The Sienna Sand

by Jeff Siebold

  “Oh, yes, she’s the one with the sexual dysfunction… And?” said Clive.

  “Well, while they were together, she said Cappy was mean. Outright cruel. She said that he got worked up and beat her and threatened to kill her.”

  Kimmy nodded.

  “According to Carolyn, he said that he was going to ‘kill her like he killed the others.’ Said he was saying he’d stab her and watch her bleed out. Apparently, he got off on that sort of talk.”

  “She didn’t connect it with James Williams’ death?” asked Clive.

  “Apparently, this all took place before Williams was killed. After his death, she visited the guards a few times, but there wasn’t leverage,” said Zeke. “The sexual feelings weren’t there for her anymore.”

  “Leverage?” asked Kimmy.

  “Remember, James used to humiliate her. He used her to get privileges. She was sexually connected to his demands. Once he was gone, the humiliation was pretty much gone, too. So it fizzled out.”

  Chapter 25

  “The clues were there,” said Zeke. “But it didn’t come together until we’d talked with all of the victim’s relatives. Until Carolyn Autry said that about Cappy ‘killing the others.’”

  Clive, sitting in a wingback chair, was listening intently. “Do tell,” he said.

  “The five victims, what do they have in common?” Zeke continued.

  Kimmy, standing at the window, said, “Well, they were all in federal prison…”

  “That’s right. They all committed crimes that fell under federal law. In fact,” he continued, “they all committed the same crime.”

  “You mean they each robbed a bank? Like that?” asked Kimmy.

  Zeke said, “No, literally. They all committed the same crime. They were tried separately, and each was charged under a different statute based on their role in the crime.”

  “What do you mean?” asked Clive.

  “I looked at the files again after I talked with Carolyn, and it’s beginning to make some kind of sense,” said Zeke. “Remember Ernest Gleason’s grandmother? When we talked with her, she said he’d been found guilty of transporting crystal meth across state lines.”

  “Right,” said Kimmy. “She said he wouldn’t bother with meth…”

  “That’s right,” said Zeke. “But she was looking at it from her own perspective. What she meant was that he wouldn’t use crystal meth. He’d have used cocaine or heroin. But he wasn’t arrested for using it. He went to jail for transporting it.”

  “So that’s what the D.A. charged him with?” asked Clive.

  “Probably it was the charge most likely to result in a guilty verdict,” Zeke said.

  “What about the others?”

  “The second one was James Williams. He was arrested and put into federal prison for kidnapping. Burrows told me Green had abducted a young boy, held him at gunpoint.”

  “Right, I remember that,” said Kimmy.

  “His file said he was arrested for kidnapping in the commission of a felony in Phillipsburg, New Jersey. He abducted the boy after the crime, while he was trying to escape. But he wasn’t tried for the felony. The trial was all about the kidnapping,” said Zeke. “He might have bargained it down. Or maybe the kidnapping was a slam dunk.”

  Kimmy nodded.

  “But the kidnapping was around the same date Ernest Gleason was arrested,” said Zeke.

  “It was?” asked Clive.

  “Just a couple days later. I was distracted by Caroline Autry’s other problems, but the kidnapping is a key,” said Zeke.

  “And the third one?” asked Clive.

  “Yes, that was Trevor Brown. He was convicted of distribution of drugs, enough quantity that it was a federal charge.”

  “And his arrest?” asked Clive, warming up to the puzzle.

  “Three days after Gleason. He was arrested for selling large quantities of crystal meth to a couple of undercover cops.”

  “New Jersey?” asked Kimmy.

  “Pennsylvania, actually,” said Zeke. “Easton, Pennsylvania.”

  “What’s the connection there, old boy?” asked Clive.

  “Easy. Easton, Pennsylvania is right across the border from Phillipsburg, New Jersey. Right over the Delaware River Bridge. It’s essentially the same neighborhood.”

  “What ties this together, then?” asked Clive.

  “There was no crime reported. Sally researched it. But we have missing guns and drugs, money,” said Zeke. “Sounds like someone robbed an illegal operation. Maybe a meth lab.”

