Murder Mystery: The Color Purple

The vehicle knocked her to the ground twice, the man driving over her before accelerating away, leaving her crushed body behind. In the darkness of that Mount Magazine night, she crawled toward a light. She reached the window of Cabin No. 9, pulling herself up over its ledge. Maybe, just maybe, at that one moment, she would be seen. Then she fell back unconscious onto the cold concrete porch.

 

The stillness of that night, April 7, 2012, would quickly burst apart as help arrived in response to the call made from the cabin. The woman’s body was so bloody it was at first difficult to understand what had happened to her. — that is, until the trail her struggle left took law enforcement to the crime scene. Pools of her blood were punctuated with pieces of the glasses she had been wearing and the cell phone she had been holding. Her shoes were there, too, and they spoke loudly. When a person is struck by the force of a vehicle, it is not uncommon for them to be literally knocked out of their shoes.

 

A suspect was found, too, parked at the visitors’ center in a Chevrolet Silverado with extensive front-end damage. Despite his inebriation, the man was coherent enough to share his version of events: He and the woman had an argument. He got in his truck to leave, but she stood in front of it to stop him. Attempting to drive around her, he struck a cedar tree instead. True, the tree was a goner, but his story did not make for a move-on-down-road situation. Milton Webb, the husband of the woman being put on a Med Flight, was now the guest of law enforcement.

 

Their marriage was not one of consistent physical abuse, although he had lost control twice before, headbutting and backhanding her. After each episode, he seemed to want to make things right. That, however, did not include relinquishing the emotional and economic abuse he used to control her in the marriage.

 

Just a week earlier, Laura Webb stepped out of their usual dynamic, having spoken up for herself when confronted. Now, on this getaway, she had not expected his anger to resurface, to intensify with each drink he took. He threatened to divorce her. This time, 10 years in, that sounded just fine to her, a fact she stated. There would now be hell to pay for her speaking up once more.

 

 

Laura later told media she coded three times that night, meaning her heart stopped and she was resuscitated. One lung collapsed, and both kidneys shut down. Her right ribcage was reconstructed with titanium plates secured by 32 screws. She would endure years of surgeries and rehabilitation.

 

Milton was charged with third-degree domestic battery, first offense, and he served 90 days. Then he sued her for alimony. It was because of her, he reasoned, that he had lost his job as a federal law enforcement officer; therefore, she owed him.

 

Laura was not done yet. Her spirit would prove to be stronger than the titanium within her. Three years later, she and her ally, now former state Rep. Charlotte Douglas, watched as then-Gov. Asa Hutchinson signed legislation for which the two had advocated. Thereafter, law enforcement would give victims what is called Laura’s Card, literally a card that informs them of their legal rights, as well as providing a list of resources for assistance. Notably, the card is purple, representing the ribbon used to raise awareness of domestic violence, a cause highlighted in October.

 

 

Also enacted that day was Laura’s Law, which is an on-site series of questions asked by law enforcement to assess how dangerous a victim’s situation is. The law was not named for Webb but rather for another Laura, a young woman who did not live to see it implemented.

 

In 2011, at a Berryville birthday party, the sweet, happy Laura Aceves met Victor Acuna-Sanchez. She did not know of his reputation for violence and, in a tactic common among abusers, he immediately love-bombed her. Within weeks, they were a couple.

 

 

Theirs was not a love story, as Aceves would soon find out. During their time together — and apart — his unrelenting abuse often reached the extreme, beating her with a baseball bat or dragging her behind his car. She would try to leave him, but as she told her mother, she believed he would make her pay for that.

 

In addition to constant physical and emotional abuse, he damaged or destroyed anything that could enable her leaving, including her driver’s license, her Social Security card and her birth certificate, as well as her personal belongings.

 

“She was so exhausted. Every time, he would ruin her things, and she had to start over. She didn’t have much money,” her mother said.

 

In early 2012, Aceves filed a restraining order against Acuna-Sanchez, and subsequent no-contact orders followed as he again came for her. That September, he strangled Aceves until she blacked out. Before Thanksgiving, he had bailed out after his arrest for aggravated assault and hunted her down again.

 

Aceves had moved to a road leading out of town, trying to get as far away as she could.

 

“It wasn’t enough,” her mother said.

 

 

On New Year’s Eve, police arrived on the scene where Aceves, 21, was pronounced dead, killed by a .22 caliber gunshot wound to the head. Lying beside her, unharmed, was her blood-soaked 4-month-old baby — his baby.

 

In possession of a .22 caliber weapon, Acuna-Sanchez was found hiding in the shower of his mother’s house. In his pocket were 39 bullets and the key to Laura’s door. He had kept the only promise he made to her — that he would kill her if she ever tried to leave him. She was so close to doing that, having finally saved enough money to move out of state.

 

Two years later, Acuna-Sanchez pleaded guilty to first-degree murder. He said killing Aceves was a “mistake”.

 

“Putting a gun to the back of someone’s head and pulling the trigger is not a mistake. It is a brutal, heinous, selfish crime,” Judge Jay Finch replied before sentencing the 20-year-old to 25 years, less two years of time served.

 

Seventy percent of his sentence has to be served before he is eligible for release. The math shows that in less than five years from now, Acuna-Sanchez could join Milton Webb and many other abusers — known and unknown — back in the community.

 

Domestic violence in Arkansas is a problem without progress. According to the World Population Review, more than 48 percent of the state’s women have been or are abused, almost twice the national average. Aceves moved to the road out of town, hoping to be safe. In spring, that road is poignantly lined with purple flowers. For Webb, Aceves and many, many other women, purple has not just been the color of flowers but of bruises, some of which heal and some which never get the chance.

 

SEE THE FEATURE BELOW AND IN OUR OCTOBER 2026 ISSUE OF AY MAGAZINE