Twenty-five minutes later, the camera’s software detects movement. No footage. Just a timestamp. At 2:28 AM, Nancy’s pacemaker stops syncing with her phone. The Bluetooth connection cuts. She’s being moved. Out of range. Away from her home.
By noon that same day, Nancy’s church friends are worried. She never misses Sunday service. Never. A welfare check is called. Deputies arrive. What they find makes their blood run cold.
An empty house. Blood on the front porch. Cameras smashed. A back door wide open. And Nancy Guthrie—mother of TODAY show host Savannah Guthrie—is gone.
The Woman Who Never Missed Church
Nancy Guthrie isn’t just anyone’s mother. She’s a woman of routine. Faith. Family. Every Sunday at 11 AM, she logs into her church’s live stream service. The congregants know her. They watch for her. She’s that reliable.
gun to their body composition, law enforcement has a treasure trove of new clues to help them find the person who abducted Savannah Guthrie’s momCredit: Pima County Sheriff’s Department
She’s 84 years old but sharp. A retired teacher who spent decades shaping young minds. A woman who raised three children: Savannah, the face of America’s morning news; Annie, who lives nearby in Tucson; and Camron, her son. She’s a grandmother. A friend. A pillar of her community.
But Nancy has limitations. She can’t walk 50 yards without assistance. She has a pacemaker monitoring her heart. She takes daily medication—medication that could be fatal if missed. She’s vulnerable. And someone knew that.
On January 31, 2026, Nancy’s life follows its normal rhythm. Until it doesn’t.
The Last Normal Night
At 5:32 PM on January 31, Nancy Guthrie orders an Uber. The driver picks her up from her million-dollar home in the Catalina Foothills—one of Tucson’s most affluent neighborhoods. The destination: her daughter Annie’s house, just a few miles away.
It’s a family night. Dinner. Board games. Laughter. Annie later tells investigators she saw “no red flags.” Nothing unusual. Nothing to worry about. It’s just another Saturday with Mom.
The evening is unremarkable in the best way. Nancy is in good spirits. The family talks. They play games. They’re together. For hours, everything is perfectly, blissfully normal.
Around 9:30 PM, the evening winds down. Nancy needs to get home. A family member—reports suggest Annie’s husband—drives Nancy back to her house. The drive is short. Familiar. Safe.
At 9:48 PM, Nancy’s garage door opens. Security footage timestamps it precisely. Two minutes later, at 9:50 PM, the garage door closes. Nancy is home. She’s inside. She’s safe.
Or so everyone thinks.
What happens in the next four hours will haunt investigators. Terrify a family. And captivate a nation.
The 17-Minute Window
The timeline is everything. Pima County Sheriff Chris Nanos knows this. So does the FBI. So does every investigator working this case. Because in those early morning hours, someone took Nancy Guthrie. And the digital breadcrumbs they left behind tell a chilling story.
At 1:47 AM, Nancy’s Nest doorbell camera disconnects. Not a glitch. Not a power outage. Disconnected. Deliberately. Someone cut the feed.
But here’s what they didn’t know: even when a camera is disconnected, even when there’s no subscription to save footage, data remains. Residual data. Backend systems. Information that can be recovered. The FBI would spend eight days working with Google to extract that data. And what they found would break the case wide open.
At 2:12 AM—just 25 minutes after the camera goes dark—the software detects movement. No video. No clear images. Just a detection. Someone. Or something. Is there.
Then, at 2:28 AM, the most critical piece of evidence emerges. Nancy’s pacemaker app disconnects from her iPhone. The device doesn’t malfunction. The battery doesn’t die. The Bluetooth connection is simply severed.
Nancy has been moved out of range.
Think about that. A pacemaker uses Bluetooth to sync with a phone. The range is roughly 30 feet. Maybe 50 if conditions are perfect. When that connection cuts, it means one thing: Nancy is no longer near her phone. She’s being taken. Carried. Moved. Away.
Law enforcement sources tell journalists this is their timestamp. This is when the kidnapping occurred. 2:28 AM. Seventeen minutes of activity. Seventeen minutes that changed everything.
Sunday Morning Horror
Sunday, February 1. It’s 11 AM. Nancy Guthrie’s church friends log into the live stream service. They look for her name in the participant list. It’s not there. They wait. Five minutes. Ten. Still nothing.
