November 1993
There were two bodies in that cabin at the end of Hollow Lane. Both had been shot. The coroner estimated they had been dead for two to three days. They were both shot in the back of the head execution style. Their arms and legs had deep bruises indicating they were tied up before they were shot. There was no sign of struggle, no sign that a robbery had taken place other than their wallets and identification were missing. But Booger knew who they were the second he saw them.
“Barney Jacobs and Jim Latham were involved in the disappearance of Abby Wilkinson. I’m certain of it,” Booger told his two deputies, Earl and Jed. “I’m equally certain they were killed to keep them quiet. There are at least two men that can help us, both, I believe, know what happened to Abby. That’s Charlie Baker and Kerry Johnson. We need to get out to the carnival and pick them up,” Booger said.
“Booger,” Earl said. “Didn’t the mayor and Judge Taylor tell you to leave the carnival alone?”
“Well, let me ask you, Earl, what do you think Mr. and Mrs. Wilkinson would want me to do if I had a suspicion that someone working at that carnival knew exactly what happened to their daughter?” Booger didn’t wait for an answer. “Well, I know what they would want me to do, and I’m going to do it. If either of you doesn’t want to come along or are too afraid for your jobs to do the right thing, then I’ll go alone.”
Earl and Jed shook their heads, and a few minutes later, all three of them were on their way to the carnival grounds, sirens blazing.
When they arrived, much of the carnival had been broken down, boxed up and loaded into trucks. The carnival was moving to another town.
“Where’s Charlie Baker?” Booger said when he saw Bryan Fischer directing some of the workers loading trucks.
“I don’t know, Detective. I haven’t seen him. I believe his name is on the work assignment sheet outside Dudley’s office. You might check that.”
Booger worked his way back to Dudley’s office. When he got there, the work assignment sheet was gone.
“I want both of you to go in different directions. Look everywhere. If you see either Charlie Baker or Kerry Johnson, detain them and give me a call,” Booger said to his deputies.
As Earl and Jed took off, Booger opened the door to Dudley Brown’s office and walked in. Dudley was sitting at his desk.
“You know, Detective, it is customary to knock on the door before you barge in,” Dudley said.
“Mr. Brown, did you know that two of your workers were found dead in a cabin a few miles away from here?”
“Is that so? Who were they?”
“Jim Latham and Barney Jacobs,” Booger said, looking for some sort of reaction on Dudley’s face. There was none.
“Well, that’s too bad, Detective. But they aren’t employees of the carnival anymore. They quit several days ago. Both took off without saying a word.”
“Aren’t you curious how they died, Mr. Brown?”
“Not really, but if it makes you feel better, Detective, go ahead and tell me.”
“They were murdered execution-style, one bullet each in the back of the head.”
“Is that so, Detective? I guess they must have run up against some bad people. Got any clues who may have done it?”
“No, but I’ve got my suspicion that it was somebody that knew them, somebody, they trusted.”
“Why’s that, Detective?”
“There was no struggle. No one broke in. I think whoever killed them, they let into the cabin because they knew them.”
“That’s an interesting theory, Detective. So, why are you here other than to tell me about the deaths of two ex-employees who I barely knew and who, quite frankly, I don’t give a crap about?”
“Well, Mr. Brown, let me tell you about my other theory. Maybe that will enlighten you about why I’m here. I believe Barney Jacobs and Jim Latham left the carnival because someone here told them to. I believe they were told to hide out in that cabin and wait until someone came to get them. That person or people killed them. I think they were killed because they knew something about Abby Wilkinson’s disappearance. I think there are others at this carnival that also know about the little girl’s disappearance. And I intend to find out what happened to her.”
“Forgive me if I am wrong, but didn’t the mayor and Judge Taylor tell you to leave the Fischer Family carnival alone. I doubt you’d be able to talk Judge Taylor into signing another search warrant, and without the warrant, Detective, I’m afraid that I’m going to have to ask you to leave. We’re very busy now getting ready to move the carnival to our next town.”
“I understand, Mr. Brown. But I’m not here to conduct a search. I want to speak to two of your employees concerning some previous troubles that showed up when we ran their fingerprints.”
