“Well,” Margie said, puzzled at this detail. “I read that he had been traveling with someone and I do remember another boy coming by the farm a couple times. The two of them would go off and do things together after work. But I never got a good picture of the other boy, never got his name or anything. Now, Jim, he was another story. He came to me looking for a few days’ work and I gave it to him. Said he wanted to pick up a little cash before heading over to Tarrant City and the cement plant.”
“Did Jim talk about running away from home?”
“No. But something was wrong with the boy. I knew it the minute I hired him. Now that I think back, he must have been running from something. Else why would he be plumb out of money?”
“Right.” Burnham was anxious to get through his questions so he could decide what to do next. “Just a few more questions. This other boy, the one who would come and visit Jim and go out with him after work. Can you tell me how tall he was?”
“Sure, he was about the same size as Jim. Looked like two peas in a pod, they did! At least from what I could tell.”
“Okay, fine,” Burnham said. “That’s all the questions I have. We may be in touch again and certainly if you remember any other details give us a call.”
“I hope I helped you some,” the woman said, her voice smothered in southern charm.
“Well, we’ll certainly check it out. I want to thank you for taking the time to call. The boys’ parents will probably want to thank you, too.”
Burnham hung up the phone and considered his next move. He wanted to call the families, but he didn’t want to get the parents’ hopes up if this was a false alarm. Whatever he did, he would have to move quickly. If the boys had decided to run away, there was no telling how often they might pick up and leave. Burnham decided to contact the cement plant first. He picked up the telephone and began dialing. A few phone calls later he had the number for the cement plant. A secretary answered on the first ring.
“This is Officer Burnham, Michigan State Police,” he said. “We need to know if you have a Jim Boucher working at your plant?”
The secretary did not hesitate but answered the officer immediately. “Why, yes!” she said, anxious to be of help. What would a Michigan police officer want of Jim? she wondered. Suddenly the day did not seem quite so dull. “Jim’s a great guy. Works for us, sure does.”
Burnham could hardly believe his good fortune. The boys’ parents were going to be thrilled.
“Could you tell me what Jim looks like?”
“Oh, sure!” Her voice was bubbly and Burnham hoped she would be able to identify the teenager. “He has brown hair, a mustache,” she paused. “You know, kind of thin and stuff.”
Burnham felt another surge of excitement. Based on his description of the boys, that was definitely Jim.
“Now, what about Jim’s friends. Any friends of his working there? Guy named Daryl, for instance?”
The girl gasped. “How did you know?” she asked. Burnham was struck by how thick the girl’s southern accent was. He could hardly understand her. “Daryl and Jim are best friends. They work together all the time, same shifts and everything.”
“Okay, tell me what Daryl looks like.”
“Well, pretty much the same size and all. Just a little bit bigger, and no mustache or anything.” Then the girl paused and her tone of voice changed and she gasped once again. “They’re not in trouble with the police or anything are they?”
“No, nothing like that. Hey, could you tell me when they work next.”
“Just a minute.” The girl paused a moment, checking the work schedule. “Yes, here it is! They work tomorrow afternoon. Two o’clock.”
“Okay, thanks for your help. We’ll be in touch.”
“Is there a message, anything you want me to tell them?”
“No.” Burnham was afraid the girl would notify Jim and Daryl and that they would disappear again before their parents could reach them. “Don’t bother the guys. I’m just doing some research, that’s all.”
When he hung up the phone he felt better than he had in years. It was one thing to solve a case in which the subject was a criminal. But this was something new, finding two boys whose parents were worried sick about their disappearance. Burnham thought this next phone call might possible be the most rewarding in his life.
CHAPTER 13
About a week before Margie Barrett saw The K-Liner newspaper, Faye’s relatives decided to get involved in the search for Jim and Daryl.
Faye’s sister, Jessie, and her husband, Craig, were especially close to Jim. Craig, in addition to being Jim’s uncle, was also his bowling partner and friend. Several years earlier Craig had taught Jim the proper technique for rolling a bowling ball, working with him several hours each week.
