1984 Lafferty case still haunts

Dan has never talked to Allen about murdering his wife and daughter.

"Allen once asked my mom why I wouldn't repent," he says. "There's some things you can't repent for. I'm sure Allen thought I was talking about an unpardonable sin.

"What I meant is, you don't repent for things that aren't wrong."

The aftermath

Some crimes maim, even cripple people who had little, or nothing, to do with them. The murders of Brenda and Erica Lafferty were such crimes. They caused an entire family shame, cursed their names. For others, they turned a holiday into a day of mourning. It is a day scores of people have tried to forget.

As horrible as Pioneer Day 1984 was, it could have been worse. Dan and Ron emerged from the American Fork duplex covered in blood, ready to fulfill the second part of the revelation. But Chloe Low wasn't home.

They then made their way toward the home of Richard Stowe, the Highland LDS Stake president who had presided over Ron's excommunication. Stowe was home, using a tractor to remove a set of concrete steps with his son, but the men missed the turnoff to the Stowe house and kept driving, on to Wendover and Reno, where they were arrested in a casino buffet line.

"I would've killed them the same way," Dan says. "But once the next step didn't happen, I knew it wasn't meant to be. There wasn't much enthusiasm for it."

When Stowe and Low learned they were named in the so-called "removal revelation," they went into hiding for several weeks. Stowe, now the Highland LDS Stake patriarch, will not talk about the murders. When he hears the name Lafferty his jaw sets, the blood rises to his cheeks and his eyes turn fierce.

"So much crap has been written about that," he says. "I don't want to have anything to do with it."

Not far from Stowe's Highland home, Kathy Pace lives in a two-story brick house. Pace knew Brenda and Allen Lafferty well; Allen helped her prepare for her first visit to the LDS Temple.

Two decades have passed, but she cannot talk about the couple without crying. Her 14-year-old daughter baby-sat Erica three days a week, she says, and on the day of the murders Brenda had called to ask for a baby sitter. Pace says she had an uncomfortable feeling and didn't let her daughter go.

"She could have been there. The thought has crossed my mind a lot," she says. "As a mother I feel so bad for what Brenda went through, but as a mother I also feel so grateful that my daughter wasn't there."

Pace's daughter has never been able to talk about the murders.