When Time Was
By Bobby A. Troutt
Copyright 2011 Bobby A. Troutt
Smashwords Edition
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Table of Contents
*****
When Time Was
My name is Theodore Walker Pierce and I am doing research work on mental health murders and crimes. I am the understudy of Dr. Isabelle Cartworth of the Polk County Mental Health Hospital in Briarwood Hills. It was early one autumn morning in 1970, around 6:30-7:00, when a call came into the station. I saw Detective Byrd leaving his office in a hurry. I asked him if I could go.
He paused for a second and replied, “Sure Toby it might be good for you; your first real crime scene.”
Donald Reed was squirrel hunting in the woods alongside Patterson Road. There was a huge hickory nut tree down by the creek where he had noticed several squirrels playing the other day. Squirrel hunting had been good around Long Pond in Hardin County for the past two years. In fact, there was an abundance of game around there. Donald had two of the best squirrel dogs around; they could tree a squirrel in minutes. That day Donald had seen something in the air, but he couldn’t figure out what it was. He was jumpy and so were the dogs; they were having a hard time keeping their focus on the squirrels. Even the squirrels were restless and he had never seen them like that. Within the misty fog you could hear some squirrels barking and jumping recklessly about the treetops. In the distance you could hear a woodpecker pecking, sending an echo through the woods. Yet, there was a haunting quietness. There were a couple of squirrels nearby so Donald thought he would try his luck. He shot twice, hitting one and missing the other. The other squirrels jumped from limb to limb trying to get away. He shot again, this time he was able to hit the other one. As he reloaded, the dogs brought him his game and as he placed it in his hunting jacket. He looked up and noticed a flock of crows flying recklessly above a cornfield. As they grew louder and louder he knew something was wrong. He went up the hill to check it out as the dogs ran ahead of him. The cornfield lay abundant with dry, parched stalks of corn. Some of the stalks had scattered ears of hard corn still attached with dried out kernels ready for shelling. The ground laid in wait for the harvest as the dried up corn tassels were scattered about the field and waving in the dry air. As he made his way through the rows of corn, he kept one eye on the crows at the end of the field and one of his dogs that were barking up ahead. The fog was moving in from the nearby creek and it laid low at his feet. Finally, he reached a small clearing at the end of the cornfield with tall grass. Suddenly he stopped dead in his tracks. The dogs had stopped barking and were lying quietly in the grass. The crows were still circling and cawing overhead, but not as much. He laid his gun down on the ground and looked into the young lady’s eyes.
“Ma’am are you alright?”
A half naked woman covered in blood was sitting on the ground. In one hand she held tight to a bloody butcher knife. She didn’t say a word; she only stared. She didn’t move or blink an eye. Quickly, he took off running through the field and down toward the hollow to get to the highway. It was still early and there were not many cars, but he was able to flag one car down and told them to get the police. Within a few minutes the Missouri state police, who were nearby, answered the call. Donald filled them in and took them to where she was. Carefully, the policemen approached her as Donald stayed back. One of the officers waved his hand up and down in front of her face. She never moved or batted an eye. The other officer told the others she was probably in shock. The other policeman radioed it in. One of the officers took his handkerchief and eased away the knife. She looked to be between 19-20 years of age. One of the officers stated to the others that she may be in a catatonic state and that was the reason they were not getting a response. Her legs and feet were cut up and bruised; apparently she had been tied up. Her face, legs and arms were full of scratches; it looked like she had run through briars. She was bloody and her hair was matted with blood and leaves. The burns on her neck, wrist and ankles made it appear she had been bound with rope, but escaped. Who was she and where was she running from was the million dollar question. The crime team finally arrived on the scene by way of an old logging road nearby. As they marked off the perimeter, a group of officers were sent out to search the nearby neighboring farms to see what they could find out.
Detective Mike Howard Byrd was in charge of the case. I kept my distance and observed the abrasions on her arms, breasts, legs and back. It looked like they may have been from a belt or heavy rope. They found very little evidence at the scene. It looked like she had been held captive for a while. There were traces of mold in her hair along with spider webs, dirt and blood. Her legs and back also had several insect bites. The dress she was wearing was ripped and hanging off of her. They were not sure if she had been raped. Their main concern was to get her to the hospital. As they carefully loaded her into the ambulance, Detective Byrd turned and looked at her. He saw one tear running from her eyes. He began to choke up but he promised her he’d find out the truth. As the ambulance eased out, Detective Byrd had the area searched once again but found nothing.
About that time one of the officers radioed in and said, “We may have found something.”
Detective Byrd replied back, “We are on the way.”
Meanwhile the ambulance pulled into Polk County Municipal Hospital in Briarwood Hills which was about 50 miles southwest of St. Louis. She was processed through the hospital as a Jane Doe. She was examined; there was no sign of rape or abuse. Considering her catatonic state, she was sent to the psychiatric ward at the hospital for further evaluation. She was placed under the care of Dr. Isabelle Cartworth.
About the same time Detective Byrd, the other officers and I arrived at a house on Carolyn Lane. The house sat back from the road with a neighboring house nearby. It was a split level house with a basement. The white weather boarded house was tarnished with a dull gray. It was trimmed in black with black shutters and a small front porch. The grass was tall and the roof needed repair. The air was filled with an eerie screech from a porch swing being moved by the wind. The police had combed the neighborhood, knocking on doors and asking questions. Finally two officers who were helping with the investigation in the neighborhood found what they were looking for at 550 Carolyn Lane. They had knocked on the door of the house but no one answered. Just as they turned to leave, they heard something and turned around. Their eyes caught a man’s face looking out of the basement window. He was crying out for help. They took off running and forced the front door open. As they made their way around in the house, they searched for the basement door.
