From the #1 New York Times bestselling author of The Stranger Beside Me comes a shocking true crime account of the destructive forces that drove a beautiful young mother to murder. “Somebody just shot my kids!” Diane Downs brought her car to a halt in front of a Springfield, Oregon, hospital, her three gravely wounded children beside her. Thus begins the tale of a truly unthinkable crime that shattered the tranquility of a tight-knit community. As police searched for the “shaggy-haired stranger” Diane accused of shooting 8-year-old Christie, 7-year-old Cheryl, and 3-year-old Danny, a suspicion grew that was even more horrifying than the crime itself: Did Diane shoot her own children? Haunted by this question, a dedicated district attorney searched for the answer and uncovered a chronology of incest, psychological wounding, desperate affairs, and surrogate motherhood. Ann Rule's gripping, powerful, and ultimately terrifying true story of passion and murder will hold you in thrall as it plumbs the unimagined depths of darkness concealed within a human being. Praise for Small Sacrifices “Vivid...extraordinary...A page-turner.”— The New York Times Book Review “A harrowing pathological portrait, a nearly unthinkable triple-murder plot, a hold-your-breath police procedural and a tale of dedication and compassion all superbly combined to produce the most riveting true-crime account since In Cold Blood .”— Kirkus Reviews “A detailed, probing inquiry....From start to finish, Rule’s account informatively unweaves the sad features of Downs’s life and gives a moving description of the human side of law enforcement.”— Boston Herald “Excellent....One of the most detailed studies of a sociopath to dignify the true-crime circuit.”— The San Francisco Chronicle “Superb...[a] riveting detective story...as good a page-turner as any fictional murder mystery.”— Indianapolis Star Ann Rule wrote thirty-five  New York Times  bestsellers. Her first bestseller was  The Stranger Beside Me , about her personal relationship with infamous serial killer Ted Bundy. A former Seattle police officer, she used her firsthand expertise in all her books. For more than three decades, she was a powerful advocate for victims of violent crime. She lived near Seattle and passed away in 2015. CHAPTER 1   May 19, 1983   It had been, if not a quiet night, at least a normal night for the Springfield Police Department. Cops know that hot weather encourages impromptu parties and triggers family beefs. The SPD log for that twenty-four-hour period lists the expected ration of trouble between a quarter after ten and twenty minutes to eleven Thursday night.   An anonymous caller complained at 10:16 p.m. about a party on North First Street. "RP [reporting party] called to report a loud party in the above area. Unit dispatched. Responsibles contacted. Noise abated. Subjects to depart the area."   "Suspicious conditions" were reported-again anonymously-at 10:22 p.m. "RP reported hearing a small child crying. Unit dispatched. Involved parties contacted, found to be a dispute between children. No crime involved."   At 10:32 the call was a bit more serious. "RP called to report a male/female verbal dispute in the apartment complex on North Seventeenth. Male half reported to be carrying rifle. Units dispatched. Charged with menacing. Lodged Lane County Jail."   At the headquarters of the Lane County Sheriff's Office in Eugene, Sheriff Dave Burks's officers were also pulling a fairly quiet shift. Rob Rutherford was the graveyard shift sergeant; Detective Lieutenant Louis Hince would be on call for anything that might require his detectives; thirty-one-year-old Doug Welch was at home in Springfield with his wife, Tamara, and two young sons. Richard Blaine Tracy (of course, "Dick Tracy") was a year away from retirement after twenty-six years as a cop, and he would be just as happy if nothing heavy came down before he left. Divorced, Tracy was getting ready for bed alone in his Eugene apartment. Kurt Wuest was away at a training seminar that Thursday night. Roy Pond was working days.   Assistant DA Fred Hugi, radio and television turned off, was reveling in the quiet of a perfect spring evening at his lodgelike home set far back in the forest along the McKenzie River. It was a different life out there in the woods, and he was a different man. He wore frayed jeans and battered logging boots as he planted seedlings to thicken even more the forest outside his windows.   Joanne Hugi, co-director of the computer center at the University of Oregon, was lost in concentration in her computer room. It made her husband smile; he, who had degrees in forestry, finance, and law, had been baffled by the single computer course he'd attempted, and he'd challenged Joanne to try it. She had proved to be a natural, understanding terms and concepts that eluded him. Hugi gave up on computers, but Joanne flew with them, higher and higher. He was extremely proud of her. She'