  Clive said, “So Brown could have made off with some of the drugs from the robbery that Gleason was involved in, then tried to sell them in the next town over.”

  “And three days later. That would be consistent.”

  “You’re saying that all four men were involved with the same crime? The same robbery? Interesting,” said Clive. “Who was number four?”

  “That was Kadin Hart,” said Zeke. “You remember he was arrested for carjacking. He was arrested in Bethlehem, Pennsylvania, only about nine miles from Easton.”

  “He commandeered a vehicle and made the driver take him out of town at gunpoint, as I recall,” said Kimmy.

  “That’s right. He actually hijacked the car in Easton, but he was arrested about ten miles away. In a different jurisdiction,” said Zeke.

  “Very well,” said Clive. “How does the O.Z. bloke fit into the pattern, then? Was he involved with the same crime?”

  “O.Z. was in prison for violation of the National Firearms Act. He was sentenced for having a fully automatic weapon in his car when he was pulled over in a traffic stop.”

  “Let me guess. It was within a couple of days of the drug robbery. The same day Gleason and Hart were arrested.”

  Zeke nodded. “The D.A. couldn’t get the four of them to roll on each other, so they hit O.Z. with a federal gun charge. Again, it was probably the charge they felt they could make stick.”

  * * *

  “How do you put this together, then?” asked Clive. “All the same crime on the same day?”

  “We knew that no robbery was reported in Easton that day,” said Zeke. “Which could mean that it was a robbery of a place while it was closed or vacant. Or, it could mean that the victims of the robbery didn’t report it. Maybe they just closed up shop and left.”

  “Four thugs break in and rob them. Why would the victims disappear quietly?” asked Kimmy.

  “Like we said, it would make sense if the stolen property was illegal,” said Zeke. “Something they didn’t want to claim, perhaps?”

  “Like drugs. Or drug money that they couldn’t explain having, perhaps.”

  “Some sort of drugs does make sense,” said Zeke. “Especially since Ernest Gleason was arrested for transporting drugs. And it was a good quantity, as I recall.”

  “It was,” said Clive.

  “If this is true, it’s very possible that the four of them were killed as retaliation for the robbery. They stole someone’s drugs and guns and maybe their money,” said Zeke. “But that sounds like organized crime. Or a gang. It’s possible that they robbed a gang of its crystal meth, and the gang ordered the hits in retaliation,” Zeke continued.

  “And the killings were carried out in prison,” said Clive. “All with the same M.O.”

  “They were. The gang that comes to mind is the Devil’s Disciples. It’s a white gang, and they specialize in cooking their own crystal meth. They’re well organized, they have a good number of members nationwide, and they’re established.”

  “So you think the five victims were all involved in a Devil’s Disciples drug house robbery, that they were apprehended and arrested for various federal crimes, and that their deaths were retribution for the robbery?” asked Clive.

  “I do,” said Zeke. “And that makes it likely the killer is one of them, one of the Devil’s Disciples.”

  “Do you know who the killer is?” asked Clive.

  “I believe I do,” said Zeke.
“Based on what we’ve learned, and with Carl’s input, I’m leaning toward Cappy Askew.”

  * * *

  “I’d like to talk with an inmate,” said Zeke. “Cappy Askew.” He was addressing the prison guard, Dix, through a reinforced plexiglass screen with several finger-sized holes in the middle of it. Dix was sitting at the counter behind the screen in the prison entry area.

  “They called and Warden said you’d be down here,” said Dix. His face was expressionless. “What’s a food service employee doing inside?”

  By ‘inside’, he meant inside the area of the prison that housed the cell blocks and guard stations, which is isolated from the kitchen, the laundry, and other common areas.

  Zeke smiled a disarming smile. “I’m just following orders, just like you, Dix.”

  Dix leisurely made a note on a clipboard, made a point of looking at the wall clock, and made another note. He said, “Hold your ID up to the glass, please.”

  Zeke did, and Dix added to his clipboard.

  “OK,” he said, “walk through there.” He pointed to Zeke’s right, to an imposing steel door with a small glass window. The lock made a metallic-electric sound, the sound of a heavy solenoid, as it was thrown back; the hinges objected slightly as the heavy door rotated on them.

