The primary aim of the "Novel Excerpts" blog category is to showcase my creative writing, specifically from the novels I've written. Hopefully, these posts will provide a glimpse into my storytelling style, themes, and narrative skills. It's an opportunity to share my artistic expressions and the worlds I've created through my novels.

The Boaz Scorekeeper, written in 2017, is my second novel. I'll post it, a chapter a day, over the next few weeks.

Before Gina had made the goldmine discovery from her audio-recorder, I had pretty much decided that Wade Tillman would be my next target.  I guess I became greedy believing that I needed to keep Wade as a resource.  Who knows what Gina and I might eventually discover.  I had to leave him alone for now.  That left Fred and James.  For weeks, I had alternated between Wade and James as my last target.  I couldn’t find a reasonable trail to follow along towards an acceptable conclusion so I decided to postpone that decision.  Fred, by default, became my third target.

Like John and Randall, I spent three weeks planning and stalking.  And, this wasn’t the only routine I had fell into.  On the morning of ‘D Day,’ my mind returned to High School.  For some reason, my motivation to mete out justice found needed resources in otherwise simple events that had taken place almost half a century earlier.

To me, Fred had always been the oddball Flame.  To say the least, he was extravagant, especially with his clothes. From the time I tutored him in Junior High I had always noticed that he wore the most expensive or highest quality items of anyone I had ever known.  And, on top of that, he bought things he didn’t even need.  I would rarely see him wear the same shirt more than once.  Before his senior season he made a big deal out of the team’s uniforms.  Fred argued that they were too cheap.  Fritz finally convinced Coach Pearson to have a New York company design a new uniform using silk.  Fritz paid for them.  After this, rumor was that Fred’s parents put him on a budget, but I could never tell it influenced how he dressed.

Extravagant as Fred was, it certainly didn’t negatively impact his ability as a point guard.  Out of the Flaming Five, Fred was the best ball handler, dribbler, and passer.  He truly was the team’s leader, bringing the ball down the court and initiating offensive plays.  Just like James and Randall, Fred was good enough to play at a major college.  But he didn’t.  Rather, he chose to focus on banking and finance knowing that he could someday afford anything he wanted once he directed First State Bank of Boaz and Club Eden.  In this regard, Fred was wise beyond his extravagance.

Just as Fred handled the ball the most of all the Flaming Five, he also handled the lead role in the Senior play.  Fred was the perfect leading man.  The Drama Club had chosen The Wind in the Willows.  It had been half a century since the play so I went online to refresh my memory.  Here was the best quote about the wonderful play that I could find:

“As the eccentric owner of Toad Hall, Mr. Toad has never been held accountable for anything. He buys himself a horse-drawn caravan and decides, willy-nilly, to explore the countryside. When nearly run off the road by a motorcar, he becomes enamored and abandons his caravan to purchase his own motorized vehicle. In a short period of time, he crashes six different cars and has paid a ridiculous amount of money in fines. His extravagance and irresponsibility eventually end up costing him Toad Hall, which he must fight to reacquire. One would think such a loss would have a sobering effect, but the end of the story sees Toad throwing a sumptuous banquet for his friends, once again, the master of ‘the finest house on the whole river.’”

In the High School auditorium Fred and the rest of the cast flawlessly performed all three showings of The Wind in the Willows.  But, things didn’t go so well for Fred when he and the other actors put on the presentation for the Boaz High School student body the following Monday.  For years this had been a tradition.  It was meant to be a comedy no matter how tragic the subject matter.  Mr. Martin, the Drama Club director, sat back and let the actors pretty much improvise any way they wanted to. 

Unbeknownst to Fred, the whole crew had done a little pre-presentation planning.  James Adams would become the leading man.  In the actual play James had been Mr. Toad’s (Fred) subdued servant sidekick.  In the reconstituted play James, as Mr. Snake, would parody Fred.  James had even arranged for the Sand Mountain Reporter and both radio stations to be present.  The Monday morning presentation of The Wind in the Willows made history.  It is still known, at least around Boaz High School, as the funniest play ever presented by the Drama Club.  Throughout the play, James wore one of Fred’s outfits, clothes that Fred’s parents had allowed James to borrow.  It seems James conned them into believing that once Fred saw how unimportant James was in Fred’s clothing that he would learn the needed lesson that clothes in fact do not make the man.

