Vickey Vanderford, a security guard at the Amarillo Terminal Airport, came across a baby girl around 11 p.m. on Sept. 27, 1977, sitting between the airport’s sliding glass doors. The blonde, brown-eyed baby was swimming in an oversized T-shirt and grasping a bottle of soured juice. 
 
 A fresh diaper was fashioned from a janitorial cloth, a search for her parents began and when the last flight of the day had cleared out, Vanderford said she realized the little girl had been abandoned. 
 
 Vanderford guessed the child was between 16 and 18 months old. After the abandonment was reported, the baby was taken to Northwest Texas Hospital for observation. She seemed healthy aside from some faded bruises on her face and body and a dark purple bruise inside her ear. 
 
 Amarillo police opened an investigation and the baby was placed into the custody of Potter-Randall County Child Welfare. 
 
 This child became known as Jane Doe 927. Her real identity is still the subject of debate 40 years later. 
 
 One month after her abandonment, Jane Doe 927 was thriving in her foster home, according to Globe-News files. She was described as “sharp” and was not too bashful to say “hello” to every new person she met. Hamburgers became her favorite food. 
 
 “Blonde and frequently described as pretty, the baby girl has caught the attention of media and many citizens of Amarillo,” said a Globe-News article in December 1977. “About two weeks after her plight was published, more than 100 persons had filed with child welfare authorities to adopt her.” 
 
 The investigation faded that month after a hopeful New Mexico couple decided Jane Doe 927 was not actually their missing daughter. Parental rights were terminated in January 1978 and the adoption process followed. 
 
 A ‘perfect match’? 
 
 Four years later and a thousand miles west of Amarillo, Rosalee Webster arrived back in her Long Beach, Calif., home. She — along with her daughter, Bonnie — had left her husband, Charles Webster, in 1977 to go to a wedding in Idaho. 
 
 Rosalee came back after the mysterious yearslong absence, but Bonnie did not. Upon her arrival back on the West Coast, Rosalee began telling her family varied stories about what happened to her daughter. 
 
 She said the child had died and was buried in the mountains of Idaho; she also said Child Protective Services had taken Bonnie away from her. 
 
 “I didn’t know what to believe,” Charles Webster recently told the Globe-News. 
 
 Rosalee said she had traveled between Idaho and Texas. She called her family once during her absence, saying she had succumbed to substance abuse and couldn’t remember what happened to Bonnie. 
 
 Rosalee also told a story about her live-in boyfriend who allegedly threatened to kill Bonnie, and her decision to leave Bonnie at a bus terminal or an airport in Nampa, Idaho. 
 
 Rosalee never allowed the family to push any further into the story. She said she couldn’t remember and refused to speak of it. A missing person report was never filed. 
 
 “That was the end of it as far as we knew,” Webster said. “I had released my concern for Bonnie into God’s hands because I didn’t have the wherewithal to look for her.” 
 
 Rosalee was disowned by her side of the family, and every May 19 — Bonnie’s birthday — she grew extra quiet until her death in 2008. 
 
 In 1998, Pattie Whitaker, Rosalee’s sister, posted on a genealogy forum searching for anyone who had information on Bonnie’s whereabouts. 
 
 “I am looking for a person, who is alive, she is my niece, born May 1976, in Long Beach, Calif.,” the post said. “Was abandoned in a bus terminal in Nampa, Idaho, at the age of 18 mos (months) birth name ‘Bonnie Lee Webster’ anyone out there has info please contact me, she is 23 now and I have been searching for years and will not give up.” 
 
 Ronda Randall, a genealogist and blogger in New Hampshire, stumbled across the post years later while she was sifting through missing persons posts. 
 
 Whitaker’s post made Randall pause because she was researching New Hampshire serial killer Robert Evans, who had lived in Idaho and Texas. 
 
 So Randall began helping Whitaker in her search. They couldn’t find any news articles regarding an abandonment in Nampa, but they did find the Amarillo Globe-News file that matched the time and description Rosalee had spoken about in her stories. 
 
