Texas Ranger Sal Abreo asked me how long were we in the shop. I think we were in there about 20 to 25 minutes. I’m not sure. We were in the car, and on the way out we saw Forrest. He was in the parking lot somewhere, and we picked him up. I remember driving, but I don’t remember what direction we went. We stopped at some bridge. It was about 10 to 15 minutes away from the shop. I got out and threw up over the railing of the bridge. I took the knife and threw it over the rail also. I made sure it was gone. I remember trees and I don’t remember seeing any water. I got back into the car. I don’t know what happened next. I remember being back at the apartment. Detective Fuentes asked me to describe the two guns. The gun that Maurice had was a black .22 caliber revolver, small. I think it had wood grips. The gun that Rob had was a small semiautomatic pistol. It had a clip. I think it was a .38. Some of the writing on the gun was scratched off. Rob and I split up from Maurice and Forrest. Rob and I spent some time at the apartment.
I remember on the weekend that I got into a yellow or gold jeep to see Mary. Mary is a girl I met at music camp who lives in Helotes, which is near San Antonio. Maurice was driving and I think Forrest was with us. Rob and I rode with them to San Antonio. We stayed there maybe an hour. I got a hold of a newspaper, and I remember reading about the fire and the yogurt shop murders. I read it out loud to everybody. We drove back to Austin. I remember getting back home and wanting to do nothing more than sleep. Several days after we got back from San Antonio, Rob came into the room we sleep in and told me that Maurice got popped with the gun that they had used at the yogurt shop. The semiautomatic pistol was lying on the bed. I knew that I had to get rid of it. I picked it up and left the apartment. I remember walking past a dumpster and thinking I should just throw it in the dumpster. I walked into the creek in the apartment complex. I put it in a hole in the side of a wall in the creek. I wedged another rock in it. I stacked some rocks near it as a marker to remind me where it [sic] put it. I went back and told Rob that I got rid of it and no one would ever find it. Less than a month later, Rob took off. I had moved out from Dry Creek and was staying at my parents’ house. When I went back to Rob’s apartment to get some of my things, Rob’s dad told me that Rob went back to wherever he came from. I used to remember where that was but don’t remember now.
A couple of months later I met this guy named Patrick Davidson that I met at Double Daves. We moved in with things—guys—we moved in with these guys named Danny and Daniel in December of 1992. I was smoking a lot of pot. I had been drinking a lot too, and started having flashbacks. I went back out to the creek and found the gun. I took the gun and put it in a brown paper sack that I found in the creek. I took the gun back to the—south Austin to our apartment. I told Pat a little. I don’t remember how much I told him, but I do remember that I told him I wouldn’t have done it if I hadn’t—if I had not been forced to do it. I told Pat that I needed to get rid of what was in the sack. I didn’t tell him. I asked him if he wanted to know, and he said no. He told me that he put it out in the trash. Yesterday when I told him what was going on and told him that I was in trouble, he said that he pretty much knew that there was a gun in that sack when I gave it to him in 1992.