But, looking back, I’m convinced that Fred got the final word.  Near the end of the play, as Mr. Toad was barking out orders to his sidekick (Fred) about the big banquet he was throwing, Fred walked to center stage and said, “James, for the rest of your life you can wear identical clothes as I do but you will never lead the offense like I did.  Whatever role you hold in the future, I will be Mr. Toad and you will only be my sidekick.”

Fred had another rival of sorts.  Wade had always been extremely jealous of Fred.  Of all the Flaming Five, Wade was the worst off financially.  Even though his father, Walter, earned a good income as pastor of First Baptist Church of Christ, it was only enough, at best, to finance an upper middle-income lifestyle.  It was not until Wade was an associate pastor at First Baptist Church of Christ that he learned that his Father had tons of money from his share of Club Eden.  Yet, he chose to conceal it while living a humble life before his flock.  Growing up, all Wade knew was that he was not near as well off as Fred and the other three members of the Flaming Five.

In addition to Wade, James wasn’t so fond of Fred.  Off the court, James despised Fred, but someway could be a team player on the court.  I think James harnessed his jealousy and whipped it into a race to be the best shooting guard Boaz had ever seen.  I also think James believed he out ‘extravagantized’ Fred when he accepted a basketball scholarship to Auburn University.

My mind had had enough of Mr. Toad.  It was ready to give Fred a new set of clothes.  Again, ones he would wear only once, but this time he would wear them forever. 

The primary aim of the "Novel Excerpts" blog category is to showcase my creative writing, specifically from the novels I've written. Hopefully, these posts will provide a glimpse into my storytelling style, themes, and narrative skills. It's an opportunity to share my artistic expressions and the worlds I've created through my novels.

The Boaz Scorekeeper, written in 2017, is my second novel. I'll post it, a chapter a day, over the next few weeks.

Wednesday night after dinner Kaden and I were in the barn trying to build two window boxes for Karla.  A year ago, she had shown me a picture from Pinterest and asked me to make her two.  She even gave me the dimensions and what materials to use.  As Kaden carefully routed the final decorative support, ‘Gina’ vibrated in my pocket.  I had tagged the burner phone ‘Gina’ the day I bought the matching pair at an EagleMart in Pell City when I was there for a court hearing at the St. Clair County Courthouse.  I removed the phone, walked outside, and answered “Micaden the scorekeeper.”  This was Gina’s green light.  If ever I didn’t answer this way she would know she could not talk openly.

“We have to meet.  You will not believe what I found.”  Gina was shouting.

“How about tomorrow here at Hickory Hollow?”

“What time?”

“Two-thirty okay?”

“Yes.  Before I go, here’s you a morsel to feed on.  Club Eden is in bed with a few select Boaz police officers working to discourage, what they call, Hispanic citizenship.  I got to go.  Bye.”  Gina whispered.

On Thursday at 2:30 p.m., Gina and I sat down at the round table in my study. 

“Before I tell you about my discovery let me set the stage.  You may know some of this but let me paint a full picture.  I have gathered this information over a lifetime with Wade.  Club Eden was responsible for starting the local poultry industry.  Somewhere around 1920 or 21 the grandfathers of the Flaming Five had gone to Butts County Georgia for a family reunion of sorts and learned what a group of their distant cousins were up to.  They were raising chickens in confinement, instead of simply the backyard or barnyard chickens the grandfathers were used to around Boaz.  Within a year after their return, Club Eden had set up Boaz Poultry, Inc.”  Gina said.

“Okay, that’s an interesting chicken story but what does that have to do with your case or our quest to weaken or destroy the five mighty powers?”  I said.