“Who’s that, Detective?”
“Kerry Johnson and Charlie Baker.”
Dudley laughed. “Today just isn’t your day, Detective. Both Kerry Johnson and Charlie Baker are gone the day after you brought them into the police station, I believe. Hell, they didn’t even pick up their last paycheck. They were in such a hurry to get out of here.”
“I don’t suppose you know where they went, Mr. Brown?”
“No, they just left, no warning, no goodbyes. They just walked off. You’re welcome to go looking for them, though. Unless they hitched a ride, they couldn’t have got very far on foot. But, then again, you don’t know what direction they took, and there’s some pretty dense woods around here. Come to think of it, they might be a little difficult to find,” Dudley said with a smile never leaving his face.
“Mr. Brown, just one more question before I go. Do you or one of your workers own an ATV?”
“No, I don’t. I can’t speak about the workers. I don’t keep track of what they own.”
Booger turned around and left Dudley’s office without saying a word. It was that meeting in the office that made Booger certain that Dudley Brown was somehow involved in the disappearance of Abby Wilkinson. But he had to get another search warrant, this time for Dudley Brown’s trailer. He had to convince Judge Taylor that Abby Wilkinson was abducted by people working for Dudley Brown. He had to convince him that searching his trailer might provide evidence of what happened to the Wilkinson girl.
Outside Dudley’s office, he got on his walkie-talkie. “Earl, Jed, come in.”
“Yes, Booger, this is Earl. I haven’t seen Charlie or Kerry.”
“Me either,” Jed chimed in.
“That’s OK, meet me back at the office. I need to go see Judge Taylor for a few minutes, and then I’ll meet both of you there.”
“OK, Booger.”
Booger drove straight to the courthouse. He ran up the courthouse steps, took the elevator to the fourth floor and hurried to the judge’s office. The judge’s clerk, Norma Watson, a heavy-set lady with short pre-mature graying hair in her late thirties, stopped him before he could enter the judge’s chamber.
“Booger, you know you can’t go in there without an appointment.”
“I need to see him, Norma. It’s an emergency.”
“OK, but wait here while I tell him you’re here.”
She knocked on the door. Then as she opened it to go inside, Booger slid behind her and walked into the judge’s chamber.
“I need to talk to you, Judge,” Booger said with a tone of urgency.
“I’m sorry, Judge, I tried to stop him,” Norma said apologetically.
“It’s OK, Norma,” the judge told her. “Shut the door behind you, please.”
Once the door was shut, the judge’s demeanor changed. He gave Booger a stern look and pointed his finger at him. “Damn it, Booger. I’ve had just about all that I can take of you. You’re walking on thin ice, boy. Don’t ever barge into my office again without an appointment. Now, what the hell do you want?”
“Judge, I need a search warrant for Dudley Brown’s trailer.”
Before he could say another word, the judge jumped to his feet. “I told you, and the mayor told you to stop harassing that carnival. Are you deaf, or do you have rocks in your head? There is no way in hell that I’m going to give you another search warrant.”
“Judge, just listen to me a second. We found two more employees of that circus murdered last night in a cabin off Hollow Lane. They were shot in the back of their heads, execution style. There was no sign of a break-in or robbery. They were two of the four men that refused to give us fingerprints. They had acted suspiciously in our initial interviews of the carnival workers. When we went to serve your court order to get fingerprints, they were gone.”
“So, what proof do you have that someone working at the carnival was involved in their murders?” the judge asked, still with a stern look on his face.
“None yet, Judge, but listen to this. I just went out to the carnival to talk to the other two men that were on the warrant to be fingerprinted. I was told they have left the carnival too.”
“Damn it, Booger. The mayor and I expressly told you to leave the workers at that carnival alone. You were to stay away from the carnival grounds altogether. For God’s sake, man, you must have rocks in your head. Their lawyers have threatened the city with a harassment lawsuit. You lied to me to get that search warrant. If the city goes to court, there is no way we can win, thanks to you. Now you go out, despite being ordered not to and shake the hornet’s nest one more time. Get the fuck out of my office.”