“Here it is!” yelled one officer.
“Okay,” replied the other, “I’m coming.”
They slowly eased the door open and proceeded down the steps, not knowing what to expect.
“Down here,” cried a voice.
“We’re coming” replied the officers.
They entered the basement and found a young man lying on the floor bleeding and another body that appeared to be dead. As one of the officers went over to help the young man, the other called in for an ambulance. About that time they heard someone calling their names from upstairs. They answered and realized it was Byrd. Byrd and I went to the basement while the other officers searched the house. The neighbors had started gathering outside in the yard.
“What have we got?” questioned Byrd.
As the officers filled him in, I jotted down some notes.
“One is wounded and bleeding,” said one officer. “The other man is dead. According to the name on this letter we found in his pocket he is Ollie McDougal.”
They looked around to see what they could find. Over in the corner they found a mattress, cut ropes, some chains attached to the wall, food, water, a blanket and a pillow. The ambulance finally arrived. The paramedics hurriedly worked on the wounded young man trying to stop the bleeding. Eventually, got him stabilized, loaded him up and took him to the hospital. As they were leaving the crime team moved in and set up. Detective Byrd had made his way back outside and I followed him. He talked to some of the neighbors to see if there were any witnesses to what had happened. A lot of them told him that Ollie stayed to himself a lot and didn’t have much time for anyone except his daughter. They couldn’t believe it had happened so close to home. One neighbor said he was crazy. One man said he had only lived across the street a little over a year and he really didn’t know him. However, he was suspicious of him and tried to warn the neighbors about him, but they didn’t want to listen. They told him he had a slight drinking problem.
“Why don’t you talk to Miss B.,” he said. “She has a crush on him. Hey, Mrs. B. come here and talk to his man.”
At first she started to turn and go the other way, but Byrd motioned for her to come over to him.
“She’s the old busy body in the neighborhood,” warned the other man.
“Okay, sir, I get the picture,” replied Byrd.
“Yes, sir,” she said as she stepped up to him.
“What do you know about Mr. McDougal?” he asked.
“Well not much,” she said. “He was pretty nice to me. It was just him and the girl. I have baked them pies and cakes on several occasions. I live across the street. My husband died several years ago and I get lonely sometimes for some companionship and I think he is cute.”
“Well thank you Mrs. B.,” replied Byrd.
“Oh, one other thing, do you officers have a steady girl?” she asked.
I looked at Byrd and he looked at me; we both smiled and he said, “Yes, I do. If anything happens to her, I’ll let you know.”
She just giggled and said, “Oh, I bet you would be fun company.”
As we were walking away someone yelled, “Detective Byrd, look at this.”
The officer handed him a picture of a man and a pregnant woman standing by a car.
“It must be McDougal and his wife pregnant with the young lady,” said the officer.
“Could be,” replied Byrd.
I quietly listened and continued to take notes.
“Look at the car, it must be a ‘49 Pontiac so that would make the girl around twenty-two years of age,” stated Byrd. “Did she look that old to you?”
“Not really,” replied the officer.
“Maybe they had two children. She could be the youngest,” said Byrd. “Check the plates out on the car and see if you can make them out.”
“No, sir, I don’t believe I can,” replied the officer.
Then he noticed ‘1949 Mitchell, Indiana’ was written on the back of the picture.
“I’ll check it out,” he said.
After interviewing of the neighbors they all agreed that McDougal was a weirdo. One of the neighbors said he thought he was weird from the first day they moved in. That he kept all his windows covered and you could hardly see any lights on in the house at night. Another neighbor stated she had never seen him without her and when the poor child was growing up she didn’t have anyone to play with.
“The other children in the neighborhood shunned away from her,” one man said. “I’ve lived beside them every since they have been here. A few times when I took my trash out, I would pass by his kitchen window and he looked like he was crying. Even though there was a fence between us, I could see him pretty good when I peeped over it. But, he never saw me. I never saw the girl with him.”
Then an old woman spoke up and stated that she was out from time to time walking her dog. A few times when he was checking his mail he looked at her, but turned away when he thought she was looking. A couple of times he raised his hand at her, shot her a bird and laughed. She said she shot him one back and even let her dog use his yard as a bathroom so she had the last laugh.
After speaking with the neighbors, we headed to the hospital to check on the young man since there was not too much concrete evidence discovered at the house.
“It has been a long day,” said Byrd.
I agreed as we hurried to the hospital. When we arrived at the hospital Detective Byrd checked on the young man and then the girl from the cornfield. We entered through the emergency room and Detective Byrd inquired about the young man and the girl. The young man’s name was John Michael Pierce; he was in room 213. The girl’s name was Catherine Joann McDougal. She was in the psychiatric ward. We made our way to the young man’s room. Detective Byrd knocked on the door. A voice from the other side told us to come in. The young man was lying in the bed with a big bandage on his side. He was awake, but weak from the loss of so much blood. Byrd asked him if he could ask him a few questions and the young man told him he could.
“John, I am Detective Byrd and this is Toby. Toby is doing research work on criminal murders.”
“I guess you would like to know what happened,” John said. “I’m not even sure if I know. I met Jody, Catherine as most people call her, when we were freshmen at McKinney College. We became good friends right off. It was so strange; we would hold hands when we were out together having fun.”
“Is she your girlfriend?” asked Byrd.
“Oh, no, it’s nothing like that,” John replied. “We’re just friends and that’s all.”
