2: I’m Batman

Part 0: Every Hero Has an Origin Story

Everyone has a favorite superhero. The one who has always kept my attention is Batman. Christopher Nolan’s Batman to be specific. For me, he felt weirdly relatable. It was Batman’s beginning that drew me in  – how the murder of his parents informed the rest of his life. His urge to avenge their death might feel extreme to some people, but it still resonates with me. 

The similarities seem obvious, but the connection is deeper. It’s not just in his inspiration that I see the resemblance. The internal conflict he faces is one that I have been dealing with from the moment I learned of my dad’s murder. 

Superheroes are complicated. It’s not as simple as saving the day. A moral struggle is inevitable and it’s never black and white. Intention doesn't always match impact – that’s a lesson I learned the hard way.

I’m no Bruce Wayne, but if you squint hard enough you’ll see a detective in the making.  

And this is how I got here…

Part 1: Who is Madison McGhee?

My dad wasn’t discussed much when I was a kid. I didn’t have much context or knowledge about how my parents met, why they broke up, or what was going on at the time of my dad’s murder. My curiosity didn’t peak until I was older. And when I started asking questions, I wasn’t met with much enthusiasm.  

Talking about this now… it kind of wakes up some stuff which we might have wanted to forget.

Do we wanna do this all, you know say everything over again? Whatever happened – it’s 20 years ago and now we opening up our life again to that heartache.

This is some raw shit that I really don’t really wanna even talk about. And I’m sure no one else does either.

After prodding for a few months, and even making a trip back to West Virginia they started to open up a little. I was hearing a lot of these stories for the very first time.

My parents met in a place you wouldn’t consider romantic… but it’s where their love story began.

I met him at a Narcotics Anonymous meeting in 1994 in Wheeling, West Virginia. I was in treatment and I thought that he was the um… most spiritual person in the room… also the cutest.

We started walking eh… the path in Wheeling every day and eventually our relationship progressed and I got pregnant with my daughter Madison.

So I moved in with him and lived with him for a brief period of time.

After I had my daughter our relationship fell apart. I moved back to Charleston.

My mom was 33 when my parents met, and was hoping to settle down with someone and have a family. She wanted that white picket fence life, and she envisioned that with my dad. The way she talked about him almost felt like she was talking about a dream that was within reach but escaped through her fingers. 

He was tortured with his lifestyle and not being able to stop using drugs and choices he was making. I think it bothered him in the end that he wasn’t able to, you know, commit and have a normal relationship with somebody.

We didn’t talk for about three months because of the turbulence in our relationship. But then we reconnected and um he started coming to Charleston to visit his daughter.

After my parents split up, I lived with my mom in Charleston, West Virginia. 

My dad stayed in Ohio and on rare occasions I would go up there to see him. He would come down to Charleston to visit on a regular basis and bring my sister, Alyssa.

I can’t tell now if my memories are real or fabricated, but I have very distinct memories of my dad trying to teach me how to dribble a basketball on the sidewalk in front of my mom’s house. I wasn’t very good. My family was fragmented. I had a mom, a dad, a big sister, and two grandma figures. To me, that was enough.

And it was always all us together when JC would come to town. So we had a really good family relationship and I’m happy for that.  

But I had other older siblings, aunts, uncles, and cousins on my dad’s side who I would never get to experience that with. I grew up with a really small family, having no idea that just three hours away I had hundreds… literally hundreds of cousins. I look at photos now of my dad’s side of the family and there’s pictures of so many faces that look like mine, but are complete strangers.

But we really hadn’t any contact with them that much. Madison went to visit him whenever they arranged it and vice versa.

Knowing that we had siblings… I got a chance to be with you but you don’t remember. It was hard for me. Me and dad used to cry our hearts out leaving you. It was so hard.

Me and dad, when we would leave Charleston, when you were older. The waterworks would start and we’d hold hands all the way until we got to the highway and we would cry because we knew we weren’t going to see you for a while. You know, it was going to be at least a month or maybe two months before we’d see you again. It was just heartbreaking to have to leave you.