“Be patient.  I’ll get there.  But first, let me finish the history lesson.  Club members saw chickens as a way to make money off the backs of both farmers and Boaz citizens.  The Club developed a business plan that was almost futuristic for its time.  They contracted with farmers to grow the chickens in specially designed barns and they hired a man from Sweden to design and build an operation to process the birds once they were grown.  The Swede was an expert in meat production.  Boaz Poultry processed its first batch of broilers in 1924. There were 39 employees to start with.  The poultry industry was good to the Club even though they quickly had competition in Cullman.  Over the years, Boaz Poultry employed more and more people but the time commitment began to wear heavy on the Club.  In 1965, it sold the entire operation to an Atlanta conglomerate, Platinum Foods, but negotiated a 99-year lease on the processing plant location.  It appeared to be a sweetheart of a deal: total relief of all work and time commitments while still enjoying a guaranteed monthly income.  What the Club never negotiated or even anticipated was the revolutionary influence Platinum Foods’ employment practices would have on Boaz demographics.  By 1970, there were more than 800 Hispanics working in Boaz at the poultry processing plant.  Along with their families, but excluding those who lived outside Boaz City limits, there were nearly 4,000 Hispanic residents.  This fact did not mix well with the Club’s white race mentality.

“I bet you are going to tell me that the Club killed every one of them.”  I said.

“No, the Club, at least this time, was smarter than that.  They were also very subtle.  The Club handpicked four police officers, patrol officers, to make life difficult for Hispanics.  For a while, the officers simply targeted Hispanic drivers, stopping them just for being Hispanic but always having a pretextual reason, something like a broken taillight.  Yes, if they didn’t have a broken taillight when they were stopped, they would after the officer walked by the Hispanic’s car with his Billy Club on his way to interrogate the driver.  As time went on, and their ‘pay’ increased, the officers began planting illegal drugs and alcohol.  This has gone on for over thirty years and continues to this day.”

“Again, how do you know all this?”  I said.

“As I said, part of this I pieced together over the years Wade and I were married, but a lot of the details came from Wade’s office, the Club Eden’s bank statements, and a series of personal handwritten journals I found on bookcases stuffed behind Wade’s Bible commentaries.  Micaden, you could ask me right now what made me look for the journals.”

“Okay, why did you look for Wade’s journals?”

“Two weeks ago, Wednesday night of course, I was in Wade’s study and noticed that he had inserted the latest Club Eden bank statement into his folder.  There was a new type of transaction.  It was a wire deposit for $100,000 from a bank in Moscow, Russia.  This was all I had until I listened to my latest tape.”

“Tape?  Have you been recording Wade?”  I said.

“Yes, and more than Wade.  After I found this deposit I bought a high-tech audio recording system online and hid it in Wade’s study.  Not his home study but his church study.  I bet you didn’t know that behind Wade’s church office there is a private study that is only accessible through a hidden door, one behind an automatic bookcase behind Wade’s desk.  It was by accident I discovered it but that was several years ago and a whole other story.  Anyway, after I received my order, I installed it in the secret study during lunch while everyone was out of the office.  The recorder is voice activated and automatically sends a transcript to a designated email account you set up if it has a Wi-Fi connection.  Here is the transcript of a meeting last Wednesday night.”

Gina slid a typed document over to me.  I read it twice. There were four speakers.  Gina also let me hear the audio.  The transcript was a perfect match to the words spoken.  It was clear that the meeting was to discuss Fred and Wade’s decision to implement the latest phase of what the Club had dubbed its Clean-Up Boaz campaign.  From the tape and transcript, I learned that Fred and Wade had authorized their select Boaz police officers to start secretly seizing the most attractive Hispanic females during their illegal traffic stops.  James Adams had expressed his strong disagreement, saying “sex trafficking?  Other than your Triple M murders, this is the most dangerous and insane thing the Club has done in fifty years.  You are going to bring in the Feds and send the rest of us to prison.”

“What on earth are the Triple M murders?”  Gina asked.

“A more specific question.  Do these murders include Bill and Nellie Murray?  I bet they do.  I’ve known it all along but have had no way of proving it.”  I paused for a moment and said, “oh my gosh, the third M is Harold Maples.  I just know that too.”

“He died of old age.  Wade conducted his funeral.  I was there.”  Gina said.

“He certainly died old.  He was 92 or 93, but I would bet a million dollars he didn’t die because of old age.” 

