Suspicions against Marcy Shepherd were now a distant second to those pointing to Wesley Earnest. However, Investigators Gary Babb and Mike Mayhew guarded against tunnel vision. They needed more before they settled on any firm conclusions of guilt. The Bedford County Sheriff’s Office brought in backup to help make that happen. Personnel from the police departments in the city of Bedford, the seat of the county where Jocelyn died; Lynchburg, the city where Jocelyn worked; and the Campbell County Sheriff’s Office, the neighboring area where Wesley stayed when visiting his girlfriend, now became part of the team of investigators.
• • •
While the detectives sought answers, Jocelyn Earnest’s family, friends, and neighbors sought healing. Lisa Jennings, a former neighbor, was stunned by news of Jocelyn’s death. She remembered the Earnests as an athletic, outgoing, and smart couple. “They were nice people as far as we knew,” she said to a reporter for the Virginian-Pilot.
Next-door neighbor Ernest Daye started double-checking the locks on his windows and doors each night. “It’s worrisome,” he told Lynchburg’s News & Advance. “We haven’t heard anything. She was my neighbor. I used to see her and wave and speak to her. That’s all I know—nothing, to tell the truth.”
“It’s always been a quiet and peaceful neighborhood,” Dorothy Slusher said to the News & Advance reporter. “It makes you wonder what happened to her. It’s so sad. I keep my doors locked day and night. You just don’t know. People are crazy.”
• • •
The first step on the path back to normalcy for those who knew and cared about Jocelyn was the funeral service.
Initially, Wesley’s family said that they wanted her body. Wesley even went to the funeral home insisting that since Jocelyn was his wife, it was his decision. He told them, “I want her cremated in a cardboard box and put in a simple urn.”
Since Jocelyn’s family wanted to lay her to rest in West Virginia, where they lived and Jocelyn grew up, they enlisted Mayhew’s help. In a dispute like this one, he was powerless, but he did make sure nothing was done until a legal decision was reached. He contacted Joey Sanzone and told him that he needed to file the proper paperwork. With the attorney involved, the conflict simply went away. Jocelyn’s body was transported to her home state of West Virginia to the Brown Funeral Home in Martinsburg. The family received friends there from 7 to 9 P.M. on December 27, 2007. Services began at 10 A.M. on December 28 with Reverend Ed Taylor officiating. It was a low-key event, made even more mournful because no one knew if the deceased had taken her own life or had been the victim of a violent act. Both possibilities were tragic and painful, but the not-knowing haunted the solemn occasion.
Jocelyn’s mother, Joyce Young, was visibly shaken by the experience. While Jocelyn’s home was still sealed as a crime scene, Joyce had pleaded with investigators to have something that smelled like her daughter. They’d taken pity on her and had allowed the grieving mother inside—in the presence of law enforcement and Wesley’s defense attorney Joey Sanzone—to take possession of a pillow from Jocelyn’s bed.
“To go to a funeral, to pick out your child’s casket, it just tears you apart,” Joyce said.
Jocelyn was interred in nearby Rosedale Cemetery. The obituary notice noted: “In addition to or in lieu of flowers, memorial contributions may be made to the Berkeley County Humane Society.”
Her father, Bill Branham, took home her beloved Labrador retriever, Rufus. Homes for her cats were found with feline-loving friends.
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On January 16, 2008, questions about Jocelyn’s death still hung in the air. Marcy Shepherd, Maysa Munsey, and another friend from work, Dora Farrah, arranged a local memorial service at Timberlake United Methodist Church in Lynchburg. Four hundred people, including some from West Virginia, gathered beneath a sky that threatened snow and entered the sanctuary to express their admiration for their deceased friend.
Co-workers described Jocelyn as a leader who could facilitate the input of others and make decisions on large projects. Friends referred to her special ability to recognize when things were wrong and do something about it. “She didn’t wait for that phone call for help. She just offered it. She was my best friend, closer than a sister,” Maysa said. When Marcy stood before the gathered mourners to speak of Jocelyn, she said, “She was like a fine wine with a complex bouquet. If I asked everyone in the church what their relationship with Jocelyn was, they’d all have different answers. Yet, she was always herself.”
They cried, said good-bye, expressed their love, and waited for more information. Many were already convinced that Jocelyn had not taken her own life and were impatient for authorities to make it official.