Chapter One
The Murders
At 7:41 P.M. on May 5, 1993, a full moon rose behind the Memphis skyline. Its
light glinted across the Mississippi River and fell onto the midsized Arkansas
town aspiringly named West Memphis. Sometime between the rising of that moon
and its setting the next morning, something diabolical would happen in West
Memphis. Three eight-year-old boys would vanish, plucked off the streets of
their neighborhood by an unseen, murderous hand. Under the glare of the next
day's sun, police would discover three young bodies. They would be pulled
- naked, pale, bound, and beaten - from a watery ditch in a patch of woods
alongside two of America's busiest highways. But the investigation would unfold
in shadow. Why had one of the boys been castrated? How to account for the
absence of blood? Why did the banks of the stream look swept clean? The police
would stumble for weeks without clues - until the moon itself became one.
John Mark Byers, an unemployed jeweler, was the first parent to report a child
missing. At 8 P.M., with the full moon on the rise, Byers telephoned the West
Memphis police. Ten minutes later, a patrol officer responded. She drove her
cruiser down East Barton Street, in a working-class neighborhood. At the corner
where Barton intersected Fourteenth Street, the officer stopped in front of the
Byerses' three-bedroom house. Byers, an imposing man, six feet five inches
tall, weighing more than two hundred pounds, with long hair tied back in a
ponytail, met her at the door. Behind him stood his wife, Melissa, five feet
six, somewhat heavyset, with long hair and hollow eyes. Mark Byers did most of
the talking. The officer listened and took notes. "The last time the victim was
seen, he was cleaning the yard at 5:30 P.M." That would have been an hour and
twenty minutes before sunset. The Byerses described Christopher as four feet
four inches tall, weighing fifty pounds, with hair and eyes that were both
light brown. He was eight years old.
The officer left the Byerses' house, and within minutes was dispatched to
another call, at a chicken restaurant about a mile away. She pulled up at the
Bojangles drive-through at 8:42 P.M. Through the window, the manager reported
that a bleeding black man had entered the restaurant about a half hour before
and gone into the women's rest room. The manager told the officer that the man,
who had blood on his face and who had seemed "mentally disoriented," had
wandered away from the premises just a few minutes before she arrived. When
employees entered the rest room after he left, they found blood smeared on the
walls. The officer took the report but investigated the incident no further. At
9:01, without ever having entered the restaurant, she drove away to a criminal
mischief complaint about someone throwing eggs at a house.
At 9:24 P.M., the same officer responded to another call, again from Barton
Street - this one from the house directly across from the Byerses'. Here a
woman, Dana Moore, reported that her eight-year-old son, Michael, was also
missing. Taking out her pad again, the officer wrote, "Complainant stated she
observed the victim (her son) riding bicycles with his friends Stevie Branch
and Christopher Byers. When she lost sight of the boys, she sent her daughter
to find them. The boys could not be found." Moore said the boys had been riding
on North Fourteenth Street, going toward Goodwin. That had been almost three
and a half hours earlier, at about 6 P.M. By now, it had been dark for more
than two hours. "Michael is described as four feet tall, sixty pounds, with
brown hair and blue eyes," the officer wrote. "He was last seen wearing blue
pants, blue Boy Scouts of America shirt, orange and blue Boy Scout hat and
tennis shoes."
By now a second officer had been dispatched to a catfish restaurant several
blocks away. There another mother, Pamela Hobbs, was reporting that her
eight-year-old son, Stevie Edward Branch, was missing as well. Hobbs lived at
Sixteenth Street and McAuley Drive, a few blocks away from the Byerses and the
Moores. She reported that her son, Stevie, had left home after school and that
no one had seen him since. The officer who took Hobbs's report did not note who
was supposed to have been watching Stevie while his mother was at work, or who
had notified Hobbs that her son was missing. Stevie was described as four feet
two inches tall, sixty pounds, with blond hair and blue eyes. The police report
noted, "He was last seen wearing blue jeans and white T-shirt. He was riding a
twenty-inch Renegade bicycle."
Word of the disappearances spread quickly through the subdivision. As groups of
parents began searching, other residents reported that they had seen some boys
- three, or maybe four - riding bikes near the dead end of McAuley Drive
shortly before sunset. McAuley was a major street in the neighborhood. The
house on McAuley where Stevie Branch lived was a few blocks south of the corner
on Barton where the other two missing boys lived across the street from each
other. From Stevie's house, McAuley wound west for a few blocks, ending at the
edge of a four-acre patch of woods, a short distance northwest of the other
boys' homes. The woods separated the subdivision from two interstate highways
and their service roads on the north. The small sylvan space provided the
neighborhood with a welcome buffer from the traffic on their northern edge. For
a few diesel-fumed miles, east-west Interstate 40, spanning the United States
between North Carolina and California, converges in West Memphis, Arkansas,
with north-south I-55, connecting New Orleans to Chicago. For truckers and
other travelers, the stretch is a major midcontinental rest stop; where the
highways hum through West Memphis, the city has formed a corridor of fueling
stations, motels, and restaurants. It was easy for anyone passing through not
to notice the small patch of woods bordering that short section of highway.