It was just me and my mom most of the time. We spent a lot of time together. Moments with her are a little more clear. I had everything I could have wanted — she signed me up for every activity a little kid could dream of. I can still hear the sound of this SpongeBob alarm clock she got me when I was young. This is how I try to remember my childhood. When I think about this time, it’s like I’m remembering a story I was told — like I was watching it happen, not like it was actually happening to me. 

But one of my most vivid memories is not a happy one. And it is forever burned into my brain – the moment I realized, as a child, that my mom didn’t love me as much as she loved drugs.

When I was 5 years old, I fell asleep in the playroom watching the History Channel with my mom. I woke up in the middle of the night with a pit in my stomach. My mom was gone. I went around the house looking for her, calling for her, but I didn’t feel her presence. I don’t know how I had the instinct, but I went next door to my neighbor’s house and started knocking on the door. The sun was coming up. The minutes that passed felt like hours before they finally came to the door, confused why I was standing there alone. I remember calmly saying, “my mom’s gone.” They brought me inside and called my grandmother who lived only a few minutes away. 

I sat in their kitchen, waiting for my grandma – I call her Nany – to come and get me. I had no idea what would happen next. A lot of possibilities ran through my mind in the five minutes it took for her to drive down the street – I questioned why my mom would leave me; maybe she just ran to the store and I’m being overdramatic; or something terrible happened and she was in danger. But then through the window of my neighbor's house I saw something  in the back alley… My mom pulled up in her red Mercedes convertible with a man in the front seat. She got out of the car, walked up to the back door, locked it, and drove away. I yelled after her. Screaming, banging on the window. I could have sworn she looked at me, but I couldn’t tell you that with any certainty. She didn’t even flinch. It would be a while before I would see my mom again – several years. 

Addiction is a disease and I empathize and recognize that struggle more as an adult than I did as a little girl. I know the impact it has on families, as I was directly affected by my mom’s choices and still have a lot of trauma surrounding her decisions during this time. While I try to understand her side of things now, I can’t help but see myself as a kid and then none of it makes sense. It’s hard to wrap my head around. 

I moved in with Nany, and her sister – my great aunt – Mimsy. The transfer of custody was instant. My grandma picked me up from my neighbor’s house, took me home, and that’s where I lived. I never got to say goodbye to my house, my room, my stuff. It was a weird feeling of being displaced but within your own family.

My grandmother is the closest thing to an angel on earth. She didn’t really understand me most of the time. The cultural differences between us are very sharp and the generational gap is wide, but it’s clear she did what she thought was best and sacrificed a lot to raise me on behalf of my mom. She and Mimsy did everything they could to raise a bi-racial girl with two semi-absentee parents in the third whitest state in America. I don’t have many fond memories of my childhood. There were a lot of added layers to the usual identity crisis you have growing up. I struggled tremendously with anxiety and depression from the earliest moments of my memory. Most of my childhood all the way through high school is pretty hazy and hard to remember.

She never said very much about it or anything. But I know that she talked about it somewhat occasionally.

But my grandmother wanted things to be as normal as possible given the circumstances. For as long as they could, they made sure that I saw my dad. In fact, I was supposed to visit him the week after he was killed.

That’s the one thing – We did make arrangements for Madison to go for a week to her dad’s house the following week to spend a week with him. But he got killed so you didn’t get to see him one more time.

But there I was, a year after my mom left, sitting ten feet away from my dad’s casket. 

But there was little Madison in the front row right where that casket was and it just… it absolutely was the most saddening thing to watch her. She was so emotional and although she didn’t see her father all that often but he loved her dearly.

Eventually when I was 10 or so, my mom came back and I moved in with her. We have had a pretty interesting relationship ever since – functional, but tumultuous.

