VANISHED: After Years of Searching, a Louisiana Woman Gets a Lead on Her Missing Mother in Midland

By Jeff Seidel, Detroit Free Press

Aug. 5–She’s out there, somewhere, dead or alive. She’s out there, somewhere, waiting to be found.

Jamie Williams sits at a computer, in the dining room, searching for signs of her mother, surfing a high-speed connection, clicking links hour after hour, staring at a monitor, trying to find the electronic footprints of a ghost.

She gets on Google and types her mother’s name: Becky Gary. In less than a quarter of a second, the search engine finds 1.23 million links..

Becky Gary disappeared on Dec. 27, 1988, in Baton Rouge, La., when her only daughter was 12, leaving behind an apartment filled with clues: two packed suitcases on the bed, car keys in her purse, a bathtub full of water and a gurgling pot of coffee. She left her makeup bag, her music, her cigarettes. An autographed photograph of Louisiana Gov. Edwin Edwards, her lifelong obsession, was torn up on the counter.

The lights were on. Her car was in the parking lot. The rest of her clothes were hanging in the closet.

And she vanished.

Now, almost 20 years later, a couple days after Mother’s Day, a few days before her mother’s birthday, Jamie Williams is depressed. Her husband is at work, her kids are at school, and she feels all alone again, sitting in her house in Bossier City, La., so she keeps searching, trying to find some peace.

At the same time, about 1,100 miles away in a small town in Michigan, a woman is waiting to be found.

Jamie goes through the Web sites. After about 90 minutes, she comes across a Detroit Free Press story. A woman is mentioned in a story about cancer. Her name is Becky Gary, 50, from Midland, Mich.

Same age as her mother. Same name.

Is this her? Has Jamie finally found her mother?

Jamie reads the story. She calls the reporter in Michigan and leaves a voicemail.

“My name is Jamie Williams,” she says, with a soft Southern drawl. “I live in Louisiana. I have a strange question for you. I was browsing the Internet and I found a story you did. In there, you interview a lady named Becky Gary, who was 50.”

Jamie clears her throat.

“OK,” she says, her voice rising in a burst of excitement and desperation. “My mother, Becky Gary, ran away in 1988. And she would be 50. I was wondering if I could send you a picture and tell me if it is her. I’d appreciate it. Thank you.”

End of message.

Jamie can’t wait for a call back. It is May 17, and the sun is about to disappear. She starts surfing the Internet again and finds Becky’s address in Midland. She finds her phone number, her e-mail address.

She finds some hope.

At any given time, there are about 50,000 missing adults in the country, leaving behind families and neighbors and coworkers who continue to search. Some of the missing were victims of foul play. Some lost their lives to drug use or Alzheimer’s or mental illness. Others disappear by choice and start a new life.

In a matter of hours, Jamie becomes convinced: She has found her mother. There are too many coincidences.

Jamie’s mother was born May 27, 1956.

This woman in Michigan was born May 21, 1956.

Maybe the Internet is wrong, Jamie thinks. Maybe, the date is a typo. Or maybe, this is her mother’s attempt to cover her tracks by changing her date of birth.

But why did she need to do that? Was she still in danger? What secrets led to this moment? Why did she go for so long without contacting her only child?

On the Internet, Jamie finds a photograph of the woman in Michigan. This woman looks thin, just like her mother. She has dark curly hair, just like her mother.

Jamie considers several scenarios. For years, Jamie claimed that former Louisiana Gov. Edwin Edwards was involved in her mother’s disappearance. When Becky disappeared, Jamie told police that her mother and the governor had had an affair. Baton Rouge police questioned Edwards about Becky’s disappearance, but he denied any involvement, although his office did turn over several letters that Becky had sent the governor. In 2001, Edwards, a four-term governor, was sentenced to serve 10 years in prison for racketeering, money laundering and conspiracy. He declined to comment for this story.

Jamie considers another theory: Maybe her mother simply ran away to hide.

May is always difficult for Jamie. It’s a string of days that stir all sorts of emotions. Mother’s Day: Do you know how hard Mother’s Day is without a mother?

