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<h1 class="center" id="c9">Chapter Seven—DIARY CONFESSIONS</h1>
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<div>I bounced my leg nervously as I sat in the quiet, cramped cubicle inside the Fort Smith Police Department. Detective Williams broke the silence by offering me a cup of coffee. I smiled, nodded, and thanked him for the kind gesture. Minutes later, he placed a warm Styrofoam cup in my hand. The aroma emanating from the cup was strong and sour. I cautiously sipped the dark, muddy substance and immediately regretted my decision as the thick liquid hit my stomach with a thud. I winced and stared into the cup. “It’s heavy and bitter, but it will definitely wake you up,” Detective Williams promised. Instead of being polite and drinking the rest of the coffee, I ceremoniously placed the cup on the table and pushed it out of reach.</div>
<div class="indent">Indifferent about my refusal to drink the bitter brew, Detective Williams laughed and leaned across his desk to retrieve a small spiralbound notebook from the top drawer. “Well, we might as well let you get started,” he said. My stomach churned nervously as he placed the 5 x 8 Stuart Hall notebook on the table directly in front of me. I held my breath and ran my fingers across the blue and pink cover. This wasn’t just any notebook. It was a diary. And it had belonged to Melissa Ann Witt.</div>
<div class="indent">As I stared at the notebook, I longed to read the stories Melissa had penned of the collected memories that made up her life. But I couldn’t bring myself to open it. As I grappled with my emotions, I thought about my own diary. In it, I kept detailed notes on everything from my first crush to my painful and volatile relationship with my estranged mother. The diary, a sacred possession, is hidden away in my closet. It’s meant for my eyes only. I can only assume that Melissa felt the same way. Conflicted, I sat in silence. How could I trespass into Melissa’s private thoughts?</div>
<div class="indent">“It was hard at first,” Detective Williams offered, sensing my struggle. “It is difficult to read someone’s private thoughts and feelings without their permission. But you will learn a lot by reading that diary. I did” he promised. “Melissa was a good kid. Very innocent. Very sweet.” He reached across the table, picked up the diary, and randomly chose a passage to read aloud: “I have tonsillitis, but I am taking medication for it. Anyway, momma got me a new car stereo. Aunt Helen gave me fifty dollars. Daddy gave me twenty dollars and I got some cards.” Detective Williams paused and handed me the open diary. The entry was dated April 21,1994, one day after Melissa’s 19th birthday. I began reading where Detective Williams left off: “It is now 2:15 a.m. and I have to go to school and work today. I just cannot go to sleep. I’m not sure if it’s the medication I’m taking or what, but I hope I’m ok tomorrow. Gotta go! Melissa.” I quickly shut the diary and closed my eyes. The mystery and intrigue of reading Melissa’s personal history was compelling and I knew Detective Williams was right. I would learn so much about Melissa by reading her diary. Casting my uncertainty aside, I took a deep breath, opened my eyes, and dived in.</div>
<div class="indent">Over the next hour, I became engrossed in the personal thoughts, feelings, and everyday experiences of Melissa Ann Witt. I laughed aloud at her silly stories and my heart sank over her disappointments. I felt a deeper connection to Melissa that afternoon. Flipping through the pages of her diary felt like visiting an old friend—it was both magical and heartbreaking. As I neared the end of the journal, I felt a deep ache in my chest. It was hard to accept that such a beautiful life had been cut so short.</div>
<div class="indent">After reading the last page, I gently closed the book, stood up, and thanked Detective Williams for his time. “Can I come back in a few weeks to go through the files and read the diary again?” I asked. Detective Williams nodded his head in agreement. I started down the hallway but didn’t get very far before I turned back and asked, “Do you think her killer’s name is in that diary?” Detective Williams’ facial expression turned serious as he thought about my question. “I think there is a great probability the name of her killer is in that diary,” he said. “I really do think that diary is important. I’m glad you read it,” he added. I smiled, shook his hand again, and walked out the door. As I drove back to Northwest Arkansas, my thoughts remained on Melissa, her diary, and the person who had murdered her.</div>