“Go on,” replied Byrd.
“Everything was fine freshman year. My parents came down to the school and I introduced her to them; they loved her. I’d go over to her house sometimes and that is where I met Mr. Ollie. He was nice at first, a little possessive and a little edgy. Jody had told me her mother died during the birth of her first child. She knew Ollie had never really gotten over it because he talked about her so much. He was strange and weird, but he was good to Jody. Everything was great until one day out of the blue he changed. He was different towards me. He didn’t want me seeing Jody anymore. He did everything he could to keep her busy; she hardly had any free time. About two weeks ago she vanished, disappeared. I couldn’t find her anywhere. I asked Mr. Ollie where she was and he told me she had gone to visit some relatives for a while. But, I didn’t believe that because she would have told me. I started checking around, but no one knew anything. A couple of days later when she hadn’t returned, I got worried and decided to go to her house. I waited for him to leave and snuck in to see what I could find out. As I slowly moved throughout the house, I heard some noises coming from the basement. I cautiously made my way down the stairs. As I stepped off the last step I saw something moving across the room. It was her; it was Jody. She was tied up with rope and had some duct tape across her mouth. I asked her what on earth was going on and if she was alright. She was bound head and foot with nylon rope. I tried to get her loose, but the rope was so knotted up. I took the tape off her mouth and she began crying hysterically. All she kept saying was he was crazy and had lost his mind. I hushed her and told her to be quiet, but she was so upset that she started fighting me. I noticed a butcher knife in a nearby box. Quickly, I grabbed it and started cutting the rope. About that time she screamed. I immediately looked around and Ollie stood at the bottom of the steps. I stood to my feet with the butcher knife still in my hand. Ollie cried out and charged toward me. We began to fight and she screamed. I dropped the knife in the scuffle and he picked it up and stabbed me in the side. I fell to the floor on my knees as I screamed out Jody’s name. She was so messed up she jumped on his back and they wrestled about the room. She was able to get the knife away from him and started stabbing him. Ollie fell to the floor with blood running from his chest and neck. I cried out Jody’s name over and over but she never heard me. She panicked and ran up the stairs and out the back door. That’s about all I remember until the two officers found me.”
“What do you make of it?” I asked Detective Byrd.
“I’m not sure,” he replied.
“Why was he so good to her and then treat her like that?” I asked.
“Who knows,” he said. “There are some strange people out there in this old world.”
“I have never run across a case like this in all my studies,” I said, “what else can happen?”
Detective Byrd told John they would keep in touch and if he thought of anything else to let him know. We left John’s room and went to the psychiatric ward to see the girl. When we got there Dr. Cartworth was with her so we waited. Within a few minutes she came out the door. Byrd told her who we were and that we wanted to ask her some questions and she said that would be fine.
“How can I help,” she asked.
“What do you make of this?” Byrd asked. “What is your professional opinion?”
“She’s still in the catatonic state and it could last anywhere from a short while, months, or even years. And then again she may snap out of it all at once. I don’t know, but apparently she has been through some devastating trauma. I don’t know exactly what she’s been through. But, she sure has been through a lot. It’s not rape or any type of sexual abuse, like you would expect. This is something deeper. She has calmed down and is resting which is a good first step. But, as of right now, that’s about it.”
Detective Byrd handed her his card and asked her to let us know if there was any change. We both agreed that it was a puzzling case; it had too many loose ends. I had read about similar cases before in school. And most of the time when the case started unraveling, the pieces would start to come together within a few days.
John had been released from the hospital. We got to me his parents when they came to pick him up. As we entered his room, he was sitting in a wheelchair waiting for his paperwork.
“Detective Byrd and Toby, this is my dad, John Louis Pierce and my mother, Christine.”
“Glad to meet you,” we replied.
“Nice to meet you,” they said.
Then I thought to myself, my last name is Pierce and my dad’s name is John Louis Pierce also. But, my mother’s name is Evelyn Carol Pierce. Surely, it’s just a coincidence.
“This is such a tragic thing to happen to such a sweet girl,” said Christine. “What on earth would cause Mr. McDougal to do such a thing?”
“In my business you run across a little of everything,” replied Byrd. “I’m glad your son is alright.”
“Do you think Jody will ever come out of it?” John Louis asked.
“I don’t know,” replied Byrd. “We may never find out, but time will tell. Tragic things happen all the time that people recover from.”
“We know,” said Christine. “We lost our daughter several years ago.”
“I don’t think we’ll ever really get over it,” said John Louis.
“I’m sorry to hear that,” replied Byrd.
John interrupted and asked Detective Byrd if he could see Jody before he left.
“I don’t know for sure,” answered Byrd, “but let me see what I can do.”
We all left the room and took the elevator to the psychiatric ward. Byrd talked to the nurse in charge because Dr. Cartworth had gone down to the cafeteria for some coffee. The nurse was hesitant but about that time Dr. Cartworth came up to the nurse’s desk. Byrd explained John’s situation and she agreed to let him see Jody. She was sitting in a chair looking out the window when we went into the room. She never moved or acknowledged we were there. John walked over to her and placed his hand upon her shoulder and started to talk to her about school and the fun things they had done; she never made a sound or moved
“I’m going to pray for you,” he said, “and I want you to pray for me in your own special way. The Lord can get us through this, but you have to be strong and believe,” he said as he kissed her on the forehead. “I’ll be back to see you as soon as I can.”
“Well, that’s enough time for now,” said Dr. Cartworth. “She needs her rest.”