This isn’t like Nancy. This has never happened before. The worried calls begin. To each other. To Nancy’s family. To Nancy herself. The phone rings. And rings. And rings. No answer.
By noon, Nancy’s children are alarmed. Savannah is in New York, preparing for Monday’s TODAY show. Annie is local. She drives to her mother’s house. Something is wrong. She knows it.
Annie calls the police. A welfare check. Please. Now. Deputies from the Pima County Sheriff’s Department respond. They arrive at Nancy’s address in the Catalina Foothills. The neighborhood is quiet. Peaceful. Million-dollar homes nestled in the desert foothills. Nothing seems amiss.
Until they approach the house.
The back door is open. Not ajar. Open. Inside, the house is empty. Nancy’s phone is there. Her medication is there. Nancy is not.
Then they see it. On the front porch. Dark stains. Blood. Nancy Guthrie’s blood.
The Crime Scene
NewsNation reporter Brian Entin arrives at Nancy’s home on Tuesday, February 3. Three days after she vanished. He approaches the front door with his camera crew. And there, still visible on the front stoop, are the bloodstains. Dark. Round. Drops.
Retired FBI agent Maureen O’Connell analyzes the footage. “Those round droplets,” she says, “suggest Nancy may have been carried out of the home.” Not dragged. Carried. The blood falling vertically. Gravity doing its work.
Inside, investigators catalog the scene. Multiple cameras have been smashed. Deliberately destroyed. The back door, left wide open—was it an exit point? A distraction? A message?
Sheriff Chris Nanos holds a press conference on February 5. Four days into Nancy’s disappearance. His face is grim. “We are treating this as a kidnapping,” he announces. “We believe Nancy Guthrie was taken against her will.”
He reveals the DNA results. The blood on the front porch? It’s Nancy’s. Confirmed. Other DNA evidence collected at the scene is still being processed. But nothing has produced significant leads. Not yet.
The sheriff outlines the timeline. The dinner at Annie’s. The 9:50 PM garage door closing. The 1:47 AM camera disconnect. The 2:28 AM pacemaker disconnect. Every second matters. Every detail could be the key.
“Time is extremely critical,” Nanos says. “The longer this continues, the greater the risk she faces.”
He doesn’t say what everyone is thinking. But they all know. Nancy is 84. She needs her medication. She can barely walk. She has a pacemaker. How long can she survive?
The Family’s Nightmare
Savannah Guthrie doesn’t show up for work on Monday, February 2. The TODAY show continues without her. Her colleagues cover. Everyone understands. Her mother is missing. Her world has imploded.
That night, Savannah posts to Instagram. A simple image with two words: “Please pray.” The caption is raw. Desperate. “We are in prayer. We believe in the power of voices raised in petition, love, hope. We believe in goodness… Thank you for joining in prayers with us for our mom, dearest Nancy, a woman of deep faith and a faithful servant. Lift your prayers with us and share in our faith that she will be held in them, right this very moment.”
On Tuesday, February 4—four days after Nancy vanished—Savannah, Annie, and Camron record a video. The three siblings sit together, shoulders touching. United in terror. United in hope. The video is 90 seconds long. It will be viewed millions of times.
“Mom, we love you so much,” Savannah says. Her voice cracks. “We just want you home. We want you to be safe. We want you to be warm. We want you to be fed. We need you to know that we’re not going to stop looking for you. We’re not going to stop fighting for you.”
Annie speaks next. “Mom, we know how strong you are. We know your faith is carrying you right now. Please hold on. We’re coming for you.”
Camron, the brother, the son, the one trying to hold it together: “If anyone out there has information, anything at all, please call the FBI. Please help us bring our mother home.”
The video is a plea. To Nancy. To her captor. To the public. To God. Help us. Please. Bring her home.
On February 7—one week after Nancy’s disappearance—the siblings release a second video. This one is shorter. More direct. And it confirms what many have suspected.
“We’ve heard the reports about ransom notes,” Savannah says. “We want to make this clear: we will pay. Whatever it takes. We just want our mother back alive. Please. Let us negotiate. Let us talk. Let us end this.”
It’s an acknowledgment. The ransom demands are real. The family is willing to pay. Name your price. Just give us Nancy.
