Kurt Sonnenfeld dead and Obituary, The Fugitive, His Dead Wife

It was late on New Year’s Eve in 2002, and an emergency call was received at 1:40 in the morning. The Denver police rushed to the Victorian house on Clayton Street within a few minutes. The officers walked across the lawn and climbed up the porch. Through the glass of the front door, they saw a black-haired man in semi-formal attire—a black suit jacket, black shirt, and black pants.

Kurt Sonnenfeld

The man who dialed 911 seemed lost, upset, and unresponsive. He came to the door, but said loudly that he couldn’t open it; the deadbolt lock even needed the key inside, but he couldn’t find it. The officials heard him say something to the effect that “I can’t believe she shot herself.” They smashed a window near the front door, climbed inside, and found a tastefully decorated living room and a grand piano. The man smelled of alcohol and blood on his hands.

He pointed upstairs and started to lead the way, saying that he needed to be with his wife, but the police stopped him. An argument broke out downstairs. At the top of the steps, the officers followed the smell of gunpowder into the master bedroom suite. There, in the lounge area under two skylights, they saw her.

She is a slim woman in her 30s with long brown hair. She was wearing a camisole and red underwear, sitting on a dark blue recliner with her head against the wall. On the quilt on the floor in front of her was a .45 caliber semi-automatic pistol. Her head was bleeding profusely.

Almost no one saw the trouble till the end. Kurt and Nancy Sonnenfeld look like a thriving young Denver couple. They dress stylishly and often go to the gym and participate in fundraising events.

When they held an upscale party in their home near Capitol Park, he made a laugh with Hami’s antics, while she gracefully played the hostess.

Nancy is a successful advertising manager and drives a BMW. She is petite, with brown hair, brown eyes, and shiny. She is very particular about her appearance, which highlights her figure. She can count on men’s attention. Friends said she was sometimes a bit dramatic, or “manic”, and often strong-willed. When a stranger scolds a friend’s child, she is the type to step in and fight back immediately. When she volunteered at an animal shelter or gave advice to friends, she showed a gentler side, looking at their eyes intently.

Kurt is muscular and has earned the nickname “Chisel Face” among women who know him. He graduated from the University of Colorado in Boulder, where he studied English and philosophy, and his colleagues considered him to be knowledgeable, eloquent, witty and humorous. He serves as a videographer and helps train government officials to communicate with the public in disaster situations, often traveling on missions. He is very popular at work, and Nancy’s old friend Laura Colombo told me that her impression of Kurt “may be the same as everyone—everyone loves Kurt.”

Nancy was raised by devout Baptists in Louisiana, and she had been married once before (19 years old) when she met Kurt in a Denver nightclub that attracted gothic crowds. They got married after dating for three years, but even after living together, they still retained a certain advantage.

Kurt has tattoos on the back of his neck and upper arms, and both of them like to go clubbing. Nancy sometimes goes out with friends, without Kurt, coming home very late. Nevertheless, when they were in their 30s, they looked like a typical yuppie couple to most people. They settled in a tree-lined neighborhood and renovated their Victorian house. When they set off for the New Year party on December 31, 2001, they had been married for more than eight years.

When the police found Nancy on the couch in Sonnenfelds bedroom, it was obvious that she was still alive, but she had lost consciousness and was in critical condition. The bullet passed through her head, and a part of the bullet protruded from the exit wound.

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