Booger understood the politics of small towns. His entire life, since after high school, he had worked on small town police forces. They all were the same. They preferred that crime be swept under the rug rather than get any publicity. They were worried about their image. They were worried about lawsuits. They didn’t want to make waves.
But this was different. A young girl, a local girl from a well-respected family, had disappeared. The community was in shock. They were outraged. The mayor, the city council, and the judge should be supporting every effort he made to find her abductors. But they were trying to stop him because they were worried about a lawsuit. It just didn’t make sense, Booger thought to himself.
“Booger, come in,” a voice on the walkie-talkie said. “Booger, this is Berth. You need to come to the office right away. The mayor is here. He wants to see you now.”
“OK, Berth. I’m on the way,” Booger replied.
He knew what it was about. Either Dudley Brown or his lawyers called the mayor, or perhaps it was Judge Taylor. Either way, he knew his meeting with the mayor was not going to be a cordial one.
As soon as Booger walked into the police station, he could tell by the look on Berth’s face that the shit had already hit the fan.
“He’s in your office, Booger,” Berth said with a worried look on her face. Earl and Jed were seated at their desks, heads down. They didn’t even turn to look Booger in the face.
“Thanks, Berth,” Booger said.
Booger opened his office door. The mayor was seated in Booger’s chair at his desk. He stood up as soon as Booger walked in.
“What can I do for you, Mayor Tanner?” Booger said.
“Shut the door, Detective,” the mayor said with a loud, angry tone.
As soon as the door shut, the mayor began shouting. Booger could see his neck veins expand and his face turn a deep shade of red as his anger erupted. “Detective, I thought I was very clear to you before that I wanted you to leave Dudley Brown and the rest of his employees alone. In fact, I thought you understood that was an order. You had already created this city irrevocable damage by opening us to a lawsuit by lying to Judge Taylor to get the warrant. Now I hear that you have gone back to the carnival to harass Dudley Brown some more. Are you deaf or just stupid, or maybe you’re on some sort of mission to drive Connorville into a lawsuit we can’t possibly win.”
“Mayor, there is a reason why I went to see Mr. Brown. The two bodies that were found in the cabin just outside of town were two of his employees. I just had some questions I wanted to ask,” Booger said.
“No, I talked to Mr. Brown. Those men found were ex-employees, and it’s my understanding that their deaths were a result of a robbery,” the mayor said.
“Where did you hear that, mayor? The crime scene is barely warm. We haven’t even had time to process the evidence. But when we do, I’m convinced that what happened in that cabin had nothing to do with a robbery.” Booger started to say more, but the mayor cut him off.
“Damn it, Detective. Just a few minutes ago, I got a phone call from Judge Taylor saying you barged into his chambers demanding a search warrant for Dudley Brown’s home. I know that you are new to our police force, and I don’t know if you were able to get by with this sort of crap when you were on the Branson police force, but we are sure as hell not going to let you get by with lying and intimidation in Connorville.”
“I’ve never lied, mayor, and I’m getting pretty sick and tired of you and the judge accusing me of it.”
“Detective, I’ve already spoken with the city council, and they agree with me that we no longer need your services. I want your badge, gun and keys.”
Booger tried to defend himself but was stopped immediately.
“There is nothing that you can say that will change our minds. I want you out of here immediately. Pack up your personal things and get out.”
Booger pulled out his police shield, gun and keys and sat them down on the desk. “Mayor, I don’t give a fuck what you or the judge or the rest of the city council think about me. But I’m telling you that the Wilkinson girl was taken by carnival workers, and Dudley Brown is behind it. He knows where that girl is, and so do others. Two of them were murdered in that cabin. If you don’t grow some balls and stop that carnival from leaving, Abby Wilkinson may never be found.”
Then he walked out of his office, hugged Berth and walked out of the police station. He didn’t say a word to Earl and Jed. They were still sitting at their desks with their heads down when he left.
Booger walked from the police station to the apartment he rented in Connorville, which was about a mile away. He stopped at a liquor store two blocks from his apartment for a fifth of Old Crow and a package of beef jerky. That would be his dinner that night.
