The smell hit Deputy Brent Baverstock first.

Seventy-five yards into the Cottage Grove woodland, following tire tracks through tall grass that shouldn’t have been disturbed, the detective stopped. Vultures circled overhead. A slight mound, carefully covered with branches and leaves, rose from the earth like a shallow grave. And that smell—the unmistakable scent of death—hung thick in the July heat.​

He pulled back the foliage.

What lay beneath would shatter a community’s understanding of what a loving family could become. It would expose a web of lies so intricate, so desperate, that it ended in the unthinkable. And it would prove that sometimes the most dangerous deceptions are the ones we tell the people who love us most.​

But this story doesn’t begin in those woods. It begins in a house on Oak Spring Circle in Windsor, Wisconsin, where a family lived what everyone believed was the American dream.​

The Perfect Family Nobody Questioned

Bart Halderson had the kind of steady, reliable presence that made clients trust him with their money. At fifty years old, the accountant specialized in small business taxes, work that required precision and patience. He was a numbers man, careful with every dollar.​

His wife, Krista, was fifty-three and just as dependable. For years, she’d worked as a receptionist at a car company, where coworkers knew her as the “work-mother”—the one who remembered birthdays, brought in treats, and never, ever called in sick. Being late wasn’t in her vocabulary. When Krista said she’d be somewhere, she was there.​

They’d been married since 1994, building their life together one careful decision at a time. Bart had served as a Boy Scout den leader, shaping young men in the community. They owned a cabin on White Lake’s Sawyer Lake Road—a 153-acre stretch of water surrounded by dense forest, built by Bart’s own father. It was their sanctuary, their weekend escape from the pressures of daily life.​

Their oldest son, Mitchell, had followed a practical path into IT work. Solid. Stable. The kind of career that made parents nod with approval.​

But their youngest son, Chandler? He was their pride and joy. Their success story. The one they couldn’t stop bragging about to friends and neighbors.​

At twenty-three, Chandler was everything a parent could hope for—or so it seemed. He’d graduated from Madison Area Technical College with a degree in renewable resources engineering. He worked remotely for American Family Insurance, handling his responsibilities from his bedroom while living at home. Practical, they thought. Saving money for his future.​

And then came the news that made Bart and Krista beam with pride: their son had landed a job at SpaceX. Elon Musk’s company. The cutting edge of aerospace technology. Chandler would be moving to Florida, starting a new chapter, reaching for the stars—literally.​

What parent wouldn’t be proud?

What parent wouldn’t believe their own child?

When Perfect Becomes Suspicious

July 7, 2021. 11:30 in the morning.​

Chandler Halderson walked into the Northeast Precinct police station with concern etched across his face. His parents were missing. They’d left for their cabin on July 1st, he explained, traveling with another couple whose names he couldn’t quite recall. They were supposed to be back by now.​

He showed officers a text message from his mother’s phone, dated July 4th: “Made it safely, cant get anything through, and yes, it’s packed. Going to white lake today for the parade and will be home on Monday night/Tuesday early. Love you lots!”​

The message seemed normal enough. Cell service at the cabin could be spotty. White Lake was a small community. Maybe they’d just decided to extend their holiday weekend.​

But when Deputy Seeley drove to the house on Oak Spring Circle, something felt wrong.​

Both of the Haldersons’ vehicles sat in the garage. Chandler explained that his parents had been picked up by friends. But why would Bart and Krista, who always drove themselves everywhere, who valued their independence, accept a ride that would leave them dependent on others for days?​

Inside the house, the deputy’s trained eyes caught details that didn’t add up. Sections of flooring had been removed. The outline of a half wall that was no longer there. In the basement, a large piece of glass was missing from the fireplace. Chandler said the dogs had broken it. He’d cut his toe in the accident, he explained. That’s why there was blood.​

The cabin at White Lake told a different story. When investigators knocked, silence answered. Peering through windows, they could see dust settling on surfaces. The place looked untouched, unlived-in. Nobody had spent the Fourth of July weekend there.​

And there was no parade in White Lake that year.​

The Colleague Who Wouldn’t Stop Asking

Daniel Kroninger knew something was wrong before anyone else did.

Krista’s coworker had watched her arrive at work with clockwork precision for years. She didn’t take unexpected days off. She didn’t disappear without explanation. On July 2nd, when she failed to show up for her shift, Daniel felt his stomach drop.​

He tried calling. No answer. He texted. Nothing. By afternoon, worry had turned into action. Daniel drove to the Halderson home himself.​

Both vehicles were in the garage. He knocked. And knocked. No response. Through a window, he could see a coffee table knocked over inside. The house felt wrong—empty in a way that goes beyond silence.​

Finally, after persistent knocking, Daniel saw movement at a window. Chandler appeared, directing him to a side door. When the young man emerged, he was soaking wet, a towel wrapped around him, water dripping onto the doorstep. He’d just gotten out of the shower, he said.​

Daniel noticed the bandage on Chandler’s foot. The explanation came quickly—too quickly, perhaps. He’d been playing with the dogs. The fireplace glass broke. He got cut.​

Where were his parents?