But there’s a problem. No one is responding.
The Bitcoin Demand
On February 3, TMZ receives an email. The subject line makes their blood run cold. It’s about Nancy Guthrie. Inside the email is a ransom note.
The demand is specific: $6 million. Payment method: Bitcoin. The note includes a Bitcoin wallet address. TMZ verifies it’s real. The address exists. It’s active. It’s empty.
The note includes a deadline. And a threat. “If payment is not received by Thursday, February 6 at 5 PM, Nancy Guthrie will be harmed. If payment is not received by Monday, February 9 at 5 PM, Nancy Guthrie will be killed.”
TMZ founder Harvey Levin discusses the note on his show. “There’s a detail in this note,” he says carefully, “about what Nancy was wearing that night. The note claims she was NOT wearing a certain item. Our sources confirm that detail is accurate. That concerns us. Because how would someone know that unless they were there?”
The note is sent to other outlets too. CNN receives one. So does a local Tucson station, KGUN 9. The wording is similar. The demand is the same. $6 million. Bitcoin. Or else.
The FBI gets involved. “We have not authenticated the ransom letter,” they announce, “but we have not ruled out its authenticity.” Translation: it could be real. It could be a hoax. We’re investigating.
On February 5, the FBI makes an arrest. Derrick Callella, a 29-year-old man from Florida, is charged with sending one of the ransom notes. But investigators quickly determine his note was fake. A cruel hoax. An attempt to capitalize on tragedy. He had no connection to Nancy’s disappearance.
A second person is arrested for sending another fake ransom note. Also not credible. The FBI warns the public: “Multiple fake ransom demands have been sent. We are pursuing all leads, but we urge caution.”
But the original note—the one with the accurate details about what Nancy was wearing—remains unverified. Is it real? Is the kidnapper trying to communicate? Or is it another vulture circling a family in pain?
Thursday, February 6 arrives. 5 PM passes. No payment has been made. The Bitcoin wallet remains empty. No word from Nancy. No proof of life. No communication.
The Guthrie family holds their breath. What happens now? Will the kidnapper follow through on the threat? Will they reach out again? Silence. Deafening silence.
Monday, February 9. The second deadline. 5 PM. Still no payment. The Bitcoin wallet is checked and rechecked by journalists, by internet sleuths, by anyone with access to blockchain tracking tools. Zero balance. Nothing. TMZ’s Harvey Levin reports “activity” in the account—maybe someone checking it, maybe digital footprints—but no transfer. No ransom paid.
And still, no word from Nancy.
The Breakthrough: Eight Days Later
February 10, 2026. Ten days after Nancy vanished. The FBI has been working around the clock. Searching. Interviewing. Analyzing. And recovering.
For eight days, FBI agents and technical experts from Google have been trying to extract data from Nancy’s doorbell camera. The Nest system. The one that went dark at 1:47 AM. The one with no subscription to save footage. The one everyone assumed held no answers.
But FBI Director Kash Patel knows better. “Even when cameras are disconnected, data remains,” he tells his team. “We just have to find it.” The FBI sends a search warrant to Google. We need everything. Every byte of data. Every residual file. Every backend system log. Find it.
Google’s engineers go to work. The process is technically complex. Painstaking. They don’t even know if recovery is possible. Days pass. Investigators wait. Hope. Pray.
And then, success. “Video was recovered from residual data located in backend systems,” Patel announces on February 10. The FBI has footage. From Nancy’s front door. From the night she was taken. And what it shows will shock the nation.
At 3 PM on February 10, the FBI releases the images. Four photographs. Two short video clips. The media explodes. Social media erupts. America watches.
The footage shows a figure approaching Nancy’s front door. The timestamp: early morning, February 1. Just before 2 AM. The figure is wearing a full ski mask—the kind that covers the entire head, leaving only the eyes and mouth visible. Black clothing. Long sleeves. Pants. Gloves. A backpack on their back.
And on their waist—clearly visible in one of the still images—a holster. With a gun.
The video shows the figure walking up to the door. Calm. Methodical. Not rushing. They reach up with a gloved hand and cup the doorbell camera. Trying to cover it. Then they step back, bend down, and grab plants from Nancy’s front yard. Potted plants. Decorative shrubs. They shove them in front of the camera, blocking the view.
