01/04/2026
On March 15, 2001, after 18 years, 5 months, and 3 days in prison, Kenneth Waters walked free. He was 47 years old. He'd gone into prison at 29. He'd missed his daughter's entire childhood. He'd lost the best years of his life. But he was free. And his sister—who had promised him 16 years earlier that she would save him—had kept her word. Betty Anne Waters had been a high school dropout waitress with two kids when Kenny was convicted in 1983. She'd gone to community college, then earned a bachelor's degree, then spent three years in law school, then passed the bar exam, then tracked down evidence the prosecution had destroyed, then found DNA proof her brother was innocent, then discovered the two witnesses had been coerced into lying. It took 18 years. But she did it. Six months later, Kenny fell off a wall trying to take a shortcut. He fractured his skull and died. The brother Betty Anne had spent 18 years saving was gone.
In 1983, Kenneth "Kenny" Waters was convicted of murder and sentenced to life in prison without parole.
He was 26 years old. A father. Known around town in Ayer, Massachusetts, for his rough edges and jovial spirit.
The victim was Katherina Reitz Brow, an elderly woman who lived next door to Kenny. On May 21, 1980, she was found murdered in her home—stabbed to death, her house covered in blood, cash and jewelry missing.
Kenny worked at the diner where Ms. Brow was a regular customer. He'd had run-ins with the local police before.
He became a suspect immediately.
Police questioned him. Kenny had an alibi: he'd worked until 8:30 that morning. A coworker supported his story.
But the police kept digging, and two years later, they had what they needed.
Two of Kenny's ex-girlfriends—Brenda Marsh and Roseanna Perry—came forward with devastating testimony. They claimed Kenny had confessed the murder to them.
There was physical evidence at the scene: blood, hair, fingerprints.
But here's what Kenny's defense never knew: the fingerprints at the scene had been analyzed, and they'd cleared Kenny. The latent fingerprint analyst had excluded him as a match.
That information was never shared with the prosecutor. It was never shared with the defense.
Instead, the prosecution presented blood type evidence. Kenny's blood type matched samples from the scene—but so did 11% of the population.
And the testimony of two women who said he'd confessed.
In 1983, Kenneth Waters was convicted of first-degree murder and armed robbery.
Life in prison. No parole. No hope.
His sister Betty Anne sat in the courtroom, stunned.
She knew her brother. She'd grown up with him. They'd been raised by an indifferent mother, bounced between foster homes, forced to fend for themselves. They were bonded in a way only siblings who've survived childhood together can understand.
And she knew—absolutely knew—that Kenny didn't do this.
But what could she do? She was a high school dropout. A waitress at an Irish pub. A single mother of two boys.
She had no money, no education, no power.
She had nothing except absolute certainty that her brother was innocent.
Kenny tried to appeal his conviction using public defenders. Every appeal was denied. Years passed. His daughter stopped visiting, believing he was guilty.
His hope began to fade.
Then, one day in prison, Kenny attempted su***de.
When Betty Anne learned what had happened, she made him a promise.
"I'm going to law school," she told him. "I'm going to get you out."
Kenny looked at his sister—a waitress with only a GED—and didn't believe her. How could he? It seemed impossible.
But Betty Anne meant it.
In 1985, she enrolled in community college. She was in her late twenties, working full-time, raising two sons alone.
She studied at night, brought textbooks to her kids' sporting events, survived on almost no sleep.
Her marriage fell apart under the strain. Her husband couldn't understand her obsession with saving Kenny.
But she kept going.
First, community college. Then a bachelor's degree. Then law school at Roger Williams University in Rhode Island.
It took twelve years.
Twelve years of exhaustion, doubt, and setbacks. Twelve years of putting one foot in front of the other when everyone told her it was hopeless. Twelve years of visiting her brother in prison and promising him she wouldn't give up.
In 1998, Betty Anne Waters passed the bar exam.
She immediately began searching for the evidence from Kenny's case. She learned about DNA testing—a revolutionary new technology that could prove innocence or guilt with scientific certainty.
Blood type matching had been used at Kenny's trial in 1983. But DNA testing could definitively prove whether the blood at the scene was his.
There was just one problem: she needed the physical evidence.
She was told it had been destroyed six years earlier.
Most people would have given up.
Betty Anne refused.
She contacted Barry Scheck at the Innocence Project, a nonprofit organization dedicated to exonerating wrongfully convicted people through DNA testing. She enlisted law school friends. She searched relentlessly.
And then, in 1999, she found it.
A box in the courthouse basement. Evidence with her brother's name on it. The knife used in the murder. Pieces of cloth with blood samples.
Betty Anne obtained a court order to preserve the evidence for DNA testing.
In 2000, she and the Innocence Project reached an agreement with the Middlesex County District Attorney's office to allow testing.
The results came back.
The blood at the scene was not Kenny's.
Kenny Waters had spent 18 years in prison for a crime the DNA proved he didn't commit.
But the fight wasn't over. District Attorney Martha Coakley refused to vacate the conviction, claiming there was still enough evidence to convict him as an accomplice.
Betty Anne and Barry Scheck went back to work. They tracked down the two women who had testified against Kenny—Brenda Marsh and Roseanna Perry.
Both women confessed, tearfully, that they had lied.
Sergeant Nancy Taylor, the police officer who'd arrested Kenny, had coerced them into perjury. She'd threatened them, manipulated them, pressured them to claim Kenny had confessed.
It had all been a lie.
And on March 15, 2001, Kenneth Waters walked free.
"Kenny had the best six months of his life," Betty Anne later said. "After so many years behind bars, the world was new to him."
He reconnected with his daughter. He spent time with his sister and nephews. He got his first cell phone and was fascinated by it. He experienced freedom—real freedom—for the first time in nearly two decades.
But Kenny also struggled. He battled anxiety attacks. Prison had left deep scars.
On September 6, 2001, Kenny had dinner with his mother. Afterward, he was walking to his brother's house in Middletown, Rhode Island.
He decided to take a shortcut. To get there faster, he tried to climb over a 15-foot wall.
He fell.
Kenny fractured his skull. He was found bleeding and unconscious. Betty Anne rushed to Rhode Island Hospital and stayed by his bedside.
On September 19, 2001—six months after walking out of prison—Kenneth Waters died.
He was 47 years old.
The brother Betty Anne had spent 18 years fighting to save was gone.
But she didn't stop fighting for him.
Betty Anne filed a federal civil rights lawsuit against the town of Ayer, Police Chief Philip Connors, and Officer Nancy Taylor-Harris. The suit alleged that police had coerced false testimony and withheld exculpatory evidence.
In 2009, the court awarded Kenneth Waters' estate $3.4 million in settlements, plus additional damages totaling roughly $1,000 for every day Kenny had spent wrongfully imprisoned—over $10 million total.
Nancy Taylor and the police chief accepted early retirement.
Betty Anne continued working with the Innocence Project to prevent other wrongful convictions. In 2010, her story became a major motion picture, Conviction, starring Hilary Swank.
Kenny never got to live the full life he fought so hard to reclaim.
But through Betty Anne's unwavering love and determination, the world learned his story.
She proved that the justice system can be wrong. That innocent people do go to prison. That sometimes, the only person who will fight for justice is someone who loves you enough to spend 18 years of their life saving yours.
Betty Anne Waters was told it was impossible. A high school dropout couldn't become a lawyer. One person couldn't overturn a murder conviction.
She proved them all wrong.
Because Kenny was her brother. And she'd made him a promise.
Betty Anne Waters: 1954-present
She went to law school to save her brother. It took 18 years. She did it.
