jailhouse snitch that was hidden from
defense lawyers, violating a long-estab-
lished constitutional rule that the pros-
ecution must disclose everything that
is favorable to the defendant, including
evidence that demonstrated that a wit-
ness might not be credible or honest.
In 2010 Josh filed a writ of habeas cor-
pus—an appeal asserting a constitutional
violation—with affidavits from Snow and
his lawyer. Tyler judge Kerry Russell or-
dered a hearing. Ed was as optimistic as
he had been in years. Kim showed up for
the hearing, along with their children and
her parents; all of them thought this was
the answer to their prayers.
At the hearing, lawyers battled over
whether prosecutors had promised
Snow a lighter sentence in exchange
for his testimony against Ed. Snow’s at-
torney testified that there had been just
such a deal, even if it wasn’t in writing
and hadn’t been called a plea bargain: a
violent habitual offender had received
probation in Smith County after testi-
fying for the prosecution, so, logical-
ly, some kind of agreement had been
made. Dobbs maintained that there
hadn’t been any kind of deal—not even
a gentleman’s agreement—and denied
everything else Snow had said.
To Ed’s shock, Judge Russell sided
with the state, finding “no credible evi-
dence that the State had any agreement,
unwritten or otherwise” and turning
down his writ.
Ed had one more shot. All around him
at the Coffield Unit, men were being
freed by post-conviction DNA testing.
Ed felt certain that if all of the evidence
in his case were tested, he would be ex-
onerated. Though he had never received
any help when he had asked for it before,
he tried again, filing another motion for
DNA testing with the court.
Once again, he got no response. The
months drifted into years, and Ed fell
deeper into a pit of despair, angry at
everybody. Every single thing that could
have gone wrong in his life had gone
wrong, he thought. He finally resigned
himself to spending the rest of his days
in prison. He wrote Kim and told her
that maybe it was time she divorced
him and moved on with her life. Bring
the kids every once in a while, he asked,
and make sure they see his mom and
grandmother.
Big E had shifted into survival mode,
cutting off all hope. Only in his cell,behind an iron door, was he still Ed.
He’d lie in the darkness and dream of
his family: Kim, Kyra, and the son he
barely knew.A thousand miles to the north, in
rural southwestern Michigan, a tall,
bearded fireman named Bob Ruff had
troubles of his own. His marriage had
fallen apart, and he was fighting for cus-
tody of his two kids. In his downtime,
Ruff, 32, began listening to a comedy
podcast, whose host would eventual-
ly recommend a true-crime podcast
called Serial, a deep dive into a flawed
murder investigation. In the fall of 2014,
Serial had become one of the most pop-
ular podcasts ever, and Ruff decided to
check it out. He loved the show and soon
became obsessed with it, listening to
episodes over and over, taking notes.
He decided to start his own podcast,
called The Serial Dynasty, and recordedit in a garden shed behind his house.
It was, he would say, like a book club
for Serial fanatics. Ruff was fascinated
with the whole idea of solving crimes,
and he invited listeners to email their
theories. He also interviewed a former
FBI profiler and a false confessions ex-
pert about the case. Ruff, who has a loud,
resonant voice, was not a nuanced host;
he didn’t use a script, just notes, and the
result was emotional and fiery. He began
picking up thousands of new listeners
drawn by his passionate observations.
After episodes, fans would visit his
Facebook page and chime in.
In October 2015 Ruff renamed his
podcast Truth & Justice, set up a Go-
FundMe account, and raised enough
money for an actual studio. Soon he had
more than 100,000 subscribers, whom
he called the Truth & Justice Army. With
a boom in true-crime podcasting, Ruff
decided to change careers. He quit his
job and became a full-time podcaster,
selling ads to pay his salary. By then hehad two new tattoos, large ones on his
forearms: on his left, “Veritas,” Latin
for “truth”; on his right, “Aequitas,” for
“justice.” Now he just needed a case to
investigate, and one of his listeners
emailed about her uncle in Texas, a
former boxer whom she said had been
falsely convicted of two robberies.
His name: Kenneth Snow.
Ruff began investigating and thought
there might be something to the case, so
he traveled to Tyler to get court docu-
ments. He also spoke by phone to Snow,
who told him he’d been released back
in 1998 after he had testified at the trial
of a man named Ed Ates. Snow claimed
that, earlier that year, Dobbs and an FBI
agent had visited him in jail and told
him they were going to put him in a cell
with Ed. If Snow didn’t get a confession,
he’d get 99 years for the robberies; if
he helped, he’d get probation. So Snow
helped. Snow couldn’t be certain that
Ed was innocent, he told Ruff, but he
reaffirmed what he’d said in the affida-
vit: that he’d heard Frances Johnson
say that he attacked Griffin.
Ruff soon found his enthusiasm for
Snow’s case dimming. Some of the
things the inmate told him didn’t pan
out, others couldn’t be checked, and
ultimately there wasn’t a lot Ruff could
do for Snow, who had pleaded guilty.
But Ed was another matter. In Janu-
ary 2016, Ruff, still searching for a wor-
thy case, sent him a letter. “My name is
Bob Ruff,” he wrote. “I have a podcast,
and I think I can help you.”
By this point Big E was almost com-
pletely isolated from the free world.
He’d had half his life taken—and all of
his family. His father had died early in
Ed’s time in prison, his grandmother
had followed in 2014, and he hadn’t talk-
ed with his mother or his brother in a
couple of years. Ever since Ed had urged
Kim to divorce him, she had retreat-
ed from him as well. She had stopped
writing letters and gone ahead and filed
divorce papers. She visited only once
a year, on Father’s Day, bringing Kyra.
Zach, by then a moody adolescent, had
ceased coming altogether.
Ed had been scammed once before
by someone who offered to help get him
out of prison, and he didn’t trust anyone
on the outside anyway. He threw Ruff ’s
letter into the trash.
Ruff mailed Ed another letter saying
he just wanted to talk, and he put mon-100 TEXAS MONTHLY
“I BELIEVE YOU’RE
AN INNOCENT MAN,”
RUFF TOLD HIM.
FINALLY, ED BEGAN
TO TELL RUFF
HIS STORY.