A discarded coffee cup at a Washington casino finally gave investigators the break they needed in a murder that had gone unsolved for nearly half a century. The case involved 20-year-old Jody Loomis, an engaged artist who was shot to death in 1972 while riding her bike to visit her horse. Jody Loomis was born in June 1952 and lived with her parents, her younger sister, and her fiancé in a single-story house on Winesap Road in what is now Mill Creek, Washington. At the time, the area was mostly evergreen trees and farmland with dirt roads, far from the suburbs that cover it today.
She loved horses and kept one named Saudi at a stable more than six miles from her home. She had painted a mural of running horses on her bedroom wall and planned to become an artist. She was engaged to be married that year. On the afternoon of August 23, 1972, Jody did something she rarely did.
Instead of waiting for a ride, she borrowed a pair of thick-soled hiking boots from her sister and set out on her white 10-speed bicycle to pedal 3. 5 miles to the stable by herself. It was a warm late-summer day. Along the way, she stopped to talk with a friend on 164th Street, an ordinary conversation that raised no concerns.
Around 5:00 that evening, she was last seen crossing the Bothell-Everett Highway and starting up the hill on Penny Creek Road, a dirt track that ran into the woods. About 30 minutes later, two people driving down that dirt road found her lying in the brush, alive but badly injured. She had been shot once in the head. They rushed her to Stevens Memorial Hospital in nearby Edmonds, but she was pronounced dead on arrival.
Investigators determined she had also been sexually assaulted. The murder weapon was a . 22 caliber firearm, a common type in rural Washington at the time. Evidence collected from the scene included her bicycle and the boots still laced onto her feet.
Also noted as missing was the bridle belonging to her horse Saudi, which was never recovered and never explained. In 1972, DNA testing did not exist as a tool for solving crimes, so detectives had to rely on legwork and witness interviews. They followed leads that went nowhere. At one point, a man walked into a police station and confessed to the murder, but detectives concluded his story did not hold together.
The case eventually went dormant, filed away as one more unsolved homicide. In 2005, more than 30 years after the murder, a crime lab technician reexamined the old evidence. Tucked into Jody’s boots, the technician found a small trace of semen that could not be detected with 1972 technology. Running that sample through the national criminal database produced no match.
In 2018, investigators tried a newer method: genetic genealogy. Instead of comparing the crime scene DNA directly against a list of known offenders, they uploaded the profile to a public genealogy website used by people researching their family history. An independent genealogist in Oregon built out a family tree branch by branch, cross-referencing distant DNA matches. On August 14, 2018, the DNA traced to one of six brothers sharing the surname Miller, all connected to the Edmonds area.
Detectives looked into each one. When they reached Terrence Miller, his history of sexual misconduct accusations made him their primary focus. Terrence Miller was 30 years old in 1972 and had grown up near where Jody died. Over the following decades, he led a quiet life, marrying and running a small ceramics business with his wife in the Edmonds area.
Court records that surfaced later showed he had faced accusations of sexual misconduct at least five times across three decades, starting in the late 1960s, with a range of outcomes from a conviction for lewd conduct to cases that never resulted in charges. None of these accusations had ever been connected to Jody Loomis. By the time investigators focused on him, Miller was in his 70s and serving as caretaker for his wife, who had suffered a disabling stroke. To obtain a DNA sample, detectives followed Miller to the Tulalip Resort Casino on August 29, 2018.
After he finished a cup of coffee and tossed the empty cup into the trash, detectives retrieved it and sent it to the Washington State Patrol Crime Lab. On September 6, 2018, the DNA on the coffee cup matched the DNA recovered from Jody’s boot. Investigators went public, asking for information about Miller’s firearms, vehicles, and any access he may have had to a horse bridle back in 1972. On April 10, 2019, officers arrested Miller at his home in Edmonds.
He was 77 years old. He was charged with first-degree premeditated murder. Miller reportedly showed little visible reaction, declined to discuss the case, and maintained silence going forward. He was held on $1 million bail.
His defense attorney later argued for a reduction, citing his advanced age and his role as caretaker for his wife. Deputy Prosecutor Craig Matheson pushed back, reminding the court of Miller’s documented history of sexual misconduct allegations and arguing that a man facing a possible life sentence had every reason to run. At that bail hearing, Jody’s sister told the judge, “On that day, the murderer stole Jody’s life. He also stole from Jodi those that loved her and plunged us into a dark hole of grief that 46 plus years later we still endure.
” She noted that in the decades since the murder, Miller had gone on to celebrate birthdays and holidays, get married, and build an entire life, while Jody never got the chance to live hers. The judge lowered the bail only partway, adding conditions of GPS monitoring, a surrendered passport, and home confinement. Miller’s trial began on October 26, 2020, in Snohomish County Superior Court with Judge David Kurtz presiding. The prosecution’s case rested heavily on the science: the semen discovered on the boot in 2005, the family tree built in 2018, and the match to the coffee cup Miller had thrown away.
The defense argued the case rested on decades-old evidence and a scientific method that had not existed for most of the time the case was open. Miller did not take the stand. The trial lasted nearly two weeks, complicated by pandemic precautions. On the morning of November 9, 2020, while the jury was still deliberating, a family member went to check on Miller at his home and found him unresponsive.
The medical examiner later confirmed he died from a gunshot wound, ruled a suicide. He was 78 years old. The jury was unaware of this. Around 1:00 that afternoon, they reached a verdict: guilty of first-degree murder.
Only after the verdict was read did Judge Kurtz tell them Miller had passed away that morning. The courtroom sat with that revelation for a long moment. Judge Kurtz thanked the jurors, saying, “I must say, I have never respected the service of jurors more than I have in these recent weeks, in these challenging times, and particularly in a case such as this. ” Deputy Prosecutor Craig Matheson addressed the strange outcome directly: “We got an answer, whether Mr.
Miller was there or not. It does not diminish the verdict. ” Detective Jim Scharf, who had steered the case through its final chapter, reflected on the verdict and said, “I think that was good for the family. ”
There would be no sentencing hearing and no prison sentence.
Terrence Miller escaped nearly every consequence the justice system might have handed him, but he did not escape being found guilty on the official record in front of the family that had waited 48 years to hear those words spoken aloud. Jody’s family reacted with quiet relief, less an outburst of emotion than the exhale of people who had waited far too long for that moment.