<div class="indent">Once at home, I hastily fumbled with a stepladder to reach a box that was hidden away on the top shelf in my closet. Inside, I found my own diary. The glossy white book, decorated with a small purple butterfly, contained a decade and a half of both cherished and painful memories. As I quickly thumbed through the pages, one particular entry took me by surprise. On Friday, January 20th, 1995, I wrote, “Absolutely hate the new class schedule. My hope is that I can get it changed next week. Everything else seems to be going smoothly. It’s sad but I think everyone is focused on the news from Fort Smith. Last week, Melissa Witt’s body was discovered in the Ozark National Forest. Such a sad, sad ending. I wonder what happened. She was so young. I can’t believe she was murdered!” I was stunned. I had no recollection of writing this entry two decades earlier.</div>
<div class="indent">Two weeks after reading her diary for the first time, I returned to the Fort Smith Police Department with my documentary crew. As the team prepared to sort through Melissa’s case files, I sat across the room at an empty table. I placed my diary next to Melissa’s. I was curious if any of our journal entries were written during the same time frame. To my amazement, in what turned out to be the last week of Melissa Witt’s life, we each wrote the following five diary entries on the exact same days, a time when we were both in school, but me as a 21-year-old newlywed, and her as a still carefree and fresh-faced teenager.</div>
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<div><b>November 13th, 1994</b></div>
<div class="indent"><i>Melissa:</i> Last night, we went to Fayetteville. We had a pretty good time. We spent time with friends and we played football with them. After football, we watched TV. We had fun! At least I did.</div>
<div class="indent"><i>LaDonna:</i> We moved into our new apartment in Springdale. It’s so tiny! How will we ever fit a Christmas tree into this space? I am so ready to go Christmas tree shopping and buy ornaments for our very own tree!</div>
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<div><b>November 20th, 1994</b></div>
<div class="indent"><i>Melissa:</i> I had the best time this weekend. Actually, it’s a long story but we did watch Aspen Extreme.</div>
<div class="indent"><i>LaDonna:</i> We bought a REAL Christmas tree. It’s huge and it takes up most of the living room in the apartment. Pine needles are everywhere! We love the tree but we are definitely going to invest in a fake tree for next year. This has been a total pain.</div>
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<div><b>November 22, 1994</b></div>
<div class="indent"><i>Melissa:</i> Today was an OK day. I went to school and work and that was about it. Got to go, Melissa.</div>
<div class="indent"><i>LaDonna:</i> Homework is overwhelming. I won’t be writing much thanks to my Greek Lit. class!</div>
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<div><b>November 27, 1994</b></div>
<div class="indent"><i>Melissa:</i> Today wasn’t such a good day for me. I woke up this morning sick as a dog and I threw up and then I had fever and aching and chills all day. I don’t know how I got this, but I hope it doesn’t last too long.</div>
<div class="indent"><i>LaDonna:</i> I have zero time to keep a diary anymore. School, work and being a newlywed is time consuming!</div>
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<div><b>November 28, 1994</b></div>
<div class="indent"><i>Melissa:</i> My kitty died tonight. I am so sad. He’s been sick for a very long time. Tonight, he crawled into his litter box and just laid down. A couple of hours later, mama moved him under his blanket. I cried a little bit, but at least I know he’s in kitty heaven.</div>
<div class="indent"><i>LaDonna:</i> It’s time to start Christmas shopping! I can’t wait. I love this time of the year! Is it silly to dream of a White Christmas? I hope we are able to make the Silver Dollar City trip with our church. I hear the Christmas lights are beautiful this time of year.</div>
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<div class="indent">The painful task of reading the contrasting journal entries reduced me to tears. The death of Melissa’s beloved cat just days before her own tragic demise seemed to foreshadow the ending of a story she never intended to write. Thankfully, the poignant insight into Melissa’s personal life offset the sadness I felt and provided a unique first-hand perspective of her life as an ordinary teenager. Those glimpses provided immeasurable value to law enforcement, my documentary team, and me personally as I learned about this young woman I am connected to on so many levels. I am forever grateful for the opportunity to experience Melissa’s life through her own eyes. She painted a beautiful self-portrait in her diary of a kind, naive, innocent, and fun-loving young woman focused on a successful future.</div>
