It’s a bombshell, Poppy had said.
I didn’t want to listen, but I felt compelled to do so. The notion that this girl, this girl who used three exclamation points and misused an o as a zero, would soon know something about our family that I did not yet know made me feel a little crazy. My return to New York forgotten, I clicked over to Poppy’s website and began downloading the episode.
“What are you up to?” Caleb asked casually, yawning as he wandered in from his own makeshift office across the hall. He froze when he saw the look of grim determination on my face. “Seriously, Jo, what are you up to?”
“Poppy Parnell posted a new episode.”
“Are you sure you want to listen to that rubbish?” Caleb asked, frowning in concern. “Remember how stressed it’s made you?”
“Of course I don’t want to listen,” I snapped. Caleb’s soft eyes widened in surprise, and I was immediately contrite. “God, Caleb, I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to yell at you. I’m just . . .” The end of my sentence was lost in exhausted, defeated tears.
“Hey now,” he said, sinking onto the bed beside me and wrapping an arm around my shoulders. “It’s okay. Things will look different tomorrow when we’re home.”
I wanted to believe him. As I rested my head against his chest, listening to the reassuring drumbeat of his heart, I commanded myself to believe him. The following night, I would be climbing into our own bed back home in Brooklyn, not tossing and turning in this old twin bed, knowing that my sister was just across town.
But it didn’t matter that the view was different from New York: things would still be the same. My parents would still be dead, my sister would still be unraveling, and the podcast would still be making headlines.
With black resolve, I pushed away from Caleb’s comforting embrace and reached for my earbuds.
Excerpt from transcript of Reconsidered: The Chuck Buhrman Murder, Episode 5: “A Question of Character,” September 28, 2015
Personal reputation plays a huge role in the case against Warren Cave. It was easy for police—and later, a jury—to trust Lanie Buhrman, a sad-eyed, conventionally attractive teenaged girl, the progeny of a well-liked college professor and a local daughter. And it was similarly easy for them to be suspicious of Warren Cave, who was purposefully subversive in his appearance, an admitted drug user, and newer in town.
But these last couple of weeks I’ve spent in Elm Park have made me wonder if these reputations aren’t little more than tropes and prejudice; I think the truth surrounding some of the major players is more complicated than we know.
I’ll start with Lanie Buhrman. Before I do, I want to say that I know some of you have accused me of “victim-blaming” every time I dare to question Lanie Buhrman’s character. First, allow me to remind you who the real victims in this case are: Chuck Buhrman, whose life was tragically cut short, and possibly Warren Cave, who I am growing more and more convinced is innocent. Lanie Buhrman is not a victim, and I’m certainly not blaming her for anything. I’m not accusing her of any wrongdoing or any misconduct. I’m simply directing sunlight onto her character so that her statements can be properly evaluated.
Unfortunately, finding anyone who knew Lanie in the time period immediately preceding her father’s death is easier said than done. Chuck and Erin homeschooled their children, so there are no teachers or classmates to talk to. Chuck, Erin, and all four grandparents are dead. The rest of her family has declined to participate in this podcast.
In fact, the only person I found who would speak to me about Lanie Buhrman’s teenaged years was Jason Kelly, Amelia’s ex-husband. He remembers Lanie as a happy, playful child. However, his recollections are limited, as he and Amelia divorced two years before Chuck’s death, and he admits that he didn’t see the Buhrman family after the divorce. A teenager’s mood can change drastically in two years.
What is certain is that, at some point, Lanie Buhrman stopped being happy and playful and became a delinquent. Police records indicate she was ticketed a handful of times for minor offenses such as curfew violation, loitering, and possession of alcohol. She was arrested once for vandalism and once for possession of a small quantity of marijuana; she wasn’t charged either time. I spoke with Harold Greenway, the principal of Elm Park High School during the Buhrman twins’ tenure, and he remembered Lanie as a troublemaker.
GREENWAY:
We tried to be accommodating, of course. The Buhrman girls came from a homeschooled environment, and they’d tragically lost their parents. We expected there to be something of a learning curve with them, but Lanie pushed us to our limits. She regularly skipped school, failed to complete assignments, and ignored rules such as dress codes and a prohibition on tobacco products. We attempted to intervene—we assigned counselors to her, we talked to her guardian—but nothing seemed to get through to her.
Lanie’s former classmates echoed the sentiments of the principal: people wanted to help her, but she rebuffed all advances. I spoke with Trina Thompson, a former classmate of the Buhrman twins, and she described Lanie’s behavior to me.
POPPY:
When did you meet the twins?
TRINA:
In January 2003, when they transferred to public school. Everybody was talking about them when they arrived, of course. Their father’s murder was the most scandalous thing to happen in this town since that time someone set fire to the Family Tree restaurant. Everybody had been reading the newspapers, plus it was interesting to have two homeschooled students arrive, especially when they’re twins.
POPPY:
Were you friends with either of them?
TRINA:
I wouldn’t say I was friends with either of them, but I was friendly with Josie. She started dating a friend of mine, and we ran in the same social circles. She was nice enough, but difficult to get to know.