The figure appears to have a small flashlight in their mouth. Hands free. Working. The backpack suggests tools. Supplies. This was planned.
Former FBI Deputy Director Andrew McCabe analyzes the footage on CNN. “This person went to great lengths to conceal their identity,” he says. “Full mask. Gloves. No logos on their clothing. No identifying marks. But look closely. There are clues.”
He points to one image. “See here, under the nose? That looks like a mustache. This person likely has facial hair.”
Another expert, retired FBI agent Steve Moore, focuses on the gun. “That holster is all wrong,” he says. “It’s a universal nylon style holster—the cheap kind you store a gun in. Not the kind someone who regularly carries would use. And look at the placement. It’s at the belt buckle. Front and center. An experienced gun user wouldn’t carry like that.”
Moore’s assessment is damning. “This is an amateur. Someone who’s never done something like this before. They didn’t even come prepared to cover the camera properly. They had to use plants from the yard. This is highly premeditated but poorly planned.”
The FBI is hoping someone recognizes this person. The way they walk. Their build. The clothes. Something. “We need the power of crowdsourcing,” McCabe says. “Someone out there knows who this is.”
Within hours of the release, the tip lines light up. Hundreds of calls flood in. The FBI has prepared for this. Agents are standing by. Every tip is logged. Prioritized. Followed up. Most won’t lead anywhere. But one might. One could be the key.
America Watches
The surveillance images dominate the news cycle. Cable news runs them on a loop. Social media dissects every pixel. True crime communities on Reddit, TikTok, and YouTube go into overdrive.
President Donald Trump weighs in. White House Press Secretary Karoline Leavitt reveals that Trump spent part of his afternoon reviewing the footage. “His initial reaction was pure disgust,” she says. “The President encourages any American with knowledge of the suspect to please call the FBI.”
Savannah Guthrie posts the images to her Instagram. Within minutes, the post has hundreds of thousands of likes. Millions of views. She writes: “We believe she is still alive. Bring her home.”
Her husband, Michael Feldman, reposts the images. “Someone out there might recognize this person. Please help us. Bring her home.”
TODAY show co-hosts Craig Melvin, Jenna Bush Hager, Carson Daly, Willie Geist—all post the images. All share the tip line. All beg for help. “Someone recognizes him,” Willie Geist writes. “His eyes, his clothes, his gait. Call 1-800-CALL-FBI. Bring Nancy home.”
The case echoes other breakthrough moments in American crime history. In 2013, the FBI released images of the Boston Marathon bombers. Within hours, tips poured in. The suspects were identified. Tracked. Captured. Could this be another Boston moment?
In 2024, a photo of Luigi Mangione eating at a McDonald’s led to his arrest in the assassination of United Healthcare CEO Brian Thompson. A manager recognized his eyes. His eyebrows. That was enough.
In 2025, Charlie Kirk’s assassin was identified from grainy photos by his own father. A man who saw his son’s eyes in a surveillance image and knew. He knew.
Will someone look at this masked figure and recognize them? Will a wife see her husband’s gait? Will a coworker recognize that backpack? Will a neighbor remember seeing someone leave their house at 1 AM on February 1?
The FBI is counting on it.
The Search Intensifies
While the images captivate America, investigators are working. On February 10—the same day the footage is released—law enforcement descends on Annie Guthrie’s neighborhood in Tucson.
Pima County Sheriff’s deputies. FBI agents. Search and rescue teams. They knock on doors. They ask to search properties. Residents cooperate. Everyone wants to help.
Lorenzo Jensen lives behind Annie’s property. He tells CNN that officers came to his home twice. Once, five or six days ago, asking if he’d heard anything. And again on February 10, asking to look around his property. “I didn’t even know that was her house until recently,” Jensen says.
Inside Annie’s house, bright flashes are visible through the windows. Crime scene photography. Evidence collection. The FBI won’t say what they’re looking for. But they’re looking.
This has raised questions. Suspicions. Why are they searching Annie’s house? Is she a suspect? The answer, according to experts, is no. This is standard procedure.
“In any kidnapping case, you look at the family first,” says former FBI profiler Gregg McCrary. “Not because you suspect them, but because you need to eliminate them. You need to understand the victim’s last movements. You need to build a timeline. And the last person to see Nancy was Annie.”
