Scott stood up and stretched as he spoke rather cavalierly about the reason for seeing his girlfriend. “She’s not that great-looking anyway. Breakup, pickup.” After this comment, Lara and Hardesty stood up and left the room. Scott sat and flipped through a McCallum High School yearbook, which Hardesty had brought in earlier.
11:16
A.M.
Detectives Lara and Hardesty returned to the tiny interview room. Lara sat down in his chair, while Hardesty walked up to Scott. He stood just a few inches away from the seated Scott as the young man looked at the yearbook. Feeling somewhat confined, Scott moved his chair away from the hovering Hardesty. He crossed his hands and buried them into his lap.
Scott began to speak about his old girlfriend. He recalled that the guys pulled over at a convenience store so he could call her on a pay phone and get final directions to her house. He placed the call.
“Wow, you’re here!” Meredith exclaimed. “Come on by.”
Scott got the directions to her house.
“What did you buy when you went into the store?” Detective Lara wanted to know. Scott told him that he purchased something to drink and some cigarettes.
“What else did you guys buy?” Lara wanted to know. As he asked, Detective Hardesty stood with his right foot on his own chair and his hand on his hip.
Scott repeated, “Drinks and smokes.”
The guys got back in the vehicle and drove to Meredith Skipper’s home. When they arrived, Scott and Skipper headed for the nearby woods, where they talked. Scott claimed they hugged and kissed. He then broke off the relationship with her. He got back in the truck and headed back to Austin. Pierce drove the truck back. Scott could not remember what they did when they returned to Austin.
Detective Hardesty removed the yearbook from the table. He moved the photographs of the girls so they were directly in front of Scott.
“As far as I know, he put the truck back on the block.”
Lara stopped Scott and informed him that the story he told them differed from the story he told Detective Paul Johnson one year before. Johnson had kept in touch with several witnesses and/or suspects that may or may not have been involved in the case. Scott was one of those people.
Hardesty moved the photos of the girls directly in Scott’s line of vision. Scott became agitated and sounded defensive.
“You are not under arrest,” stated Detective Hardesty. “You can leave anytime you want. You’re not in trouble.”
Scott did not ask to leave. Instead, he asked for a smoke.
11:36
A.M.
Lara, Hardesty, and Scott all returned to the interview room. Hardesty mentioned that he and Scott had a chat outside during the smoke break. He asked Scott to repeat their discussion.
“I told him, you know, if . . . if . . . if I knew who did [it],” Scott recalled, “I’d tell y’all, because I think it’s wrong that those girls got killed there, the way . . . the way and fashion that they did.”
“You want to tell us something that you don’t want to tell us?” Lara posed.
“I don’t know why,” Scott answered.
“Look at these poor girls, Mike,” Lara pleaded as he focused Scott’s attention on the photos. “Just think of their poor parents and their families. Give them some peace.”
Detective Hardesty scooted his chair closer to Scott. “You’re real wound up. What are you scared of? We’re talking to you as a friend. We know more than you think we know. Do the right thing. People are covering something.”
“I’m not covering things up, guys,” Scott informed the officers.
“You know who shot those girls.”
Lara moved in closer in his chair. Scott was blocked in by the two detectives.
“Do you know what that says about you?” asked Lara.
“Either, one, I’m lying,” answered Scott, “or two, I don’t remember. Those are the only two options I have.”
“Well, I can take out the ‘I don’t remember.’”
“I’m not trying to lie to y’all.”
“I think you’re scared of getting in trouble,” Hardesty offered. “You’re not revealing something you know.”
“Guys, I’m not scared of getting in trouble. I’m scared I’m not answering your questions the way y’all want answered.”
“That’s bullshit,” bellowed Hardesty. “This thing is snowballing and it’s coming to a head, this investigation. Do you know what that means? One thing it means is a grand jury.
“If you’re being deceptive, that is a crime. You’ll go to jail for that.”
“You understand all the new technology that’s been advanced for us,” Lara quietly mentioned. “I really anticipate things are going to come to a close soon.”