We returned to Gina’s audiotape.  Over the next five minutes or so tempers continued to rise.  Finally, during a particularly heated exchange between James and Wade, James said: “If you two don’t stop this immediately you may find yourselves at the bottom of a lake just like Randall and John.”  Fred responded, “sounds like you are admitting to killing our two brothers.”  James then said, “absolutely not, but I’m mad enough right now to kill the two of you.”  After a minute or two of silence the meeting ended with James threatening to expose Wade and Fred to the full membership.  The last statement before the meeting disbanded was James saying, “you two need to reread the Club’s bylaws.  You do remember taking an oath almost half a century ago where you swore never to divulge Club ‘business or non-business, or anything even remotely related to the Club.’  Don’t you two remember what the punishment is for breaking your oath?  Let me quote, ‘punishment includes the branding of a cross on the forehead, and the option of death by hanging but only by unanimous decision.’”  Wade then made a smart-ass remark, “King James, I’ll be sure to note all this in my diary.”

“It seems all is not well within Club Eden.” Gina said.

“Let me keep this transcript.  Also, can you send me a copy of the audio recording?  I want to try to figure out how we can use this.  Good, good work Gina.”  I said.

Gina left and I just sat staring out the window.  I almost thanked God for such a wonderful blessing, a goldmine discovery.

The primary aim of the "Novel Excerpts" blog category is to showcase my creative writing, specifically from the novels I've written. Hopefully, these posts will provide a glimpse into my storytelling style, themes, and narrative skills. It's an opportunity to share my artistic expressions and the worlds I've created through my novels.

The Boaz Scorekeeper, written in 2017, is my second novel. I'll post it, a chapter a day, over the next few weeks.

I decided against sending a ransom demand to the Radford family.  This twist would give investigators good reason to ponder whether the disappearances of Randall and John were related.

However, I did decide to communicate with the grieving family in a different way.  Three years ago, Raymond and Randall had purchased the old Boaz Spinning Mill property from the City of Boaz.  The rumor was they were going to consolidate the four current locations of their hardware and building supply business into one giant facility.  But, a feasibility study by an Atlanta firm had shown only minimum increases in sales versus a phenomenal increase in initial investment and ongoing operating costs.  The Radford’s, all astute businessmen, canned their plans and put the real estate back on the market.

My plan was risky but also astute, even remarkable, or so I believed.  I contacted realtor Bruton Silvers and told him I represented a client who was looking to build a miniature Gatlinburg in Boaz, but with one unique twist.  It would have a recreational facility including Olympic size pool, tennis and basketball courts, a health care spa, and a small but five-star hotel. Surrounding this facility would be an assortment of small clothing and craft boutiques, along with at least three specialty restaurants.  And, if this wasn’t enough, I convinced Bruton that now was a perfect time after the citizens of Boaz had just last fall approved the sale of alcoholic beverages, telling him that my client intended to build and operate a brewery and pub to feature and sell six brands of his ‘southern shine.’

Less than two months after posing the idea to Bruton, including some delay to deal with the non-disclosure of the buyer’s name, he had convinced the City to instruct its attorney to draft a Letter of Intent to approve plans for Sparksburg, a name I had coined.  The letter was not ironclad, but conditioned final licensing upon approval of architectural drawings and a detailed business plan.  However, the letter was sufficient to motivate the Radford family to enter a sales contract subject to the City’s final approval.  On November 18th, I wrote a $50,000 check from the Law Firm’s trust account to Silvers Realty for a down payment on the $350,000 purchase price.  An astute use of the attorney-client privilege.

The primary aim of the "Novel Excerpts" blog category is to showcase my creative writing, specifically from the novels I've written. Hopefully, these posts will provide a glimpse into my storytelling style, themes, and narrative skills. It's an opportunity to share my artistic expressions and the worlds I've created through my novels.

The Boaz Scorekeeper, written in 2017, is my second novel. I'll post it, a chapter a day, over the next few weeks.

Here’s why Randall Radford became my second target.  In late August, on a Thursday morning, Karla had called me at 6:30 a.m.  She always left for work around that time.  A storm had come through during the night and had caused a dying tree to fall across our long driveway.  I was still in my study working on a short story that was transforming into an epic novel.  I quickly dressed and grabbed my chainsaw from the garage.  When I got to Karla the saw wouldn’t start so I had to get the tractor and a chain and pull the tree back enough for her car to pass.  That afternoon I took my chainsaw to Radford Hardware and learned it was dead with a cracked cylinder.  I bought a new Husqvarna Model 359 and walked outside toward my truck.

