On November 2nd, 1973, a girl told a Hillsborough County deputy that a few weeks earlier, she'd seen two suspicious men in the woods where John disappeared.

She said they were standing beside a yellow car holding bows and arrows.

They tried to get her attention.

After I read that police report, I kept thinking about that girl, what she saw, how she felt, and how she got away.

She was the one person who had some idea of what my brother had encountered in his

last moments. Then, out of the blue, just last year, I got a chance to talk with her. I guess

not everybody's lucky enough to be the person that got away.

I'm David Kushner, and this is Alligator Candy.

Britta McKenna is a grandmother living in Chicago.

She read my memoir about John and emailed me. Reading your jacket cover, knowing there was a four-year-old brother that got left on the

curb, I could see you just waiting.

In 1973, Britta was 12, and she lived near us in Tampa.

Her father happened to work the same university as my dad, but we didn't know her family.

Britta was a competitive swimmer on a strict schedule.

When she had free time, she loved taking off on her bike.

I had a three-speed. It was red. It's one way to get a breeze down in the humid Tampa summers.

And I usually had a purpose when I was on my bike, whether it was the candy store or a friend

or to go meet somebody in a park.

It was always happy.

So there was this adventure and the wheels of a bicycle took me there.

Like a lot of kids in our neighborhood, Britta would bike through the woods to the 7-Eleven to buy candy.

Her favorite was bit of honey.

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