The cabin, Chandler said. They’d taken large amounts of money and alcohol with them. They were picked up by friends early in the morning on July 1st.​

None of it made sense to Daniel. Bart and Krista weren’t big drinkers. They didn’t carry large amounts of cash. They didn’t accept rides when they owned two perfectly good vehicles. And they certainly wouldn’t have left without telling anyone at work.​

But what could he do? Chandler was their son. Surely he knew where his own parents had gone.

Daniel left, but the worry gnawed at him. Something was very, very wrong.

The Girlfriend’s Mother Sees Something Strange

Dulce Mellender had always been protective of her daughter, Cathryn. It’s what mothers do. So when Cathryn started dating Chandler Halderson, Dulce watched carefully. Not with suspicion, necessarily, but with the keen observation of a woman who’d raised her only daughter to be careful about who she trusted.​

The Mellender family owned a farm in Cottage Grove, just outside Madison. It was the kind of property where you noticed when things were out of place. Where you paid attention to tire tracks and disturbed grass and people wandering where they shouldn’t be.​

July 5th was a hot Monday afternoon. Chandler arrived at the farm with his father’s car. He asked if he could swim in their pool to cool off. Strange request, but the heat was oppressive. Dulce said yes.​

She watched from the house as Chandler moved around the property. He positioned Bart’s vehicle near their largest shed, backing it in carefully. Then he did something odd. Instead of heading to the pool, he wandered along the tree line at the edge of their property. Back and forth. Like he was searching for something. Or checking on something.​

He never got in the pool.​

Dulce mentioned it to her husband that evening. Something about Chandler’s behavior had unsettled her. The way he moved. The distracted, almost dazed expression on his face. But what could they do? He was dating their daughter. Maybe he had a lot on his mind. Maybe the heat was getting to him, too.​

Days later, Dulce noticed the vultures.​

They circled over the same area where she’d watched Chandler walking. Round and round, nature’s cleanup crew drawn to something in the woods. Vultures meant death. They meant decay.​

The memory of Chandler’s strange behavior came rushing back. The careful positioning of the car. The wandering along the tree line. The dazed expression.

Dulce felt her blood run cold.

What the Fireplace Knew

When investigators returned to the house on Oak Spring Circle with a search warrant, they came prepared for what they might find. Years of training teach you to expect the worst. But even veteran detectives weren’t prepared for what the Halderson home would reveal.​

The fireplace had been working overtime. Neighbors would later report seeing bright light blazing from inside the house on the night of July 1st, flames roaring in the middle of summer when nobody in Wisconsin runs their fireplace. They’d noticed the smell, too. At first, they thought someone was barbecuing a large pig. The scent of cooking meat hung in the air, thick and cloying.​​

But it wasn’t pork.

Special Agent William Boswell from the Wisconsin Department of Justice’s Arson Bureau knew the smell of burning human remains. He’d encountered it before in his career. As soon as he entered the Halderson basement, the scent confirmed his worst suspicions.​

The paint around the fireplace had bubbled from extreme heat—the kind of sustained, intense fire that goes beyond burning logs. Inside the ash trap, among the gray and white remains of what had burned, investigators found something that made their stomachs turn.​

Bone fragments. Hundreds of them.​

Dr. Cori Ann Breslauer, the medical examiner, would later testify about what those fragments revealed. Out of more than 200 pieces recovered from the fireplace, 106 were substantial enough to identify. Fifty-three came from a human skull. Eighteen from hands. Twenty-four teeth. Eight vertebrae. Three long bones from either arms or legs.​

Someone had tried to burn a human body in that fireplace. Maybe two.​

But bone doesn’t burn easily. It takes sustained temperatures of over 1,400 degrees Fahrenheit to completely cremate human remains. A home fireplace, even burning at full capacity for hours, can’t achieve that. Bone fragments remain. Evidence remains.​

And evidence doesn’t lie.

The Discovery That Changed Everything

Deputy Brent Baverstock followed the tire tracks into the Mellender property woodland. Dulce had reported the vultures, the strange behavior, the nagging feeling that something terrible had happened on her land. Now investigators were following the trail Chandler had left behind.​

Seventy-five yards into the dense trees, the ground had been disturbed. Someone had dug a shallow depression and tried to cover it with branches, leaves, forest debris. But they’d done a poor job. The vultures had found it. The smell had led the detective straight to it.​

Baverstock pulled back the foliage.