He hadn’t had quality drinking time for a while. But now he had plenty of time. Connorville wasn’t the town he planned on settling in any way. That was why he moved into an apartment. That was why he didn’t sign a long-term lease. In the back of his mind, he never really thought things would work out there. He was too stubborn. He was too much of a loner. He was never much of a conformist.
Ever since his wife died five years ago, he told himself he was comfortable being alone. He had no real friends and hadn’t had any relationship that had lasted more then a few days since his wife’s death. It’s not that he didn’t miss having someone to come home to. He did. But no one could replace Nancy. They were married thirteen years before cancer claimed her life at the age of thirty-five. They had no children. They had always planned on having children someday, but both had careers they were building. Someday kept being put off. Then came Nancy’s diagnosis. She had breast cancer. The doctors thought they had caught it in time. Nancy was a nurse at Branson Memorial Hospital. She had the best of care. But it didn’t help.
The night of his wife’s death was the first drinking binge that Booger had ever been on. He drank for three days straight. There would be many more binges after that. Nancy wanted her body to be given to a medical school. Booger couldn’t even bury her. He had no place to visit her. Losing Nancy sent Booger into a downhill spiral. One warning after another from his supervisor eventually resulted in the loss of his job.
When Connorville offered him the detective job, he felt it was a new start for him. His drinking slowed, and his life had a purpose again. Now all that was over. Depression fueled his drinking, and his drinking intensified the depression. Three weeks after losing his job, Booger moved out of his apartment and to another apartment in Cape Girardeau, a larger town where no one knew him, a town with an abundance of small, quiet neighborhood bars where he could waste away his evenings alone and unbothered.
In Cape Girardeau, no one knew him. He could escape his past. Booger was never the type of person to feel sorry for himself. He wasn’t emotional. The last time he cried was just after Nancy passed away. He had no time or compassion for people that blamed others for their troubles or felt sorry for themselves.
He was completely comfortable being alone. As long as he had enough money to pay his rent and drink his Old Crow, he was fine. And money wasn’t a problem for him. He had lived a frugal life. When his wife died, he sold the house they had been living in. It was paid off and provided him a decent nest egg. That, combined with the small pension he got from his years on the Branson police force, would get him by for several more years.
So, he spent his time doing what he wanted to do. He read books, lots of books, classics, mysteries, and every Stephen King novel. Nancy loved to read. They didn’t even have a television set while they were married. She curled up at night on the sofa reading everything, anything.
Booger used to tell her, “You’re the smartest person I know.”
And Nancy always replied, “You’re the best man I know.”
They were married, and they were best friends and more than that, they respected each other more than anyone else they knew.
Booger’s job required long hours. He often came home late. Nancy would always be waiting for him on that sofa reading. He read sometimes, but not often. He just didn’t have time for it. Now he had the time to read. Now he understood why Nancy enjoyed it so much. Each novel took him on a new, exciting adventure.
Every evening he went to the local Waffle House diner to eat supper. Usually, fried eggs, hash brown and rye toast with grape jelly. Sometimes, though, he ordered the chili cheeseburger and waffle fries. He always washed it down with a hot cup of black coffee.
After his meal, he went to Mike’s Tavern, just a couple of blocks from his apartment. He walked there. It was good exercise to walk off a greasy meal. Besides, he didn’t want to chance driving his car after an evening at Mike’s.
Booger drank a lot but never seemed to show it. He didn’t slur his words. He didn’t stumble. He acted perfectly sober, but he wasn’t. The walk home when Mike’s closed helped sober him up.
Days turned into weeks, weeks into years. Booger’s life was wasting away. He told himself that he was living life exactly the way he wanted to. He had lied to himself ever since Nancy passed away. She gave his life meaning. Now he was just existing.
Most of the regulars at Mike’s were friendly to Booger. They said hello when he came in and goodbye when he left. At one time or another, all of them had attempted to have meaningful conversations with him. None of them were successful. They all eventually came to accept that he wanted to be left alone. It was a feeling they all understood. The regular customers of Mike’s tavern were all down on their luck. Most were loners. Most wanted to be left alone. Most were hiding from something.