As we all turned to leave and headed for the door, we heard a frail voice from behind us. We turned around and there stood Jody.
“Please don’t go,” she said.
Her eyes were wet with tears. It was an unbelievable sight.
“It’s a miracle from God,” I shouted.
We all ran over and hugged her. But Dr. Cartworth asked us to calm down.
“She’s been through a lot. Let her have some time to collect herself and you all can come back to see her tomorrow.”
As we left that day I couldn’t get over what I had witnessed. One minute she didn’t know a thing and the next she was awake, crying and talking. I couldn’t believe it; prayer does make a difference. Byrd was happy too, but he tried to hide it with a stiff upper lip, so to speak. As we headed back to the station, Byrd had decided to search McDougal’s house again.
“There’s something there but I don’t really know what it is. But, I might find something that will help Jody.”
“Are you going to search it tomorrow?” I asked.
“I believe so,” he answered.
The next day, the crime team, Byrd and I returned to the house on Carolyn Lane. It was still marked off with crime tape. As the team searched the house from top to bottom and in every nook and cranny, they found a trap door in the closet under the steps. There were two boxes filled with old newspaper clippings, souvenirs, pictures and other odds and ends. The officers who found it called for Byrd; he was outside. Byrd came in, eyeballed the content of the boxes and told the officers to put them in his car so he could take them to his office. About then another officer came running in.
“Detective Byrd, I think you need to see this.”
We rushed out to the backyard where the officers had dug up a little section of a small garden. In the shallow grave was a body. Byrd called for an ambulance. He felt confident; he looked at me and told me the pieces were finally coming together. About then an officer came up to Byrd and told him they had found a car covered with a tarp in the shed at the end of the yard.
“Let me look at it,” said Byrd.
When we got there we uncovered the car, a red and white ford fairlane.
“Call in the make, model, and plates,” he said, “then get back with me as soon as you hear who it belongs to.”
“Yes, sir,” answered the officer.
Back at the station the detective and I started going through the two boxes that were found under the steps. Meanwhile, back at the hospital Dr. Cartworth was working with Jody to see if she could recollect anything. John had decided to stay at the college dorm so he could be close to Jody and spend some time with her. His parents understood and left to go back home to Wisconsin.
“Let’s ride over to the hospital and see if Jody can recognize the people in these pictures. We knocked on Dr. Cartworth’s door and she told us to come in. Byrd explained the pictures and what might have happened. He wanted to know if it would be alright for Jody to look at the pictures. She believed it would be okay since she was getting stronger and more stable each day. Dr. Cartworth went in with us to show Jody the pictures.
“Jody, I want to show you some pictures,” she said softly. “I want you to take your time. If you know them, don’t be afraid to tell me. If it gets too hard on you, let me know and we’ll try again later.”
Dr. Cartworth held up the first picture of a single woman.
“Do you know her?”
Jody sat quietly a minute and then nodded her head, yes.
“Who is she?” asked the doctor.
With a trembling lip she answered, “That’s my mother.”
“Are you sure?” the doctor replied.
“That’s what Daddy told me. I never met her,” she said. “She died when I was just a baby.”
“Okay, Jody, that is good. Now look at this picture of these two women and tell me if you know them.”
Slowly, the doctor held the picture up in front of Jody. She stared at the picture for a few minutes.
“That one is Mama, but I don’t know who the other one is. Oh, yes,” she said, that’s Mama’s sister, Aunt Agnes. She was over at the house a while back to see Daddy. Daddy sent me upstairs because they started arguing.”
“Do you know what they were arguing about?” butted in Byrd.
“I don’t remember,” she replied. “But when I went back downstairs, Aunt Agnes was gone and I never saw her again.”
“By the way, Jody, do you remember what kind of car she drove?”
“I believe it was a red and white car; I think.”
“Well that’s enough for now,” the doctor said. “You need to rest for the remainder of the day.”
“Thank you Dr. Cartworth. We’ll be leaving now; thanks for showing her the pictures.”
“Well, that was a great achievement for her to recognize them. Did it help you?” asked the doctor.
“Yes,” replied Byrd, “it will help close the gap.”
On the way back to the station, a call came in on the radio. The red and white ford belonged to Agnes Weems.
We both spoke at the same time, “I bet the body in the garden was Agnes Weems.”
“Are you ready to do some more digging?” asked Byrd.
“You bet,” I replied.
“It is starting to flow and come together now. Unfortunately, it’s going to be a long night.”
“I wonder what his motive was for killing his wife’s sister,” I questioned.
“I’m not sure,” replied Byrd. “But whatever it was he wasn’t going to let her tell it.”
“It had to be something bad or he wouldn’t have gone this far with it,” I said.
“You’re right about that. Ollie had a secret, a lot of secrets.”
We grabbed a quick bite to eat and headed back to the office. We had both talked about it and agreed, if we needed to, we would stay up all night analyzing the things in the two boxes. It was still a little early in the evening when we got back. There were a lot of trinkets and pictures of Jody growing up. As we dug through the things we came across a 1952 article from the Wisconsin Globe Newspaper. It was an article about Rinehart Regional Hospital in Rinehart, Wisconsin just outside of Milwaukee. The hospital was in the red for the last three years because of mismanagement and money missing out of funds. They had two malpractice suits against them, plus two more pending lawsuits against them for cases of neglect. They had been understaffed, over budget and to top it off a child had been abducted from the nursery. In the article, a Detective Stone was mentioned as the person in charge of the missing child case. As I looked up at Byrd I saw a little light go off in his head.
“Was it John’s dad or mother who said they had lost a child, a daughter I believe?”