POPPY:
And Lanie?
TRINA:
Definitely not. Lanie Buhrman had absolutely no interest in anyone other than the school’s most burned-out losers. Everyone was super-friendly to her at the start, but she was just plain nasty to all of us. And then she got really deep into drugs and whatever. I heard she used to steal money from people’s lockers during gym class. Oh, and she was part of the group that vandalized the football field the night before the Homecoming game senior year.
Every person I talked to had the same sorts of stories to tell about Lanie Buhrman. One girl claimed that Lanie had spit on her in the hallway, one boy told me that Lanie had stolen his mother’s prescription drugs during a party at his house. It’s safe to say that Lanie Buhrman did not have the best reputation.
But back in 2002, Lanie Buhrman was just a wide-eyed girl, and Warren Cave was the one with a bad reputation. Based on appearance alone, it was easy to think that he was a bad guy. I thought the same thing when I saw pictures of Warren from the early 2000s. When I first began speaking with his mother, I assumed fond remembrances of her son were outdated or wishful thinking. Then I met Warren and found him to be polite and articulate. I initially assumed that he was just putting on a good face to meet me, but I learned from prison guards that Warren is generally regarded as one of the best-behaved prisoners on the block.
Since arriving in Elm Park, I have encountered more people who are willing to vouch for Warren Cave’s personality than Lanie’s—even from the 2000s. Earlier this week, for example, I was getting coffee at the local coffee shop when a woman approached me and identified herself as Jeanette Ragnorak, Warren Cave’s high school math teacher. She told me she was glad I’m on the case because she’s certain that Warren isn’t guilty.
JEANETTE:
You’ll never convince me that Warren Cave killed anyone. He was in my Algebra II class the year before all this happened, and he was much more of a softie than he wanted anyone to believe. Sure, he dressed like the Grim Reaper, but he was as tough as a gerbil. One afternoon, I noticed he wasn’t paying attention in class—he was nudging a piece of paper along the back of the chair in
front of him. I was about to reprimand him, but then I realized he was trying to catch a spider. So many other students—particularly the boys—would’ve smashed the spider, but Warren coaxed it into his hands and gently released it on the window ledge. I recall that so clearly because it was so unexpected. He didn’t look like the gentle soul who would do that. But appearances can be deceiving. And it was the first thing I thought of when I later heard they’d arrested him for murder. He couldn’t even hurt a spider, I thought—there’s no way he murdered a man in cold blood.
Warren’s former math teacher wasn’t the only person who reached out to me to defend Warren. A woman who described herself as a high school friend of Melanie’s told me how Warren used to babysit her child.
MONICA WOOLEY:
Sure, Warren could look a little off-putting with that hair and those clothes and, well, that sneer, but he was the only one my Danny tolerated. Warren’s biggest secret was that he had a heart of gold.
I heard from several other Elm Park citizens who had redeeming things to say about Warren, but who didn’t want to end up on the podcast. But you know what they say: the plural of anecdote is not data. That’s all that these stories are: anecdotes.
Yet, it’s important to note that, while people have approached me to relate nice things about Warren, I’ve heard only the opposite about Lanie Buhrman. Jeanette Ragnorak, for one, also had some choice things to say about Lanie:
JEANETTE:
I had Lanie Buhrman in class two years after I had Warren. I’m a math teacher, so I’m used to children hating my class, but Lanie was something else altogether. If I wasn’t directly interacting with her, she’d put her head down on her desk. On multiple occasions, she just got up and left. And, in all my years of teaching, I have never had to charge a student for a textbook, but Lanie Buhrman used a marker to black out entire pages.
I heard from many other people who had stories of Lanie cutting class, smoking in the bathroom, and stealing from the cafeteria.
Again, though: anecdotes. Still, all these anecdotes are interesting because together they provide some context for the mind-sets of the major players. But without a doubt, the most interesting interview I had this week was about more than context—it was about fact.
As you undoubtedly recall, Warren Cave had no alibi for the night Chuck Buhrman was killed. His story has always been that he was getting high off cough syrup in the local cemetery, and that he then got in a fight with some kids in the park. These unidentified kids are the only ones who could verify that Warren was somewhere else at the exact moment that Chuck Buhrman was getting killed, and they have, for the last thirteen years, remained unidentified. Even though Warren’s attorney put out a call for these individuals to come forward, no one did.
Until last week.
I received a call from a woman named Maggie Kallas. In October 2002, Maggie was a senior honors student at Elm Park High School, and she claims that she was at the park the same night Chuck Buhrman was murdered—and that she saw Warren there.
MAGGIE:
Warren Cave was telling the truth about getting thrown in the lake that night. I was there.
POPPY:
Tell me what happened.