The human torso lay partially decomposed, dressed in grey cargo pants and a black belt. Nylon rope was wrapped around the waist—the kind used for towing or securing heavy objects. A Target bag filled with bloody rags sat nearby, as if the killer had tried to clean up but gave up partway through.​

No head. No arms. No legs. Just a torso, left to rot in the summer heat.​

The medical examiner would later identify the remains as belonging to Bart Halderson. Dr. Breslauer found multiple gunshot wounds. One exit wound under the right ribcage. Another abdominal wound that struck the spinal cord. A shot to the neck. The injuries came from a rifle. Bart had been shot multiple times before his body was dismembered.​

This was no accident. No crime of passion in a moment of heated argument. Someone had shot Bart Halderson, then methodically cut his body into pieces and scattered them to prevent identification.​

Investigators expanded their search of the Mellender property. In a water tank near the shed, they found scissors, a saw blade, and bolt cutters. Under forensic examination, fatty tissue was discovered embedded in the saw blade’s teeth. Human tissue.​

But where was Krista?

The Cell Phone That Couldn’t Lie

Modern technology has made it almost impossible to hide. Our phones track us everywhere, creating digital breadcrumbs that investigators can follow days, weeks, even months after a crime.​

Chandler Halderson’s cell phone data told a story he couldn’t explain away.

On July 3rd, his phone pinged off cell towers in Sauk City, a small community about forty-five minutes northwest of Madison. He’d driven along Highway 12, stopped near the Wisconsin River, and spent considerable time in an area of dense woodland.​

Why? What business did a young man have wandering the riverbank alone on a hot summer day?

A witness came forward. They’d seen a man matching Chandler’s description walking from the Wisconsin River area, carrying something heavy wrapped in plastic.​

Investigators combed the wooded region near the river. What they found made the Bart Halderson discovery seem almost merciful by comparison.​

A severed leg, partially hidden under brush.

Chunks of decomposing flesh.

A severed foot, still in its shoe.

Other body parts, scattered as if the killer had thrown them carelessly into the woods, hoping animals and time would make them disappear.​

DNA testing confirmed what everyone already feared: these remains belonged to Krista Halderson.​

Both parents, killed. Both bodies dismembered. Both scattered across southern Wisconsin like garbage someone was desperate to hide.

The Lies Begin to Unravel

Back at the house on Oak Spring Circle, investigators made more discoveries that painted a damning picture.​

Hidden in shoes under a shelving unit, wrapped carefully in paper towels and aluminum foil, they found Bart and Krista’s cell phones. Also tucked away: their driver’s licenses. The items every person carries with them everywhere, now hidden in their own home.​

Analysis of the phones revealed something chilling. That text message Chandler had shown police—the one supposedly from Krista saying they’d arrived safely at the cabin—had been sent from inside the house on Oak Spring Circle. Not from White Lake. Not from the cabin with spotty cell service. From right there, in the house, after both parents were already dead.​

Chandler had sent the text message himself, pretending to be his mother.​

The rifle used to kill Bart turned up behind boards in Dulce Mellender’s shed. It was an SKS rifle with a 20-inch barrel, a gift Chandler had received from an online gaming friend he’d met while that friend was stationed with the Army in Germany. The friend, Andrew Smith, had sent it through a gun broker as a present.​

The same type of ammunition used in that rifle matched a bullet casing found at the Halderson home.​

An axe, tested for blood, came back positive for human DNA.​

Blood evidence was found in the freezer—as if someone had stored body parts there temporarily.​

Rope matching the type wrapped around Bart’s torso was discovered in the garage.​

And then there was Chandler’s internet search history, recovered by forensic analysts. In the days after his parents vanished, he’d been obsessively checking the news:

“Body found Wisconsin”
“Woman’s body found in Wisconsin”
“Wisconsin dismembered body found”
“Bart and Krista Halderson news”​

He was tracking the investigation. Waiting to see what police had discovered. Hoping, perhaps, that his crude attempt to hide the evidence would be enough.

It wasn’t.

The Girlfriend Who Thought Everything Was Normal

Cathryn Mellender had no idea she was dating a killer.​

On the witness stand months later, she would testify through tears about the weekend of July 1st through July 4th. She’d spent time with Chandler throughout those days. He’d seemed normal. Maybe a little distracted, but normal.​

They’d gone to dinner together to celebrate his new SpaceX job. She’d paid for the meal—after all, he hadn’t started work yet, and she was happy to treat him. He’d seemed excited about the future, about moving to Florida together, about starting this incredible new chapter.​

She had no idea that his parents lay dead in the house. That their dismembered bodies were in the freezer. That at various points during their romantic weekend, Chandler had been driving around southern Wisconsin disposing of human remains while texting her sweet messages.​

On July 1st, Chandler had told her he needed to run errands. Could she help him? They’d gone to his house first to grab dirty clothes. Then to her mother’s farm to pick up hydrogen peroxide and a Swiffer. The fireplace glass had broken, he explained. He’d cut his toe. There was blood to clean up.​

Cathryn thought nothing of it. Accidents happen. Glass breaks. She was just being a good girlfriend, helping him out.​