And now, feeling close to solving the mystery, she is filled with questions.

“If it is her,” she thinks, “why did she desert me?”

Williams can’t wait any longer.

She dials the number in Midland at 8:20 p.m. May 17.

No answer.

She tries again, but she’s afraid to leave a message. What would she say?

She’s out there, somewhere, trapped in a memory. She’s out there, somewhere, just waiting to escape.

It was Christmas 1988. Becky was living in Baton Rouge with Jamie. Jamie’s father was not in their lives. Becky insisted that Jamie go to Shreveport to spend the holidays with relatives.

Becky took Jamie to the bus station and they had a fight.

“I hate you bitch,” Jamie remembers shouting. “I hope you die.”

Those were the last words she spoke to her mother.

Christmas came and went.

On Dec. 27, Becky disappeared.

“It’s like the Earth opened up and swallowed her,” Jamie said. “And there has been nothing.”

The police investigate

Becky Gary was officially reported missing on Jan. 14, 1989.

Police didn’t find evidence of a crime at her apartment — no signs of forced entry, struggle or foul play — but everything looked suspicious.

“It’s an interesting case,” said Sgt. Don Kelly, a spokesman for the Baton Rouge police department. “She looked like she was packing to leave and then she vanished.”

For about a year before she went missing, Becky carried around a big manila envelope, about an inch thick. She hid it under her bed, according to her mother, Pauline Gary, now 82, who lives in Shreveport.

Becky showed the envelope to her sister, Joyce Lee, now 49. “If anything ever happens to me,” she told Joyce, “it’s all in this package.”

No one ever saw the contents.

After Becky went missing, nobody could find the envelope.

Jamie told police that her mother had an affair with Edwards.

“They had feelings on and off over the years,” she says. “One of the reasons we were living in Baton Rouge was because she wanted to be with him.”

Becky was 5 feet tall, 125 pounds with dark curly hair. “She was a really a pretty girl,” her mother said. “She got mixed up when she was real young with Gov. Edwards.”

Police confirm that they interviewed Edwards about the alleged relationship. Edwards had a reputation as a playboy, according to police. One time, while during a campaign, he said: “The only way I can lose this election is if I’m caught in bed with either a dead girl or a live boy.”

Police interviewed several other men who had relationships with Becky. Kelly did not know if anyone was ever eliminated as a suspect.

“Rebecca Gary clearly had an obsession with former Gov. Edwin Edwards that she expressed in a significant number of letters, very long detailed letters and cards and notes that she sent to the governor,” Kelly said.

More than seven detectives have worked on Becky’s disappearance, but there have been few leads since the 1980s.

Hers is classified as an open missing persons case.

“Clearly, there were two possibilities of what happened,” Kelly said. “One is that she was abducted and presumably killed and that her body has not been recovered. The second is that, for whatever reason, she voluntarily disappeared on her own.”

When Jamie turned 18, she went to the police station and was allowed to review the file.

“I couldn’t feel more sorry for the daughter,” Kelly said. “It’s a heck of a burden to have to carry around and deal with at that age. I wish we could provide answers to her.”

On May 17 in Midland, Becky Gary comes home and checks her phone. She has a habit of scrolling through the caller ID. The log shows two calls from Louisiana. She calls her sister.

“What should I do?” Becky asks.

“Call back,” her sister says.

In Bossier City, Jamie is at home when the phone rings.

The caller ID glows green with black letters: Rebecca Gary.

She gasps.

If it’s possible to have a momentary heart attack — if you can get a surge of emotion that is so strong that it stops your heart for a split second — then it happened to Jamie at that moment.

“Oh my God, it’s her,” she shouts. “Oh my God, it’s her.”

The phone rings again.

“Well, answer the phone,” says Daniel, 34, her husband of 11 years. “Answer the damn phone.”

–Monday, Part 2: Are you my mother?

Contact JEFF SEIDEL at 313-223-4558 or jseidel@freepress.com.

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