<div class="indent">Before my team left the police department that afternoon, Jay C. Rider stopped in to meet with us. He immediately noticed Melissa’s journal.</div>
<div class="indent">“I see you have been doing some reading today,” Rider commented.</div>
<div class="indent">“I’ve read it twice already,” I responded.</div>
<div class="indent">He smiled knowingly. He understood all too well how difficult my task had been.</div>
<div class="indent">“Williams thinks her killer’s name could be in that diary. What do you think?” I asked.</div>
<div class="indent">“I think…” he paused, “I think his name is on one of those pages, LaDonna. I really do. I think she knew the son of a bitch that killed her.”</div>
<div class="indent">The emotional impact from reading her diary combined with Rider’s words have help drive me on this exhausting and all-consuming quest to find justice for Melissa Witt. My team and I have spent countless hours piecing together the clues and leads that flood our website and Facebook page, “Who Killed Missy Witt?”. We are continually on the hunt for that one piece of information that connects a potential suspect back to Melissa’s diary. We are forever haunted by the realization that the killer’s name may have been innocently etched into the pages of that small 5 x 8 notebook by Melissa herself.</div>
<div class="indent">It’s not farfetched to believe that Melissa’s diary could someday lead to the resolution of her murder case. In 2011, the diary of a teenage girl murdered in Clayton County, Georgia led police to a suspect in her case more than a year after her death. On April 28, 2010, Candice Parchment, age 15, disappeared. Seven months later, in November of 2010, investigators found Parchment’s remains underneath an old mattress in a wooded area near her home. Investigators had little information to go on until Parchment’s mother, Caffian Hyatt, found her daughter’s diary.</div>
<div class="indent">As Hyatt read the diary, she discovered the names of two teenage boys who had allegedly assaulted her daughter. Parchment had written about the gruesome details surrounding an attempted rape in an abandoned house at the hands of the two young men. According to the diary entry, Parchment had never reported the assault to the authorities because the boys had threatened her life.</div>
<div class="indent">Hyatt turned the diary over to the police in the hopes that it could solve her daughter’s murder case. When investigators looked into the accusations in the diary, they discovered that one of the teenagers was already incarcerated in the Clayton County Jail. When interrogated, the young man allegedly confessed to strangling Parchment and hiding her body under a mattress. He was later found guilty of 12 charges, including murder and attempted rape in two separate incidents that led to the brutal murder of Candice Parchment.</div>
<div class="indent">The Parchment murder isn’t the only case that has been solved from clues found in a victim’s diary. On Sunday, June 8, 1986, Kathleen Lipscomb never arrived at the home of her estranged husband to pick up her children from their weekend visit with their father. This was out of character for Kathleen, and her friends and family immediately feared the worst. Unfortunately, their instincts proved to be right when her naked body was soon discovered in a field just outside of town. Lipscomb had been sexually assaulted and strangled.</div>
<div class="indent">Law enforcement immediately zeroed in on three different men: Lipscomb’s husband, a coworker, and Kathleen’s married lover. Despite law enforcement’s best efforts, there was very little evidence to go on and the case grew cold. Desperate for answers, Lipscomb’s family hired a private investigator. Almost immediately, the private investigator found several clues in Lipscomb’s diary that ultimately led to the arrest of her killer – her estranged husband, William T. Lipscomb.</div>
<div class="indent">If the content of Parchment’s and Lipscomb’s diaries solved their murder cases, could the same thing happen in the Witt murder? Unlike Parchment and Lipscomb, Melissa’s diary, however, is no smoking gun. There is no finger pointing directly at any one potential suspect. Her diary, while true and authentic, provides only small glimpses into her life. In fact, large portions of her life never made it onto the pages of her journal for reasons only she will know. One can only assume that like most young women, including myself, Melissa was too busy to record information she felt was insignificant. I doubt that Melissa ever dreamed that every shred of information she had recorded would someday be needed as a clue in an investigation into her own murder.</div>