They’d stopped at Target. He’d bought a tarp. And ice. Lots of ice. He said he needed it for the cooler for a trip his parents were taking.​

It never occurred to her that he needed the ice to preserve bodies. That the tarp was to wrap human remains. That the Swiffer wasn’t to clean up blood from a cut toe—it was to clean up the blood from two murders.​

Later, Cathryn would provide police with something that would prove devastating for Chandler’s defense: Snapchat location data. The app tracked where users were when they sent messages. Chandler’s Snapchat locations during the weekend of July 1st through 4th placed him at every single location where body parts were later discovered.​

The Mellender farm woodland where Bart’s torso was found. The Sauk City riverbank where Krista’s remains were scattered. Back and forth between these locations and the house on Oak Spring Circle, where he was supposedly grieving his missing parents.​

The digital evidence didn’t lie. The timeline didn’t lie. The location data traced a map of murder and dismemberment, with Chandler Halderson at the center of it all.​

The Web of Lies Finally Exposed

As Chandler sat in jail awaiting trial, investigators dug deeper into his background. What they uncovered was almost as shocking as the murders themselves.​

Chandler Halderson’s entire life was a fabrication.​

He hadn’t graduated from Madison Area Technical College. In fact, he’d never even been enrolled there. No renewable resources engineering degree. No classes. No professors who knew his name.​

He didn’t work for American Family Insurance. He’d never worked there, never been hired, never had a remote job handling policies from his bedroom.​

And SpaceX? There was no job offer. No position waiting in Florida. No apartment rented. No car purchased for the move. It was all fantasy.​

For years, Chandler had been living an elaborate lie. While his parents believed he was attending online classes and working remotely, he spent his days playing video games in his bedroom. When Bart, working from home during COVID-19, thought his son was in virtual meetings, Chandler was actually battling opponents in online gaming worlds.​

The deception required constant maintenance. Chandler had created hundreds of fake emails from supposed college staff members, HR representatives from American Family Insurance, and SpaceX recruiters. He’d forged documents. Fabricated pay stubs. Invented entire conversations with people who didn’t exist.​

When Bart questioned why his son wasn’t receiving paychecks despite supposedly working for almost a year, Chandler invented elaborate stories about payroll mix-ups and direct deposit problems. He showed his father fake email chains with HR departments that were figments of his imagination.​

As pressure mounted for him to contribute to household expenses, Chandler escalated his lies. The best escape from one fictional job, prosecutors would later argue, was an even more fictional job. Hence SpaceX. Hence the move to Florida. Hence the promise of a future so bright that it justified continued financial support from his parents.​

But the lies couldn’t last forever.

The Meeting That Never Happened

Late June 2021. Bart Halderson had finally had enough.​

His son claimed to be about to start at SpaceX, but something didn’t add up. The wage issues. The lack of documentation. The vague answers to direct questions. Bart was an accountant—his entire career was built on attention to detail and verification of facts. His son’s explanations were starting to feel like bad bookkeeping.​

Bart did what any concerned father would do. He contacted Madison Area Technical College directly. Could they provide his son’s graduation documents? Could they verify his credentials? He wanted to help Chandler get proper documentation for this exciting new SpaceX position.​

The response shattered everything Bart thought he knew about his youngest son.

Chandler had never been enrolled at Madison Area Technical College. Not currently. Not ever. There were no records of him. No classes. No degree. Nothing.​

How does a parent process that information? Years of pride in their son’s achievements, all based on lies. Every conversation about classes, every celebration of good grades, every boast to friends and family—all built on deception.​

Bart arranged a meeting at the college for July 1st. He would take Chandler there. They would sit down with administrators. And they would figure out what was really going on with his son’s education and employment.​

Chandler knew that meeting would destroy his web of lies. Once college staff confirmed he’d never been enrolled, once his father saw the truth laid bare in an official setting, everything would collapse. The SpaceX story would crumble. The insurance job would be exposed as fantasy. Years of deception would come crashing down.​

He had a choice: face the truth or eliminate the person who’d discovered it.

On the morning of July 1st, 2021, Chandler Halderson made his choice.​

 

The Day Everything Fell Apart

July 1st, 2021. A Thursday morning.​

Bart Halderson woke up knowing that today would change everything. The meeting at Madison Area Technical College was scheduled. He would finally get answers about his son’s education, his credentials, his future. Krista had to work—her shift at the car dealership started early—but Bart would handle this. He was a father. This was his responsibility.​

What happened next can only be reconstructed from the evidence left behind, because there were no witnesses. No one to hear. No one to help. Just a father, a son, and years of lies finally reaching their breaking point.​

Prosecutors would later theorize the timeline based on forensic evidence, cell phone data, and the cold, methodical way Chandler tried to cover up what he’d done.​

