Case of 3 Missing Women Still Baffles Authorities

It was a night of joy. A high school graduation. Friends gathering later for parties with plans to continue the celebration the next day.

But somewhere between the parties and the next day, things fell apart for two classmates and one of their mothers. The mystery is no closer to being solved today than it was when the women vanished a decade ago.

There are no solid clues and no suspects in the disappearance of Sherrill Levitt, her 19-year-old daughter, Suzanne Streeter, and her daughter’s friend Stacy McCall, 18. Investigators and those who track missing adults can recall no similar case.

“In my 10 years, the case of the three women missing from Springfield is very uncommon,” says Kym Pasqualini, president of the Nation’s Missing Children Organization and Center for Missing Adults in Phoenix. “It’s very unique to have multiple adults disappear together, especially under those circumstances.”

Streeter and McCall graduated from Kickapoo High School on June 6, 1992. After attending two parties, the girls decided to get a few hours’ sleep before heading to a Branson amusement park with friends. They arrived about 3 a.m. on June 7 at Levitt’s home and prepared for bed.

When friends arrived later that morning, the three women were gone.

Their purses, containing cigarettes, money and medication, were left behind. Their cars were still in the driveway.

Except for a broken porch light, nothing seemed askew. Investigators found no telltale clues in the tidy one-story home that sits a few hundred feet from a busy thoroughfare.

Police have followed more than 5,200 leads that have taken them to 21 states, Sgt. Mike Owen said. They have checked tips from psychics and called in retired investigators to review the case. There are no suspects, but half a dozen individuals remain under suspicion.

A new detective has been assigned to review the case, and police hope the fresh attention surrounding the anniversary will bring new leads.

A Mother’s Regrets

For Janis McCall, a stubborn instinct kindles the faint hope that Stacy, her youngest of three children, is still alive.

“I’ll never give up--I can’t,” she says. “I have two choices: I can completely disappear and become a vegetable, or I can go out and try to help.”

McCall admits that at first she was angry--convinced Stacy was invoking a new independence by not telling her parents of her plans.

As time passed, regrets mounted: If only she hadn’t begged Stacy to wait until morning to go to Branson.

“I have to remind myself that I did not do this,” she says. “I am not to blame. Some horrible person is to blame.”

Levitt, then 47, had moved to Springfield from Seattle in 1980, intent on starting a new life after a divorce. She worked as a beautician and loved fixing up homes, her uncle, Cliff Williams, recalls.

Williams pauses as he remembers packing up Suzanne’s room, which was filled with clothes and stuffed animals.

“I have no suggestions for police or complaints about what they’ve done,” Williams says. “They just don’t have much to go on.”

The case still gnaws at David Asher, who retired from the Springfield Police Department in 1995.

Everyone was puzzled by the pristine crime scene, he says. “Mom’s glasses were next to the bed. There was a book turned over, as if she had been reading. It just did not look like a crime scene.”

His theory: Someone plucked Levitt’s small dog from her backyard, then knocked on the door, using the ruse of wanting to return it.

“I wish more than anything that this case would be solved,” he says.

“I personally think they have the information, but it just hasn’t been all put together yet. They need the piece that makes it all make sense.”

In the window of the restaurant that Matt Marquart manages, the poster of the three women remains displayed. “After 10 years, I just can’t take it down,” he says. “I won’t until this thing is over.”

What Marquart remembers most is how it changed Springfield. Suddenly people started locking their doors, scrutinizing strangers, trying to recall any detail that might help, he says.

“That poster is tattered and torn--it has a lot of tape on it,” Marquart says. “But it stands for something. It’s a reminder that those women are still missing. Who knows, maybe someone will see it and think of something that will help.”