Right when I was about to open my door I heard loud talking coming from the far side of my truck.  “Tell him not to fuck with me, if he does he might feel a bullet in his head.”  I knew the man’s voice.  It was Randall Radford.  I just stood there where they couldn’t see me. I couldn’t see them either. “Randall, you need to deal with him in the right way.”  I wasn’t familiar with the woman’s voice.  “I’ll call you tonight.”  The door slammed and through my truck cab I saw Randall stand up beside the car and lean back down.  Like he was bending his tall frame over to look inside the car window.  I got in my truck, started it, and backed out while Randall walked in the opposite direction back towards the store’s main entrance.  He never looked my way.

When I reached the edge of the parking lot I looked back over my shoulder and saw the woman backing out and heading out in the opposite direction.  I decided to follow her.  She drove to Albertville to a house on Pecan Avenue.  I remembered what the New York Times reporter, Nate Baker, had told me, “Randall Radford goes either on Monday or Tuesday to a house on Pecan Avenue in Albertville to see Cissy Sprayberry.” The woman I was following had to be Cissy Sprayberry.  I pulled into the driveway of the house directly across the street and killed my engine.  I got out and walked over behind a tree without Cissy seeing me.  She seemed to linger in her car before she started getting out.  By the time she walked into the open door to the garage a man met her.  I couldn’t hear what they were saying, but no doubt he was unhappy.  I stood there five minutes or more and their conversation became more and more heated.  I guessed the man was Cissy’s husband and he had found out about her and Randall’s affair, and naturally was not too keen to it.

As I was driving home, I concluded Randall had to be my next target. I started conceptualizing a plan. Why not use this fiery seedbed as an opportunity to give Randall a full dose of justice?  After I got home, I changed clothes and enjoyed cutting up the fallen tree.

All during the night I rolled and tumbled.  All I could think about was Randall Radford and how he had always been a bully, at least for as long as I had known him.  A silly lunchroom scene from High School kept jumping into my thoughts.  Randall was at a table eating with, I think, James Adams.  There were two or three others that I cannot recall at his table.  Dessert that day was coconut cake.  I remember Randall getting up when he saw Harlon Danford walking by with his food tray heading to a table across the aisle.  As Harlon sat down Randall walked over and said, “Queer Harlon, I need your cake.”  Everybody at Randall’s table shouted out laughter. Poor Harlon was powerless as Randall scooped the cake over onto his plate.  Randall returned to his table with Harlon’s plate and started eating again.  Randall then looked over at Harlon and said, “what are you waiting on?  Here’s your lunch.  Come and get it.”  Harlon just sat there looking down as nearly everyone in the lunchroom laughed at him.  This scene was so typical of Randall.  He used his huge size to bully everyone around him.  When he saw something he wanted, he took it.  He certainly had an entitlement mentality.  As the night passed and my rolling and tumbling continued I couldn’t help but wonder what had happened to Harlon Danford.  I also wished that I had had the guts back then to stand up for Harlon, to test Randall, even if I had to take a beating.

People don’t usually change.  Here, in 2017, Randall is still the same bully.  He wanted Cissy even though she was married.  Before going to bed I had conducted some research.  Cissy and Talmadge Calvert had married in 1991. He was a lineman with MUB Electric and had no criminal record.  From all appearances, he was an honest, hard-working man.  I assumed Cissy didn’t work since she seemed available to Randall on Mondays and Tuesdays.  I didn’t know how Cissy and Randall had met.  She was nearly 15 years younger.  One thing I did know.  She was just another piece of coconut cake to Randall.  He saw her passing by and had to have her.  I was determined that this time would end differently.  I was going to stand up and defend Talmadge, unlike what I had done for Harlon.

For the next three weeks, I tracked Randall every chance I got.  This included his weekly work with Upward Bound at the Family Life Center.  John’s night had been every Monday.  Randall’s was every Tuesday.  Unlike John, Randall walked to the Center.  He would leave the hardware store and arrive by 5:30, entering the same side door that John used.  A few minutes before 9:00 he would exit by the same door and walk through Gethsemane Grove, across Sparks and south on Elm, all the way to Thomas Avenue.  He continued until he reached the store’s north side parking lot where he always parked next to the back entrance of the appliance department.

I would do it tonight.  It was September 11th, the week after Labor Day.  The Center was closed over the holiday weekend or I would have executed my plan a week ago.  Today, I realized it was the sixteenth anniversary of the 9/11 attacks in New York City.  I felt uneasy as though that was a bad omen.