MAGGIE:
Some of us were drinking at the park. It wasn’t the kind of thing we normally did, you have to understand, but it was the fall of our senior year, and we were feeling invincible. There were five of us, I think. Maybe six. Me and Keith and . . . Oh, never mind that. It’s hard to remember at this point. We were all pretty drunk, and Warren Cave came riding his bicycle through the park. And he just looked ridiculous. I mean, he was this goth kid, all gangly with this bad dye job, riding a bicycle, for heaven’s sake, and he was weaving all over the place. And the guys . . . well, they were wasted and started throwing things at him. And that made him mad, and they got to pushing and shoving, and next thing you know, Warren was in the water.
POPPY:
Warren has said that he was held underwater until he passed out.
MAGGIE:
Well, I don’t know about that. Like I said, we were all drinking, and we girls stayed back. I just know that at some point the boys came running back from the lake, and we all ran away.
POPPY:
Were you aware that a request had been issued for information about Warren Cave’s whereabouts that evening?
MAGGIE:
Yeah.
POPPY:
Why didn’t you come forward?
MAGGIE:
We were scared. You’re not supposed to be in the park after dark, you know, and you’re definitely not supposed to be drinking there. We knew that we’d be in trouble if we admitted anything. We were all, for lack of a better description, good kids. We were on the student council and sports teams, and we were scared that something like that would ruin our futures. We thought we’d never get into college. And so we decided to stick together and stay quiet. You have to believe me, though: we didn’t think it would have any impact. We assumed that if Warren was innocent, that would be evident in court no matter what we said. We were so stupid. I’m so ashamed. I was worried about ruining my life, but instead I helped ruin someone else’s.
POPPY:
Why are you coming forward now? Warren has been in prison for more than twelve years.
MAGGIE:
Like I said, I hadn’t thought that our testimony would’ve made a difference. I didn’t know when Mr. Buhrman was killed exactly, and I figured that Warren could’ve been in both places. That girl saw him pull the trigger, right? And his fingerprints? If he was found guilty in a court of law, there had to have been a reason. But then I started listening to your podcast, and I realized that it was important to have all the facts.
Maggie played coy when I asked her for the names of the other people she had been with. She said that she wanted to let them decide whether to come forward on their own, but she did slip at one point and mention someone named Keith. I looked at yearbooks from that time period and figured she was referring to Keith Baron, a student council member and varsity athlete. Keith now works in tech and lives in Silicon Valley, but he speaks fondly about his time in Illinois, and he agreed to speak with me on the phone. Our conversation began amiably enough, chatting about Elm Park and how it’s changed over the years. But when I mentioned my recent conversation with Maggie, things took a turn.
POPPY:
Maggie Kallas told me she was with you and some others in Lincoln Park on the night of October 19, 2002, and that you saw Warren Cave there.
KEITH:
No, that’s not right.
POPPY:
Are you sure? Why don’t you just think about it a little bit more?
KEITH:
I don’t need to think about it. I’m positive. I wasn’t at the park that night, and I never saw Warren Cave outside of school.
POPPY:
Why do you think Maggie would tell me you threw Warren Cave in the lake, then?
KEITH:
She said that?
POPPY:
She said that you and some others got in a fight with him in the park, and that it ended with Warren in the lake.
KEITH:
I . . . I’m done with this.
POPPY:
This is your chance to come clean, Keith. Tell me what happened in the park that night.
KEITH:
Go to hell.
At that point, Keith hung up and refused to return any of my attempts at communication. Maggie declined to name any other friends who had been in the park, and cold-calling likely suspects from the yearbook didn’t lead to anything. I’m therefore issuing a request: if you have any information about what happened in Lincoln Park that night, please, please let me know. You can remain anonymous if you want, but please. The truth wants to be set free.
chapter 18
I lay back on the bed and stared blankly at the ceiling, unable to stop hearing Maggie Kallas’s throaty voice, saying to Poppy Parnell and anyone else who wou
ld listen, Warren Cave was telling the truth about getting thrown in the lake that night. The conclusion was impossible to escape: if Warren was telling the truth, Lanie was not.
I shuddered as a sudden memory flashed through my mind, the two of us pressed together in the pitch-dark of the bedroom closet, squeezing hands so tightly I thought our bones would break, Lanie hotly whispering, It’s my fault.
“I’m thinking manicures,” Ellen announced, pushing open the door. “We need to cram in as much cousin-bonding as we can before we both go home tomorrow.”
I sat up slowly, Lanie’s damning words screaming through my mind.
“Oh.” Ellen startled when she saw my face. “Josie, what’s wrong?”
I shook my head to clear it, forced myself to tell Ellen about the podcast. “Poppy Parnell was right. She had a bombshell.”
“What was it?”
“She interviewed this woman named Maggie Kallas—”
“Maggie Kallas?” Ellen interrupted. “I know her. She was a senior when we were sophomores. What does she have to do with anything?”
“She’s substantiating Warren’s claim that he was in Lincoln Park that night. She says she saw him. She says her friends were the ones to push him in the lake.”
“So what?” Ellen shrugged. “Unless she’s claiming that she saw him at the exact moment that your dad was killed, I don’t see the bombshell. I mean, we knew he was in the park. He couldn’t have ended up in the lake otherwise.”
Truth Be Told Page 22