Sometime that morning, while Krista was at work and before the scheduled college meeting, Chandler retrieved the SKS rifle—the gift from his online gaming friend. The weapon he’d told his parents was just a collectible. Something for sport shooting. Nothing dangerous.​

The first shot hit Bart somewhere in the house. Maybe he was sitting down, expecting a conversation with his son. Maybe he was standing, preparing to leave for the college. The bullet struck his torso, exiting under his right ribcage.​

But Bart didn’t die immediately.​

There was a second shot. This one to the abdomen, the bullet striking his spinal cord. Still, somehow, Bart may have remained conscious. The medical examiner would later testify that the sequence of wounds suggested Bart knew what was happening to him. Knew his own son was killing him.​

A third shot to the neck finally ended Bart Halderson’s life.​

Chandler had hours before his mother came home from work. Hours to think about what he’d done. Hours to realize that killing his father had only solved half his problem. Because when Krista returned at 5 PM, she would see. She would know. She would call the police.​

So Chandler waited.​

When Krista Halderson walked through the door that evening, tired from a day at work and expecting to find her husband and son preparing for a quiet summer evening, she walked into an ambush.​

Prosecutors believe Chandler shot her soon after she arrived home. They found her remains too scattered, too decomposed, to determine the exact wounds, but the timeline suggests she died that same evening of July 1st.​

By 8:13 PM, surveillance cameras captured Chandler leaving the house. He drove to a local store and purchased bags of ice. Lots of ice. The kind you buy when you need to preserve something. When you need to keep decomposition at bay long enough to figure out what to do with two bodies.​

He returned home to the house on Oak Spring Circle. Both of his parents lay dead inside. And Chandler Halderson, the young man who’d spent years lying about college and careers and a future that didn’t exist, now faced the biggest cover-up of his life.​

The Cover-Up

Over the next five days, while neighbors noticed strange lights blazing from the Halderson fireplace in the middle of summer, while the smell of what they thought was roasting pork drifted through the neighborhood, Chandler methodically tried to erase the evidence of what he’d done.​

He dismembered his parents’ bodies. The saw blade found in the water tank at the Mellender farm would later test positive for human tissue embedded in its teeth. The axe discovered on the property was covered in human blood.​

Some remains went into the fireplace. Hour after hour, the fire burned hot enough to bubble the paint on the surrounding walls. Bone fragments, teeth, pieces of skull—all fed into the flames. But bones don’t burn completely, no matter how long you try. The evidence remained.​​

Other parts he wrapped and stored temporarily in the freezer, blood evidence later confirming what investigators suspected.​

On July 3rd, Chandler loaded some of his mother’s remains into his father’s vehicle and drove to Sauk City, 45 minutes northwest of Windsor. He parked near the Wisconsin River and walked into the woodland, carrying plastic-wrapped bundles. A witness would later report seeing a young man matching his description walking from that area, looking dazed and carrying something heavy.​

He scattered Krista’s remains through the woods near the river. A leg here. Chunks of flesh there. A foot still in its shoe. Body parts thrown carelessly into the undergrowth, as if animals and time would make them disappear.​

On July 5th, he drove to the Mellender farm with his father’s torso in the car. While Dulce watched from the house, confused by his strange behavior, Chandler carried his father’s remains into the woodland at the edge of their property. Seventy-five yards into the trees, he dug a shallow grave, placed the torso inside, and covered it with branches and leaves.​

Then he hid the murder weapon behind boards in Dulce’s shed, along with other incriminating evidence.​

All the while, he maintained his charade. He went to dinner with Cathryn, celebrating the SpaceX job that didn’t exist. He texted friends. He posted on social media. He acted like a young man with his whole future ahead of him.​

On July 4th, using his mother’s phone from inside the house, he sent the text message about arriving safely at the cabin.​

On July 7th, when he could no longer avoid questions about where his parents had gone, Chandler walked into the police station and filed a missing persons report.​

Perhaps he believed he’d been clever enough. Thorough enough. That the bodies would never be found, or wouldn’t be identifiable if they were. That his story about the cabin and the mysterious friends would hold up under questioning.​

He was wrong.

The Brother Who Lost Everything

Mitchell Halderson was three hours away when he got the call that his parents were missing.​

The older brother, the one who’d taken the conventional path—steady job in IT, building his own life separate from the family home—couldn’t believe what Chandler was telling him. Their parents had gone to the cabin and hadn’t come back? That didn’t sound right. Mom always called. She reached out every chance she got.​

Mitchell and his fiancée immediately drove to White Lake to check the cabin themselves. Maybe there’d been an accident. Maybe the cell service really was bad. Maybe there was a simple explanation.​

But when they arrived, the cabin was empty. Clearly unused for weeks. No sign that anyone had been there for the Fourth of July weekend.​

As the investigation unfolded and the horrific truth emerged, Mitchell faced an impossible reality. His parents were dead. Murdered. Dismembered. And his own brother—his younger brother, the one they’d all believed was destined for great things—had killed them.​