What was more noticeable was the big blue-and-yellow sign for the Blue Beacon
Truck Wash that stood several yards from the edge of the woods, alongside the
service road.
Just as truckers knew the Blue Beacon, kids in the neighborhood to the south
were familiar with the woods. The small plot of trees represented park,
playground, and wilderness for children and teenagers living in the
subdivision's modest three-bedroom houses and in the still more modest
apartment building nearby. That the woods existed at all was an acknowledgment,
not of the need for parks or of places for children to play, but of the need
for flood control. Years earlier the city had dredged a channel, unromantically
known as the Ten Mile Bayou Diversion Ditch, to dispose of rainwater that
ordinarily would have flowed into the Mississippi River but that was prevented
from draining by the great levees that held back the river. While the levees
kept the Mississippi at bay, rainwater trapped on the city side of the levee
had posed a different flood problem for years. The Ten Mile Bayou Diversion
Ditch was dredged to direct rainwater around the city to a point far to the
south, where a break in the Mississippi levee finally allowed it to drain. Part
of that ditch ran through this stand of trees. In places, the ditch was forty
feet wide and could fill three or four feet deep. Tributaries, such as the one
that drained the land directly behind the Blue Beacon, formed deep gullies in
the alluvial soil. Together, the combination of trees, ravines, water, and
vines made the area a hilly wonderland for kids with few unpaved places to play.
They called the woods Robin Hood. Adults tended to make the name sound more
proper, calling it Robin Hood Hills, but it was always just Robin Hood for the
kids. Under its green canopy they etched out bike trails, built dirt ramps,
established forts, and tied up ropes for swinging over the man-made "river."
They fished, scouted, camped, hunted, had wars, and let their imaginations run.
But at night, when the woods turned dark, most kids stayed away. The place
didn't seem so friendly then, and the things that parents could imagine
translated into stern commands.
Besides the risks from water and Robin Hood's closeness to the highways,
parents worried about transients who might be lurking there. Many parents
warned their children to stay out of the woods entirely. But the ban was
impossible to enforce. Robin Hood was too alluring. And so it was inevitable,
on that Wednesday night in May, as word flew from house to house that three
eight-year-olds were missing, that parents would rush to the dead end of
McAuley, where a path led into the woods. It was about a half mile from the
homes of Christopher Byers and Michael Moore and only a few blocks farther from
that of Stevie Branch.
The delta was already beginning to warm up for the summer. At 9 P.M., even on
May 5, the temperature was seventy-three degrees. An inch of rain a few days
before had already brought out the mosquitoes. The insects were a nuisance
everywhere, but they were especially thick in places that were moist and
overgrown - shady places like the woods. The officer who'd taken the
missing-person reports on Christopher Byers and Michael Moore later reported
that she'd ventured into the woods near the Mayfair Apartments to help look for
the boys, but the mosquitoes had driven her out. The officer who'd taken the
report on Stevie Branch also said later that he'd entered the woods and
searched with a flashlight for half an hour. But those two efforts were the
only police action that night. No organized search by police would begin until
the morning.
As officers assembled at the West Memphis Police Department for their usual
briefing on Thursday morning, May 6, 1993, Chief Inspector Gary W. Gitchell,
head of the department's detective division, announced that three boys were
missing and that he would be directing the search. A search-and-rescue team
from the Crittenden County Sheriff's Office would be assisting. When a few
hours had passed without sign of the boys, the police department across the
river in Memphis, Tennessee, dispatched a helicopter to assist. By midmorning,
dozens of men and women had also joined police in the search. Detectives and
ordinary citizens checked yards, parking lots, and various neighborhood
buildings, including some still damaged from a tornado that had struck the town
the year before. Others fanned out across the two miles of fertile, low-lying
farmland that separates the east edge of West Memphis from the levee and the
Mississippi River. The most intensive search, however, remained focused on the
woods. For hours, groups of as many as fifty law enforcement officers and
volunteers combed the rough four acres that lined the diversion ditch. At one
point the searchers gathered on the north edge of the woods, near the
interstates, and marched shoulder-to-shoulder across the woods until they
emerged on the other side, near the houses to the south. But even that effort
turned up nothing. Members of the county search-and-rescue team slipped a
johnboat into the bayou and poled it down the stream. But still, nothing. By
noon, most of the searchers, their alarm increasing, had abandoned the woods to
search elsewhere.