<div class="indent">Until her case is solved, law enforcement will always view the candid observations Melissa wrote about her life as a Westark Community College student as an important piece of evidence in the hunt to capture the man who murdered her. I will, however, always see Melissa’s diary as sacred words that perfectly capture the crux of who she was: a pure innocent soul who deserves justice.</div>
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<h1 class="center" id="c3">Chapter One—THE DISCOVERY</h1>
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<div>On January 13, 1995, the world, consumed by the murders of Nicole Brown Simpson and Ron Goldman, eagerly awaited the results of a hearing that would determine if evidence challenging Detective Mark Fuhrman’s credibility would be admitted in the O.J. Simpson trial.</div>
<div class="indent">As I made my way along the winding roads leading to Fort Smith, Arkansas, I listened as the local radio station announced how prosecutors believed that O.J. dropped a glove as he attempted to sneak back to his mansion the night of the Simpson and Goldman murders. Judge Lance Ito was also expected to rule whether O.J. Simpson’s former wife would be required to appear in court.</div>
<div class="indent">The unspeakable events surrounding the murders proved to be sensational, dark, and shocking. It was the perfect storm for a true crime addict. And I was hooked. At 21-years-old, I was already deep into my obsession. My fascination with murder mysteries gave me an adrenaline rush. The fix of the “who,” “what,” “when,” and “where” kept me reading every true crime novel I could get my hands on.</div>
<div class="indent">On this particular day, as my obsession kept me tuned in to the radio for the O.J. Simpson case, another announcement caught my attention. A body had been found in the Ozark National Forest and authorities were on the scene. They suspected the body could be that of 19-year-old Melissa Witt.</div>
<div class="indent">As my Nissan Altima crept along the two-lane highway of U.S. 71 that was at the time the main route between Fayetteville and Fort Smith, Arkansas, I gazed into the Boston Mountains and watched dark clouds roll in.</div>
<div class="indent">At the same time, a chill settled in across the Ozarks. The clouds opened up and unleashed torrents of furious rain on a remote and lonely crime scene. As it turns out, roughly 56 miles away in the Ozark National Forest, a beautiful landscape of trees and mountains had been hiding a terrible secret.</div>
<div class="indent">On January 13, 1995 at 9:40am, about 15 miles north of Ozark, two animal trappers stumbled upon what they believed could be a mannequin lying face down in the woods about 30 feet off the main road. The two men, avid outdoorsmen, had walked this very path the day before. There had been nothing there.</div>
<div class="indent">As they approached the strange figure lying in the woods, it became clear that what they found was something much more sinister. After 45 long days, the remote Forest Service Road 1551 in the Ozark National Forest had finally unearthed the unthinkable: the decomposing nude body of a young, white female.</div>
<div class="indent">Frantic, the pair immediately called the Franklin County Sheriff’s Department. Upon receiving the news, Sheriff Kenneth Ross contacted Detective Sergeant Chris Boyd with the Fort Smith Police Department Major Crimes Unit.</div>
<div class="indent">Over 20 years later, as I sat down to interview the now former Detective Boyd for a documentary I was producing on the Melissa Witt case, he could still vividly recall that cold and rainy morning.</div>
<div class="indent">“At the time, the police department was in the Sebastian County Courthouse and I distinctly recall walking through the basement to get to my office in the Detective Division. That’s when I received a phone call from Sheriff Ross.”</div>
<div class="indent">As the retired detective described the phone call, his expression turned serious and somber. I’d seen this look before. It was the expression of a man haunted by the unsolved murder of an innocent young woman.</div>
