Make us your home page
Instagram

Today’s top headlines delivered to you daily.

(View our Privacy Policy)

The fatal night they met

Kody Robertson, Michelle Vo.

Family photos via Washington Post

Kody Robertson, Michelle Vo.

Up-and-coming country star Luke Combs had just started his set on the smaller of the two festival stages when Kody Robertson, an auto parts salesman from Columbus, Ohio, squeezed in at the end of the bar next to Michelle Vo, an insurance agent from L.A.

The 32-year-olds connected immediately. They joked about their mutual love of golf. He recommended new beers for her to try as she showed him the large floral tattoo covering much of her back. They realized that they were both staying at the Luxor.

A longtime country music fan, Robertson was in Vegas with a group of friends and told Vo about the fun they'd had at last year's Route 91 Harvest festival. Vo replied that she'd only recently fallen for the genre; this was her first festival. She was here alone. By the time the night's final act took the main stage, the fast friends had settled in about 20 yards from the right side of the stage, nestled between a few cuddly couples and a bachelorette party.

Then the first shots were fired.

It was 10:08 p.m. Robertson and Vo searched the air for the fireworks they assumed they were hearing. Then came a second burst: indiscriminate gunfire hailing from a 32nd-floor window at the Mandalay Bay Resort and Casino.

Screams punctuated the pop-pop-pop. Headliner Jason Aldean ran from the stage. A bullet pierced the left side of Vo's chest.

"She got hit and I turned and saw her immediately fall to the ground," Robertson recalls. "She was literally right beside me, maybe 2 feet away."

Robertson threw his body on top of hers as a shield from the bullets and, when the firing finally seemed to stop, worked with another man to carry Vo out of the venue — pausing for cover each time the gunfire resumed.

Sunday night's massacre in Las Vegas — the deadliest mass shooting in modern American history — left at least 59 people dead and 527 injured. Frantic accounts and shaky videos from the venue replay the pandemonium concertgoers began scrambling to escape.

"Michelle, Michelle!" Robertson screamed as he and the other man took turns performing CPR on Vo, who was no longer responsive. "Wake up!"

Finally outside, Robertson spotted a white pickup truck whose driver was headed to a hospital. He set Vo down on the truck bed, then ran back toward the stage.

• • •

Back inside, clusters of bodies lay crumpled along the ground as ammunition dinged the metal roof of the bar near the back of the venue. Robertson saw people hiding behind food stands. Dozens crouched horrified beneath the bleacher seats.

In the heartbeats between bullets, Robertson and other would-be rescuers ran from person to person, checking pulses and pulling bleeding bodies to safety.

"We put a girl on a beer cooler to try to push her out, we were carrying people out on the steel barriers from the perimeter," Robertson said. "Wives screaming at husbands to wake up, and a husband on top of his wife trying to do CPR."

Then he saw it: Vo's purse, on the ground near where they'd been dancing. Her phone wasn't inside, so he furiously called the number Vo had given him earlier until, finally, someone answered. Another group of concertgoers had picked up the phone as they ran for the exits. Robertson could pick it up at Planet Hollywood.

By the time he retrieved it, Vo's phone was full of frantic text messages and voicemails, which he couldn't open without her passcode. The consensus of workers at a nearby casino was that Desert Springs was the closest hospital, so Robertson started walking, on the way texting his own family and friends to let them know that he was safe.

It was past 3 a.m. by the time he arrived, and the hospital was locked down. No one was allowed in, and little information was coming out. The blood covering his jeans and arms had begun to dry dark crimson when Vo's phone buzzed.

"Please tell me that she's okay," Jeremiah Hawkins, 37, the husband of Vo's eldest sister, begged through the phone.

Robertson relayed what he knew: She had been shot in the chest and taken to a hospital. He'd keep looking until he found her. He promised.

• • •

Robertson had been waiting for more than an hour before the lockdown ended and people were slowly allowed into the hospital. It had been hours since he'd seen Vo and, with her purse still clutched in his arms, he ran up to a police officer just inside the entrance.

The officer checked. Vo wasn't there.

Robertson called all of the other hospitals he could find. None of them had her. He dialed the information line set up by the police, at least 60 times he thinks. Nothing.

Still pacing in the hallway of Desert Springs, he dialed Hawkins and told him that he still didn't know much. Eventually, the hospital staff told Robertson that he had to leave. He began the 4-mile walk to the Luxor.

• • •

A thousand miles north in Washington state, Hawkins was still working the phones. An endodontist, he figured he could use a process of elimination to find his younger sister-in-law.

There seemed to be two major trauma centers in Las Vegas, and workers at one told him they had already cleared all of their Jane Doe cases. Vo must be at the other.

"I kept being afraid that Kody wouldn't pick up, or Kody would leave, that he would drop us along the way," Hawkins recalls. "I was calling every hospital, and every operating room, and every time I called Kody, he answered. Every message, he responded. Every time we needed him to do something, he did it."

This call reached Robertson about 5 a.m., back at the Luxor where he was still wearing the bloody jeans and shirt from the show.

"Have you tried Sunrise Hospital?" Hawkins asked.

Robertson pulled off his cowboy boots, put on tennis shoes, and waved down a cab. Minutes later, he was at Sunrise, describing Vo to the worker behind the front desk.