  Zeke stepped into a small indoor area surrounded by a high hurricane fence and presently occupied by a second guard. The guard patted Zeke down, opened a gate in the fencing, and accompanied him through it into the cell block.

  “You wanna see Cappy Askew?” the guard confirmed. His nametag read ’Swanson’.

  “I do,” said Zeke.

  “Wouldn’t it have been easier to talk with him during work hours?” asked Swanson. “In the kitchen?” It was seven o’clock in the evening, after dinner but before the cells were shut down for the night.

  “Element of surprise,” said Zeke.

  “Huh,” said the guard.

  The cell block was a disorganized mix of random noises. Television sets blared, rap music played, and prisoners called out as Zeke and Swanson walked past. There were screams and threats and inmates trying to get their attention. “Hey, hey, over here,” one inmate said in a low, whispered voice. Others called after them mockingly.

  Zeke made eye contact with each prisoner they passed, ignoring prison protocol and smiling slightly from time to time.

  Men were sitting at metal tables bolted to the concrete floor in the cell block’s common area. There was a microwave and a single cup coffee maker, several tables with snacks arranged neatly, and condiments in small containers. Zeke saw pretzels and popcorn, individual sized bags of chips, and a few candy bars. Prisoners milled around the offerings, making a selection.

  The guard, Swanson, ignored the noise, apparently used to that environment, and led Zeke directly to a cell located on the second floor of the cell block, near the stairs.

  “This is Cappy’s cell,” he said.

  Zeke looked in at a small cell with three concrete walls and two cots attached to one of the walls. The floor was vinyl tile, and there was a recessed fluorescent light high in the ceiling, protected by a wire mesh screen. There was no window, but the fourth wall was also a wide wire mesh affair with a wire mesh door in it, looking out on the common area. In the corner there was a stainless steel toilet with a small sink on the top of the tank. A book lay open, face down on a blanket on the lower cot.

  The cell was empty.

  * * *

  The guard scratched his head and looked around. “He was here when I made my rounds about fifteen minutes ago,” the guard said. “He was reading.”

  Zeke nodded and stepped into the cell. The book lying on the cot was a classic jailhouse read, The 48 Laws of Power, by Robert Greene.

  “Maybe he went for a snack,” said Zeke.

  Swanson nodded. “He should be right back. Did you say he knew you were coming?”

  “No, he didn’t,” said Zeke.

  “Well, he wouldn’t be showering or in the yard right now,” the guard said. “I’d better report it.” He spoke quietly into the microphone attached to his shoulder.

  In adjoining cells and throughout the walkways prisoners watched and commented. Their voices blended with shows playing on a variety of televisions in a contest for the dominant volume.

  Zeke said, “He’s a trustee. Where could he be right now?”

  “A lotta places,” said Swanson. “He’s not confined or anything. Not until later. So he could be in any of his work stations or janitors’ closets. Maybe the warehouse…”

  “He has keys?” asked Zeke.

  “The keys are kept in a cabinet, but it’s seldom locked. So, he could have gotten keys if he needed them.”

  * * *

  Zeke followed the guard down to the first floor, and along the cell block walkway to a steel door marked “Laundry”. He paused and waited for the Swanson to unlock the door.

  “Do you think there’s trouble? Should we wait for reinforcements?” asked the guard.

  “No, let’s go,” said Zeke.

  “OK,” said Swanson. He unlocked the laundry door, opened it, and stepped aside to let Zeke enter the open laundry area. He turned on the light switch and the room was suddenly awash in fluorescent lighting. Industrial laundry machines lined both sides of the large room: washers and dryers and steam presses. All the equipment was quiet, shut down for the evening.

  Zeke called out, “Cappy? Cappy Askew?”

  There was no response.

  Swanson said, “You think he’s in here? Why?”

  Zeke said nothing.

  Suddenly there was a rapid scuffling noise behind them, like shoes on concrete. Zeke turned to see Cappy Askew behind the guard and approaching fast, with a steak knife in his right hand.