 Then they saw the photo of Jane Doe 927, taken by John Ebling, a staff photographer with the Globe-News at the time. 
 
 “As time passed and I’ve heard more about the circumstances of the abandonment from the family, then it’s hard not to look at the pictures and think, ‘Wow that child really could be that child in a year,’” said Randall. “Until I saw the picture, I assumed Bonnie was dead.” 
 
 When Webster saw the two photos side by side, he said, it looked nearly like a “perfect match.” 
 
 Doe’s new name 
 
 If there’s a link between these two stories, the first step is administering a DNA test with the woman who claims to be Jane Doe 927: Shelley Schooley. 
 
 “I identify as a born and bred Texan, and I always will,” Schooley told the Globe-News. 
 
 The 41-year-old is currently “raising two young men to become gentlemen,” and enjoys attending high school football games. Schooley blogs about parenting and life after divorce, and sometimes crochets. 
 
 She also proudly identifies as a Schooley — her “forever name.” The child who was deserted at such a young age now has a large extended family and a strong mother-daughter bond. 
 
 “My mom truly is my best friend,” she said. 
 
 Schooley always knew of her abandonment. Her family told her as early as she could understand, and even collected a stack of yellowed Amarillo Globe-News clippings. 
 
 “We have them all; that’s my first baby picture,” said Schooley, referencing Ebling’s photo. 
 
 Schooley’s adoptive parents were living in Odessa at the time. They had adopted their son a few years prior and the same social worker contacted them about Jane Doe 927. 
 
 After spending a weekend with the little girl, the Schooleys finalized the adoption, chose the name “Shelley” and gave her a birthdate of June 22, 1976. 
 
 Along with the newspaper clippings, there’s a stack of adoption documents detailing those pivotal months at the end of 1977. 
 
 “There’s a lot of the story we have pieced together from psychological evaluations when I was going through the adoption phase,” said Schooley. 
 
 These evaluations, explained in Schooley’s Adoption Summary, indicate her biological family used adult language with Shelley, trained her to sleep in the back seat of a car and read to her a lot. 
 
 “She will pick up a book, even one without pictures, and sit down and start ‘reading’ it to herself,” the document describes. 
 
 Social workers also recorded a fear of men in the young girl, describing her cries when she met new men. 
 
 Unlike other adopted children, Schooley said she never had a desire to search for her “missing link.” 
 
 “The only thing I was concerned about was medical — what if I’m a carrier of something? What if there’s something I’m going to pass on to my kids?” she said. 
 
 While her relationship with her adoptive parents is stable and secure, Schooley said she has always battled a feeling of not being “good enough.” 
 
 “How do you raise a child for that long and then be able to separate from them? Those are the questions I have that nobody’s going to be able to answer,” she added. 
 
 Schooley said she’s come to peace with the circumstances of her abandonment, remaining hopeful that her biological parents had her best interest in mind. High above it all, she said she shapes her life around gratitude. 
 
 “Back in the ’70s, unwanted babies were thrown away and I wasn’t,” Schooley said. “I wasn’t bounced around from foster home to foster home like my brother was. I was never put into group homes. I was never bounced around. I was welcomed into a loving family and that never changed, even to this day.” 
 
 Last month, Randall found Schooley through the friend of a Facebook friend, living in Newfoundland. After multiple social media and blog posts searching for clues of Jane Doe, Randall was sent the link to a YouTube video posted by Listen to Your Mother, a celebration of Mother’s Day through live readings by various authors. 
 
 “My first baby picture appeared in the Amarillo Globe-Times on Sept. 28, 1977,” Schooley said in the video, standing at a podium. 
 
 And the story was relayed, once again, not in a newspaper platform, but from the lips of the woman who was raised hearing about her early days sitting alone between airport sliding-glass doors. 
 
 “Especially that part about the spoiled juice, it was just heartwrenching,” Randall said. “That line just got me.” 
 
 Since discovering the video, Schooley and the Websters have connected and conversed about the “what ifs” in each of their stories. But with proms and college in the near future for Schooley’s two sons, she cannot justify spending the money on a DNA test to determine whether she is Bonnie Lee Webster or not. 
 
