Winter 1949 – The Ballad of Bad Buggers McHare


Jennie shook her head. She said, “I’m not going to pretend that he was a good father or even a good man but I know he didn’t kill anyone. He wasn’t that kind of bad. I could see him burning down a house because he’d passed out while smoking. Or he could stand and stare while you were choking on a piece of meat. But my father wouldn’t have had the drive to break into that house and butcher those people.” 

I looked again at the photos. I said, “The cartoons on the wall look like your father’s work. I assume they were drawn with the victim’s blood?”