Detective Fuentes asked me who I have told about the murders. My dad came over to my house this past Sunday. I told him what was going on but did not give him a lot of details. He is a smart man and he figured out what I was talking about when I told him that it happened back around seven years ago. I think he had always suspected that I was somehow involved back in 1991 because of who I was hanging out with. We hugged several times and he kind of started to cry. I cannot tell my mother because this would destroy her. I told my wife, but I did not give her details. She is real upset with me right now. We talked about whether I should get a lawyer right now, and I told her that that was the last thing I needed right now. Yesterday right after I dropped my daughter off at day-care, I went next door to use the pay phone, and I called the attorney, Betty Blackwell. I told her that it involved the yogurt shop murders and that I was talking to the police. She recommended that I stop talking to you all. She told me whoever they pin this on, they are looking for the death penalty. She told me she did not handle cases like this. She told me that I didn’t sound too good and I should seek help by checking into Shoal Creek or something like that. I told my best friend Patrick Davidson and he was pissed off at me. When we got rid of the gun—when he got rid of the gun for me in 1992, he didn’t know what I had done with it. He said that he pretty much knew it was a gun when he threw it away. The other day when I was being interviewed by Detective Lara and Detective Merrill, they showed me digital photographs on their computer of the people I had been talking about when I used the names Maurice, Robert Springsteen and Forrest. I recognized Maurice and Rob, but I had a hard time with Forrest’s photograph. I had known Maurice for about two or three months before the murders. I met Maurice through Rob. I had seen Maurice almost every two or three days during that time period. I had known Robert Springsteen about maybe six months and he had been staying with—and had been staying with him for about a couple of months. Forrest is a guy that I knew from McCallum High School. I would see him at school and Northcross Mall. I remember when we were in Maurice’s car leaving the shop, Maurice had threatened everybody in the car. I don’t remember exactly what he said. Later Rob told me when we were at his apartment if I ever said anything it would all come back to me. He said he would deny everything. I can read write and understand the English language, and the above statement I have read, and it is true and correct to the best of my knowledge and belief.
Appendix 2. Redacted Michael Scott Statement
[Beginning on page 3, after the Manuel Fuentes introduction and Michael Scott’s acknowledgment of his Miranda rights.]
On December 6, 1991, I don’t remember exactly what time it was. It was still daylight. Drove up to the strip mall where the I Can’t Believe It’s Yogurt shop was at. Go inside and took a look at the yogurt shop. Got up and make it look like going to the restroom. Walked out the back and walked around to the front of the building. Drove back to the mall. Left Northcross Mall. Drove through the alley behind the stores to see if the back double doors were slightly open. The building was on the driver’s side, the left side of the car.
I brought the can of Zippo lighter fluid. It was the bigger metal can. Went into the back door. One of the girls said something like “Hey, you. What are you doing? You don’t belong in here.” This girl was wearing a T-shirt. I believe that it had the name I Can’t Believe It’s Yogurt on it. Believe that she was working in the back room.
Expected to find only two girls inside store, and there were two other girls up front in the dining room sitting down. I could see the commotion going on up front. I checked the door, and it was locked. There was one key in the lock. The door was locked. I looked outside to make sure no one was looking in.
As this went along, I got more and more scared. I looked out to check the front again. I heard the girls crying and one of the girls say that that’s all there is. It’s been dropped and you can’t get to it. I went back there. I saw that all four girls were naked. I went to the pile of clothes and picked up some clothes to use to tie them up.
I remember a T-shirt and a bra used to tie them up. The girls were crying and whimpering. They were begging not to kill them. They said that they didn’t want to die. I got a paper towel and put it inside one of the girl’s mouth. I remember that my finger pushed through the towel when I was trying to stuff it in her mouth. This may not have worked, so I might have had to use something else to stuff in her mouth. It was like terry cloth.
The girls were on their knees. I don’t believe they were standing up, because I was looking down at them. I went to the back and saw one of the dark-haired girls on her hands and knees. I got on top of her. I tried to do her from the front. I looked at her face. I didn’t want to look at her face. She had a piece of white terry cloth towel on her mouth. I looked away because I didn’t want t
o see her. I couldn’t get it up because I knew what I was doing was wrong. I sort of faked it. The girl was sitting on the floor. I pointed the gun at her and tried to shoot at first but couldn’t. I pointed the gun again at the girl and fired once into her head.
I don’t remember seeing a safe, but I don’t remember what she was doing down on the floor. I remember looking in the doorway, and the gun is still in my hand. I saw the side profile of the girl. She had like a white shirt on. I think I shot her in the head. I have been not wanting to remember this. I know I told you something different, but I did her too. I dropped the revolver.
