In the quiet hours before a father-son snowboarding adventure could unfold, stray bullets shattered the illusion of safety in a Gresham apartment, leaving a family forever altered by unimaginable loss.
Liam Spahnle-Bailey was only 13, a Rowe Middle School student whose days blurred into evenings of skate tricks at Stronger Skate Park and weekend runs down Mount Hood’s slopes. On April 27, around 1:30 a.m., he slept soundly on an air mattress in his father’s living room at the Eleven Pines Apartments, just steps from Powell Boulevard. William Spahnle had tucked him in with promises of dawn patrol on the mountain, perhaps a pancake detour in Sandy to snag prime parking. Moments later, in the kitchen with a bowl of ice cream, William heard the barrage: gunfire from a neighboring unit during a reckless shootout. Holes punched through walls; Liam took multiple hits while dreaming. Rushed to the hospital, he fought briefly before the light faded. A second person nearby, linked to the fray, survived serious wounds. This was no vendetta against the boy or his dad, but the blind chaos of bullets that spare no one.
Those who knew Liam describe a spark of pure joy that turns half-pipes into playgrounds and family trips to Disneyland into lifelong treasures. He shared a room and endless ribbing with his 19-year-old brother Gordon Mott-Bailey back at his mom’s place in Milwaukie, yet they were thick as thieves, Gordon calling him.
“my best friend, like a kid of my own.”
Skate videos flew between them, Liam grinding for that perfect ollie, his girlfriend Grace cheering from the sidelines as his top confidante. Football fields and fresh snow called to him equally; he was the smile-starter, the genuine heart who made loving life look effortless. His 14th birthday in May brought no party, only a vigil at the skate park: a towering mural of his grin, pink Nike sneakers on every foot in his honor, a collective ache for the height he would never chase.
The family’s voices cut deepest, raw with sorrow and a fierce hunger for answers that ripple through their shattered routines. William Spahnle replays the night like a loop he can’t pause:
“I put my son to sleep in the living room on an air mattress thinking he would be safe… And I was wrong. I’m having a hard time not blaming myself.”
The guilt lingers, a shadow over every what-if, as he grapples with gun violence’s stealth:
“You never think gun violence is going to happen to you… Never take life for granted.”
On mercy for those responsible, his words waver:
“Hopefully, God can forgive [the perpetrators] one day. Not sure if I can.”
And in the quietest confession, the wound gapes:
“I wanted to see him grow up. I’m never gonna get to know how tall he got.”
Jessica Bailey, Liam’s mom, holds the fragments of his passions close:
“He loved his family, he loved his brothers, he loved his friends. He loved his girlfriend… Over the last two years, he had been working really hard at getting better [at skating] and doing tricks.”
May’s milestone twisted into torment:
“Instead of planning a celebration for his birthday today, we had to plan his funeral.”
Her call to the shadows sheltering the guilty rings urgent:
“I know that they’re still out there and I know that there are people who know where they are and they’re hiding them. If it was their family that this happened to, they wouldn’t be doing this.”
With the first arrest behind them in September, her resolve sharpens:
“We’ve already taken care of his cremation and his funeral… Now that all that’s behind us, I feel like that’s our main focus now is getting justice for Liam, finding the people who did this to him and to us.”
Gordon Mott-Bailey echoes the plea, brotherly love fueling his fire:
“What happened to him never should have happened, and I hope he is at peace right now. I wanted the best for him, I wanted to see him grow up, and now I won’t get to.”
To the ones who pulled triggers:
“Please come out and face your consequences of what you’ve done. It’s not fair if we don’t get justice for him.”
Together, they underscore a home’s hollow echo, the broader toll on siblings, routines, and futures stolen in a hail of lead.
Two arrests mark progress in a hunt that began with public warrants in May, when three teens—all slapped with second-degree murder charges—were named, deemed armed and dangerous with webs spanning states. The manhunt, led by the East County Major Crimes Team (a coalition of Gresham Police, Multnomah County sheriffs, state troopers, and U.S. Marshals), has snared two, but the third slips through cracks from Oregon to Arizona. Details on the fugitives:
| Suspect Name | Age (at Identification) | Physical Description | Known Connections | Status |
|---|---|---|---|---|
| Anthony C. Hunter Jr. | 20 (now 21) | 5’9″, 150 lbs. | Portland, OR; Las Vegas, NV; Dallas-Fort Worth, TX | Arrested September 9, 2025, in Northeast Portland by Gresham Police. Prior charges include theft and unlawful firearm possession in Multnomah County (2023), and an extradition to Texas for robbery. |
| Xavier Romello Hirsch | 20 | 6’1″, 140 lbs. | Portland, OR; Vancouver, WA; Dallas-Fort Worth, TX | Arrested October 17, 2025, in Beaverton, OR, by U.S. Marshals, Washington County Sheriff’s Office, and Beaverton Police. |
| Terrell Coy | 16 (now 17) | 5’9″, 165 lbs. | Portland, OR; Salem, OR; Phoenix and Tucson, AZ | Still at large. U.S. Marshals offering up to $5,000 reward for information leading to arrest. |
The motive stays courtroom-bound, but aiding these runners invites felony heat. Share leads with Gresham Police at 503-618-2314 or anonymously via Crime Stoppers of Oregon, or the Marshals at 1-877-WANTED-2 usmarshals.gov/tips. Gresham Police Chief Travis Gullberg lays bare the fallout:
“Our entire community is mourning the killing of an innocent child. This shooting is a tragic reminder of how the impact of gun violence reaches far beyond the shooters and their intended victims.”
District Attorney Nathan Vasquez brands it “absolutely infuriating,” a “horrific violence” demanding every ounce of accountability. Rowe Middle School opened its arms with grief counselors, while neighbors traded hushed tales of rattled nights, one linking it to her own teen’s fragile world. Gresham’s Ceasefire push—community policing fused with outreach and health experts—aims to stem these tides; dive into local strategies at the Portland Police Bureau’s Ceasefire overview.
From the newsroom’s vantage in the Northwest, where suburbs bleed into city strife, Liam’s echo amplifies a stark call: Oregon’s 300-plus gun deaths last year, drawn from state vital records, weren’t abstract until they carved into a boy’s unchecked laugh. Smarter safe-storage rules and preemptive interventions could blunt the next barrage, yet the personal voids—the unworn snowboards, the silenced skate cheers—propel real change.