After a several-second pause, Lara curiously said, “We’re telling you what you know.”
“Can you think of a worse homicide in the history of Austin?” Hardesty chimed in. “Well, there ain’t one. This is it.”
Hardesty changed course. He patted Scott on the back and returned to the stolen truck.
“You left something out. What you bought, something very important. Just tell us what that was.”
“Map?” Scott replied with a questioning tone in his voice.
“No, a newspaper.”
“A newspaper,” he replied as if realizing it for the first time.
“Right,” stated Hardesty, who leaned over and spit into the trash can.
The detectives wanted to know who bought the newspaper. Scott told them: “Maurice probably would have been the only one with real money.”
“Why is that?” Hardesty wanted to know.
“I don’t know. I just remember Maurice always having money. He usually had about twenty dollars.”
Detective Lara scooted closer toward Scott. “It’s getting real close. It’s either Robert or Maurice who bought the paper. These people are covering their ass. They’re trying to cover their ass.”
“Okay,” Scott replied.
“Why do you think they’re covering their ass?” Hardesty questioned.
“Somebody did something they weren’t supposed to, or seen it.”
“How do you think they’re covering their ass?”
“Either lying or trying to pin it on somebody else.”
Hardesty emphatically replied, “There you go.”
“You got it,” added Lara.
“And let me guess,” Scott piped in rather dejectedly. “I’m it.”
“What do you think?” said Lara.
Scott awoke with vigor. “Just hear me out, guys. Maurice is a sponge. He’ll do anything to save his own ass. Springsteen’s a sponge and a lying sack of shit. He stole from me. He stole from his parents. I can see Robert lying about me. And I can see Maurice lying about me.”
11:50
A.M.
Hardesty informed Scott that “you’re in the middle of this mess. You know what that does? It digs you deeper into this hole, right here, into the top of the ‘get fucked’ list. You don’t want that, do you?”
“No,” Scott replied.
“The only thing,” Hardesty informed Scott, “this is bullshit,” referring to the story that Scott had given them up to this point.
Lara moved in even closer toward Scott. Hardesty spit in the trash can again.
Hardesty warned Scott that “a lie becomes a snowball. It keeps getting bigger and bigger and you don’t know how to get out. In a matter of weeks or months, this is all going to come to a head. And you are ass deep in it. You are ass deep in alligators.
“This is the day. This is the opportunity. This is it. These guys aren’t going to hurt you. These guys are punks. None of these guys have put together a life like you have. These guys are still scum.”
“It doesn’t surprise me,” Scott replied. “I’m more worried about myself than anything else.
“I remember some . . .”
“You remember what? Go ahead.”
“I kind of remember somebody reading the paper.” Scott did not continue. Instead, he continued to worry about his predicament.
“I think I’ve dug myself a hole, and I don’t know how I’ve dug myself a hole.”
“You know what’s amazing?” Hardesty asked. “You can keep withholding all this stuff. This hole is going to get so much deeper, and then you’ll be all fucking jammed up with everything, with us, with the grand jury, with the citizens of Austin. Do you know what they feel right now?”
Lara leaned in and quietly asked, “Did Maurice kill those girls?”
“No. I remember Maurice reading the newspaper.”
“Did Robert kill those girls?”
“I don’t think so.”
“Did you kill those girls?”
“No.”
“We can get this out today,” Hardesty calmly added. “All those fucking years about you thinking about this.” Hardesty again patted Scott, this time on the shoulder.
“I’m trying, gentlemen,” Scott said. “Find the easiest scapegoat,” referring to his friends. “And I’m the nice guy.”
“What’s fixing to come down?” Lara wanted to know.
“Y’all have figured out who done it and who was there. Now you’re just getting all your little ducks in a row.”
“Michael, you’re a big duck,” Hardesty intervened. “You’re not a little duck, you’re a big duck.”
Scott chuckled. “Yeah, I’m a big duck, but . . .”
12:00
P.M.
—Noon
“You’re not a very good liar,” Hardesty told him. “It’s this close on your mouth.”
