Former colleagues of Michael David McKee, the 39-year-old vascular surgeon accused of the premeditated murders of his ex-wife Monique Tepe and her husband Spencer Tepe on December 30, 2025, have begun sharing insights into his personality and work habits in the wake of his January 10, 2026, arrest in Rockford, Illinois. These accounts paint a picture of a highly intelligent, reserved professional who was meticulous in his routines—traits now scrutinized through the lens of the shocking allegations.
Multiple former coworkers at OSF Saint Anthony Medical Center in Rockford, where McKee was employed as a vascular surgeon until his arrest, have described him as “super quiet and reserved” with no outward signs of anything sinister. In anonymous accounts shared via social media and true crime discussion groups (with identifying details edited for privacy), one colleague emphasized that McKee was “honestly a really nice guy” who treated the team with respect. “We all loved working with him,” the source noted, adding that he was a skilled surgeon whose demeanor never raised red flags. The hospital issued a brief statement cooperating with authorities but has not elaborated publicly on his behavior.
A recurring theme in these recollections is McKee’s avoidance of casual social interactions. Colleagues say he avoided small talk almost entirely, preferring to keep conversations strictly professional and task-oriented. This introverted style extended beyond the operating room; he reportedly rarely engaged in hallway chit-chat or joined group lunches, contributing to perceptions of him as socially withdrawn. One former associate from his residency years described him as “not well-liked by fellow residents or attending surgeons” due to this detachment, though others countered that his quiet nature was simply part of his focused personality.
What has drawn particular attention—and speculation—is McKee’s reported habit of maintaining a color-coded notebook that he guarded closely. Insiders recall that he used this personal system to track schedules, procedures, patient details, and possibly other notes with “astonishing accuracy.” The notebook, described as a constant companion, featured meticulously organized sections in different colors for categories like OR times, consultations, follow-ups, and administrative tasks. McKee allegedly never let anyone touch or even glimpse its contents, treating it as a private tool essential to his precision-driven workflow. In high-stakes fields like vascular surgery, where timing and organization can be critical, such habits are not uncommon among detail-oriented professionals—but the secrecy around the notebook has fueled online discussions about whether it reflected deeper control issues or obsessive tendencies.
Old friends and acquaintances from earlier in his life echoed similar themes when reaching out to media or online communities. They portrayed McKee as “highly intelligent,” “effortlessly smart,” athletic, studious, soft-spoken, and witty in a subtle way. Notably, several said they could not recall him dating seriously or having close personal relationships; his focus appeared to be on academics, career advancement, and athletics rather than social or romantic pursuits. These accounts describe a man who avoided conflict, never argued or held grudges publicly, and seemed entirely out of character for the violence alleged in the Tepe case.
The contrast is stark when juxtaposed with family statements from Monique Tepe’s side. Relatives, including brother-in-law Rob Misleh, have described McKee as emotionally abusive during the brief marriage (2015–2017), claiming Monique was “terrified” and felt she “just had to get away” due to threats and changes in her personality. No criminal domestic violence records or non-standard protection orders beyond the routine mutual restraining order in the divorce appear in public files, but these personal accounts suggest underlying tensions that colleagues may never have witnessed.
McKee’s professional trajectory adds context: After residency in Roanoke, Virginia (Carilion Clinic), he pursued a vascular surgery fellowship at the University of Maryland, followed by positions in Las Vegas, California, and finally Rockford, Illinois. Some reports note job-hopping and efforts to evade a medical malpractice lawsuit (using questionable addresses and phone numbers), which a Nevada lawyer described as him “just disappearing” for months. A former colleague from that malpractice-related circle expressed shock, stating that if asked who might commit a double homicide, “a fully trained vascular surgeon would be at the bottom of my list.”
Neighbors in his ritzy Lincoln Park apartment in Chicago (prior to or during Rockford employment) recalled friendly but superficial interactions—small talk at the pool or barbecues—without any hint of menace. One neighbor told ABC 7 Chicago, “He did not seem like somebody that would do something like this… You never know.”
As McKee faces multiple counts of aggravated murder, burglary, and firearm specifications (with one count potentially death-penalty eligible), these colleague insights offer a glimpse into a man whose precision and reserve may have masked deeper issues. Authorities have linked him to the crime via vehicle surveillance, travel records, alley footage, and a recovered firearm preliminarily matched to the scene. No official motive has been released, though speculation ranges from long-simmering resentment over the divorce to perceived slights in personal or professional life.
The tragedy leaves two young children orphaned and communities reeling. Spencer Tepe was remembered as a dedicated dentist and mentor; Monique as a woman who rebuilt a joyful family life. Colleagues’ reflections on McKee’s habits—while not excusing or explaining the alleged crimes—highlight how even the most meticulous, seemingly harmless individuals can harbor unseen turmoil.
May Spencer and Monique rest in peace, and may justice and healing come to their loved ones.
