By the flicker of candlelight Amy Quinton's parents made their way around the circle, quietly exchanging hugs, handshakes and laughter with their daughter's friends.
"We are just so grateful that you would do something such as this to show your love for Amy," Judy Quinton said in a clear, calm voice to the 50 or so who gathered for a vigil outside the condominium where her daughter died. "Garry and I decided to come tonight because we wanted to meet all of you and express our heartfelt gratitude for what each of you meant to (Amy) and to her life."Amy Quinton, 22, was stabbed to death just after midnight Tuesday while lying in bed at the home she shared with Lynn Drebes. Salt Lake City police believe the intruder, whose initial intent may have been robbery, entered the home through an unlocked sliding glass door.
Police have made no arrests but authorities believe a 911 dispatcher actually talked to the man when they called back to the residence, 127 S. 800 East. He told the dispatcher the initial 911 call was "a mistake."
It was Amy Quinton who dialed 911. But she was stopped by her assailant before she could let anyone know why she needed help. Drebes and friend Erin Warn, who were watching a movie in an adjacent room, tried to save their friend, but were also stopped by the intruder.
Drebes, 37, escaped without physical injury. Warn, 19, was stabbed. She was listed in satisfactory condition Friday at University Hospital.
Friends of all three women came to Thursday night's vigil, silently lighting each other's candles and singing "Amazing Grace" at a decibel barely above a whisper.
Many clutched photographs of their friend and fellow University of Utah student who had a smile that lit up a room, blue and purple hair, an infectious, charismatic personality and as one woman said, "chutzpah."
"I wish everyone could have heard her laugh, she had such a great laugh," said friend J.J. Neward, who often shared the theater stage with Quinton. "She was soooo sarcastic, boy she had a biting wit. It's a loss to the whole community because of who she was and what she was capable of."
Only Quinton's parents seemed to be without tears. The couple, who moved to Sandy eight months ago from Washington State, smiled warmly at those who came, in many cases finally putting faces to the names of those their daughter talked about during her four years at the U. It was a crowd that crossed generations and races and backgrounds, they noted.
"But that was Amy. She respected everybody for who they were," Judy Quinton said. "I think she'd be pleased by this (gathering). I think if it was one of her theater friends, she'd be right there."
And despite their sudden, shocking and brutal loss, the Quintons said they have some peace in knowing their daughter didn't suffer. Doctors told the couple the attacker's knife had pierced their daughter's heart and that she probably died instantly and without pain, Garry Quinton said.
"She was my little Pooh," he said of Amy, the youngest of his seven children and his second daughter. "I named her that. I gave her a key chain with Pooh on it and a P."
Given a moment to speak to his daughter again, Quinton said he would encourage her to continue on the path she had chosen for her life.
"Amy, continue to be yourself," he said. "She was a precious girl with many talents and accomplishments. . . . I'd just tell her to carry on. Don't change your course."