 “I would go through with that if it provided closure to somebody who has been looking for their lost relative for 40 years,” Schooley said, “but that would be the only thing I feel I have to offer.” ||||| The designer of Schlitterbahn's "Verruckt" water slide was taken into custody at Dallas/Fort Worth International Airport Monday night. (Published Tuesday, April 3, 2018) 
 
 The designer of Schlitterbahn's "Verruckt" water slide was taken into custody at Dallas/Fort Worth International Airport Monday night. 
 
 The water park company's co-owner Jeffrey Henry is accused of rushing the world's tallest waterslide into service and the designer, John Schooley is accused of shoddy planning. 
 
 Both were recently charged with reckless second-degree murder in the decapitation of a 10-year-old boy on the ride in 2016. Caleb Schwab died on the 17-story ride when the raft he was riding went airborne and hit an overhead loop. 
 
 Henry & Sons Construction Co., which is described as the private construction company of Schlitterbahn, was also charged with reckless second-degree murder. Second-degree murder carries a sentence of 9 years to 41 years in prison. 
 
 Dramatic Bodycam Video Shows Shootout With Police 
 
 The Volusia County Sherriffs Office released bodycam video of a shootout between police and a man who shot his estranged wife in front of their children in 2016. The woman and her three children were rescued by police and the man was arrested. (Published Friday, April 6, 2018) 
 
 They also were charged with 17 other felonies, including aggravated battery and aggravated endangerment of a child counts tied to injuries other riders sustained on the giant slide, called Verruckt, which is German for "insane." The indictment accuses Henry of making a "spur of the moment" decision to build the ride, and that he and Schooley lacked technical or engineering expertise in amusement park rides. 
 
 Henry was ordered held in a Texas jail without bond last week, pending extradition to Kansas. 
 
 The attorney general's office said Monday night that Schooley was taken into custody at DFW International Airport after arriving on a flight from China. 
 
 Schooley will be held in North Texas until an arraignment to Kansas. 
 
 The same grand jury last week indicted the Kansas City park and Tyler Austin Miles, its former operations manager, on 20 felony charges. The charges include a single count of involuntary manslaughter in Schwab's death. Miles has been released on $50,000 bond, according to one of his attorneys, Tricia Bath. 
 
 The company has promised to aggressively fight the criminal charges. After Miles and the park were charged, it said it would respond to the allegations in the 47-page indictment "point by point." 
 
 McGregor Turns Himself in to Police After UFC Event Chaos 
 
 Mixed martial arts fighter Conor McGregor was charged with with three counts of assault and one count of criminal mischief after causing mayhem at a UFC media event. (Published Friday, April 6, 2018) 
 
 After Henry's arrest in Texas, Schlitterbahn spokeswoman Winter Prosapio said in an emailed statement: "We as a company and as a family will fight these allegations and have confidence that once the facts are presented it will be clear that what happened on the ride was an unforeseeable accident." 
 
 According to the indictments, Henry decided in 2012 to build the world's tallest water slide to impress the producers of a Travel Channel show. Henry's desire to "rush the project" and a lack of expertise caused the company to "skip fundamental steps in the design process." 
 
 The indictment said, "not a single engineer was directly involved in Verruckt's dynamic engineering or slide path design." The indictment said that in 2014, when there were news reports emerging about airborne rafts, a company spokesperson "discredited" them and Henry and his designer began "secretly testing at night to avoid scrutiny." 
 
 The indictment listed 13 injuries during the 182 days the ride was in operation, including two concussions. In one of those cases, a 15-year-old girl went temporarily blind while riding. 
 
 Caleb, the son of Kansas Republican state Rep. Scott Schwab, was decapitated after the raft on which he was riding went airborne on a day when admission was free for state legislators and their families. 
 
 The family reached settlements of nearly $20 million with Schlitterbahn and various companies associated with the design and construction of the waterslide. The two women who rode on the same raft with Caleb suffered serious injuries and settled claims with Schlitterbahn for an undisclosed amount. 
 
