Bones turned up in south Tucson on August 17, roughly 15 miles from the home where 84-year-old Nancy Guthrie was taken on February 1, 2026 — and for a few days the discovery reignited hope, then fear, that the case of the “Today” co-host Savannah Guthrie’s mother had finally reached its grim conclusion. Pima County officials quickly poured cold water on that idea, saying there was “no indication” the remains found near West Ajo Way and South La Cholla Boulevard had anything to do with her disappearance and that they appeared to have been sitting there for some time.

A preliminary examination went further: the bone is likely prehistoric. Rather than landing on a homicide detective’s desk, it is being routed to anthropologists.

Chief Medical Examiner Greg Hess said his office processes about 150 sets of remains in a typical year and can have as many as 600 bodies in storage at once. He told CNN that in southern Arizona, virtually every set of bones that surfaces sets off a round of guessing about whether it belongs to a missing person.

Meanwhile, the strongest thread investigators have left may be sitting in plain sight — two ransom letters, and the peculiar way their author writes.

Lisa Miller, a retired detective who previously served as a law enforcement executive at the Colorado Attorney General’s Office, went through both documents after the Pima County Sheriff’s Department made them public on July 31, half a year after Nancy Guthrie disappeared from her house in northern Tucson. One letter sought millions of dollars in bitcoin in exchange for her release. The other stated that she had “perished” and was “buried in nature.” Nobody has been publicly named as a suspect, and no one knows where she is.

A Consistent Hand Across Both Notes

What jumped out at Miller first was consistency. Comma splices — full sentences stitched together with commas where periods belong — show up again and again in each letter. Miller told Fox News Digital that seeing the same error repeat across both messages points strongly toward one author behind both.

Then there are the split compounds. Words most people type as one unit arrive broken in two: “smartwatch” becomes two words, and so does “floodlight.” “Heart related” shows up stripped of the hyphen standard usage calls for. None of that reads as accidental to Miller. Habits, she said, leave fingerprints.

Smaller tics reinforce the point. When naming the ransom figure, the writer pairs a dollar sign with the abbreviation “USD.” Dates and times are laid out in an idiosyncratic format. Miller called these additional markers of a personal writing style.

Idiolect and the Psychology of the Writer

The framework Miller leans on is called idiolect — the individual fingerprint of how a person communicates, built out of everything they have lived through. Hometown, the neighborhoods a person has passed through, the slang picked up along the way: all of it bleeds into how someone writes.

The vocabulary in the second letter struck her as telling. “Perished” instead of “died,” and the phrase “buried in nature,” sound rooted in a particular background — perhaps a religious upbringing, perhaps heavy reading. But Miller floated a darker reading too. Offenders often reach for softened, distancing language, minimizing what they did, pushing blame elsewhere and avoiding a full reckoning with their own conduct.

Artificial intelligence, in her view, was not involved. At least one typo survives in the text, and the sentences never settle into the smooth, uniform rhythm machine-written prose tends to fall into. The rough edges, she suggested, carry information of their own.

Crowdsourcing a Clue

The sheriff’s department has said it hopes someone out there will recognize the sender’s “unique linguistic style.” Miller thinks that is a realistic goal, because idiolect is not a switch a person can flip off — and because someone who knows the writer might spot the patterns without grasping what they are holding.

Her advice to the public is practical: think about whether anyone you correspond with writes with odd phrasing or strings sentences together with commas, in letters or in email. Those quirks could matter to investigators.

Releasing the letters serves another function, Miller said, one tied to how guilty people behave. Publicity squeezes the author, and that squeeze can produce what she termed behavioral leakage — small shifts in mood or conduct that friends and relatives may sense without being able to explain.

What Investigators Have So Far

Nancy Guthrie was seized from her northern Tucson residence in the predawn hours of February 1. Her doorbell camera recorded a masked figure standing on her front steps, and the FBI later released that footage. DNA collected at the scene went to the FBI Laboratory for analysis. None of it has produced a publicly named suspect or led anyone to her.

Two other threads remain active. Investigators are running DNA from a glove recovered near the scene, and a $1 million reward is still on the table.

Internet sleuths, meanwhile, have latched onto Alex James Barnett, 33, who is wanted in the first-degree murder of Tucson police recruit Carlos Ramirez, 23, shot August 19. Users online have drawn comparisons between Barnett and the masked “Porch Guy” in the doorbell video. Authorities have drawn no such link. A separate online theory — that a second person may have been near the porch — has no support in any evidence made public.

What Miller’s reading of the letters suggests is that documents long treated purely as a list of demands may also reveal who they are. The grammatical fingerprints running through both pages, she said, are exactly the sort of thing that could finally generate the tip detectives are waiting on.