Part 2: A Gut Feeling

If you could have any superpower – what would it be? If you had asked me when I was a kid, without hesitation, I would say “invisibility.” I would have given anything to disappear for a bit and go undetected. But I realized something over the last few years. I always had a superpower – my intuition.

I was a couple weeks away from turning seven when my dad was murdered. And how did my family tell me about the tragedy? They just… didn’t. 

I have really vague memories of the summer of 2002. Nany and Mimsy took me to Texas to visit some cousins on my mom’s side. That’s when they got the call that nightmares are made of.

I was visiting my nephew – my sister and I and Madison. And uh Madison’s father passed away. And we didn’t know about it but they were trying to find us. Nobody knew that we had gone out of town. They got the Red Cross to double check. I don’t know why they did the Red Cross but it was kind of strange. But they finally found us and we naturally packed our bags and went back to West Virginia and then to Bridgeport.

We flew back to West Virginia in a rush and landed late at night. The next morning we drove to Ohio for the funeral. I remember the drive there, but I don’t remember much else. 

We were worried about Madi that you know… sitting there and what was going through her head. We were worried about her. But she was like a trooper. She was there and she sat there and watched everything – what was going on.

Everybody was wonderful. Everybody was so nice to us. I’m still so amazed how well Madison handled it, really. Amazing.

I didn’t know it at the time, but my dad’s funeral would be the last time I’d see his side of the family for at least a decade. I wouldn’t see my sister, Alyssa, for over twenty years.

In May of 2012, I was a 16 year-old, weeks away from graduating high school. I went back to Wheeling with my mom to place a headstone on my dad’s grave and visit my dad’s mom – Grandma Daisy. That’s when I got my intuition superpower and everything changed.

No one got a headstone for JC so I went ahead and purchased it myself. And we took the headstone up there and put it on his grave several years after his death. My daughter Madison was with me. And Omar came downstairs and at that time Madison had never been told the truth about the murders. She was told he died of a heart attack because she was young And um… after she met Omar we get in the car and we’re on our way back to Charleston and she looks at me and says, “You know mommy, I think Omar was with daddy when he got killed and didn’t help him.” And my blood just went dry. I mean I felt like the blood come out of my face. And I… at that time told her the truth for the first time – what happened to her dad.

So it was very interesting that… you know, someone who didn’t know anything that happened identified that Omar knew something and was there when he died and didn’t help him.

That afternoon, in a Buffalo Wild Wings off the highway in St. Clairsville, Ohio, my mom tried to explain to a very confused teenager that her dad did not die of a heart attack ten years earlier. I’m not sure I will ever be able to explain the feeling. I felt like I had been maliciously lied to – as if everyone was watching me believe a made up story while knowing the truth all along.

We didn’t tell her the truth. And I’m sorry for that ever but at the time I thought it was the right thing to do not to tell her that her father had been shot. ‘Cause we wanted to spare her from the pain. You know and she was a little one. She doesn't know what to say or do either. But I’m so sorry that we lied. We should’ve told her the truth right away but we didn’t. We thought we were protecting her and we probably did not.

My mom and my grandma are still noticeably uncomfortable talking about this. I think their avoidance was a sort of coping mechanism that they still lean on. They did everything to keep the truth from me, and even now, I have a tough time trusting that I am getting the full story.

It started to make sense why my sister had kept her distance from me for so long.

When you were young, I didn’t know… I’m just too real and raw. Like… There was no way I was gonna be able to… you know, sugar coat this.

It was the deepest sadness I had yet to experience. I was forced to grieve my dad’s death all over again from a new point of view. There is no measure for grief, but a heart attack was much easier to process. Health, science, God, the universe – whatever you believe in – contributes to a heart attack. But my dad died at the hands of someone else. None of it is fair. But this felt different. It felt unjustified.   

The women who raised me all agreed.

This man died for no reason at all.

But they still chose not to tell me. And the bigger question I had amongst the betrayal and confusion – would they have ever told me if my intuition didn’t step in? If I didn’t ask my mom that day, I’m not sure the “right time” would have ever come.