As Jim grew older and stronger, he mastered those techniques until finally he surpassed Craig at consistently bowling a high-scoring game. Craig enjoyed spending time with Jim, treating him as an equal despite their age difference. And in his presence, Jim felt special. There was nothing quite like an afternoon at the bowling alley with Uncle Craig.
It was Craig who convinced Jim to enter the Detroit Motor Bowl contest in which the grand prize was ten thousand. Craig had competed, too. When Jim won the contest Craig was so proud he told everyone he knew.
“Hey,” he’d say. “Remember my nephew, the one who bowls with me? Well, get this. He won the Detroit Motor Bowl. The whole thing. Ten thousand! What a kid, eh?”
Craig had immediately begun making plans to help Jim improve his skills for next year’s competition. Wanting badly to be a repeat winner, Jim had spent much of his spare time prior to the vacation with his Uncle Craig.
So, when the boys disappeared, Craig had wanted to do whatever he could to find them. When weeks passed, he had grown fearful and frustrated. He agreed that the boys had no reason to want to run away. And, like the police and the boys’ parents, he could not understand why they hadn’t come home yet. By the end of October, he could no longer sit by while other people investigated his nephew’s whereabouts.
“I’m going to Florida, Faye,” he told her one day. “Jessie’s coming, too.”
Faye sighed. “Craig, I appreciate your concern, really,” she said. “But for now I think we’d better let the police deal with this.”
“I’m not doing this for you, Faye,” he said softly. “I love the kid. He was like my little brother.” There was a pause and Faye could tell Craig was crying. “I miss him so much, Faye. Please, understand. I’ve got to do this. For me.”
Faye was in tears, too, and she struggled to speak. “I know how you feel. But please be careful.”
“You know we will.”
“When will you leave?”
“We’re packing now. I’m taking next week off so we’ll leave tomorrow. Drive the same way they did, check out the beach, talk to people. Anything is better than sitting here isolated from everything and waiting for the police to find them. For all we know they’re not even working on the case.”
“They’re trying, Craig. I have to believe that,” Faye said. She still clung to the hope that Burkhalter or one of the other politicians she had contacted was putting in overtime trying to find the boys.
“Well, we’ll see.”
“Will you call?”
“Every day.”
Craig and Jessie did almost everything they intended to do.
They drove to Daytona Beach, stopping at rest areas and diners and talking to people about the boys. They walked along the beach looking for them and asking questions of the locals. Then they went to the police station, where they discovered that absolutely nothing had been done on the case. In fact, the boys were not even registered with the national computer listing which contained all missing persons. They talked with Detective Mikelson and begged him to look for the boys. And they called Faye each night with an update.
The only thing they didn’t do was find Jim and Daryl. No one they talked t
o had ever heard of the boys. Not the vendors or the motel operators or any one on the boardwalk. It was as if the boys had never been there at all. Frustrated and discouraged, Craig and Jessie came home with none of the answers they so desperately wanted.
The couple was sitting in Faye and Roy’s living room the morning after their return, talking about all they had seen and done, when the phone rang.
“Hello?” Faye answered the phone.
“Mrs. Boucher, this is Officer Burnham.” The two had spoken daily for the past two months and knew each other’s voices well. But in the past, Faye had always done the calling. Now, hearing the officer’s voice, she felt her heart skip a beat.
“Yes, what is it?”
“I think we’ve found the boys?”
“Oh, dear God,” Faye said, clasping her hand over her mouth and moving slowly toward the nearest chair. Her husband and Jessie and Craig stood up at the same time and moved closer. Obviously there was some news about the boys. And everyone braced themselves for the worst.
“Are they alive?” Faye asked, tears springing instantly to her eyes. Her hands were shaking and she felt as if she might faint.
“Yes. It seems they ran away. We’ve located them at the cement plant in Tarrant City, Alabama.”