<div class="indent">“Sheriff Ross told me on that call that he thought he had found the body of Melissa Witt. And knowing him as I did at the time, I figured he was probably right. I had him describe to me what he was seeing and what the body looked like. Once he gave me the description… well, I knew I had to rally the troops at that point. We needed crime scene techs and detectives at that scene immediately.”</div>
<div class="indent">As the former detective described the events that unfolded the morning of Friday, January 13, 1995, my own memories flooded back. When I close my eyes, I can still feel the icy chill in the air. I remember arriving in Fort Smith that morning, and as I stepped out of my car, the rain came down in heavy thuds, hard and fast, soaking my clothes as I ran across the parking lot. Another memory of me complaining to my coworkers about the miserable weather conditions on that day also replayed in my mind: “Why did this beautiful day take a drastic turn for the worst?” My words unknowingly foreshadowed events that would haunt me almost two decades later.</div>
<div class="indent">As the former lead detective on the Melissa Witt murder investigation, Jay C. Rider entered the room, I nervously stood to greet him. As we shook hands, Rider asked if Melissa and I had been friends, an assumption others often make to describe my passion for finding justice for a girl I never knew.</div>
<div class="indent">“No sir. I never knew her. We had mutual friends, but we never met.” Rider eyed me skeptically, nodded, and said, “I guess that makes two of us.”</div>
<div class="indent">“Tell me about January 13, 1995,” I said. “The day you found Melissa Witt’s body.”</div>
<div class="indent">Rider described the day as normal, even for a Friday the 13th. “Don’t get me wrong, I’m not a superstitious guy. It was a normal day. It started off sunny—a perfect day. I decided to get some work done around the office. When the phone call came in from Sheriff Ross, as you can imagine, all hell broke loose. We all headed out to that crime scene. We feared the worst… that this body was Melissa Witt.”</div>
<div class="indent">News reports of the crime scene describe a lonely, remote logging road near Turner Bend just north of Ozark. I knew the location of Melissa’s body would reveal details about her killer.</div>
<div class="indent">“Can you tell me more about the location?” I asked.</div>
<div class="indent">“It was a logging road. More or less a single lane road, rough terrain, off the main gravel area. The road was mainly accessed by loggers clearing and cutting the national forest,” Rider explained. “Trappers, hunters, campers and sometimes local kids looking to party used that road. Believe it or not, the logging road ended—like a cul de sac—so it was a dead end. A remote, hopeless dead end.”</div>
<div class="indent">“What else do you remember about that day?” I asked.</div>
<div class="indent">“I will never forget that day,” Rider said. “We started working the crime scene and the temperature dropped drastically. It started to rain—hard rain—rain that was actually coming in sideways. The wind was blowing hard and it was miserable. None of us had jackets or anything else because it had started off as such a perfect day. I remember finding a raincoat in my car and trying to find a warmer shirt or something to change into so I could stay warm.”</div>
<div class="indent">Rider’s description of that fateful morning closely paralleled my own memories. But now it seemed that what we had witnessed was so much more than just a rainstorm. Instead, maybe we experienced the heavens releasing an unrelenting stream of tears for a girl we never knew.</div>
<div class="indent">The medical examiner’s report revealed that the official cause of death was “asphyxiation by strangulation.” Leaves and soil found in Melissa’s airway indicated she had been strangled face down and she had inhaled debris from the forest floor as she fought for her life.</div>
<div class="indent">Laboratory testing on the debris found in Melissa’s airway gave investigators an important clue: the debris was native to the Ozark National Forest. This told investigators that she had been killed at or near the location where her body was discovered. The medical examiner’s report also yielded another important clue: Melissa had non-fatal trauma on the side of her head that was believed to have been caused by a blow or a fall.</div>
<div class="indent">Armed with this information, investigators began to put together a profile of Melissa Witt’s killer. Two scenarios emerged: The killer was either a local or someone who frequented the area from out of state to hunt, hike, camp, or fish. Melissa’s body could have been disposed of in many places but her killer chose this remote location. An area so isolated that if you had never been there before, it would be almost impossible to find.</div>