I’m trying to keep my family safe and that’s all that we did.

Part 3: My Career Path

I was at a very pivotal moment in my life when I discovered my dad was murdered. I was graduating high school and entering a new phase of my life that could easily dictate where I would end up in the long term – what I would do for work, who I would surround myself with, where I would live. A lot of big decisions were coming my way, but in many ways it felt like no matter what I decided I would end up right here doing this. 

With a degree in Communications, I almost immediately started making video content. This was when I hit my stride – my curiosity was emerging and documentary filmmaking was a part of that natural progression. I made my first feature-length doc in 2016. It wasn’t good, but it was a huge stepping stone.

My path into the industry was perfectly imperfect. I had no formal training. I did not go to film school.  I just went out, made stuff, and sometimes it worked out. I learned a lot through trial and error, but eventually transitioned from making my own home videos to working as a producer in a more official capacity. It almost always happened through a serendipitous connection, and looking back I still can’t pinpoint how I met people the way I did, but it must have been divine intervention. 

I was building a career creating for others. A freelancer crafting social media content. A producer executing a showrunner’s vision. I jumped in and out of a lot of different roles – I worked in sports production, local news, unscripted television, some scripted projects. I was tip-toeing around paths and careers that always led back here.

I think I inherited a lot of my creativity from my dad. 

You shared interests and I think he might have instilled some of your interests in videos and filming and stuff.

I had other ideas for projects, and at some points tried to get them off the ground but something always stopped me. Part of it was imposter syndrome. I had experience, sure. But I didn’t feel qualified or capable enough to do this and do it well. 

I was diving head first into a very uncomfortable space. I knew I would be opening up a lot of wounds, not just my own but my family’s as well. If, and when, I decided to tell this story I knew I had to be 100% in it. My heart and my head had to be on the same page for this to be everything I wanted it to be. But the spark just never came. 

Until one day, I had a life-changing realization. I was driving from Portland, Oregon to Charleston, West Virginia in the beginning of May 2020. I was listening to all my favorite true crime podcasts on the forty-one hour drive across the country. I had a lot of time to listen, but also a lot of time to think – I could do this. I could make something like this, but mine would be different. This wasn’t going to be someone re-telling someone else’s story. This is my story. This is my life.

If there was ever a moment with no other obligations, no excuses keeping me from starting a personal project – it was the middle of 2020. I called my mom and for the first time in eight years, I asked her to talk to me about my dad’s murder. And I haven’t stopped asking questions since.

Part 4: The Calm Before the Storm

My natural curiosity sent me on quite the adventure. I was hounding everyone within close proximity of me with questions. But I wasn’t close – in location or relation – to the people who were in Belmont County at the time. So I started making some uncomfortable phone calls.

First, I reached out to the Belmont County Sheriff’s Department. I had heard enough of these true crime podcasts to know that you can request police records for anything… Actually, you can’t. Sometimes they say no… or in this case they say, “sure” and then ignore your calls for the next nine months. 

I skipped over the Sheriff’s Department and got in touch with the Belmont County Prosecutor's office. I was connected with David Liberati, the Assistant Prosecuting Attorney. He handles the public records requests for Kevin Flanagan, the Belmont County Prosecutor. They got me everything I asked for within a few weeks. 

By November of 2020, I had the records and I had the time. But starting is the hardest part – I had no idea how to begin investigating a cold case. 

This story is covered in contradictions and the case files were no different. Reading through the first few times raised a lot of questions about some things but brought clarity to others. I got out my corkboard. 

I tried to piece together what my dad was doing the days leading up to his death. Thinking about who was in his orbit, and why anyone would want to kill him. 

Part 5: The Investigations Begins

The more I learned, the more people I added to my list of potential suspects, witnesses, or co-conspirators. There was a lot I had to understand before diving into this case. A general knowledge of the lifestyle and landscape were necessary. This was all very new to me – I had grown up very sheltered and it was a shock to the system to see what I could have grown up around and how drastically different my life could have been.

