On a crisp Halloween evening in 2006, 8-year-old Tyler Martinez adjusted his Spider-Man mask and bounded up the steps of an abandoned house at 1247 Maple Street in Los Angeles’ Westwood neighborhood. Jack-o’-lanterns flickered on the porch, tempting trick-or-treaters despite the home’s eerie vacancy. When no one answered the bell, Tyler’s curiosity led him around the side, down a worn path choked with overgrown bushes. Behind a loose fence board, a glint of pink caught his eye—a weathered backpack, half-buried in leaves. Inside, a tiny fairy costume and a laminated school ID for Emma Thompson, dated 1998, sparked a chain reaction that unraveled one of LA’s most haunting mysteries: the Halloween night disappearance of the Thompson family.
In 1998, Michael Thompson, 38, an electrical engineer, and his wife Linda, 35, a part-time teacher, took their daughters Emma, 6, and Sophie, 3, trick-or-treating in their close-knit Westwood community. Known for their warmth and devotion, the Thompsons were a fixture at St. Matthew’s Episcopal Church, their home brimming with Halloween decorations and the promise of a family party later that night. By 7:15 p.m., they’d collected candy at Mrs. Peterson’s house at 1156 Maple Street, Emma chattering about visiting Dr. William Henderson’s home next for his famed full-size candy bars. But the family never made it. By midnight, their absence alarmed neighbors, and their home revealed an unsettling scene: dinner dishes on the table, Linda’s purse with wallet and keys untouched, and unopened candy bags scattered by the door.
Detective Sarah Kim, a seasoned missing persons investigator, arrived at the Maple Street scene within hours of Tyler’s 2006 discovery. The backpack’s deliberate placement—sealed in plastic, tucked behind a loosened board—screamed intent. The ID showed a smiling Emma, blonde pigtails framing her face, while the fairy costume fit Sophie perfectly. Kim’s instincts flared: this was no coincidence. The Thompson case, a ghost story whispered among LAPD detectives, was back from the dead.
The original 1998 investigation, led by retired Detective James Crawford, had fizzled after six months. No signs of struggle, no witnesses, no bodies—just a family evaporated into the Halloween night. Crawford’s notes pointed to Dr. William Henderson, the Thompsons’ trusted pediatrician who lived at 1247 Maple Street, as the last likely stop on their route. Henderson, then 57, claimed he never saw them, having turned off his porch light at 8:00 p.m. His stellar reputation—25 years as a pediatrician, a churchgoer, and school board member—deflected suspicion. But Tyler’s find changed everything.
Kim reached out to Robert Thompson, Michael’s brother, who’d relentlessly pushed to reopen the case. At a Pasadena police station, Robert’s hands trembled as he identified Emma’s ID and Sophie’s costume. “Emma loved princesses; Sophie was her fairy sidekick,” he said, voice breaking. He recalled Michael’s 6:00 p.m. call on October 31, 1998, brimming with excitement about the girls’ first big trick-or-treat adventure. By 10:00 p.m., when they didn’t return, panic set in. Robert’s certainty never wavered: his family hadn’t run away—they were taken.
Digging deeper, Kim revisited Crawford’s files. The timeline was tight. At 7:15 p.m., Mrs. Peterson saw the Thompsons; by 7:40 p.m., they should’ve reached Henderson’s house, just a few doors down. Yet Henderson’s alibi held firm—no visitors after 8:00 p.m. Kim’s suspicion grew when she learned Henderson had moved to Arizona in 2002, after retiring early in 2001, citing “stress” from the investigation. A call to Arizona Vital Records dropped a bombshell: Henderson wasn’t dead, as rumored, but alive in Scottsdale.
Kim’s investigation took a darker turn when she uncovered a 1998 malpractice complaint against Henderson, filed by Patricia Caldwell. Her daughter Jessica, 7, had described inappropriate touching during a school physical, calling it a “special secret.” The complaint was withdrawn under pressure, but Jessica later told her mother that Emma Thompson had confided about Henderson’s “bad” behavior, hinting the Thompsons planned to switch doctors. School records confirmed Emma’s sudden anxiety in October 1998, refusing health lessons and clinging to her mother. Sophie, too, had nightmares, waking in tears.
On November 4, 2006, Kim flew to Scottsdale to confront Henderson. At his pristine Desert Pines home, the 65-year-old doctor maintained his polished facade, denying knowledge of the backpack. But his wife Margaret’s quiet admission shifted the ground: Henderson returned home after midnight on Halloween 1998, clothes soiled, claiming a hospital emergency that never happened. Pressed about Emma’s abuse allegations, Henderson’s composure cracked. “She was lying,” he snapped, inadvertently revealing he knew Emma had spoken out. As Kim arrested him for the murders, Henderson’s chilling confession slipped: “Those bodies will never be found. I’m a doctor—I know how to dispose of biological waste.”
In a Scottsdale interrogation room, Henderson unraveled. Emma’s tears at his doorstep triggered her parents’ confrontation. Michael’s threats to call police pushed Henderson to panic. Luring them inside with promises of explanation, he struck Michael with a paperweight, killing him instantly. Linda, sedated with a lethal dose of pentobarbital, collapsed. The girls, terrified, were injected with the same drug, their small bodies still in costumes. Henderson’s basement incinerator, used for medical waste, erased their remains over hours of gruesome work. The ashes? Scattered in the Pacific Ocean.
But Henderson hadn’t acted alone. His confession revealed an accomplice, Jerry Morrison, a Westside Medical Waste Services technician. On November 5, Kim tracked Morrison to Van Nuys. The 43-year-old, now a maintenance supervisor, crumbled, admitting Henderson paid him $5,000 for a Sunday night pickup in November 1998. Opening a biohazard bag, Morrison saw a child’s arm, adorned with a Cinderella bracelet. Henderson’s “research material” excuse, backed by forged papers, kept Morrison silent—until now.
The trial, beginning March 15, 2007, gripped Los Angeles. District Attorney Michael Chen painted Henderson as a predator who betrayed his oath, abusing dozens of children before murdering the Thompsons to silence them. Victims like Jessica Caldwell and Lisa Martinez testified to Henderson’s “special secrets,” their courage exposing years of unchecked abuse. Morrison’s plea deal—five years for accessory after the fact—bolstered the case with his detailed account of the incineration. The defense’s mental illness claim faltered against evidence of Henderson’s calculated cover-up: bleach-cleaned driveways, fabricated alibis, and a planned escape to Paraguay.
On April 25, 2007, the jury convicted Henderson on four counts of first-degree murder. At the penalty phase, Robert’s heart-wrenching testimony—“He stole Emma and Sophie’s dreams, our family’s joy”—sealed Henderson’s fate. On June 1, Judge Patricia Williams sentenced him to death, condemning his betrayal of trust. Henderson died in San Quentin in 2019, unrepentant. Morrison, released in 2011, funds child abuse prevention programs.
The Emma and Sophie Foundation, launched by Robert in 2007, has educated 50,000 families on abuse prevention, inspiring California’s Henderson Protocol for safer pediatric care. Tyler Martinez, now studying criminal justice, credits the backpack find for his career path. In 2018, Westwood Park’s Emma and Sophie Memorial Playground opened, a testament to their legacy. Lieutenant Sarah Kim, still chasing cold cases, reflects: “One child’s discovery brought justice after eight years. Truth doesn’t stay buried forever.”