Mike’s was the perfect bar for Booger. He felt comfortable there. It was, for the most part, a quiet neighborhood tavern. Friday and Saturday nights were the exceptions. On those nights, a small country band played in the corner of the bar starting at 9pm. Crowds of strangers began coming in around 8pm those nights. The quiet little neighborhood bar turned loud on Friday and Saturday nights. On those nights, Booger spent the evening at the Waffle House. He brought a book, sat in a booth in the corner, read and drank coffee, lots of coffee.
Linda, a thin, blond-haired woman in her mid-thirties, worked those nights. “You want a refill, sweetie,” she said.
“Sure, fill it up,” he replied.
She smiled and poured another cup. Her smile was a little softer, a little longer, and a little more enthusiastic with Booger than most of her other customers. He could tell that she liked him. There were times when the diner was slow that Linda would sit down across from him. They would talk, not about anything in particular, but they enjoyed each other’s company. He discovered from their conversations that she was divorced with two children. She worked long hours to support her family.
Booger had many opportunities to take his relationship with Linda to a different level. He chose not to. Not that he wasn’t tempted. He was. But he just didn’t want to complicate his life.
Linda never filled Booger’s coffee cup completely full. She left room for him to mix in a little bit of Old Crown. He carried a pint in the pocket of his jacket. She asked him about it one time.
“I hate the taste of coffee,” he said. “The whiskey makes it tolerable.”
“Maybe you should just drink the whiskey then,” she replied.
“Well, then there wouldn’t be any need for me to come in here, and I’d miss your smiling face.”
That comment made her laugh. It also gave her hope that someday they might become more than casual friends. But she knew nothing about Booger. He never talked about himself or his past. She tried to get him to open up, but he would always steer the conversation to something else. All she knew about him was what her heart told her. He was a strong, kind and gentle man. He was the type of man she needed in her life.
Linda worked the graveyard shift on Friday and Saturday nights. She got off at 5am. Booger always stayed until her shift ended. He told her it was because he had no place better to be. But the real reason was that he enjoyed her company and he cared for her. The diner had been robbed on several occasions, always in the middle of the night. Booger wanted to make sure she was safe. He was a protector. He had always been that way.
It was a cold December night, four days before Christmas, when the diner would be robbed again. It was nearly 3am. Booger was sitting in his booth, back to the wall and facing the front door. There were only three people in the diner, Booger, Linda and Chuck, the cook. Chuck was an older man on the downside of sixty. He had been a cook at the Waffle House for nearly ten years.
Snow was falling, and frost on the diner’s windows made it impossible to see the two men wearing ski masks as they exited their car in a dark corner of the parking lot.
They had been watching the Waffle House for some time, waiting for the right time, waiting for the last customers to leave. They never saw Booger. He was hidden in the last booth, the one out of sight from the windows and front door.
They rushed in the front door, pointing their guns at Chuck, who was cleaning the grill just behind the counter.
“Open the register, old man. Put all the money in a bag.”
When they saw Linda a few feet away cleaning tables, they ordered her to get behind the counter.
“Get down on the ground Lady, face down with your hands on the back of your head.”
They never saw Booger. They had assumed the diner was empty, that all the customers had left. The customer’s cars were gone in the parking lot. They didn’t account for the one customer that didn’t drive to the diner.
Chuck opened the cash register, took out all the bills and put them in a paper bag. “Here, take it and leave,” he said, handing the bag to one of the men.
“Is that all there is, old man?” one of the men said. “Where’s the safe?”
“It’s in the office but it won’t do you any good,” Chuck said. “I don’t know the combination.”
The larger of the two men grabbed Chuck and hit him in the face with the butt of his pistol.
“Let’s give it a try, old man,” he said, pushing him into the back office.
One of the robbers stood over Linda with his gun pointed at her while the other followed Chuck into the office.
With their attention concentrated behind the counter and in the office, Booger lifted the gun he carried out of his shoulder harness and moved to the end of the counter, keeping low so he wouldn’t be spotted.
The sound of a single shot made him jump up and react. He pointed the gun directly at the man standing just above Linda. “Drop your gun, son. I don’t want to shoot you,” he said.
The sight of Booger standing twelve feet away surprised both men.
They reacted. Six shots were fired. In all his years as a policeman, he had never fired his pistol. He had never shot anyone. That night he killed two teenage boys. He didn’t know that until later.