As I was gathering details, my thought process was scattered. Information came in waves. There would be several weeks that I would talk to someone every single day with silence for months in between.

I laid it all out – It was obvious I didn’t have all the information I needed and there was a lot of work ahead of me. But things were starting to jump out at me — dots were starting to connect. I had uncovered three motives – three strong possibilities with very capable suspects who had solid reasons for wanting my dad dead. 

That would imply this was planned, something a lot of people believed to be true. 

But somebody organized this. It’s gotta be somebody that had a reason.

I always thought that… always.

But the police were adamant this was an accident. 

I think they were planning on doing a second home invasion. On their end it went to shit and they ran.

Premeditated murder versus a home invasion gone wrong – another contradiction.

I sat on the fence for a while, thinking –  it could have been both at the same time. Someone could have wanted my dad dead and accidentally found themselves in the situation to make it happen that night. But I was basing this all off of what I thought… not what actually happened. 

Diving deeper into the case files, meticulously combing through the witness testimony, and interviewing the people who were there at the time would reveal more than I ever imagined. And it would shed light on these theories – these suspects – and send me down a rabbit hole that I’m not sure I will ever be able to climb out of. 

My dad was heavily involved in drug trafficking. And he eventually turned on his own, which created some enemies.

I mean a lot of people didn’t like your dad ‘cause he was a snitch.

And we’ve all heard the phrase snitches get stitches. My dad, in his attempt to save himself, worked with the police to turn in quite a few drug dealers, one bigger than the rest. But when you aim at the devil, make sure you don’t miss. 

It’s kind of like the Cartel. They’ll kill their own child if they’ve snitched on them. If they’re gonna take away their money and they’re freedom, they’re gonna – they don’t care who you are.

And It’s also no secret my dad loved women.

It just seemed like he liked to enjoy life, we’ll call it that.

For every woman that loved my dad, there was a jealous man lurking in the shadows. One in particular was always around. He had involvement with at least two of my dad’s exes – sounds like someone with motive. 

When I started naming suspects, my mom got nervous. These were names she had heard before.

When my daughter started inquiring about her dad’s murder… I became – I’m a little bit concerned because there’s some shady characters involved and the streets are different than real life.

The police ruled out some of these people years ago for various reasons. In the eyes of the law, they are innocent until proven guilty. But as I started to piece it all together – everyone became a suspect and no one could be trusted. I started to understand the paranoia my dad was experiencing towards the end of his life.

I was about to learn about the darker side of my dad, his decisions, and what possibly led to his death.

Part 6: I’m Batman

I always knew I would tell this story.

But I didn’t know how I was going to tell this story. I just started recording everything – I sat people down for video interviews when they would let me, but my mic was ready at all times. I had no idea what this would become or if anyone would end up hearing anything. 

In a weird way, this felt like fate – like no matter what, I would have ended up right here, doing this, right now.

People have spent twenty-one years trying to solve this case – my family, the Belmont County Sheriff’s Department, and the county prosecutors. *music starts: Breaker of Chains* And now it’s my turn. 

As far as beginnings go, I certainly didn’t think my life was shaping out to be anything extraordinary. A year ago, I was explaining my dad’s story to a stranger and they looked at me and said “you’re kinda like Batman.” 

I couldn’t see the bigger picture as a six-year-old… but this was my origin story.

I guess you could say… I’m Batman

Next Time on Ice Cold Case

And I did tell him Daneen was gonna be the end of him.

And we were about to go to court the next morning after dad’s death.

‘Cause I saw him several years ago and haven’t seen him since. He’s like vanished.

Credits:
Ice Cold Case is brought to you by Yes!
It is written and produced by Madison McGhee
Also produced by Jeremy Benbow
Recorded by Danny Sellers
Mixed by Cody Campbell
Our music is by Matt Bettinson
With creative direction by AJ Christianson