I saw the girls laying there and I pulled one of the girls on top of the other. I gathered up napkins, cups, paper towels, and piled them on top of the three girls. I sprayed Zippo—Zippo fluid on top of the girls. I emptied the can of lighter fluid. I had a Zippo lighter with me and lit the fire. I heard a whoosh sound of the accelerant when I, when it caught fire. I don’t remember what I did with the can. I could have threw it in the pile of stuff in the back of the store.
I remember that my only thought was to get out. I went outside. I had taken a knife from inside the shop. I believe I got it off the counter. It was a nice knife. I told you all before that I had taken a set of keys but it was a knife. I remember now that it was a knife.
I remember driving but I don’t remember what direction. I got out and threw up over the railing of the bridge. I took the knife and I threw it over the rail also. I made sure it was gone. I remember trees, and I don’t remember seeing any water. I got back into the car. I don’t know what happened next. I remember being back at the apartment.
Detective Fuentes asked me to describe the two guns. A black .22-caliber revolver, small; I think it had wood grips. A small, semiautomatic pistol; it had a clip. I think it was a .38. Some of the writing on the gun was scratched off.
On the weekend I rode to San Antonio. I got hold of a newspaper and I remember reading about the fire and the yogurt shop murders. I read it out loud. I remember getting back home and wanting to do nothing more than sleep.
The semiautomatic was lying on the bed. I knew that I had to get rid of it. I picked it up and left it at the apartment. I remember walking past a dumpster and thinking I should just throw it in the dumpster. I walked into the creek in the apartment complex. I put it in a hole in the side of a wall in the creek. I wedged another rock in it. I stacked some rocks near it as a marker to remind me where [I] put it.
In December of 1992 I was smoking a lot of pot. I had been drinking a lot to[o] and started having flashbacks. I went back out to the creek and found the gun. I took the gun and put it in a brown paper [s]ack that I found in the creek. I took the gun back to south Austin to our apartment. I told Pat that I needed to get rid of what was in the sack. I didn’t tell him. He told me that he put it out in the trash.
I can read, write and understand the English language in the above statement I have read, and it is true and correct to the best of my knowledge and belief.
Acknowledgments
I could not have pulled this together without the help of a whole slew of people, many of whom would have preferred never to even think about this terrible crime again, much less talk about it.
First off, John Jones, who—over Kerbey Lane and Magnolia Café omelets and Frisco fried catfish—willingly shared his memories, his stories and biographical information and, perhaps even more significantly, his APD files and his copies of the three episodes of 48 Hours, all accompanied by his snappy wit and lingering anger at how things have turned out.
Equally generous was Barbara Ayres-Wilson, a sister in grief who holds nothing back, no matter the situation. Our many meetings—at Barbara’s home and the Motley Menagerie Tea Room, Gift & Resale Shop in Kyle, Nonna Gina’s Italian in Buda, Hyde Park Bar & Grill South and Cenote in Austin, among other spots—were always charged with emotion, information and laughter. Thanks to her also for the introduction to Maria Thomas.
Also—first at Romeo’s, then their home, then Baker Street and, most recently, the sports bar and restaurant Cover 3—Jim Sawyer whose memory, generosity and narrative gifts are a wonder, and his whip-smart partner, Deirdre Darrouzet, who supplied important documents, contacts, hot corrections and passionate opinions.
Carlos Garcia—at his office, his home, Threadgill’s, Angie’s and Buffet Palace—for the CDs, DVDs, photographs, transcripts, Reid information, false-confession sources and memories he’d snuff out if he could; also for the introduction to the great Anthony Graves.
Mike Lynch (his chambers and Buenos Aires Café) for information, warmth, honesty and his wonderfully written journal.
John Hardesty, old friend—at Güero’s, Texas French Bread and El Naranjo—for connections, phone numbers and open-ended conversations about the APD interrogations, the arrests and the certification hearings.
The late Dr. Gerald Hurst for tea, cookies and a long and fascinating conversation in his home.
Robert Springsteen for talking freely with me on his back porch in Cross Lanes, West Virginia.
