Judgment Ridge: The True Story Behind the Dartmouth Murders by Mitchell Zuckoff, Dick Lehr Page A

on his head at a jaunty angle. They look lovingly at each other. Half’s right hand reaches out, and Susanne holds it with both of hers. Her lips are pressed together, as if poised for a kiss.
    “A teacher affects eternity,” Dartmouth President James Wright told the crowd. “We learned much from their lives and we benefited.
    . . . Be free, good friends; be at peace.” The Rev. Gwendolyn King spoke of the questions surrounding the deaths. “Shock, bewilderment, and disbelief are among the feelings we all had as news of Susanne and Half’s deaths reached us. How could this be?” she asked. “Our hearts ache in the loss, and we have questions and seek answers that may never come.” Through cascading tears, the Zantops’ friend Herb Rowland said: “When we were with them we felt safe and taken care of. There was gentleness and grace, and both of them made time disappear on each occasion that we were with them. And I felt that I became a better person, more patient, more compassionate, more understanding, and more committed to social justice.” Several of the fourteen speakers described Half and Susanne’s professional achieve-ments, but most focused on their hearts. Verona told the story of how her purchase of the Zantops’ former home had led to a deep friendship, and how her life was shattered by her discovery of their bodies. “My
    house and I stopped breathing,” she said. Yet like most of the speakers, Verona tried to find hope in the darkness. She told of new life on a plant Half and Susanne had given her. “A tiny bud from the hibiscus flower talks to me with my friends’ voice,” she said.
    The celebrants stood and sang “Amazing Grace,” recited the Lord’s Prayer, and bowed their heads for the Jewish mourner’s Kaddish, spo-ken by Heschel, her voice cracking with emotion. Most dressed in somber hues, but there was one dramatic exception: Audrey McCollum. Four weeks earlier, Half and Susanne had joined Audrey and Bob McCollum for an annual holiday dinner. Audrey wore a festive outfit that had become something of a tradition: black slacks, scarlet top, and a silver snowflake pin. “I knew what Audrey would wear,” Susanne had said then, smiling. In tribute, McCollum wore the same celebratory outfit to the memorial service. “Susanne would have loved that,” her husband told her.
    At the close of the service, Veronika Zantop unexpectedly stood. She was twenty-nine, tall and attractive, articulate and composed. With an oval face and kind eyes, her looks favored her father. Next to her was Mariana Zantop, twenty-seven, an international relief worker based in New York City. She was shorter than her sister, with close-cropped dark hair and a resemblance to their mother.
    In a sweet, clear voice, Veronika said: “I wanted to thank you for my sister and I from the depths of our hearts for all the love and support we’ve gotten from everyone here, as well as for the love and support you gave my parents during their lives. Thank you so much.” Then the Zantop sisters became the first links in a “Circle of Light,” with each participant holding a lit candle to symbolize how Half and Susanne illuminated the lives of those who knew and loved them. Veronika and Mariana were joined by Susanne’s family, then Half’s, then Half and Susanne’s students, then Dartmouth staff members, then family friends, and on and on until it seemed nearly everyone in the chapel was included.
    Unknown to the celebrants, a New Hampshire state trooper named Christopher Scott stood outside trying not to be noticed. He had been assigned to blend with the press and photograph people
    entering and leaving the chapel, as well as anyone loitering nearby, in the vague hope that the killer or killers might be among them.

    T hroughout the community, speculation swirled about the killers and their motives. “I think there may be a troubled student, and (Half)
    may have underestimated how troubled he was,” Audrey McCollum