 "Clearly the issues with Schlitterbahn go far beyond Caleb's incident, and we know the attorney general will take appropriate steps in the interest of public safety," the family said in a statement released Monday through their attorneys. 
 
 The indictment said Schooley was responsible for doing "the math" that went into the slide's design and signed an operations manual claiming the ride met all American Society for Testing and Materials standards. But the indictment lists a dozen instances in which the design violated those standards and says investigators could find no evidence that so-called dynamic engineering calculations were made to determine the physics a passenger would experience. The indictment said Schooley lacked the technical expertise to properly design a complex amusement ride such as Verruckt. 
 
 The indictment said Schooley admitted, "If we actually knew how to do this, and it could be done that easily, it wouldn't be that spectacular." 
 
 Weather Alert Severe Thunderstorm Watch in Effect Until Midnight 
 
 Prosapio said Schlitterbahn does not expect any changes to the Kansas City park's season, which is set to open May 25 and runs through Labor Day. The Verruckt slide has been closed since Caleb died. 
 
 Mike Taylor, a spokesman for the Unified Government of Wyandotte County and Kansas City, Kansas, says it does not believe it has the legal authority to shut down a business, other than for an epidemic or contagious disease outbreak. 
 
 The company also operates water parks in Galveston, Corpus Christi, South Padre Island and New Braunfels, Texas, according to its website. 
 
 Assault Rifles Explained: What They Are and How They're Used 
 
 In the wake of the mass shooting in Parkland, Florida, there has been a national conversation about banning assault rifles. But what defines an assault rifle is up for debate. Here is everything you need to know about assault rifles. (Published Friday, April 6, 2018) 
 
 Associated Press writers David Warren and Terry Wallace in Dallas also contributed to this report. 
 
 Copyright Associated Press / NBC 5 Dallas-Fort Worth ||||| Rage and faith were at war inside Kent Whitaker as he lay in a hospital bed with a 9mm bullet hole six inches from his heart. 
 
 It was December 2003, and the pillars of the Houston-area man’s life had just been ripped down. A husband of 28 years, now he was a widower. A father of two college-age boys, one was dead while the other was recovering from a gunshot wound. A man of faith, he was burning at God for letting tragedy strike. 
 
 His anger tightened specifically around the unknown shooter who had ambushed the four as they came home from a family dinner. 
 
 “All I could feel for this person was an incredibly deep and powerful hatred,” Whitaker told The Washington Post. “Just thinking about how I could inflict pain on him.” 
 
 But Bible verses also pushed into Whitaker’s thoughts. “And we know that in all things God works for the good of those who love him,” he recalled. “Vengeance is mine; I will repay, saith the Lord.” Revenge was a dark path he did not want to step down, so Whitaker resolved to forgive the shooter. In the hospital bed, it seemed impossible. But he would do it. No matter who was responsible. 
 
 “As soon as that happened, there was a warm glow that flowed over me,” Whitaker said. “It took the fire out of me.” 
 
 What Whitaker didn’t realize then was that the man he would have to forgive was his surviving son, Thomas “Bart” Whitaker. 
 
 In spring 2007, Bart was convicted of orchestrating — along with two accomplices — the murders of his mother, Tricia, 51, and younger brother, Kevin, 19. During the attack, Bart was purposely shot in the arm as a way of diverting suspicion. Jurors sentenced him to death. Throughout the appeals, however, Whitaker has stayed by his son’s side — and remains there today, as the state prepares for Bart’s execution, which is scheduled for Feb. 22. 
 
 With time running short, the Whitakers have asked the Texas Board of Pardons and Paroles to recommend that Gov. Greg Abbott (R) commute the sentence to life in prison. Whitaker’s forgiveness is the bedrock of the petition, as he said he believes the board’s role is to provide a check on the justice system when it fails. Whitaker said his son’s sentence was flawed because no one — neither he nor Tricia’s family — pushed for his execution. 
 
 “I feel the whole decision to pursue the death penalty was an overstep,” Whitaker said. “This isn’t just a case of a dad who is ignoring the truth about his son. Believe me, I’m aware of what his choices have cost me.” 
 