Michael Scott and Jeannine Scott, who in an unnamed midwestern city willingly spent many hours over two days’ time with me, rehashing painful memories and relating happier present times.
Also: District Attorney Rosemary Lehmberg. ADA Efrain de la Fuente. Lawyers Guillermo Gonzales, Alexandra Gauthier, Amber Farrelly, Broadus Spivey, Jim Hackney, Tony Diaz, Robert Icenhauer-Ramirez, Hugh Lowe, Malcolm Greenstein and Dave Richards. Retired APD policeman J. W. Thompson. From the Travis County Courthouse, Melissa Moreno and Karen Kiker; from Victims’ Services, Ellen Halbert. Also cold-case specialist and Texas State University professor Dr. Kim Rossmo. Brandon Ariel for the McCallum information. Maggie Halliday, Peggy Sanders, Kate Wallace McClung and her mother, Rebecca Wallace (with a nod to Sue Ellen Harrigan for the introduction). The helpful staff in the records room of the Texas Court of Criminal Appeals. Bridget Weiss, Dorothy Brown, Gary Cartwright, Bill Wittliff, Dagoberto Gilb, Mercedes Pena, Lou Dubose, Richard Lu.
Friends John Davidson, Nancy Smith, David Burnham and Dave Richards for reading early drafts. Claire Brulator for transcriptions. Kenny Braun for the photo.
From Knopf: GF of course. Also, his fabulous assistant, Ruthie Reisner, and true-crime enthusiast and publicist Jordan Rodman. Plus assistant publicist Tammy Tarng, marketer Danielle Plafsky and production editor Ellen Feldman. Oliver Munday for the great cover. And the whole blooming Knopf organization for its work, its loyalty and its enthusiasm. Also for sticking out tough times for all these years.
My agent, Betsy Lerner.
And of course, Colin Lowry and Andrea Ariel, my family, for unqualified support, encouragement and home-cooked meals.
Bibliography
In addition to the resources noted within the text of this book, a number of additional books have been particularly helpful in my effort to understand some of the legal and psychological issues of this case, especially those involving memory, interrogations and false confessions. Here are some that I found particularly instructive:
Burns, Sarah. The Central Park Five: A Chronicle of a City Wilding. New York: Alfred A. Knopf, 2011.
Garrett, Brandon L. Convicting the Innocent: Where Criminal Prosecutions Go Wrong. Cambridge, Mass.: Harvard University Press, 2011.
Leo, Richard A. Police Interrogation and American Justice. Cambridge, Mass.: Harvard University Press, 2008.
Loftus, Elizabeth, and Katherine Ketcham. Witness for the Defense: The Accused, the Eyewitness, and the Expert Who Puts Memory on Trial. New York: St. Martin’s Press, 1991.
Scheck, Barry, Peter Neufeld and Jim Dwyer. Actual Innocence: When Justice Goes Wrong and How to Make It Right. New York: New American Library, 2003.
Simon, David. Homicide: A Year on the Killing Streets. Boston: Houghton Mifflin, 1991.
Vollen, Lola, and Dave Eggers, comps. and eds. Surviving Justice: America’s Wrongfully Convicted and Exonerated. San Francisco: McSweeney’s Books, 2008.
Ward
en, Rob, and Steven A. Drizin, eds. True Stories of False Confessions. Evanston, Ill.: Northwestern University Press, 2009.
Wells, Tom, and Richard A. Leo. The Wrong Guys: Murder, False Confessions, and the Norfolk Four. New York: The New Press, 2008.
A NOTE ABOUT THE AUTHOR
Beverly Lowry is the author of six novels and three previous works of nonfiction. Her writing has appeared in The New Yorker, The New York Times, The Boston Globe, Vanity Fair, Rolling Stone, Mississippi Review, Granta, and many other publications. She has received awards from the National Endowment for the Arts, the Guggenheim Foundation, the Texas Institute of Letters, and the Mississippi Institute of Arts and Letters. She lives in Austin, Texas.
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Who Killed These Girls? Page 39