She might be here, the hospital worker told Robertson, before pointing him to the auditorium where families and friends of the unaccounted for were gathered. Every 20 minutes or so, another family received their news. More often than not, the news was not good.

As the early morning stretched toward lunch, the once-animated emotions on the faces of the three dozen or so still waiting gave way to sullen stares. Some paced. Others rocked. A few prayed.

The news came about 11 a.m. Three women from the hospital — two doctors and a counselor — led Robertson to a small office.

"Michelle didn't make it," one of the doctors said. "The wounds were too much. She didn't make it."

Robertson called Hawkins, told him he should sit down, and then put the phone on speaker. The doctor said it again.

"She didn't make it."

The counselors talked to Robertson about trauma and about grief. When he tearfully emerged from the front doors, those waiting outside the hospital — a mixture of family members of the wounded as well as local residents — embraced him in a tight hug. A man came up to ask if Robertson was all right. Another came up and prayed with him. For a moment, he felt comfort. Soon it was gone.

He looked down at his phone, its screen still covered in blood. Four and a half miles to the Luxor. Robertson started walking.

• • •

He was supposed to depart Monday, but Robertson is still in Las Vegas.

His boss in Ohio told him to take all the time he needs. Southwest Airlines let him change to a later flight. The Luxor extended the stay on his room.

The hotel also extended Vo's room so that her family would have time to retrieve her belongings. They landed Monday afternoon — a sister, a brother-in-law, some friends — and quickly made their way to the south tower, room 11375, where Robertson was staying.

"Kody was our guardian angel," said Diane Hawkins, 40, Vo's oldest sister, who believes that had Robertson not tracked down her sister, their family would still be searching for her. "He refused to let her be alone."

They thanked him for his help, and his commitment. They talked about Vo's energy, and her joy. When it was his turn, Robertson told one of his only stories from what had been a day-long friendship — how Vo had pulled out her phone to show him pictures of both of her sisters, showing off their beauty in their wedding dresses. Everyone laughed, for what felt like the first time in forever.

And then, together, they all went to check Michelle Vo out of her hotel room.



The fatal night they met 10/03/17 [Last modified: Tuesday, October 3, 2017 7:12pm]
Photo reprints | Article reprints

    

Join the discussion: Click to view comments, add yours

Loading...
  1. Dirk Koetter to Bucs: Take your complaints to someone who can help

    Bucs

    TAMPA — It was just another day of aching bellies at One Save Face.

    Dirk Koetter: “All of our issues are self-inflicted right now.”
  2. Seminole Heights murders: fear and warnings, but no answers

    Crime

    TAMPA — Interim Tampa police Chief Brian Dugan elicited loud gasps from the crowd of about 400 who showed up at Edison Elementary School on Monday night to learn more about the string of unsolved killings that have left the southeast Seminole Heights neighborhood gripped by fear.

    Kimberly Overman, left, comforts Angelique Dupree, center, as she spoke about the death of her nephew Benjamin Mitchell, 22, last week in Seminole Heights. The Tampa Police Department held a town hall meeting Monday night where concerned residents hoped to learn more about the investigation into the three shooting deaths over 11 days in southeast Seminole Heights. But police could give the crowd at Edison Elementary School few answers. [OCTAVIO JONES   |   Times]
  3. Juvenile justice reform seen as help for teen car theft problem

    Crime

    ST. PETERSBURG — One of Tampa Bay's largest religious organizations has decided to make reforming the juvenile justice system one of its top priorities for next year.

    One of Tampa Bay's largest religious organizations, Faith & Action for Strength Together (FAST), voted Monday night to make reforming the juvenile justice system one of its top priorities for next year. FAST believes civil citations could help Pinellas County?€™s teen car theft epidemic by keeping children out of the juvenile justice system for minor offenses. [ZACHARY T. SAMPSON  |  Times]
  4. U.S. general lays out Niger attack details; questions remain (w/video)

    War

    WASHINGTON — The U.S. Special Forces unit ambushed by Islamic militants in Niger didn't call for help until an hour into their first contact with the enemy, the top U.S. general said Monday, as he tried to clear up some of the murky details of the assault that killed four American troops and has triggered a nasty …

    Gen. Joseph Dunford said much is still unclear about the ambush.
  5. Trump awards Medal of Honor to Vietnam-era Army medic (w/video)

    Military

    WASHINGTON — President Donald Trump on Monday turned a Medal of Honor ceremony for a Vietnam-era Army medic who risked his life to help wounded comrades into a mini homework tutorial for the boy and girl who came to watch their grandfather be enshrined "into the history of our nation."

    WASHINGTON, DC - OCTOBER 23:  Retired U.S. Army Capt. Gary Rose (L) receives a standing ovation after being awarded the Medal of Honor by U.S. President Donald Trump during a ceremony in the East Room of the White House October 23, 2017 in Washington, DC. Rose, 69, is being recognized for risking his life while serving as a medic with the 5th Special Force Group and the Military Assistance Command Studies and Observations Group during ‘Operation Tailwind’ in September 1970. Ignoring his own injuries, Rose helped treat 50 soldiers over four days when his unit joined local fighters to attack North Vietnamese forces in Laos - officially off limits for combat at the time.  (Photo by Chip Somodevilla/Getty Images) 775062921