A hundred questions flooded Faye’s mind and she struggled to think clearly. “Are you sure? Jim and Daryl didn’t have any reason to run away.”
“We haven’t seen them yet, but I talked to a woman who works with them and she confirmed it,” he said. “But I have to agree with you. They didn’t seem like the type to run away. Of course, we see this once in a while in police work where kids do something completely out of character. I don’t know what they were thinking. Kids are hard to figure out sometimes.”
Faye began to sob. Never had she felt such a feeling of relief. She moved the phone away from her face and looked at the others. “They’re alive, they’re okay,” she whispered. Immediately Roy sank weakly to his knees in silent relief. Craig put an arm on his shoulder and pulled Jessie close to him. They were all sobbing, grateful that the ordeal was finally over.
“How in the world did you find them?” Faye asked.
“A woman saw the article in the Kmart paper. Called us and told us she’d hired Jim for a few days. He had a friend who came by once in a while and the woman thought both boys acted strange. Like they were runaways. She told us about the cement plant and we called up to verify. Both of them took jobs there.”
Faye was crying so hard she could barely talk. “How can we ever thank you?” she sobbed. “How can we thank that woman?”
Burnham swallowed a lump that had been growing in his throat since Faye answered the phone. “Let’s take first things first. Why don’t you call the Barbers and then book a flight to Birmingham, Alabama. I’ll arrange for the police to pick you up and take you to the cement plant. The boys work tomorrow at two o’clock.”
“I can’t believe this is happening,” Faye said, wiping her eyes, her tears now mixed with elated laughter. “Officer, I have to tell you, we thought we’d never see them again.” She paused. “We thought they were dead.”
“You weren’t the only ones who thought that,” he said. “I’m just glad things turned out all right.”
Faye thanked the officer again and then hung up the phone. The others moved toward her and the four of them remained locked in a group embrace for several minutes. After that, Faye called Marian and Ron Barber.
The scene at the Barber home was much like the one at the Boucher house. Marian screamed for Ron, who happened to be spending the day at home. Ron had his own business and had been spending much of his time at home since the boys disappeared.
“They’re alive!” she shouted.
“What?”
“Ron, they’re alive! The police found them in Alabama, working at a cement plant.”
Ron wanted desperately to believe what he was hearing, but he shook his head. “Wait, you mean they just left the beach and decided to get a job in Alabama without calling? That’s not our boys.”
Marian nodded furiously. “Yes! The police said it happens once in a while where teenage boys just need to test their wings, spend some time on their own.”
“Are they sure it’s our boys?”
“Positive.”
Clinging to Marian’s confidence, Ron covered his face with his hands and began to cry. His son was all right. Daryl would be home in a matter of days and they could all go on living. He knew what he would do the moment he first saw Daryl again. He would run up to him, take him in his arms and hold him, just like he’d done when Daryl was a little boy.
Marian, meanwhile, was still talking to Faye and working out the details of how they’d get the boys home. Finally, the phone call was over and the plans were made. All four parents would fly to Birmingham, Alabama, on the first flight in the morning. They would meet up with police and go directly to the cement plant, where they would wait for the boys to arrive for their scheduled work shift. Then, for the first time in nearly two months, they would all be together again.
The rest of the evening was a flurry of excitement in both households as the parents packed their suitcases and made arrangements for baby-sitters for the Boucher children. That night before climbing into bed, Faye took a picture of Jim from her bedside table and looked at it lovingly.
“You know, I’m not even mad at him,” she said to her husband, who was lying awake in bed beside her.
“I know. Me either,” Roy said.
“I can’t understand why they would have done such a crazy thing. But none of that matters. I thought I’d lost him,” Faye said. “And right now the farthest thing from my mind is anger.”
Roy smiled and Faye looked at her husband closely, her eyes filled with concern. “You were worried sick, Roy,” she said, caressing his shoulder.
He nodded and took her hand. “I love the boy, Faye,” he said quietly. “I want him home.”