Scott withdrew his arms inside his T-shirt. “My biggest worry is that Robert and Reese fed you all a line of shit. I don’t want to go to jail for something that I didn’t do.”
“You can forget about jail, brother,” Lara said. “You’d be talking about penitentiary time.”
“But you wouldn’t be going to jail for something you didn’t do—” Hardesty was attempting to soften the blow. Scott began to talk.
“Don’t interrupt me,” Hardesty sharply said. The detective put his arm in the general direction of Scott, but did not touch him.
“You’re fucking going to prison,” Hardesty continued.
Lara recalled the February 19, 1998, discussion that Scott had with Detective Paul Johnson. He reminded Scott that he told Johnson that he saw a commotion at the yogurt shop the night of the murders.
“That’s a lie—a huge inconsistency.”
Scott began to talk about being in the food court in Northcross Mall. He spoke of a “big, fat Mexican guy” who “drank a big thing of ketchup.”
Hardesty was getting annoyed. “Look at me. Don’t pull that cannabis head trip on me. Dig yourself out of this fucking hole. I guaran-fucking-tee you, if you don’t clear this today before you leave here, you don’t tell us what you know, it’s going to jam your ass up.”
“No doubt,” added Lara.
“If you remember anything I said today, I’m not threatening you. Let’s put this fucking thing to bed today.”
“I know you were there, Michael,” accused Lara. Scott did not reply.
“Don’t stare off into space,” snapped Hardesty. The detective told Scott that it “will feel good” to release the information from inside him.
“I’d like to know how I’m involved in it.”
“We’re talking about the nut cutting here,” Hardesty said. “The big stuff. What the fuck are you afraid of?”
Scott looked down at his lap. He paused for a long period of time. Then he spoke up. “What I remember Maurice saying about it is that . . .” He paused again for a long time.
Lara leaned in and whispered something into his ear. “Something you don’t forget.”
“None of this stuff will you forget,” added Hardesty.
“I wish that were true, gentlemen. I don’t know what I’m supposed to tell you, gentlemen.”
“The truth,” answered Hardesty.
“I am telling you the truth.”
“Are you willing to take a polygraph?” asked Lara.
Without hesitation, Scott responded, “Yes, sir, I am. I’ll take one right now.”
“We’ll take one here in a little bit. Why don’t you take a little break here.”
All three men left the room for a break.
12:36
P.M.
Scott sat in his chair in the interview room. He flipped through the pages of his high-school yearbook. Detective Hardesty entered and walked right in front of Scott. He grabbed his chair and pulled it close to Scott.
“God, I looked like a dork in that picture,” Scott said good-naturedly.
“You’re involved in this thing,” Hardesty told him. “We know you are.”
“I don’t know how I was involved.”
“Yes, you do.”
Hardesty stood up, patted Scott on the back again, and left the room.
12:43
P.M.
Detective Lara reentered the room with Austin Police Department polygraph examiner Bruce Stevenson. Stevenson was the epitome of the big good ol’ boy Texan with a thick Southern drawl.
As Stevenson went about his business to prepare for the polygraph, Scott talked about different things. He wished he could call Crime Stoppers. He talked about some of the different theories about the murders.
“You’ll love this one, the one I heard in school. The two girls were having an affair with a couple of police officers and the police did it. It’s a load of crap.” Scott chuckled.
“You think that’s funny?” Lara wanted to know.
“I don’t think the police did it. They wouldn’t have left any evidence behind.”
Scott then talked about his recreational drug use, which was not so recreational. “I have permanent tracers,” he said, in reference to his use of acid.
Stevenson faced Scott and let him know that he wanted to ask him a few questions before he began the polygraph.
“Whew, I’m fucking scared,” said Scott. “Let me tell you, you guys got me really scared. I’m more afraid of the law than anything else.”
Stevenson proceeded to ask several personal questions—mainly, concerning his physical health. After about forty-five minutes of questions, he left the room. He never conducted a polygraph on Scott.