I was hiding out in the Grove when Randall came outside and locked the Center’s side door.  It was 8:59 p.m.  I waited until he walked across Sparks before I eased from tree to tree until I was standing by the sidewalk on Elm.  I could see him cross Elm and onto the sidewalk heading towards Thomas Avenue.  I darted across Elm to my truck that I had parked behind the same house I had used before to hide my bicycle when abducting John.  I was hurrying now.  I didn’t have but a small window of opportunity.  As I approached Randall, he turned and looked at my truck.  He didn’t do anything, except turn back around to keep on walking forward.  I pulled on 30 feet or so ahead of him and put the truck in park and got out rushing back towards Randall.  I told him to get in the truck.  He didn’t appear frightened even though I could have been the most dangerous serial killer in the world.  He didn’t say anything but started towards me.  Then, I think, he saw my gun.  He spun around and started towards the dark shadows of an adjacent driveway.  I shot once, hitting him in the shoulder.  He fell to the ground.  I walked over to him and again told him to get in the back of the truck.  He said he wouldn’t.  I then pointed my gun to his head and asked did he want to die right now.  It took him several seconds to get to his feet as I backed away.  He walked to my truck and I had him open the back window of my camper and lower the tailgate.  He crawled inside.  I walked over and closed the tailgate and shot Randall between the eyes.  I closed the camper window.

I drove to Oak Hollow thinking of how satisfied I felt.  Not about killing Randall, but about how well the silencer had worked.  I was amazed at how quiet the two shots from my Glock 45 had been.  When I arrived, I backed my truck down to the first open grave.  The horses were all clustered up next to the barn.  I walked to them and picked one at random.  I stood the old gelding in between my truck and the open grave.  I injected him with 50 mg of Diazepam as a sedative.  In less than five minutes he was laying down on his side.  I then injected him with 120 ccs sodium pentobarbital.  Within a few more minutes the old gelding stopped breathing.  

Over the next hour and a half, I followed the same routine as I had with John.  Randall’s body first, then three to four feet of dirt on top, then the horse—again using the come-a-long.  I then finishing filling the grave with dirt.  The only difference this time was the bloody tarp from the back of my truck.  I had pulled it out and thrown it into the grave on top of Randall’s body. 

I pulled my truck to the barn and flipped on the lights.  I inspected the back of my truck with my flashlight and didn’t see a drop of blood.  The tarp had done its job.  I flipped off the lights, drove to the other side of the gate, locked the chain, and continued home.

Just like the night John lost game one to justice, I tossed and turned in bed for an hour reliving the events of the past few hours.  I was glad I had abandoned my idea of framing Talmadge Sprayberry.  That would not have been right.  He was an innocent victim, just like Harlon Danford.  I could imagine both satisfied that I had given Randall a dose of giving instead of taking.  I then slept soundly the rest of the night.

The primary aim of the "Novel Excerpts" blog category is to showcase my creative writing, specifically from the novels I've written. Hopefully, these posts will provide a glimpse into my storytelling style, themes, and narrative skills. It's an opportunity to share my artistic expressions and the worlds I've created through my novels.

The Boaz Scorekeeper, written in 2017, is my second novel. I'll post it, a chapter a day, over the next few weeks.

Over the next two weeks I worked on an appellate brief to the Alabama Supreme Court trying to convince it to overturn the Alabama Court of Criminal Appeals’ decision refusing to grant my client, Edward Sanderson, a new trial.  In addition, I coached, counseled, and conferred with Gina about her case and the probability that Wade would settle and avoid trial.  She also conducted two snooping sessions of his Church office turning up nothing but an extra friendly ‘Thank-You’ card from Stella Bridgestone, the Church’s music director. Gina didn’t read anything into Stella’s expressions saying that she was generally effusive and forward with all older men.

On Thursday afternoon, July 20th, I was in the conference room meeting with a new auto accident client when Tina stuck her head in and motioned for me to come out into the hall.  When I did she, said that Detective Darden Clarke and Sheriff’s Deputy Clyde Vickers were in the waiting room with a warrant to search the office.  Etowah County Detective Pete Morrow was also with them.  I walked to the front and asked them what this was about and they showed me the warrant.  It was signed by the newly appointed Circuit Court Judge Tyler Broadside.  He had been appointed to fill the remaining term of soon-to-be-retiring Judge Allen Naylor who was forced to step down because of declining health.  Republican Governor Shawn Applegate was from Gadsden and had received the unanimous support of the Flaming Five and their families. 

