Fritz and Williamson?
Peggy was obsessed with seeing her daughter again. At one point she said to Glenna, "I've forgotten what her voice sounded like." Glenna was promised by Bill Peterson that the exhumation would be done quickly and be completed before anyone knew it. Peggy was at her station at Brockway Glass when a co-worker walked by and asked her what was happening over at Rosedale Cemetery, near Debbie's grave site. She left the factory, raced across town, but found only an empty grave. Her daughter had been removed.
The first set of palm prints had been taken by OSBI agent Jerry Peters on December 9, 1982, during the autopsy. At that time, the hands had been perfect, and Peters had no doubt that he had taken a full and thorough set of prints. When he issued his report three months later, he'd been certain in his findings that the bloody print from the Sheet-rock was not left by Fritz, Williamson, or the victim.
Now, though, four and a half years later, with the murder unsolved and the authorities looking for a break, he suddenly had doubts about his earlier work. Three days after the exhumation, he issued a revised report in which he concluded that the bloody print matched Debbie Carter's palm. For the first and only time in his twenty-four-year career, Jerry Peters changed his mind.
The report was exactly what Bill Peterson needed. Armed with the proof that the bloody print did not belong to some unknown killer but had been left by Debbie as she struggled for her life, he was free to go after his prime suspects. And it was important to alert the townsfolk- the potential jurors.
While the authorities claimed that the exhumation and its details were confidential, Peterson chatted with the Ada Evening News anyway. "What we found confirmed our suspicions. We were checking some evidence," he was quoted as saying. What, exactly, was found? Peterson wouldn't confirm the details, but a "source" was willing to tell all. The source said, "The body was exhumed so the woman's palm prints could be made and compared with a bloody palm print found on her apartment wall."
The source went on: "Elimination of the possibility that the bloody palm print was someone other than the victim was crucial to the investigation. "
"I do feel better about the case," Peterson said.
He obtained warrants for the arrests of Ron Williamson and Dennis Fritz.
On Friday morning, May 8, Kick Carson saw Ron pushing the lawn mower with three wheels along a street on the west side of town. The two talked for a moment. Ron, with long hair, no shirt, ragged jeans, and sneakers, looked as rough as always. He wanted to get a job with the city, and Rick promised to stop by and pick up an application. Ron said he would wait at home that night.
Carson then informed his lieutenant that he knew their suspect would in fact be hanging around his apartment on West Twelfth later in the evening. The arrest was planned, and Rick asked to be involved. If Ron turned violent, Rick wanted to make sure no one got hurt. Instead, four other policemen were sent, including Detective Mike Baskin.
Ron was taken into custody without incident. He was wearing the same jeans and sneakers and was still shirtless. At the jail, Mike Baskin read him his Miranda rights and asked if he would like to talk. Sure, why not. Detective James Fox joined the interview. Ron repeatedly said he had never met Debbie Carter, had never been in her apartment, and to the best of his knowledge had never seen her. He never wavered, in spite of some yelling and bullying from the cops, who said over and over that they knew Ron was guilty.
Ron was placed in the county jail. At least a month had passed since he had taken any medications.
Dennis Fritz was living with his mother and an aunt in Kansas City, keeping busy by painting houses. He'd left Ada a few months earlier. His friendship with Ron Williamson was a distant memory. He hadn't talked to a detective in four years and had almost forgotten about the Carter murder.
Late on the evening of May 8, he was watching television by himself. He had worked all day and was still wearing his dirty painters' whites. The night was warm, the windows were open. The phone rang, and an unidentified female voice asked, "Is Dennis Fritz there?"
"I'm Dennis Fritz," he answered, and she hung up.