The Bodies
But one searcher stayed. Steve Jones, a Crittenden County juvenile officer, was
tromping through the now empty section of the woods nearest to the Blue Beacon
Truck Wash when he looked down into a steep-sided gully, a tributary to the
primary ditch, and spotted something on the water. Jones radioed what he had
found. Entering the woods from the subdivision side, Sergeant Mike Allen of the
West Memphis Police Department rushed across a wide drainpipe that spanned a
part of the ditch, and clambered to where Jones was waiting. Jones led Allen to
a spot about sixty yards south of the interstates. Standing on the edge of a
high-sided bank, Jones pointed down at the water. Floating on the surface was a
boy's laceless black tennis shoe.
The time was approximately 1:30 P.M. The area had been searched for hours. Yet
here, alarmingly, was a child's shoe. Police converged on the spot. Sergeant
Allen, wearing dress shoes, slacks, a white shirt and tie, was the first to
enter the water. It was murky, with shoe-grabbing mud on the bottom. Allen
raised a foot. Bubbles gathered around it and floated to the surface. The muck
beneath his shoe made a sucking, reluctant sound. Then a pale form began to
rise in the water. Slowly, before the horrified officers'eyes, a child's naked
body, arched grotesquely backward, rose to the surface. It was about 1:45 P.M.
Word of the discovery spread like fire through West Memphis. Searchers swarmed
back to the woods, but now only Gitchell's detectives were being let in. By
2:15 P.M., yellow crime tape was up. Police cars were stationed at the McAuley
Drive entrance to the woods and at the entrance south of the Blue Beacon. For
the detectives, in a dense and seldom visited part of the woods kids called Old
Robin Hood, the job ahead was as odious as obvious. If one body had been
submerged in the stream, the others might be as well. Detective Bryn Ridge
volunteered for the unnerving job. Leaving the first body where it floated, the
dark-haired, heavyset officer walked several feet downstream and waded into the
water. Lowering himself to his knees, he spread his hands on the silty bottom.
Then slowly, on all fours, he began to crawl up the narrow stream, searching
the mud with his hands, expecting - and dreading - that at any moment he
would touch another dead child. He encountered instead a stick stuck
unnaturally into the mud. He could feel something wrapped around it. Dislodging
the stick and pulling it up, he found a child's white shirt.
Carefully, Ridge stood up and returned to the floating body. It didn't seem
right to him to leave it there. He lifted the body to the bank. The officers
knew from photographs they'd been shown of the missing boys that this was the
body of Michael Moore. And they could see that between the time the boy was
last seen and now, he had endured tremendous violence. Michael's hands and feet
were behind him, bound in what some would describe as a backward, hog-tied
fashion. But it wasn't that, exactly. The limbs weren't tied together. Rather,
the left ankle was tied to the left wrist; the right ankle and right wrist were
tied. The boy had been tied with shoelaces. The bindings left the body in a
dramatically vulnerable pose. The boy's nakedness, the unnatural arch of the
back, and the vulnerability of his undeveloped sexual organs, both to the front
and to the back, suggested something sexual about the crime. The severity of
the wounds to his head suggested a component of rage.
Once begun, the gruesome search intensified. In quick succession the ditch
yielded Michael's Cub Scout cap and shirt, a pair of blue jeans, and the grim,
forewarning sight of two more pairs of tennis shoes without laces. Reentering
the water and resuming his search by hand, Ridge found more sticks stuck like
pins into the muddy bottom. Twisted deliberately around them were other items
of clothing. Before long, all the clothing listed on the three missing-person
reports had been pulled out of the water, with the exception of a sock and two
pairs of underpants. The detectives were especially intrigued by the trousers,
two of which were inside out. Yet all three were zippered up and buttoned.
Ridge reentered the water farther downstream, and this time he felt what he had
feared. Pulling against the mud's suction, he released a second naked form. As
it rose eerily to the surface, the detective and officers on the banks could
see that this body was also naked and bent backward like the first, and like
the first, its thin arms and ankles had been tied together with shoelaces. This
was the body of Stevie Branch. He too showed signs of having been beaten, and
the left side of his face bore other savage marks. It was hard to tell - the
wounds were so deep - but on top of everything else, it looked like Stevie's
face may have been bitten.
Minutes later, Ridge found the body of Christopher Byers. Like the others it
was submerged facedown in the mud. He was also naked and tied in the same
manner as the others, but when detectives rolled him over in the water, they
were assaulted by another shock. Christopher's scrotum was gone and his penis
had been skinned. Only a thin flap of flesh remained where his genitals should
have been, and the area around the castration had been savagely punctuated with
deep stab wounds. By now it was 3 P.M.
(Continues...)
Excerpted from "Devil's Knot: The True Story of the West Memphis Three" by Mara Leveritt. Copyright © 2003 by Mara Leveritt. Excerpted by permission. All rights reserved. No part of this excerpt may be reproduced or reprinted without permission in writing from the publisher. Excerpts are provided solely for the personal use of visitors to this web site.