<div class="indent">A more detailed examination of the crime scene shocked investigators. Indentations behind a large headstone-like rock positioned between two small trees revealed that her body had initially been hidden there.</div>
<div class="indent">According to police records, Melissa had visible marks where someone, presumably the killer, had grabbed hold of her in order to drag her decomposing body closer to the road.</div>
<div class="indent">“It would have been a gruesome task,” Jay C. Rider said flatly. “Think about it. Melissa’s body had been out in the elements for 45 days and was in advanced stages of decomposition. There was small animal activity on the body and the scene was… it was brutal. Whoever moved that body did it so it could be found more easily. Maybe so her mama could give her a proper burial. Regardless, the task was gruesome and we are still trying to figure out who moved her body and why.”</div>
<div class="indent">A strange phone call made to police a day or two prior to the discovery of Melissa’s body may have provided a different clue. The caller left a voice message at the Fort Smith Major Crimes unit one evening. On the recording, a lady with a thick Southern accent could be heard saying, “Go ahead and tell them what you found.” Then there was a younger male voice, also with a thick Southern accent who was reported saying, “No, I can’t,” and then the phone disconnected. Did the young man who was part of the mysterious phone call discover Melissa’s body in the woods and move it from behind the rock so she could be found? Was he scared he could be blamed for the murder? Sadly, we may never know. Despite extensive efforts to identify the people responsible for that phone call, their identities remain a mystery.</div>
<div class="indent">Determined to learn more about the psychology of this type of killer and crime, I obsessively began to research homicidal strangulation. I discovered that in a high percentage of cases, the offender and the victim are related or in a romantic relationship. Seventy-five percent of strangulation victims are females, with the most frequent motives being rape, sexual jealousy, or personal rivalry. Research also suggests that females are predominantly the victims in homicidal strangulation because they are more likely to be the targets of sexual assaults.</div>
<div class="indent">Could this be why her body was found nude? Was she sexually assaulted? Unfortunately, we may never know for certain. According to the medical examiner’s report, it was impossible to determine if she had been raped.</div>
<div class="indent">I kept researching. I found that a high percentage of female victims in homicidal strangulation are murdered due to a quarrel in their relationship and/or due to unrehearsed violence applied by bare hands to put the victim at a physical disadvantage and render the victim incapable of resisting. In 86% of the strangulation cases the victim was found at the scene of the killing. In 22% of these cases, the victim was found outdoors. In 17% of these cases, the offender stole something from the victim. In 14% of these cases, the victim was first hit with a blunt instrument.</div>
<div class="indent">A cold chill went down my spine. Did Melissa know her killer?</div>
<div class="indent">I compared these facts to what I had learned about her gruesome murder:</div>
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<ol><li>According to the autopsy report, Melissa was hit in the head with a blunt instrument.</li>
<li>She was found strangled, outdoors, and naked—her clothing and personal belongings had been taken from her.</li>
<li>The remote location was familiar to her killer. Authorities believe he had been there before.</li>
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<div class="indent">I began to look even closer at events that had unfolded on the day Melissa disappeared. From all reports, the day started off routinely. She spent the first part of the morning with her mother, Mary Ann Witt. The honor student headed to Westark Community College next. After that, she went to lunch with a friend and then off to her job as a dental assistant.</div>
<div class="indent">Before she left that morning, Melissa had a minor disagreement with her mother. She had asked to borrow money, and Mary Ann, in an effort to teach her daughter money management, had told her no.</div>