“They seemed much older,” he would say.
Chuck Raymond died that night too. The bullet that took his life was fired into the back of his head because he couldn’t open the safe.
The news reports of the crime would tell the story of two desperate seventeen-year old boys that had been abandoned, living on the streets and resorting to robbery to get their next fix of heroin. They murdered an old man just trying to get by for $26.00, the amount of money in the cash register that night.
The publicity that Booger got was unwanted. His name and picture were in the paper and on the local news. It was the same news channel that the residents of Connorville got. It was the same news channel that Ron and Jane Wilkinson were watching when the news report of the crime first aired.
Three days later, Booger was sitting at his favorite table in a dark corner of Mike’s tavern. It was a Tuesday night. Only a handful of regular customers were inside when the front door opened, and a stranger entered. He walked to the bar, ordered a cup of black coffee and asked, “Do you know Booger McLain?”
The bartender smiled and pointed, “He’s right over there.”
Booger watched as the man, older with graying hair, walked toward him. He looked familiar, but Booger couldn’t place where he had seen him before. When he reached the table where Booger was seated, he held out his hand. “Are you Booger McLain?” he asked.
“Yes, who are you?” Booger replied.
“I’m Ron Wilkinson,” he replied. “My daughter disappeared from a carnival in Connorville in 1993. You investigated the case.”
“That was a long time ago, Mr. Wilkinson. I’m no longer on the police force. I’m retired.”
“I know, Mr. McLain. I just want to talk to you.”
“Sit down, Mr. Wilkinson. Can I get you a drink?”
“No, Mr. McLain.”
“Please call me Booger.”
“Booger, you were the detective that first investigation my daughter’s disappearance.”
“That’s right.”
“I heard rumors after you left Connorville that you thought someone working at that carnival was involved in Abby’s abduction.”
“Yes, I suspected that, but others thought differently. That’s why I was fired.”
“Yeah, I heard that too. Connorville is a small town. No one wants trouble. I suspect you rubbed some people the wrong way. That’s why I came to see you. You seem like a man that isn’t afraid to upset people to get to the truth.”
“Maybe, Mr. Wilkinson, but that approach hasn’t always worked out for me.”
“Booger, may I be blunt?”
“Sure.”
“I think the mayor and Judge Taylor were paid off to fire you and to stop the investigation at the carnival. I also think Abby is alive and living at that carnival today.”
Booger took a long, slow sip of whiskey, put the glass down and looked directly into Ron Wilkinson’s eyes. He had once read that the eyes are a window into a person’s soul, and over the years in law enforcement, he had found that to be true.
If you look deep enough into a person’s eyes, you can tell if they’re lying or if they believe what they are saying, he believed. From what he saw in Ron Wilkinson’s eyes that night, he knew that he believed what he was saying. “What makes you think that, Mr. Wilkinson?”
Ron Wilkinson reached into his coat pocket and pulled out a folded sheet of paper. He unfolded it and handed it to Booger. “Three days ago, I found this letter in my mailbox. There was no stamp and no return address. According to that letter, Abby is living in a trailer at the Fischer Family carnival. She has been there since the night she was abducted. She goes by the name of Beverly.”
“Have you shown this note to anyone else, Mr. Wilkinson?”
“Yes, I contacted the FBI office in Cape Girardeau. They said it was most likely a prank, someone playing a sick joke. They suggested I turn it over to the Connorville police department. I’m not going to do that. The letter says the mayor and judge were paid off to stop the investigation of that carnival. If I show anyone in Connorville this letter, the mayor and judge are probably going to find out.
“That’s when I thought of you. You’re the one person that might take this letter seriously. When I saw your name on television, I knew where I could find you. I went to the Waffle House. They directed me to your apartment complex, and the landlord told me this was the bar you came to at night. That’s how I found you.”
“You know, Mr. Wilkinson, I’m not a detective anymore. I’m retired. Besides, there is a good chance that the letter is just some perverted joke. What about this person that signed the note? Do you have any idea who she is?”
“No, Booger, I’ve never met anyone by the name of Ginger. Booger, I’ll pay you whatever you want. I need you to find my daughter.”