At the trial months later, Mitchell would take the stand and testify against Chandler. Speaking through visible emotion, he told the jury about the life insurance policies. He and Chandler stood to inherit around one million dollars after their parents’ deaths.​

But money couldn’t have been the primary motive, prosecutors argued. The policies were standard. Nothing excessive. Nothing that would drive a normal person to murder.​

No, this was about something more pathetic. More tragic. This was about a son who couldn’t face his own lies being exposed. Who chose murder over the uncomfortable conversation about dropping out of college. Who valued his fabricated image more than his parents’ lives.​

Mitchell would later say that the conviction and life sentence gave him a sense of closure and justice. But how do you find closure when you’ve lost your entire family in one devastating act? When you have to live with the knowledge that your brother—someone you grew up with, shared holidays with, believed you knew—was capable of such horror?​

The Trial That Shocked Wisconsin

January 4, 2022. Opening statements began in Dane County Circuit Court.​

Chandler Halderson sat at the defense table, his expression blank. He’d entered a plea of not guilty to all charges: two counts of first-degree intentional homicide, two counts of mutilating a corpse, two counts of hiding a corpse, and two counts of providing false information about missing persons.​

The prosecution’s case was methodical and overwhelming. Over eight days, they presented a mountain of evidence that left little room for doubt.​

Digital forensics experts testified about the fake emails Chandler had created over years—hundreds of them from non-existent college administrators and HR representatives. They showed the jury his internet searches after the murders: “Body found Wisconsin,” “Woman’s body found in Wisconsin,” “Wisconsin dismembered body found”.​

Cathryn Mellender took the stand, tearful and shaken, describing the Snapchat location data that placed Chandler at every disposal site during the weekend of July 1st through July 4th. The same weekend she’d believed they were celebrating his new job. The same weekend she’d had no idea she was dating a murderer.​​

Her mother, Dulce, testified about Chandler’s strange behavior at their farm. The careful positioning of Bart’s car near the shed. The wandering along the tree line. The dazed, distracted demeanor.​

Daniel Kroninger, Krista’s worried coworker, explained how out of character it was for her to miss work without calling. How wrong everything felt that afternoon of July 2nd when he found the house empty but both vehicles in the garage.​

Law enforcement officers detailed the discovery of remains. The torso in the Mellender woodland. The scattered body parts near the Wisconsin River. The bone fragments and teeth in the fireplace ashes.​

Medical examiner Dr. Cori Ann Breslauer walked the jury through the painstaking process of identifying human remains from burned fragments. Fifty-three pieces of skull. Eighteen hand bones. Twenty-four teeth. The gunshot wounds that killed Bart Halderson.​

Forensic experts testified about blood evidence in the freezer, human tissue on the saw blade, the matching ammunition and rifle.​

The evidence was so overwhelming, so meticulously documented, that the defense offered little resistance. Attorney Crystal Vera conceded guilt on most charges, questioning only whether the murders qualified as first-degree intentional homicide or if they’d been committed in the heat of passion.​

Chandler never took the stand. He never offered an explanation. Never showed remorse. He sat silently throughout the trial, his face an unreadable mask.​

The prosecution’s closing argument cut to the heart of the tragedy: “Mr. Halderson by all accounts chose to commit the crime of first-degree intentional homicide twice on a single day because he was caught lying about where he was working and going to school,” Deputy District Attorney William Brown told the jury. “When faced with, in the grand scheme of things, a minor inconvenience in his life, Mr. Halderson chose to commit first-degree homicide two times”.​

Justice Delivered

January 20, 2022.​

The jury had deliberated for just over two hours when they sent word that they’d reached a verdict. In a case with this much evidence, with this clear a timeline, there was little to debate. The question wasn’t whether Chandler had killed his parents. The question was never in doubt.​

Judge John Hyland took his seat. The courtroom fell silent. Chandler Halderson stood to face the verdict.​

“We the jury find the defendant Chandler M. Halderson guilty of first-degree intentional homicide as to Bart A. Halderson”.​

Guilty of providing false information about a missing person.​

Guilty of mutilating a corpse.​

“We the jury find the defendant Chandler M. Halderson guilty of first-degree intentional homicide as to Krista A. Halderson”.​

Guilty of mutilating a corpse.​

Guilty of hiding a corpse.​

Guilty on all eight counts.​

Chandler’s expression never changed. He stared straight ahead as his entire future collapsed into a single word, repeated eight times: Guilty.​

The tentative sentencing date was set for March 17, 2022. In Wisconsin, first-degree intentional homicide carries a mandatory life sentence. The only question remaining was whether Chandler would ever have the possibility of parole after twenty years, or whether he would die in prison.​​

Chandler filed a motion asking to skip his own sentencing. He didn’t want to face the court, the families, the consequences of what he’d done. Judge Hyland denied the request. State law required that he be present when sentence was imposed.​

