Gary hadn't talked to Linda in years. Alcoholism can cause family strife. And, as Gary said,"The last time I talked to her, it was more yelling than talking." He really shouldn't even care, he said., after serving an 11-year sentence for his gambling addiction that wreaked havoc on those in his path, Gary thought of Linda, who had been Schlichter's public defender.
"I thought we'd try the hospital that's been converted to a care center to see if she's out there," said Gary, 71, as he pulled out of the Family Dollar parking lot."She'll be quite surprised to see either one of us." “Material things don’t mean that much to me anymore,” Barney told the Associated Press at the time. “I survived this cancer, I survived Art, and I feel like I’m here for a purpose now. I don’t know what it’s for, but I’ll be OK.”
That punishment was the result of Linda bringing a second cell phone into jail. The first time she brought a cell phone to Schlichter, she was given a warning. Just three doors down, he pulls in front of another house, the last home he knows of that Linda owned. Maybe she would be there. Gary pulls into the care facility parking lot."Let me go in here and see if they can tell me anything," he said."I'll be right back, going to see if I can find her.""They had a big question mark on their head," he said."They never heard of her, but they did suggest place. She might be there."
Their father, Billy Wagoner, was one of five doctors in town with the only office that had an X-ray machine in Randolph County. He was also a general surgeon at Indianapolis hospitals and later the county coroner. Their mother, Grace Madeline Wagoner, was a school nurse. Their parents showered their children with love and encouraged them to go after their dreams. For Linda, that was law.