“Oh, no, Detective Byrd,” I responded. “You don’t think...”
“I do,” he replied. “It’s a long shot but what do we have to lose.”
“Go for it,” I said.
Byrd called the Milwaukee Police Department and asked for Detective Stone. However, he found out Detective Stone had died a few years ago. Byrd told them about the case in Long Pond and that he needed any kind of evidence on the missing girl from Rinehart Regional Hospital in 1952 that he could take a look at. The officer he was talking to remembered the case, but said that Stone’s partner at the time could tell him more than he could.
“Would you ask him to send me the evidence of that case as soon as possible?”
“I’ll tell him first thing in the morning and have him put it in the mail tomorrow.”
“Thank you,” replied Byrd. “I’ll be looking for it.”
“We might have something,” I said.
“We might,” Byrd agreed. “While you fix us a cup of coffee, I’m going to call Rinehart Regional Hospital and ask them to send us any employee records they have for McDougal; that is if he worked there.”
What a case, I thought as I made the coffee and Byrd talked to the hospital. When I returned, Byrd was hanging up the phone.
“This will be a long shot,” he said. “It’s been so long ago. I explained to them and they said they were willing to help. They will be putting any information they have in the mail. Boy this coffee if good,” said Byrd. “You have some more?”
“Plenty,” I replied. “Look at this,” I told Byrd. “You’re not going to believe this.”
“What is it?” asked Byrd. “It’s a suicide letter Ollie had written, but apparently he changed his mind.”
Byrd began to read the note. Ollie stated that his mother died from complications while giving birth to him. He said he was crazy about his daddy, because he was not only his daddy but his best friend. After his daddy died his stepmother took care of him. She would lock him in the closet for hours at a time, day on end, while she entertained her men friends. She would also go out and leave him locked up in the closet until she got back. Because of the death of his daddy and spending time in the closet while he was growing up, he became afraid of the dark and being alone. He kept his guard up at all times. He said he wrote the note because he was going to end his life. But, he didn’t; he couldn’t because he didn’t want to be alone.
I opened up his Bible to the front page and there was a name written with a line through it, Jackie Anne Pierce, and under it was Catherine Joann McDougal. He wrote that he changed her name in 1952 when she was little so she could be named after his mother.
I asked, “Byrd do you think Jackie Anne Pierce and Catherine Joann McDougal is the same person? Didn’t John’s mother say they lost a daughter? Could John and Jody be fraternal twins of John Louis and Christine Pierce? I’m assuming after his wife and daughter died, he was so afraid of being alone that he abducted Jody from the hospital so he could have someone with him.”
“From what we have found out so far, it sure appears that way.”
“Afraid of being alone was his greatest fear and that brought him to his end,” I said.
“Before we take any blood test I want to see what else turns up,” said Byrd. “We don’t want to push Jody back over the edge.”
“You’re right,” I agreed. “She’s been through enough already.”
As the night passed, morning came early. It was a new day that shed a new light on things. Byrd wanted to go over to see Jody. He didn’t want to mention anything about what we had found out. We needed more evidence and a lot less speculation. When we arrived at the hospital, John was already there. He and Jody had been talking and enjoying each other’s company. Byrd asked her if Ollie ever said much about his wife and daughter.
“Oh, that’s all he talked about. It always seemed so sad to me when he talked about her. You could see the hurt and loneliness in his eyes. He told me time and time again that my mother and my sister died from complications at birth. He told me they lived in Mitchell, Indiana. After their death he moved around a lot and wound up at White Rock, Wisconsin where he worked full-time at a factory and part-time as a janitor at White Rock Elementary School. He worked there, I believe he said, for three years and then moved on. Everything about daddy was not bad. There were a lot of nights when I was a little girl that he would hold me and rock me to sleep and sing the Hush Little Baby Don’t You Cry song to me.”
Everyone was quiet as Jody began to sing the words of Hush Little Baby Don’t You Cry.
“There are times I still miss my daddy,” she said when she finished singing.
In a couple of days we received the mail we had been waiting for. First, we received a letter from Rinehart Regional Hospital with a copy of McDougal’s application attached. The hospital stated that he had worked there for two years in the 1950’s. He was a janitor and they never had any trouble out of him. According to his work assignment sheet, he worked on the third floor. The nursery was on the fifth floor at that time. They said he was quite familiar with the hospital because he had volunteered to fill in for others when they were out sick or on vacation. Several times, they noted, he worked on the fifth floor. He was not fired; he quit on his own. As far as we know he was never seen again at the hospital. They did say he failed to turn in his master keys when he quit. We speculated that he may have returned later, used his keys and then took the child out the basement exits where the maintenance and custodial personnel entered and left.
From the paperwork of the internal investigation of the hospital, we found out several things that went on during the abduction. The head nurse in the nursery always snuck off at 2:45 a.m. to meet her boyfriend down the hall in another room. The other nurse on duty always called her friend around the same time. They were sure he had figured out the babies were alone during that time. While the babies were alone he could have very easily taken the child and left without any interference. When the nurses returned, they didn’t see any reason to check on the babies since they were all sound asleep. Both nurses were dismissed. Since he had worked as a janitor, he had access to the equipment. He probably wrapped the baby in blankets, placed her on a cart and wheeled her right out the basement door. There is a slight chance he may have had the key to activate and deactivate the alarms too. They really didn’t know. They said most of the information was speculation but they hoped it was helpful and if we needed anything else to give them a call.
“We may have found out the mystery of the abduction,” said Byrd.
“It’s very convincing,” I replied.