The Sentence That Fit the Crime

March 17, 2022.​

Judge John Hyland appeared emotional as he prepared to impose sentence. He paused at times, composing himself. He blew his nose. He thanked the jury members who’d served on the case and praised the investigators whose dedication had brought justice for Bart and Krista.​

This was only the third time in his career that Judge Hyland would impose a sentence of life imprisonment without the possibility of parole. It’s a sentence reserved for the worst of the worst. For crimes so heinous, so calculated, that society must be permanently protected from the offender.​

“I cannot conceive of a way to fulfill my duty to the public I serve were I to perceive that at some point the individual who committed these crimes should be released back into that public,” Judge Hyland stated.​

He addressed the gravity of what Chandler had done—not just the murders themselves, but the dismemberment, the disposal of remains, the elaborate cover-up. He noted how Chandler’s actions showed no remorse, no recognition of the humanity of his victims, no acknowledgment that these weren’t just obstacles to eliminate but human beings who loved him.​

Deputy District Attorney William Brown had argued for life without parole, emphasizing the senselessness of the crimes. “When faced with, in the grand scheme of things, a minor inconvenience in his life, Mr. Halderson chose to commit first-degree homicide two times,” Brown reminded the court.​

A minor inconvenience. That’s what this was. Not abuse. Not self-defense. Not a life-threatening situation. Chandler had murdered both his parents because they’d discovered he’d lied about college and a job. Because he couldn’t face an uncomfortable conversation. Because maintaining his fantasy was more important than their lives.​

The sentence: Life imprisonment without the possibility of parole for both homicide convictions, to run concurrently. Additional years for the other charges—three years for the false information counts, seven and a half years for each mutilation charge, seven and a half years for each hiding corpse charge—all to run concurrently with the life sentences.​

Chandler Halderson, twenty-four years old at sentencing, would never leave prison.​

Even at this final moment, Chandler showed no remorse. His only words to the court were to announce his intention to appeal. Not an apology to his brother. Not an acknowledgment of what he’d taken from the community. Just a cold statement that he would fight the verdict.​

In 2025, the appeals court would affirm his conviction on all counts. The evidence was overwhelming. The verdict was just. Chandler Halderson would spend the rest of his life in a Wisconsin prison, paying for the unthinkable choice he made on July 1, 2021.​

The Yellow Rose and What Was Lost

Outside the courthouse after sentencing, Dane County Sheriff Kalvin Barrett stood before the media wearing a yellow rose pinned to his uniform.​

The Halderson family had provided the rose. Yellow roses carry meaning—friendship, joy, new beginnings. But in this context, Sheriff Barrett explained, the yellow rose represented something else: the missing souls of Bart and Krista Halderson.​

His words captured the full scope of the tragedy in a single sentence: “The Halderson family lost three today: Bart and Krista in July of last year, and today Chandler”.​

Three lives destroyed. Three family members gone. One family completely shattered.​

Bart Halderson would never again help small business owners navigate their taxes. Never return to the Boy Scout troop he’d led with dedication. Never spend another peaceful weekend at the cabin his father built.​

Krista Halderson would never arrive punctually for another shift at work. Never mother her coworkers through difficult days. Never reach out to Mitchell with those frequent, loving phone calls.​

And Chandler—the son they’d been so proud of, the young man they believed was destined for SpaceX and greatness—would spend the rest of his life in a prison cell, his potential wasted, his name forever synonymous with patricide and matricide.​

Mitchell Halderson was left alone. No parents to call on holidays. No younger brother to maintain a relationship with. No family cabin to visit without the memories of what happened overwhelming him.​

The community of Windsor, Wisconsin—a quiet place where people knew their neighbors and believed they understood the families living next door—learned that you can never truly know what happens behind closed doors. That the perfect family on paper can hide secrets that end in unthinkable tragedy.​

The Lies We Tell and The Prices We Pay

Chandler Halderson’s case became a cautionary tale about the deadly combination of lies, narcissism, and the inability to face consequences.​

For years, he’d constructed an elaborate fantasy life. The college degree that didn’t exist. The insurance job he never had. The SpaceX position that was pure fiction. Each lie required more lies to maintain. Each fabrication demanded new fabrications to support it.​

He created hundreds of fake emails. He forged documents. He invented entire conversations and relationships with people who didn’t exist. The amount of effort he put into maintaining his web of deception was staggering—far more work than it would have taken to actually attend classes or get a real job.​

But narcissists don’t think that way. To someone who has built their entire identity on a false image, admitting the truth feels like death. The shame of exposure, the humiliation of being revealed as a fraud, becomes unbearable.​

When Bart Halderson made that phone call to Madison Area Technical College, Chandler faced a choice: admit the truth and face the consequences, or eliminate the person who’d discovered his lies.​