Annie had dinner with her mother that night. Annie’s husband drove Nancy home. They were the last to see her. So yes, investigators are thorough. They search Annie’s home. They examine her vehicles. They interview her multiple times. It’s not accusation. It’s procedure.
Sheriff Nanos confirms this. “The investigation remains active and ongoing. We are expanding the search and following up on new leads.” Translation: we’re looking everywhere. We’re ruling nothing out. We’re doing our jobs.
Nancy’s own home remains an active crime scene. FBI agents come and go. On February 9, a vehicle believed to be Nancy’s is removed from her garage. Towed away for forensic examination. What are they looking for? Fingerprints? DNA? Evidence of who took her?
The desert foothills surrounding Nancy’s neighborhood are vast. Rugged. Investigators use drones. Search dogs. Border Patrol agents join the search. Volunteers comb the terrain. If Nancy’s body is out there, they’re determined to find her.
But Sheriff Nanos is asked directly: “Do you believe Nancy is still alive?” His answer is careful. “We hope we are.” Not a confirmation. Not a declaration. A hope.
Retired FBI agents are less optimistic. “The blood evidence,” one agent tells CNN, “let the air out of my tires.”
The Theories
In the absence of answers, theories flourish. Online communities dissect every detail. Some are plausible. Some are wild. Some are cruel.
Theory 1: Someone Who Knew Nancy
The pacemaker detail haunts investigators. At 2:28 AM, the device disconnected. But here’s the thing: not everyone knows Nancy has a pacemaker. Not everyone knows she has limited mobility. Not everyone knows she takes critical daily medication.
But someone who knows her would. A family friend. A neighbor. Someone from church. Someone who’s been to her home. Someone who’s planned this carefully.
Former FBI profiler Gregg McCrary says, “His normal routine will have been disrupted. He’s got a victim to take care of. He’s not going to work. He’s not going to the coffee shop. People in his life will notice changes.”
The FBI is looking at Nancy’s social circles. Who visited her home? Who knew her schedule? Who knew she’d be vulnerable at 2 AM?
Theory 2: A Random Predator
The Catalina Foothills neighborhood is affluent. Homes are worth millions. Nancy’s address isn’t hidden. It’s been in news reports. On public records. Someone could have targeted her because of Savannah’s fame. Because they assumed the family is wealthy. Because they saw an opportunity.
The surveillance footage shows someone methodical. They disabled the camera. They covered it with plants. They came armed. This suggests planning. But the amateur execution—the wrong holster, the lack of preparation—suggests inexperience. A first-timer.
Could this be a random crime? A predator who saw an elderly woman living alone? Who didn’t know about the cameras? Who panicked when they saw the blood? Who is now in over their head?
Theory 3: The Ransom Notes Are Real
If the ransom notes are authentic, they tell a story. Someone took Nancy for money. They demanded $6 million. They knew details about what she was wearing. They set deadlines.
But then… silence. No follow-up communication. No proof of life. No negotiation. Why?
Kidnapping expert Ken Gray says, “If this is a ransom kidnapping, the lack of communication is extremely unusual. Real kidnappers want to negotiate. They want to prove they have the victim. They want to facilitate payment. Silence doesn’t help them.”
So either the ransom notes are fake—just more vultures—or something went wrong. Did Nancy’s medical condition worsen? Did the kidnappers panic? Did they realize they’re in too deep?
Theory 4: Nancy Is Already Gone
It’s the theory no one wants to voice. But retired FBI agents are thinking it. The blood on the porch. The ten days of silence. The missed medication. The pacemaker. Nancy is 84. She’s fragile.
“In kidnapping cases, the first 72 hours are critical,” says former NYPD hostage negotiator Wallace Zeins. “After that, the odds drop significantly. We’re now past 240 hours.”
If Nancy is deceased, the case becomes a homicide investigation. The focus shifts. Finding her body. Building a case. Justice, not rescue.
But the Guthrie family refuses to believe it. “We believe she is still alive,” Savannah posted on February 10. “Bring her home.”
The Man Behind The Mask
Who is the person in that surveillance video? What do we know? What can we infer?