“It seems he had it all worked out.”
We let Dr. Cartworth know what we had found out. She was dumbfounded, speechless. Byrd asked her to take a blood sample from John and Jody to confirm our information. She suggested that while John’s parents were there, she would ask them for a blood sample to make a true comparison. Byrd agreed with the idea. Dr. Cartworth discussed the blood tests with Jody, John and his parents. Detective Byrd also filled the family in on the evidence and the reason for the blood work was to find the missing pieces of the puzzle. Of course, everyone was shocked and elated at the same time. They were crying and hugging like a family reunion at Christmas.
“I can’t believe it,” they all cried.
Detective Byrd said, “Now we don’t know for sure so please let’s not count our chickens before they hatch.”
As the nurse drew blood from each of them, she said it would be a couple of hours before we would know something. Detective Byrd explained the whole story to them while we waited for the results of the tests.
A couple of hours later, Dr. Cartworth came in with the blood tests results. Everybody seemed to be holding their breath and sitting on the edge. Doctor Cartworth began with John and Jody.
“You, my children, are brother and sister. John Louis, you and Christine are their parents.”
I had never heard anything like this in all my life. It was another miracle. What a day, what a day.
“Praise the Lord,” I shouted.
Why, I do believe I even saw some tears in Byrd’s eyes.
“We have so much to be thankful for,” said John, “and a lot of catching up to do.”
But, Dr. Cartworth seemed a little held back. She motioned for Byrd and me to come out into the hallway.
“Dr. Cartworth, is there something wrong?”
“No—yes, I mean sort of,” she replied.
“What is it?” asked Byrd.
“John Louis is not Jody’s biological father,” she explained.
“What!” cried Byrd. “How can that be?”
The police speculation is a lot like the hospital investigation. The police report questioned if the abductor knew the girl was a twin. For some reason or another he was only interested in a girl. Outside the basement door they found some surgical gloves, hair net and face mask that night thrown behind the basement door. But, they could have belonged to anybody. But, there was a spot of blood on the glove that looked like it could have come from a scratch since there was a torn place in the glove. The blood sample was sent off and it came back B-positive. The hair sample was also enclosed. Most of the police report contained general information. It was like a ghost appeared, took the child and left without a sign. There were several brought in for questioning, but there was nothing solid to hold them. They kept running into dead ends. Evidently, McDougal had never been in trouble with the law. He would have been a fine example of a ghost. He had no connection with the child or family; he probably just picked the child at random. Blood type, hair particles, fingerprints and everyday evidence is hard to prove on a ghost.
“Let’s have the blood type from the hospital and the blood type from McDougal and the hair particles checked in our state lab in St. Louis. That will determine if we have found our ghost.”
We gathered the evidence and headed for the lab. It was only an hour and a half drive. Luckily, they were able to process it right away and we didn’t have to wait very long. It was a perfect match, no question about it. We had found our ghost. I looked up at Byrd and he looked so distant; I asked him what was wrong.
He looked at me with a puzzled look on his face and said, “How are we going to tell Jody?”
“We’ll have to think of something sooner or later,” I replied.
We were both quiet during the ride to the hospital. Our last report on Jody was that she was improving daily. When we arrived, we stopped in the hallway and talked with Dr. Cartworth to let her know the results of the tests. She explained fraternal or dizygotic twins happen when the mother releases two eggs, either at the same time or different times during her cycle and different sperm fertilize each egg.
“What are you saying?” said Byrd.
Then she repeated herself, explaining that fraternal twins are two separate eggs fertilized by two separate sperm to form two separate embryos which make two separate babies.
“Are you saying at the time she got pregnant by John she got pregnant by another man,” he stated.
“That’s what I’m saying,” she replied.
“What are we going to do?” I asked. “Are we going to break up their home again?”
“Let’s wait a while,” suggested Dr. Cartworth, “and give it some time and then I’ll have a talk with Catherine. They deserve to have their homecoming.”
“You’re right,” agreed Byrd. “It can wait.”
“That sounds good to me,” I replied.
It had been about three weeks and Jody seemed like she was finally ready to go home with her family. The day that the Pierces came to the hospital to pick her up Dr. Cartworth called Christine into her office to discuss her blood test. I sat across the room finishing up my paper while Dr. Cartworth talked with Christine. She was shocked when she heard the news and started to cry. She told Dr. Cartworth that she and John Louis were having marital problems at the time she conceived. They were talking about a divorce. But, they both agreed on a separation instead. At the time she didn’t know she was pregnant so they went their separate ways. She was alone and lonely; it was hard for her to deal with it. But, she met a man at a bar and they sat and drank. She told him about her situation and he talked about his. He was lost and lonely too since he had lost his wife and baby. She said they left the bar around midnight and went to his motel room. She was so angry and drunk that nothing mattered anymore. When they got there they drank and talked some more. Later on she found out she was pregnant. She completely wiped the one night stand out of her mind. She had blocked it out until now. She and John Louis got back together to save their marriage, home and family. She had never told a sole about this until now.
“What do you think I should do?” she asked Dr. Cartworth.
“Well you’ll have to do what you need to do,” said the doctor. “He does have the right to know. But, now may not be the right time. You’ll know when the right time comes. For now, enjoy your family and be happy for a change.”
“Thank you so much for understanding.”
When Christine left the room I looked at Dr. Cartworth and she looked at me. We were both shaking our heads.
“It can’t be,” she said.
She phoned Detective Byrd to come over and bring the blood work on McDougal.
He asked, “Why, what’s up?”
“I’ll explain it to you when you get here.”