  Zeke grabbed Swanson by his belt and, using his body weight, swung him out of the way. Cappy’s swipe with the knife slashed the guard’s back, cutting through his uniform blouse. The smaller man danced back with his knife at the ready.

  “This isn’t very bright,” Zeke said to Cappy. “Nowhere to go from here.”

  Cappy looked crazed. He snarled at Zeke, and at Swanson, who was now sitting on the floor. He stepped forward, knife pointing at the men. “Doesn’t matter,” he said. “Doesn’t matter. You’re my father. You should have left it alone. Damn you!”

  Swanson said something into his radio again, and Cappy stepped back two steps and closed and locked the laundry door. Then he shuffled forward again, knife out in front.

  “It’s one thing to kill a man who’s been drugged,” Zeke started. “Or from behind. Someone who can’t fight back. It’s a whole other thing to kill a man face to face.”

  “Doesn’t matter,” Cappy repeated. His eyes were wide and furtive, like a trapped animal. “You made me kill Renee. Nothin’ else matters.”

  Zeke drew back, made himself smaller and stepped between Cappy and the guard. Cappy took a half step back, shrewdly assessing Zeke.

  “Doesn’t matter, you’re dead,” he said again, ranting. Then he laughed hard.

  Zeke kept his arms at his sides and took small steps, waiting for the man to close in on him. He tried to look intimidated.

  There was a loud knock on the laundry room door. “Open up,” said a muffled voice.

  Cappy Askew suddenly ran forward, knife thrust out and pointing at Zeke’s chest. He screamed as he ran.

  Zeke waited. Then he twisted quickly, with just enough of his left forearm involved to knock the knife hand away and keep it there as Cappy ran past him. With his right hand, he gave Cappy a hard jab to the side of his face, followed by a leg sweep that landed him flat on his back, the steak knife still in his right hand.

  Cappy swung the knife from the floor at Zeke’s leg, and Zeke kicked it out of his hand. It skidded noisily across the concrete floor and under one of the laundry machines.

  The next kick landed on Cappy’s temple, and then he was out, like someone had flipped a switch.

  Chapter 26

>   Zeke paused for a moment and composed himself. Then he nodded to the prison guard, who opened the steel door and held it for Zeke as he walked through.

  Inside, Cappy Askew sat chained to one of two metal benches that ran most of the way across the room. This was obviously a room for the temporary storage of prisoners about to be transported.

  Zeke said, “Hope you’re comfortable.”

  Cappy looked up at him. His face was bruised and swollen and he’d lost a second tooth.

  “Ain’t got nothin’ to say to you,” the man said. He turned his head away.

  “I guess your plan didn’t work out so well,” said Zeke. “You’re looking at five killings. That’s life without parole.”

  Cappy shrugged to himself, then looked at Zeke. “I’m in here already. Sort of feels like home, ya know?”

  Zeke said, “Why’d you do it?”

  “Figure it out yourself,” said Cappy, now grinning.

  “That’s easy,” said Zeke. “You’re getting even with your father. He mocked you and despised you, and you couldn’t deal with it. He left you in jail to rot when you killed your girlfriend, Renee Coulson. He gave you up, and you’ve been trying to get back at him ever since.”

  Cappy’s smirk disappeared slowly, as if his face muscles had gone numb. He sputtered, “You don’t know what you’re talking about. You don’t know me! Who the hell are you, thinkin’ you know somethin’ about me…?”

  Zeke shook his head and said, “It’s as old a story as there is. You killed the girl, and then you started looking around for someone else to blame for it. It was your poor decisions, your actions alone that cost Renee Coulson her life. You’ve got no one to blame but yourself, Cappy.”

  Cappy began to sputter. “What…what the hell? You think I killed Renee? You think I wanted her dead? I loved her. I’m the only one who understood her…”

  “That was a great way to show it, Cappy. You killed her, cut her head off. That’s a real show of love, isn’t it?” Zeke mocked the man.

  Cappy stood abruptly in rage and tried to reach Zeke, but his tether chain attached to the metal seat was too short. His anger seethed as he pulled against his restraints. After a minute, he stopped and sat again.