Since John had disappeared in late April, I expected the issuance of search warrants and possibly even an arrest.  As the days ticked by, I became more and more surprised with the absence of these almost certain events.  Until, I heard through the lawyer rumor-mill that Judge Naylor, the Marshall County presiding judge, had refused to issue the warrants.  He argued that just because I had been framed by the Flaming Five and their families over forty years ago was not probable cause that I had abducted John Ericson.  To Naylor, that was too tenuous a connection.

This all changed upon the concurrence of two events.  The appointment of sympathetic Judge Broadside, and the discovery of video footage from a flagpole on the west side of the First Baptist Church of Christ’s parking lot that pointed directly to the Family Life Center’s side door.  It was closest to where John always parked his car in parking spot 275.  My mistake.  In all my reconnoitering, I had missed this camera.  I had been careful to scour the Family Life Center building itself.  I was certain there were none there.  However, I failed to even consider a camera could be mounted inside the flagpole on the other side of the parking lot, right up against Gethsemane grove.

I wasn’t the only one who had missed it.  The Boaz City Police and the Marshall County Sheriff’s Department deputies and detectives also missed it back in late April when they conducted their initial investigation after finding John’s car still parked by the Family Life Center.  It was not until the security company that supplied the Church’s cameras and security system contacted the Church’s maintenance director that there was a problem with this camera did he realize John’s abduction could have been recorded.

This recording converted a once tenuous connection between me and John’s abduction into probable cause that I was involved with the crime.  It was Judge Naylor’s missing link.  Judge Broadside never hesitated.  Once he was shown the video and briefed on my early, but highly controversial, relationship with John Ericson, among others, he issued the warrant to search my Boaz office.  He also conferred with law enforcement and Judge Grant in Etowah County, who investigated and issued a warrant to search Hickory Hollow.

It was not like the video showed me lying in wait for John, nor of me using my taser when he reached his vehicle, and it didn’t show me forcing him into the back of his Chevrolet Traverse.  However, it did show a man in black, including a black-faced toboggan–with my height and build doing all these things.   Without more, something specific to me, this would not have been enough.  The reasonable argument would say there are truckloads of other men who fit the height and build of the perpetrator.  But, Judge Broadside was appointed by our Republican Governor who owed favors to the Flaming Five and their families. 

It took a small army of deputies and police officers over three hours to search my office.  At the same time, Hickory Hollow was under a similar siege.  Law enforcement found nothing incriminating but they did seize my computer.  I breathed a sigh of relief knowing that I had come close to making my second mistake in the disappearance of John Ericson.  I had disposed of my office computer only two weeks ago.  If I had not, the District Attorney’s computer specialist would have found my ransom note and the letter to the Sand Mountain Reporter.  That would have been the smoking gun that put a face on the man in black caught on the hidden flagpole camera.

While the office search was being conducted, Detective Darden Clarke asked if I would submit to a formal interview.  I quickly agreed.  We sat in the conference room while two deputies inspected shelves loaded with over a thousand case books.  Darden asked most all the commonly used ‘setting the stage’ questions.  After he failed to score any points with the actual abduction and disappearance of John, he asked me if I knew anyone who might want to hurt John and or his family.  I told him I did not other than myself.  He looked surprised and asked me to explain.  I told him that finally it appeared that one of the ones who were directly responsible for the deaths of Wendi and Cindi Murray, and possibly their parents, had received a real dose of justice.  He said, “so you yourself wanted to hurt John?”  I responded that I did but that I could myself only do my damage with the law and that so far, all my efforts in that regard had failed.

The interview ended with me signing a statement of one sentence: “I did not kidnap John Ericson and I have no knowledge of who did or of his whereabouts.”  After Detectives Darden and Morrow, and Deputy Sheriff Vickers, and their crew left, I drove home to reassure Karla and Kaden not to worry about what they had just experienced, that it was routine for law enforcement in such a high-profile case to investigate almost everyone who even knew the victim.  I further assured them the searches found nothing because there was nothing harmful to find.