It was long before he arrived with the blood work on McDougal. He couldn’t believe what she suspected. Detective Byrd and I waited. Finally, she came back in her office and handed the results to Byrd. He looked at the test and it confirmed her suspicion; Ollie McDougal was Jody’s real father.
*****
When Time Was
Autumn fell brilliantly this year with its beautiful and radiantly bold colors. They seemed to ballet across the cool autumn sky, painting a picture so pure and true. Late in the evening, you could see the gray smoke mushroom from homes burning wood and coal.
In the far off distance, you could hear the clickety clack of the Illinois-Georgia train crossing the trestle at Slick Rock Creek. Its whistle echoed throughout the hollow as it turned the point and slowly faded away into the tunnel. When the sounds from the train disappeared the air was filled with the sounds of crickets and frogs. As night approached, I found myself in a somber mood.
My name is Chigger. That’s what everyone has called me since I was a child. I got the nickname after I was eaten up by chiggers while picking blackberries. I’m studying my notes for my new book and I can’t help but recall the first night when I was working as a reporter for a small newspaper in Stoney Point, a small community in South Central Kentucky. Stoney Point is about one hundred miles from the Kentucky, Tennessee line and lays lazily about the Shiloh Ridge Mountains. The job at the paper was temporary to earn enough money to support myself.
I’ll never forget that scorching hot summer. It was the summer of ’54 and I was doing research for my new book on the recent murders happening in Stoney Point. There had already been two women killed. My first day on the job, the third body was found.
That night a call came into the sheriff’s office while I was doing some research on a manor not too far from here. There had been another murder. I dropped what I was doing, raced out right behind the officers and followed them to the crime scene. It was pouring down rain and the air was sticky. I was driving a ‘51 Plymouth. My windows were fogged up and the wipers didn’t work very well. As the lights flashed and the sirens haunted the darkness of the night, we sped down Highway 10 around 10:30 p.m.
I had never seen it rain so hard. The drops were so big they sounded like popcorn popping on the hood of my car. Thunder roared like a wretch in the night; lightning ripped through the darkness leaving only obscure shadows in the sky. I mashed the accelerator to the floor as I pushed the old Plymouth to its limits. It was eerily silent when we reached the scene. The place was covered with police. The body was not far from the road in a wooded area with a small creek running through it.
The nude body was lying face down on a small embankment. The sheriff and his deputies surveyed the crime scene and were careful not to tamper with any evidence. I eased down the embankment to get a closer look at the body, but stayed out of the way of the investigators.
She had cuts and bruises on her wrists and ankles. It appeared that she had been tied up and restrained. She was a young girl, about 18 years old, around the same age as the other two victims. They too were found naked, one in an open field a few miles from here on Highway 231 and the other in a barn off the road near the 31E and 231 junctions. It had been determined by the authorities that the girls were not from around here. There was no sign of cars tracks and none of the victims had any form of identification.
“Hey, young man,” the sheriff said startling me.
“Yes, sir,” I answered nervously.
“I need you to get back up on the bank and make room for the coroner.”
I had to look away as they took several photos of the body. The sheriff told the coroner that it looked like the same M-O. The coroner squatted down beside the body and agreed that it sure seemed that way. He took the young girl’s wrists in his hands, carefully evaluated the body and confirmed it was definitely the same killer.
“How long do you think she has been dead?” the sheriff questioned.
“At least twelve hours I’d say, but I won’t know for sure until I get her back to the lab,” replied the coroner.
“Let me know what you find out,” the sheriff requested.
“Okay, boys, take her away,” instructed the coroner.
“Excuse me, Sheriff Puckett,” I said as I raced to catch up with him. “Could you fill me in on what you know so far about the murder cases?”
“Aren’t you that new reporter from California?” he questioned.
“Yes, sir, San Francisco,” I replied. “You can call me Chigger.”
“Chigger,” he laughed. “What kind of a damn name is that?”
“Oh, it’s a childhood nickname that I’ve been stuck with all my life,” I replied.
The sheriff was a short, stocky black man, with a shaved head. He always had an unlit cigar in his mouth. He never smoked the cigars; he just loved to chew on the ends of them.
“So about the murders,” I questioned.
“Well, Chigger,” he said as he put his thumbs in his waistband and pulled up his pants. “All three were young girls between the ages of 17-26. None of them are from around here, hitchhikers I’d say. It is obvious they have all been killed in one place, and then moved to a random location. All three were raped. Their hands were bound with tape and placed over their heads. Their mouths were stuffed with their underwear and taped shut. Each victim had bite marks on their breasts and necks. Their legs were bound together after the rapes in order to move the bodies. Each victim had a quarter under each eyelid. I’m assuming it’s his calling card.”
Before he could finish a deputy interrupted, “Sheriff Puckett, look,” he said. “It’s an empty peanut bag.”
“Where did you find it?”
“Near the body,” the deputy stated.
“Put it with the other evidence,” instructed the sheriff with a puzzled look on his face.
“What’s with the empty peanut bag?”
“Probably nothing,” he replied, “but we’ve found peanut wrappers at the other two scenes.”
“Is there any significance to the peanut bag?” I questioned.
“Honestly, I don’t know,” he said.
“Wasn’t there a series of murdered prostitutes called the Twenty-five Cent Murders that happened in the 1930s?”
“Yeah, you’re right,” replied the sheriff as he opened another cigar and rolled it around in his mouth. “I believe the murders occurred in 1932 and 1933.”
“I wonder if there could be a connection,” I said as looked into his troubled eyes.
