A sunny Saturday afternoon, the sort on which anything seems possible. June 2, 2007, was a day of celebration for Kelsey Smith, an excited 18-year-old girl. She slipped into her cherished old car and drove to a local Target store in Overland Park, Kansas, to grab something special.
It was the six-month anniversary of the day she started dating her boyfriend, and she didn’t want to leave anything to chance. But as the sun dropped in the sky, Kelsey disappeared, setting off a frantic search that laid bare holes in laws designed to protect vulnerable young women and revealed a killer’s worst secret.
Her story is not just one of loss. It’s a call to action, and it changed the law and saved lives.
Kelsey Ann Smith was born on May 3, 1989, the third of five children in a close-knit family. Her parents, Greg and Missey, brought up their children in the atmosphere of love and rules, and encouragement that smart little girls who are natural-born athletes require.
Overland Park was their refuge. It was good for Kelsey, the type of girl everyone loved. She was vivacious and kind-hearted. Her love for music inspired her to join the school orchestra, while sports helped keep her active and motivated.
She was an animal lover and aspired to be a veterinarian. Admitted to Kansas State University, she was poised on the brink of new adventures, eager to conquer the world.
Independence defined Kelsey. She saved money from her job to purchase a 1987 Buick Regal, rejecting an offer from her parents for a newer car.
“This is mine,” she’d say, proud of her self-reliance. She found happiness in her boyfriend, John Biersmith. They were young, they loved each other, and there was the future to think about.
On that day, she talked with her mom on the phone as she looked through aisles, inquiring about gift bags. Security cameras later captured her smiling as she paid and left the store at 7:07 p.m.
No one realized a predator was waiting.
And in walked Edwin Roy Hall, a 26-year-old from nearby Olathe. He was the guy next door, at least on the outside: husband, dad, and a man with a job you could count on.
But his history told a darker tale. AROUND THE WAY Born just over the state line in 1980, Edwin survived a rough childhood damaged by abuse and neglect. He was orphaned at a young age and bounced through foster homes, pushing people away with his anger.
He was adopted at 7, but sent back to state care at 15 after violent outbursts that included threatening someone with a knife and hitting another boy with a baseball bat. An adult, he’d put on a mask of normalcy, but inside, the dark simmered.
A day later, the truth was discovered on surveillance video. Edwin walked into Target right behind Kelsey, following her through the aisles like a ghost.
He was dressed in a simple white T-shirt and dark shorts, with his face appearing calm yet focused. He never talked to her in the store. But outside, opportunity struck.
When Kelsey got to her car, he pounced, forcing her inside at gunpoint. Investigators would later reconstruct how he drove her out there, her phone still pinging active signals that might have saved her life.
Kelsey never came home, and panic quickly ensued. John showed up with flowers, but found growing concern in the air. Greg and his older children raced to the mall, where they found that her vehicle had been left in Macy’s parking lot.
The keys were inside. Her belongings were untouched. No evidence of a fight, but something was very wrong.
The police were immediately on hand and questioned the family as well as John, and cleared them all. Forensics discovered an unknown fingerprint on the seat belt buckle, a lead that would eventually become crucial.
The investigation stalled early on. Investigators reasoned that Kelsey’s phone could provide a clue to her whereabouts, but Verizon Wireless was reluctant to share its data.
Privacy laws meant it required a court order before the videos could be released, taking four excruciating days. “We cannot simply turn over user data,” the company said, citing regulations intended to safeguard user privacy.
But in emergencies, seconds count. Volunteers scoured parks, fields, and backroads. Borreto’s case was a case that made the national news, rising to the top even on America’s Most Wanted. Tips came in, but time slipped away.
A breakthrough came on June 6. A neighbor, Kelli Crocker, saw the surveillance footage on television and recognized Edwin Hall as the man who had lived next door.
She also observed his old Chevrolet truck, the one in the Target parking lot video. Police moved fast. On the same day, Verizon at long last released the cell phone pings.
The data reduced Kelsey’s location to a 1.1-mile radius around Longview Lake in Grandview, Mo., some 20 miles from where she had been abducted.
At 1:30 p.m., searchers discovered Kelsey’s body, concealed by underbrush, in thick woods.
The autopsy was heartbreaking. A victim of sexual assault, Kelsey had been strangled with her own belt. Her last moments were sheer terror.
The police arrested Mr. Hall that night as he attempted to flee town with his family. At first, he denied everything, saying that he’d only been shopping.
But his thumbprint had been found on her seat belt. He was accused of kidnapping, rape, aggravated sodomy, and first-degree murder, and could have received the death penalty. Jurisdiction stayed in Kansas, the state where the crime was initiated, although her body was discovered in Missouri.
There was high emotion during the trial. The defense of Edwin painted his troubled youth as an appeal for mercy. But the evidence was overwhelming.
He ultimately admitted to the crime as part of a plea deal to avoid execution. On July 23, 2008, he confessed to spotting Kelsey alone, following her, abducting her at gunpoint, and driving to the woods where she was raped and strangled.
In court, he apologized to the family of Mr. Smith, but no words would ever fill the gap that he created.” He was sentenced to life in prison without the possibility of parole on September 16, 2008, by Judge Peter Ruddick.
Today, Edwin Hall is in Lansing Correctional Facility, his dual existence at last unwound.
Kelsey did not die in vain. The failure to release the data from her phone led to a public outcry across the country. “If we’d known all that sooner, who knows….” Greg Smith said quietly.
The Smiths channeled their grief into action, pushing for a law that would prevent another family from meeting the same fate.
Their efforts resulted in the formation of the Kelsey Smith Act. It was signed into Kansas law on April 17, 2009, by then-Governor Kathleen Sebelius, and it requires telecoms to provide location information to authorities in life-or-death emergencies without waiting for a warrant.
Now, when every second counts, there will be no more red tape.
It was a jolting and deeply wounding event. As of 2021, over two dozen states have enacted similar bills, and countless lives have been saved.
Another example of the technology’s utility was in the recovery of a stolen car with an infant inside, which was found within minutes due to rapid access to GPS data. Kelsey was reunited with her child because of the very law that her mother inspired.
Federal versions of the act have been introduced several times, including in 2021 and 2025, with the aim of extending protection nationwide.
The Smiths never intended for fame. “Kelsey’s legacy is helping people,” Missey said.
Today, they keep her memory alive with the Kelsey’s Army Foundation, an organization that offers support to crime victims and teaches kids how to stay safe.
Greg and Missey visit schools and communities, telling their story while reminding others how quickly the world can be altered.
They turned pain into purpose. Kelsey’s light continues to burn bright, helping lead others out of danger and into the light.
This is gripping because it is real. It is a reminder that the threats are often in plain sight, and evil can be contained only when good comes out strong.
At a time of scrolling screens and overabundant content, journalists must make sure their work is easily accessible. Kelsey’s story still matters. Her light still burns.
It implores us to ensure ourselves before it’s too late, and build for a safer tomorrow. Her tragedy isn’t just remembered; it’s living history.