Physical Description:
- Average height and build (based on door frame measurements)
- Likely male (based on build, though not confirmed)
- Possible mustache visible under mask
- Comfortable bending and moving (not elderly)
Behavior Analysis:
- Not rushing, suggesting confidence or lack of awareness of being watched
- Methodical in covering camera, suggesting premeditation
- Uses plants from yard, suggesting lack of full preparation
- Arrives between 1:47 AM and 2:12 AM, suggesting knowledge of when Nancy would be alone
Equipment Analysis:
- Full ski mask: attempting to hide identity completely
- Gloves: avoiding fingerprints
- Backpack: carrying tools or supplies
- Gun in holster: armed, but amateur placement and holster type
- Flashlight (possibly in mouth): hands-free lighting
Skill Level:
- Former FBI agent Steve Moore’s assessment: “amateur”
- Evidence suggests first-time offender
- Premeditated but poorly executed
- Didn’t come prepared to disable camera properly
The Gait:
The FBI is asking people to focus on how the person walks. Criminologist Casey Jordan explains: “Everyone has a unique gait. The way you walk is as distinctive as your fingerprint. Someone who knows this person might recognize it.”
In the video, the figure walks slightly hunched. Bent forward. Could be the backpack’s weight. Could be their natural posture. Could be an attempt to disguise their height.
The Holster:
Multiple experts have commented on the gun placement. Former police captain Josh Schirard says, “That universal nylon holster at the belt buckle is bizarre. Real gun carriers use fitted holsters on their hip or back. This looks like someone who bought a gun and a holster off the shelf and didn’t know how to wear it properly.”
What does this tell us? The person isn’t former military. Isn’t law enforcement. Isn’t a gun enthusiast. They’re someone who armed themselves for this specific crime. And they didn’t know what they were doing.
The Mustache:
Andrew McCabe’s observation about the possible mustache has generated significant discussion. “If you look just under his nose in this photo, you can see what appears to be a mustache underneath that mask,” McCabe said on CNN.
If accurate, this narrows the pool. Adult males with mustaches. In the Tucson area. Who knew Nancy. Who had a motive. Who have disrupted routines in the past ten days.
The FBI is likely already running facial recognition software on the visible portions of the person’s face. The eyes. The area around the mouth. Even with a mask, there are data points. Measurements. Distances between features. The technology isn’t perfect, but it’s another tool.
The Technology Trail
Beyond the surveillance video, investigators have other digital breadcrumbs to follow.
Cell Phone Data:
Criminologist Casey Jordan explains: “Even if the person’s phone was off, investigators can use the video’s timestamp—1:47 AM to 2:28 AM—to see what devices were pinging off nearby cell towers before and after that time. They can narrow it down to phones that don’t belong in the area or identify whose they are.”
Every phone constantly communicates with cell towers. Even in standby mode. Even if you’re not making calls. The phone is saying, “I’m here. I’m here. I’m here.”
If a phone that doesn’t belong in Nancy’s neighborhood suddenly appeared near her house between 1 and 3 AM on February 1, that’s significant. That’s a lead.
The Bitcoin Wallet:
If the ransom notes are real, the Bitcoin wallet address is a goldmine of information. Cryptocurrency isn’t as anonymous as people think. Every transaction is recorded on the blockchain. Every transfer is traceable.
TMZ reports “activity” in the wallet—possibly someone checking the balance. That creates digital fingerprints. IP addresses. Geographic data. The FBI has cryptocurrency specialists who do nothing but trace Bitcoin. They’re already on it.
The Pacemaker Data:
Nancy’s pacemaker doesn’t just monitor her heart. It records data. Heart rate. Rhythm. Timestamps. Some pacemakers have GPS capabilities. Does Nancy’s?
The FBI isn’t saying. But you can bet they’re analyzing that device’s data log. When did her heart rate spike? Was she scared? In pain? When did the device last sync? Where was she when it happened?
The Nest System:
The fact that FBI and Google recovered the surveillance footage from “residual backend data” is remarkable. It means there’s more data than anyone initially thought. What else is in those systems? Audio? Additional camera angles? Metadata?
Sheriff Nanos initially said there was “no video available” because Nancy had no subscription. But the FBI found it anyway. This suggests Google’s systems retain more than their public policies indicate. And if there’s video from the front door, might there be data from other cameras Nancy had? The ones that were smashed?