 The district attorney of Fort Bend County, John F. Healey, Jr., and the first assistant district attorney who prosecuted the case, Fred Felcman, believe the punishment is appropriate for the grisly murder-for-hire. 
 
 “I haven’t met any person aside from Mr. Whitaker” who says justice hasn’t been served, Felcman said. 
 
 The Whitakers’ appeal is framed by a dramatic debate working through courtrooms across the country — the same issue spotlighted at the recent sentencing hearing for Larry Nassar. When more than 160 abuse survivors marched into a Michigan courtroom to testify about the fallout from the USA Gymnastics doctor’s abuse, it amplified the power of victims’ participation in the legal system. Kent Whitaker’s appeal enters that same realm: Can justice be served in his son’s case if the victims are not part of the process? 
 
 “Texas claims to be a victims’ rights state. It’s something we’re proud of,” he said. “I’m asking for the board to recognize victims’ rights means something even when the victim is asking for mercy, not just when they are asking for vengeance.” 
 
 Though investigators initially believed the Dec. 10, 2003, shooting was the work of a burglar interrupted in the middle of a break-in, clues began pointing elsewhere. Drawers were pulled out in the house — consistent with a break-in — but they weren’t ransacked, the contents still neatly organized inside. The only item missing from the house was Bart’s cellphone. 
 
 Also suspicious: On the night of the murders, Bart had invited the family out to dinner because he said he wanted to celebrate his upcoming college graduation. But police learned Bart was not about to graduate college. He wasn’t even enrolled in school — something he had kept hidden from his parents. 
 
 For seven months after the shooting, Bart lived at home with his father. Police told Whitaker his son was a suspect and warned he still could be in danger. 
 
 “He continued to deny it, and the police continued to say he was their suspect,” Kent Whitaker said. “I didn’t know who was telling the truth. I told the police, ‘If I see something, I’m going to tell you. But I’m not going to abandon my son. I’m going to stand with him through all of this even if he’s responsible.’ ” 
 
 Police found their strongest lead when a former roommate of Bart’s came forward and said the two had plotted earlier to kill the Whitakers. Investigators recorded a phone conversation between the two. Though Bart said nothing specific about the killings, authorities said he agreed to pay the roommate $20,000. But he then disappeared, running to Mexico in July 2004. 
 
 While Bart was on the lam, police learned that two friends — Christopher Brashear and Steven Champagne — had plotted the crime with Bart. Champagne admitted to being the getaway driver and told police Brashear had pulled the trigger. 
 
 In September 2005, Bart was arrested and taken back to Texas. Kent Whitaker went to see his son in custody. 
 
 “The very first thing he told me as we were facing each other through the glass was, ‘Dad, I don’t know why this happened, but I’m going to do everything I can to make it quick and as painless for everyone as possible,’ ” Kent Whitaker said. 
 
 Whitaker believed this was an indication Bart was willing to plead guilty. But prosecutors declined to rule out the death penalty as a potential punishment even after Kent Whitaker and other members of the family, including his deceased wife’s relatives, urged them not to. 
 
 “We met with them for about an hour,” Whitaker said. “At the conclusion, the DA leaned over the table and asked, ‘So. Mr. Whitaker, you are asking me not to pursue the death penalty?’ I got out of my chair and down on my knees and said, ‘I’m begging you not to pursue the death penalty.’ ” 
 
 Healey said Whitaker never physically got on his knees, and Felcman said that it was one side of the family that asked prosecutors not pursue a capital case. Prosecutors, he said, must also seek justice for those who can’t weigh in on the outcome, not just the survivors. 
 
 “We don’t represent just them, we represent all of Fort Bend County, all the people involved, including Patricia and Kevin, who are dead,” Felcman said. “We represent them too.” 
 
 The state proceeded with a capital case at trial, painting the defendant as a remorseless sociopath who had manipulated his accomplices and set up the slayings believing he would receive a $1 million inheritance. 
 
 “He has to convince people who have nothing to gain to kill people because he didn’t have anything better to do. We think it was for money,” Felcman said. “He killed people because it was a game.” 
 