“This may be the first major break in the case. Come by the office in the morning; there’s a bunch of records in the basement of the courthouse we need to look through. Let’s get home and out of this rain for now,” he said as the rain beaded up on his hat and rolled off the brim.
I was so keyed up I couldn’t sleep that night. Relaxed by the faint thunder in the distance and the slow drip of rain, I finally closed my eyes and got some shuteye.
When morning came, I was still tired but I forced myself to the edge of the bed and sat up. I felt like shit. The images of the crime scene had haunted my dreams. It was the first time I had actually been at the scene of a crime and, unfortunately, it would not be my last. The M-O of the murderer, the quarter under the victim’s eyelids, and those stupid peanut wrappers raced through my mind like a whirlwind in a dust storm. I tried to piece it all together, but couldn’t figure it out. Frustrated, I got dressed, grabbed a donut, and headed to the courthouse. The smell of rain still lingered in the early morning air, but my thoughts remained on the night before.
Hurriedly reaching the steps of the courthouse, I saw Sheriff Puckett talking with a couple of his deputies. As I approached them, I could hear him telling his deputies to cooperate with them and work together.
“Hello, Chigger.”
“Good morning, sheriff,” I replied.
“I was just telling the deputies that the FBI has been called in on the case,” he said. “They should arrive late this afternoon.”
“I figured that,” I replied.
“Now, are you ready to look at those files,” he said.
“You bet,” I eagerly answered.
We made our way in and rode the elevator to the basement.
“What a collection of records,” I said as I looked about the stacked boxes.
“I’m afraid we have a lot of searching ahead of us, Chigger. What brings you to Stoney Point anyway?”
“I’m doing research on this summer’s murders and I plan to write a novel from my findings.”
“Why did you choose these murders? There are murders everywhere and I’m sure California is not lacking in serial killers.”
“I don’t really know,” I replied. “Something just drew me here.”
“Well let’s see what we have here,” said the sheriff while he lifted the box off the shelf that was labeled ‘Twenty-five cent Murders, Box 1 of 2.’
“There must be another box,” I said.
“Don’t worry about it, we’ll look at this one first and find the other one later. Besides, it will take us at least three days to go through this one. Let’s move to a table so we can sit down. Boy, this sure is heavy,” mumbled the sheriff.
Randomly we thumbed through the documents, not sure what we might find.
“Arthur Jangdhair? Who is he?” I asked.
“Arthur Jangdhair, I know that name. Oh, yes, he was the rich man who moved here in the early 1900s and built the mansion up at Victoria Cove.”
“The old Candlewood Manor,” I replied.
“Yes, that’s it,” said the sheriff. “That old manor was a real wonder in its day.”
“Is it still standing?”
“Sure, what’s left of it. It was built in 1910 by Jangdhair and his wife, Melinda. In 1923 they died, and the house stayed empty for years because they had no children together. In 1930, Madame Christine opened up a house of ill repute. What a house it was! Madame Christine was a classy gal. She used young girls from all over the country. Most of them were either college drop-outs or college girls trying to pay their way through school.”
“Who was she?” I questioned.
“She was the illegitimate daughter of Mr. Jangdhair and a topnotch call girl out of Louisville, Kentucky,” the sheriff replied.
“What was her mother’s name?” I inquired.
“Shucks, I can’t think of it right now,” he said. “You know how it is when you get old. Oh, wait a minute, I believe it was Caroline.”
“How does all of that fit in with the Twenty-five Cent Murders?”
“Well, Christine inherited Jangdhair’s manor and his fortune after her mother, Caroline, died of tuberculosis. Christine opened up the house and hired a groundskeeper named Howard Etheridge to take care of the place. Between 1932 and1933 five women were murdered. All of them worked at the manor. We believed all along that Etheridge was the killer but could never prove it.”
“So, he got away with the murders?” I asked.
“Yes, there was not enough evidence; he had a rock solid alibi. However, we did get him for Christine’s murder. He killed her one night at the manor. There was enough evidence to convict him of first degree murder. He’s in prison for the rest of his life. That guy was a real wacko!”
“What was his rock solid alibi?” I questioned.
“Christine swore that he was with her every time,” said the sheriff suspiciously.
“Were they lovers,” I inquired.
“I don’t know,” replied the sheriff. “No one has ever said. From the looks of it though, we may have a copycat killer on our hands. It may be someone who is obsessed with the Twenty-five Cent Murders.”
The door opened and in walked a deputy, “Sheriff there’s two FBI agents here to see you.”
“Damn,” mumbled the sheriff. “They weren’t supposed to be here until this afternoon.”
“They apologized for being a little early,” replied the deputy. “But, they wanted to get an early briefing.”
“Okay, deputy, tell them I’ll be there in just a minute,” instructed the sheriff. “Are you coming, Chigger?”
“No,” I replied. “I believe I’ll keep looking through the box.”
“Okay then, but lock up,” he replied.
“No problem,” I assured him.
Time passed quickly as I searched through the files looking for anything that might stand out. I came across an old newspaper article dating back to 1919 about Arthur Jangdhair’s life and the Candlewood Manor. It gave his history and told how he made it to South Central Kentucky. It appeared that Jangdhair was a very influential man with many fancy friends in very high places. Mr. Jangdhair was given up for adoption when he was three years old. He lived in an Ohio orphanage for five years until a wealthy family from eastern Kentucky adopted him. He grew up and took over his adopted daddy’s coal mining business. After the passing of his adoptive parents, and tired of the business, Arthur sold the business for a substantial price and then moved to south central Kentucky.
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