooperating
with authorities in hopes of a reduced sins Still, she
remains a constant reminder of the conspiracy that allowed Derek
to carry out the killings. For the police, the case
left a lasting impact. Detective Brian Keating, who led the investigation,
(28:46):
retired in March twenty twenty four, calling the Landers Donahue
murders the hardest case of my career. He later spoke
at community forums about the emotional toll of investigating crimes
that involve children and close family members. His partner, Detective
Aarreon Haughton, transferred to a federal task force, but remained
in touch with the surviving family, offering support as they
(29:07):
adjusted to life after the tragedy. The family home on
Grove Avenue was eventually sold, but neighbours say had never
fully lost its shadow. Some report that new residents move
in for only short time, citing a strange heaviness in
the house. Each August, on the anniversary of the baptism,
white balloons sometimes appear on the front fence, a quiet,
somber tribute to a day that was meant to celebrate
(29:29):
new life but instead ended an unimaginable tragedy. For the
Landers Donahue children, the years following the trial have been
a mix of therapy, school, and slow adjustment to a
life without their parents and grandparents. Friends of Mary Louise
continue to honor her memory through scholarships for Spanish students,
while the surviving relatives work quietly to rebuild routines and
(29:50):
keep the memory of the family alive. Even as time
moves forward, the case remains a chilling reminder of the
consequences of greed and betrayal within a family. Derek's his
insistence on blaming Jarson underscores the lingering trauma a family
destroyed not only by violence, but by manipulation, deception, and
the cold calculation of a man who sought to control
(30:10):
life and death. What began as a celebration of new
life ended as one of Illinois's most haunting family murders.
Five lives lost, one baby spared, and behind it all
the betrayal of trust, love and family. This is true
crime Case files
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