THE NEXT MORNING, THE BARBERS PUT THEIR THINGS TOgether and headed for the Bouchers’ house where they had planned to meet. They were loading the car with their belongings when the phone rang.
“I’ll get it,” Roy said, setting his small suitcase on the ground and darting back into the house. He picked up the phone sounding happier than he had in weeks. “Hello?”
There was a pause and for a minute Roy thought the caller might be a prankster. Then someone spoke.
“Uh, Mr. Boucher?”
“Yes?”
“This is Officer Burnham. None of you have left for the airport yet?”
“No, we’re on our way.” Roy leaned against the kitchen wall and closed his eyes. He could tell from the officer’s voice that something was wrong. “We’ll be there on time, though. Everything okay?”
“Well . . .” Burnham closed his eyes and rubbed his temples with his thumb and forefinger. If the last phone call to the Bouchers had been his best, this was by far his worst. “I think there’s been a mistake.”
EARLIER THAT MORNING, JUST AS A PRECAUTION, BURNham had decided to call the boys’ supervisor at home to be sure they had the right kids. Yes, there were two men working at the plant named Jim Boucher and Daryl. But they were in their forties and had been working there for nearly a decade. Burnham wondered at the odds of such a coincidence.
Then he had asked the supervisor if a Walter Alexander worked for him. That was the name the boy had given Margie Barrett when he worked for her in East Birmingham. Yes, he was told. Walter was nineteen and about six-foot-two. He was a new employee and, no, he wasn’t a runaway. He had family in the area and his parents had been by the plant several times.
Burnham could have kicked himself. The only question he’d forgotten to ask the secretary was about their ages. One simple question and he could have avoided getting the families’ hopes up.
As soon as he knew the truth, Burnham had hung up the phone and immediately dialed the Bouchers. Now he felt sick to his
stomach having to explain the error to Jim’s father.
“We did some further research on the boys in Alabama,” he said. “The Jim and Daryl I was told about are in their forties. They’ve worked at the plant for ten years.”
Roy was silent, feeling as if some part of him had suddenly died.
“They’re not your boys, Mr. Boucher. I’m really sorry about all this.”
“But someone identified them.” Roy’s voice was weak, his blood sugar rising by the minute. He wanted so badly to cling to the hope he’d felt moments earlier.
“The identification was almost the same. But their ages were different. I’m so sorry. Really.”
By then, the other parents had joined Roy in the kitchen. By the look on Roy’s face and the tears forming in his eyes, they knew something had gone terribly wrong. And before Roy finished talking to Officer Burnham they each knew the truth.
Jim and Daryl were still missing.
AFTER THE SHOCK OF THE DISAPPOINTMENT WORE OFF, life for the Barbers and Bouchers seemed almost more unbearable. There were days when none of them knew how they could go on. They were in daily contact with Investigator Byrd but they knew little of the overtime hours Bob Brown was putting in. And by the end of that week, they realized that whatever the police and politicians and hired help were doing to find their boys, it clearly wasn’t enough.
CHAPTER 14
Bob had promised Detective Mikelson he would do whatever it took to get a lead on the case and he lived up to his word. Operating from his car, which was equipped with a telephone, a police radio, and a tracking device among other gadgets, Bob and two assistants began combing the beach first thing Thursday morning. Byrd had told him to spend whatever money necessary to locate the teenagers, and by that morning he had printed up posters offering a five hundred dollar reward to anyone with information leading to the whereabouts of Jim and Daryl.
Bob was aware of the fact that he did not look anything like a Daytona Beach resident. He also did not look like a tourist. In fact, if anything, he looked like a narcotics officer. So starting Thursday, Bob left his suits in the car and instead put on tourist attire. Wearing a Disney T-shirt and Bermuda shorts, and with a camera, and a map in his pocket, Bob set out for the sandy strip determined to find someone who knew something about Jim and Daryl’s disappearance.
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