The Pressure Mounts
As February 10 turns to February 11, the pressure on investigators is immense. The national media is camped out in Tucson. CNN is running a live blog with minute-by-minute updates. Laura Coates is hosting a one-hour primetime special: “The Search for Nancy Guthrie.”
The TODAY show continues to cover the story daily. Savannah remains off the air, but her colleagues keep Nancy’s face in front of millions of viewers every morning. Neighbors in Nancy’s community have put up signs. “Bring Nancy Home.” Ribbons are tied to mailboxes. A candlelight vigil draws hundreds.
The Guthrie family releases a fourth video on February 9. This one is different. Savannah speaks alone. No siblings. Just her. Face-to-face with the camera. With America. With whoever took her mother.
“We are at an hour of desperation,” she says. Her voice is steady, but her eyes betray the terror. “And we need your help. If you’ve seen anything strange, anything unusual in your neighborhood, please call law enforcement. Someone out there knows something. Someone out there can bring my mother home.”
She’s specific. Pointed. “Maybe you saw a car parked where it shouldn’t be. Maybe you noticed a neighbor acting differently. Maybe you saw someone leaving their house at an odd hour. It might seem like nothing to you, but it could be everything to us.”
The message is clear: we believe Nancy is out there. We believe she’s being held somewhere. We believe someone, somewhere, has seen something. Please. Help us.
The video has been viewed 8.3 million times as of February 11. Shared across every platform. Reposted by celebrities. Amplified by influencers. The reach is staggering.
And yet, as of this writing, Nancy Guthrie is still missing.
What Happens Next?
The FBI has made it clear: this case is solvable. They have evidence. They have footage. They have data. What they need is the public’s help.
The $50,000 reward remains active. The tip lines remain open: 1-800-CALL-FBI, 88-CRIME (Tucson), 520-351-4900 (Sheriff’s Department), or tips.fbi.gov.
FBI Director Kash Patel personally visited the command center in Tucson on February 9. His presence signals the case’s priority. The Bureau is throwing every resource at this. Hundreds of agents. Analysts. Technical specialists. This isn’t a cold case. This is active. This is urgent.
Experts say the surveillance footage release is the most critical development so far. “This could be the moment that turns this investigation around,” Andrew McCabe said. “Just like the Boston Marathon bombers. Just like the Luigi Mangione arrest. Sometimes, all it takes is one person recognizing someone in a photo.”
The next 48 hours are crucial. The footage has been public for 24 hours. Tips are flooding in. Investigators are following leads. Something will break. Someone will talk. Someone will recognize that walk, that build, that holster.
Or maybe Nancy will be found. Alive, if we’re lucky. If she’s strong enough. If her captor shows mercy. If the medication isn’t critical. If the pacemaker keeps working. If. If. If.
The Guthrie family is clinging to faith. To hope. To the belief that good exists in this world. That humanity will prevail. That someone watching this will do the right thing.
Savannah posted on February 10: “Someone out there recognizes this person.” She’s right. Someone does. The question is: will they speak up? Will they make the call? Will they bring Nancy home?
The Clues You Can See
The FBI is asking you—yes, you, reading this—to look at the surveillance images one more time. Really look. Here’s what they want you to focus on:
The Walk: Watch how the person moves. The slight hunch. The pace. The way they bend to pick up the plants. Does that movement remind you of someone?
The Clothes: Black jacket. Black pants. No logos visible. But look at the fit. The style. Does someone you know wear clothes like that?
The Backpack: Generic, but still a detail. What type is it? How does it sit on their shoulders? Have you seen it before?
The Holster: That universal nylon holster at the belt buckle. It’s unusual. Distinctive. If you know someone who just bought a gun and holster recently, especially someone who doesn’t normally carry, that’s worth a call.
The Build: Average height, average build. But “average” is different in everyone’s mind. Use the door frame as reference. Five-eight? Five-ten? Does that match someone?
The Behavior: This person came to Nancy’s house in the middle of the night. They knew when she’d be alone. They knew how to find her home. They had a plan. Who in your life has been acting strangely since February 1? Who’s missed work? Who’s been secretive? Who seems stressed?
Former FBI profiler Gregg McCrary is adamant: “His routine has been disrupted. He’s got a victim to take care of. People around him have noticed. They might not have put it together yet, but they’ve noticed.”