 Bart Whitaker was convicted of two counts of first-degree murder and was sentenced to death. The shooter, Brashear, also was convicted and received life prison sentence. Champagne, the getaway driver, was convicted and sentenced to 15 years in prison. 
 
 Prosecutors said they allowed the jury to hear the entirety of Whitaker’s story, including multiple instances of the father telling the jury that he forgives his son. Jurors still decided to convict Bart Whitaker of murder and to condemn him to death. 
 
 Kent Whitaker was left sifting through his relationship with his son for warning signs, clues, indicators — anything that could explain what happened. 
 
 Before the murders, Bart and his father enjoyed long-distance bicycling. They would go on 100-mile long-hauls, just the two of them. “You have a lot of opportunity to talk, and we did,” he told The Post. “We had a good relationship. Also, Tricia and I both were active parents. We didn’t ignore things.” 
 
 Bart Whitaker also has struggled to put his actions into context. “The fifteen-second sound bite answer is, I wanted revenge for being alive, and I blamed them for that,” he told “20/20” in 2009. “I blamed them for who I was instead of blaming me.” 
 
 He continued: “In order for me to be that person that my parents would love or that they did claim to love, I had to be better than I was . . . There was an idealized version of me and then there was me . . . So every time I failed at reaching that goal of mine, I felt like a failure.” 
 
 Bart Whitaker said the plot with his two friends was “sort of like a game of chicken between me and the other guys.” Bart was waiting to see who would back out before the final act. No one did. 
 
 “I think he believed that who we were loving was a person who didn’t exist,” Bart’s father told 20/20. “He was hiding behind the mask so we wouldn’t find out.” 
 
 On death row, Bart Whitaker, now 38, has been a model prisoner, his petition argues. He has earned a bachelor’s degree in English literature by mail and also is close to finishing a master’s degree from Cal State. All he needs is the school to sign off. “His thesis is in committee,” Kent Whitaker said. “It probably won’t be cleared until after Feb. 22, so it might be posthumous.” 
 
 Kent Whitaker continues to wait for word from the board on a decision. Officials in the district attorney’s office said they never received a copy of the petition. And never, they said, did they hear Bart Whitaker express remorse. 
 
 Often, when people hear about his story, they ask Whitaker whether fighting to keep his son alive is in some way a betrayal of his wife and other son’s memory. 
 
 “I’m honoring their memory,” he said. “I know they would not want Bart’s life taken for this. They would be horrified at what’s happening.” 
 
 This article has been updated.
– The toddler in the extra-large T-shirt was sitting between sliding glass doors at Amarillo Airport when a security guard found her late one night in September 1977, clasping a bottle of spoiled juice. Faded bruises signaled a troubled past, one from which the blonde, brown-eyed girl, aged 16 to 18 months, had been abandoned. Dubbed Jane Doe 927, the toddler was adopted by a loving family and rechristened Shelley Schooley. Her past would remain a mystery for four decades. Now the Amarillo Globe-News reports a DNA test could unlock those secrets. That is, if the mother of two decides to take it. Until now, Schooley says, she never wanted to pursue her "missing link." In a 2015 YouTube video, Schooley explains, "It's never mattered to me. I have my family and I wouldn't trade them for anything." Meanwhile in 1998, a woman named Pattie Whitaker posted on a genealogy forum that she "will not give up" searching for her niece, Bonnie Lee Webster, who disappeared in 1977. The 18-month-old was apparently abandoned by Whitaker's late sister, who never explained what happened to the child. Genealogy sleuth Rona Randall saw the post and found an old newspaper photo of Jane Doe 927—a "perfect match" to baby Bonnie. Last month, Randall found Schooley and put her in touch with Whitaker. Schooley tells the Globe-News she can't justify the expense of the DNA test with two sons to raise. But, she adds, she may do it if the truth provides "closure" for Whitaker, her probable aunt. "That would be the only thing I feel I have to offer," she says. (Parents held out hope their missing daughter was still alive. She wasn't.)