<div class="indent">Before Mary Ann left for work that morning, she left a note for Melissa reminding her she would be bowling with her league that evening and offering to buy her a hamburger. She signed the note, “Love, Mom.”</div>
<div class="indent">At five o’clock that night, after clocking out at her dental assistant job, Melissa discovered that her 1995 Mitsubishi Mirage wouldn’t start. After a few tries, she gave up and waited with a coworker until a local businessman, later dubbed the Good Samaritan, gave her car a jump.</div>
<div class="indent">Police reports detail how Melissa’s dome light was left on by mistake, draining the car battery. Investigators tracked down the Good Samaritan and interviewed him multiple times before ultimately clearing him in the teenager’s disappearance and murder.</div>
<div class="indent">“People ask about the Good Samaritan all the time because those events leading up to Melissa’s abduction seem suspicious,” Rider said. “The Good Samaritan does seem suspicious, until you realize how many times he was questioned. He was cleared of any suspicion in Melissa’s murder.”</div>
<div class="indent">We know that, once Melissa’s car started, she went home to change out of her uniform. Those clothes were found crumpled on her bedroom floor. Mary Ann was able to determine that her daughter had then donned a white V-neck sweater and blue jeans.</div>
<div class="indent">Melissa must have seen her mom’s note, because authorities believe she headed to Bowling World, arriving between 6:30pm and 7:00pm. She parked in the northwest corner of the lot, but never made it inside. There were no cameras to record the events that unfolded in the parking lot that night. Witnesses would later tell police they heard a woman screaming, “Help me!”</div>
<div class="indent">Two decades later, as I pored over police files and news footage, my heart broke to learn that Mary Ann was haunted by the note she left for Melissa that fateful Thursday. In one interview she is quoted as saying, “I try not to think about how our lives would be different if I had not invited Melissa to Bowling World that night. There is no use thinking about it. I know she is gone. But my heart…. You know, as a mom… I sometimes wonder what if I had done something differently.”</div>
<div class="indent">At approximately 7:45pm, Melissa’s car keys were found in the parking lot and were turned in to the front desk of Bowling World. No one noticed the splatters of blood that were slowly drying on the metal keys.</div>
<div class="indent">Since Melissa never entered the bowling alley that night, her mother simply thought she had decided to go out with friends instead. Mary Ann went home expecting to see her daughter later that evening. Hours passed and Thursday slowly turned into Friday.</div>
<div class="indent">At nine o’clock on Friday morning, Mary Ann reported Melissa as a missing person. By Saturday, Melissa’s friends and family were passing out flyers, blanketing the River Valley with over 6,000 pleas for help in finding the missing teenager.</div>
<div class="indent">I lived in Northwest Arkansas at the time, and remember seeing the story of Melissa’s disappearance light up news channels. Her picture seemed to be everywhere. Curious, I reached out to my friends in the River Valley. It turns out they knew her. Their voices trembled as they shared their worst fears with me:</div>
<div class="indent">“Melissa would not just disappear like this.”</div>
<div class="indent">“Where could she be? This is not like Melissa at all.”</div>
<div class="indent">“I hope she’s okay. I am scared she’s been hurt.”</div>
<div class="indent">Christmas passed and the new year rang in but there was still no Melissa Witt.</div>
<div class="indent">For more than a month, I, like the rest of the community, sat on the edge of my seat questioning what had happened to the beautiful All American Girl. None of us expected the story to turn into what it did.</div>
<div class="indent">A quote by the late Michelle McNamara, in her book <i>I’ll be Gone in the Dark: One Woman’s Obsessive Search for the Golden State Killer</i>, resonates with me. She wrote, “He loses his power when we know his face.” These words sum up the rationale behind the countless hours I’ve spent investigating the Melissa Witt case. I want to see his face.</div>
<div class="indent">For over two decades the identity of Melissa’s killer has been hidden among the dense trees and thorny undergrowth rooted deeply in the uneven ground of a remote mountaintop in the Ozark National Forest. I envision him, a shadow-like figure, dark and dreadful, his confidence anchored in the predictability of a murder case slowly growing cold.</div>
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