That’s the key. Someone has noticed. They just don’t realize it’s significant. Yet.
Where Is Nancy Now?
This is the question that haunts everyone. If she’s alive, where is she being held?
Sheriff Chris Nanos has said investigators believe Nancy is still in the area. The pacemaker disconnect happened at 2:28 AM. By daylight, roadblocks and alerts were already going up. Long-distance travel with an 84-year-old woman would be risky. Noticeable.
So where in the Tucson area could someone hide a kidnapping victim? The desert? Rugged, remote areas exist just outside the city. But Nancy can’t walk. She’d need shelter. Medical attention. Medication.
A storage unit? Investigators have likely already run lists of units rented in the past month. Checked security footage at facilities. Followed up on any suspicious activity.
A private property? A house? An outbuilding? This seems most likely. Somewhere the captor has access. Somewhere isolated enough that Nancy’s presence wouldn’t be noticed. Somewhere with basic amenities to keep her alive.
The FBI’s search of Annie’s neighborhood on February 10 suggests they’re focusing on residential areas. Looking at properties. Talking to neighbors. Someone’s shed, someone’s basement, someone’s guest house could be harboring Nancy Guthrie.
Or—and this is the possibility everyone fears but no one wants to say—Nancy isn’t being held anywhere. She’s already gone. The blood on the porch. The medical needs. The silence. Maybe the person in that surveillance video panicked. Maybe things went wrong. Maybe Nancy’s body is out there in the desert, waiting to be found.
The Guthrie family refuses this narrative. Faith over fear. Hope over despair. “We believe she is still alive.”
A Mother. A Teacher. A Woman of Faith.
Who is Nancy Guthrie beyond the headlines? Beyond the surveillance footage and ransom notes and FBI investigations?
She’s a mother who raised three children with grace. Who taught them faith, resilience, strength. Who instilled in Savannah the work ethic that made her one of America’s most beloved news anchors. Who was always there—for school plays, graduations, grandchildren’s birthdays, Sunday services.
She’s a retired teacher who spent decades in classrooms, shaping young minds. Who believed in education, in knowledge, in the power of a good book. Former students remember her as kind, patient, demanding. She expected excellence because she believed every child was capable of it.
She’s a woman of deep faith. Every Sunday at 11 AM, without fail, she’s on that church livestream. Praying. Worshiping. Connected to her community even from home. Her church family describes her as devoted, committed, faithful.
She’s a grandmother who delights in her grandchildren’s visits. Who tells stories of the “old days.” Who bakes cookies and gives hugs and makes everyone feel loved.
She’s 84 years old and she’s scared. If she’s alive, she’s confused. She doesn’t understand why this is happening. She’s in pain. She misses her family. She wants to go home.
She deserves to come home.
The Call To Action
If you live in the Tucson area—or anywhere in Arizona—and you’ve seen something unusual since February 1, call the FBI. Even if it seems insignificant. Even if you’re not sure. Call.
Did you see a car parked on your street at an odd hour? Call.
Did your neighbor suddenly stop going to work? Call.
Did someone you know buy a gun recently and doesn’t normally own firearms? Call.
Have you noticed someone acting strangely? Call.
Does someone in your life match the build and description of the person in the surveillance video? Call.
The FBI has set up multiple ways to submit tips:
- 1-800-CALL-FBI (1-800-225-5324)
- 88-CRIME (Tucson-specific line)
- 520-351-4900 (Pima County Sheriff’s Department)
- tips.fbi.gov (online submission)
Your tip will be taken seriously. It will be logged. It will be investigated. You could be the one who brings Nancy home.
And if you’re reading this and you know something—if you’re connected to this case, if you have information, if you’re protecting someone—please. Do the right thing. A mother is missing. A family is shattered. A nation is watching.
Nancy Guthrie’s blood is on a front porch in Tucson, Arizona. Her family is begging for her return. Her church is praying. Her grandchildren are asking when Grandma is coming home.
Ten days have passed. How many more will there be?
The person in that surveillance video knows the answer. And soon, thanks to the footage, the FBI will know who they are.
Someone out there recognizes that walk. That build. Those movements. It’s just a matter of time before they make the call.
The clock is ticking. Nancy is waiting. And justice is coming.
