There was nothing unusual about that Easter Sunday in 1975.

The sun was shining over Hamilton, Ohio, the middle-class community about 30 miles outside of Cincinnati.

Children search for colored eggs, mothers made last minute preparations for afternoon dinners,

and families dressed up in new clothes to attend morning church services. But James Rupert was hung

over and still in bed when his brother, sister-in-law and their eight children arrived

at the cramped house that he shared with his mother

charity. James and his brother were complete opposites. Leonard, the older of the two

brothers, had a great career and a large happy family.

James was unemployed a 41 year old loser who still live with his mother.

He'd spent his entire childhood in the shadow of his big brother and things hadn't gotten

any better as an adult.

When the children came in for lunch, laughing, talking, and aggravating the pounding headache that James was nursing

after drinking too much the night before, he finally dragged himself out of bed.

Seemingly unaware of the holiday festivities, James told his brother he was going to do a

little target shooting and carried three handguns and a rifle out of his bedroom. James's vehicle at the time was an old Volkswagen that he'd recently been having problems with.

There was always trouble, it seemed, with the engine.

Almost everyone who knew James was aware that the car was

falling apart because he failed to keep up with the maintenance on the old vehicle.

James believed that his older brother had been secretly sabotaging it when he wasn't around.

He couldn't prove it.

He never actually seen Leonard messing with his car, but he was certain it was happening.

James blamed Leonard for most of the problems he had in his life, so a broken down car

...