He chose murder.​

Prosecutors and psychologists who examined the case noted the cold calculation in Chandler’s actions. This wasn’t a crime of passion. He didn’t snap in a moment of rage. He methodically shot his father multiple times, then waited hours for his mother to come home so he could kill her too. Then he spent five days dismembering their bodies and scattering the remains.​

The cover-up showed planning and forethought. The fake text messages. The missing persons report filed with feigned concern. The story about the cabin and mysterious friends. Even after his arrest, Chandler maintained his innocence, apparently believing his lies were strong enough to overcome the mountain of physical evidence against him.​

It’s a level of delusion that’s hard for most people to comprehend. But it’s that same delusion that allowed him to lie to his parents for years. That convinced him he could get away with murder. That made him believe, even at trial, that the jury might somehow believe his version of events despite overwhelming proof of his guilt.​

The Questions That Remain

In the years since Chandler Halderson’s conviction, true crime enthusiasts and psychologists have examined the case, trying to understand how a young man from a loving, supportive family could commit such horrific acts.​

Were there warning signs that Bart and Krista missed? Should they have intervened sooner when they noticed inconsistencies in Chandler’s stories? Could this tragedy have been prevented if they’d confronted his lies earlier?​

The answer isn’t simple. Chandler had been lying successfully for years. He was skilled at manipulation, at creating just enough evidence to make his stories plausible. And what parent wants to believe their child is deceiving them? Bart and Krista believed in their son because that’s what loving parents do.​

The case also raises uncomfortable questions about the pressures young people face—real or perceived—to achieve. Chandler apparently felt that admitting he’d dropped out of college or didn’t have a job was worse than death. Not his own death, but the death of his parents.​

That twisted logic reveals a profound disconnect from reality and a staggering lack of empathy. Most people, when caught in lies, feel embarrassment. Maybe they face disappointment from family. Consequences at school or work. But they move forward. They face the music. They take responsibility.​

Chandler Halderson couldn’t do that. Whether due to narcissistic personality disorder, sociopathy, or some other psychological condition, he lacked the basic human capacity to accept consequences for his actions.​

And two innocent people paid with their lives.

A Community Remembers

Today, those who knew Bart and Krista Halderson remember them not for how they died, but for how they lived.​

Coworkers remember Krista’s reliability, her warmth, her role as the workplace “mother” who remembered everyone’s birthdays and brought treats to brighten difficult days.​

Clients remember Bart’s dedication, his careful attention to their small business finances, his integrity in handling their money.​

The Boy Scouts remember the den leader who shaped young men with patience and wisdom.​

Neighbors remember the couple who worked hard, loved their family, and built a good life through careful, responsible choices.​

They were, in the words of prosecutors, “normal folks just trying to live a normal life”. They didn’t deserve what happened to them. No one does.​

The cabin on White Lake still stands, though it’s unclear if Mitchell Halderson has returned there. How could he? The place that was meant to be a sanctuary, a family gathering spot built by his grandfather, is now forever tainted by the lies that led to his parents’ murders.​

The house on Oak Spring Circle eventually sold, though one imagines the new owners must live with the knowledge of what happened in those rooms, what burned in that fireplace, what horror unfolded behind those walls.​

And somewhere in a Wisconsin prison, Chandler Halderson lives out his days. No SpaceX job. No girlfriend. No family visits. No future beyond concrete walls and locked doors.​

The Last Word

If there’s a lesson in this tragedy, it’s that lies always catch up with you eventually. That the truth, no matter how uncomfortable, is always better than the consequences of deception. That facing embarrassment or disappointment is infinitely preferable to the destruction that comes from avoiding responsibility.​

Chandler Halderson could have admitted he dropped out of college. He could have confessed that he didn’t have a job. He could have faced his parents’ disappointment, worked through the uncomfortable conversations, and rebuilt his life on a foundation of truth.​

Instead, he chose murder. He chose dismemberment. He chose to destroy the two people who loved him most in the world rather than admit he’d failed.​

And now he has nothing. No family. No future. No possibility of redemption. Just the rest of his life to contemplate the choice he made on July 1, 2021.​

Bart and Krista Halderson deserved so much better. They deserved to grow old together. To see Mitchell build his life and perhaps start a family of his own. To enjoy their cabin on White Lake for many more years. To retire and enjoy the fruits of their careful, responsible decades of work.​

They deserved a son who loved them more than he loved his lies.​

Instead, they got a killer who wore their son’s face and answered to their son’s name but had lost every trace of humanity that should have come with being their child.​

The yellow rose Sheriff Barrett wore that day outside the courthouse has long since faded. But the memory of Bart and Krista Halderson—the real victims in this tragedy—should endure. Not as the parents who were murdered and dismembered, but as the good people who worked hard, loved deeply, and built a life that should have ended in peace and dignity.​

They deserved that much. They deserved everything. And they got a son who gave them death instead.​