Inmate 1577

by Alan Jacobson

  MacNally looked at Vail—his face pleading disbelief. Wanting an explanation.

  “You probably didn’t know what you were seeing, Mr. MacNally, but I’m betting that Henry showed some early signs as a child...inappropriate sexual contact, maybe even sexual aggression.”

  MacNally swallowed hard. “Doris—his mother found him with a girl about a week before she...before Doris was killed. Henry was holding her down, touching her breasts.” He shook his head, looked up at the sky, then sniffled. “Doris was very upset by it. I told her he’s just being a boy, he’s curious.” He turned to Allman. “I talked to him, told him that it’s not right to touch other people’s bodies like that.”

  Allman laughed. “I remember that.” He smiled. “You had no fucking idea what you were dealing with.”

  You sure got that right.

  “I bet you even took something from your mother,” Vail said. “A locket, an heirloom of some kind.”

  Allman smiled.

  MacNally’s eyes widened. “Her grandmother’s brooch. He had it when I got home that night. I thought he wanted something from his mother, to remember her by. How—how’d you know?”

  “That’s what a young psychopath would do. He did take it to remind himself of his mother—but it wasn’t an act of sentimentality. He took it to remember how he felt when he killed her. To relive that sense of power.”

  “I find it kind of touching,” Allman said. “Don’t you?”

  “That bar of soap.” MacNally’s eyes filled with tears as his gaze canted up toward his son. “I thought you stole it from that store because the scent reminded you of your mom. But it was really some sick way for you to relive her murder.”

  “It’s over, Clay.” Vail steadied her Glock. “Drop the weapons and get down on your knees.”

  Allman frowned. “Go fuck yourself, Vail.”

  MacNally struggled to get to his feet. He again drew a sleeve across his face and he sniffed back a nose full of snot. “An officer once told me that life’s a series of choices. I made some bad ones that landed me behind bars, decisions that were for Henry’s benefit. But that guard was right. Yeah, I always had a reason or an excuse—we needed the money. Or it’s prison, and you’ve gotta eat or be eaten. Maybe that’s all true. But it was never for me, it was for my son.” He turned to Allman, whose contempt-filled smirk indicated his indifference to his father’s moral struggles.

  “I regret just about all the bad things I’ve done in my life, Ms. Vail. The pain and death I’ve caused.” He made eye contact with her, then Dixon, then Burden and Carondolet. “There’s a lot of things I’m sorry about...but only one I can really atone for.” He turned to Allman. “My biggest regret is creating you. Without you, your mother would still be alive. I’d never hurt anyone before you came along. Never took anything that wasn’t mine. Me, I did bad things for the right reason. You...you’ve done bad things because you just didn’t care.”

  MacNally lunged forward and grabbed his son by the neck.

  But Allman shoved the stiletto deep into his father’s abdomen.

  And Vail shot him, twice. Allman recoiled—his eyes met Vail’s—and in that instant, he seemed to grin.

  But MacNally, stiletto still protruding from his stomach, drove his son backward toward the roof’s edge, then over it.

  Both men tumbled out of sight—

  and then—

  a sickening thud.

  71

  Vail, Burden, and Dixon ran to the edge and peered over. Walton MacNally lay atop his son, blood pooling on the concrete of the recreation yard.

  Burden swung away and started dialing his phone. Carondolet ran off, back toward the cellhouse.

  And Vail stood there, numb. No thoughts, other than perhaps sadness.

  A hand on her shoulder. Roxxann.

  “You okay?”

  Vail slowly turned to her. “I—I need to sit.” She helped Vail to a seat on the cold surface of the rooftop. “I had a flashback. My ex-husband. And my son. The arguments I had with Deacon over Jonathan—” She stopped and turned away. “The choices I’ve made in my life, Roxx. They haven’t always been good ones. For Jonathan.”

  “Come on, Karen. I know you. I know you’ve been a good mother.”

  Vail faced Dixon. “Have I? My son was in a goddamn coma and where was I? I was out trying to catch a killer. Does a good mother do that?”

  “I’m sure you didn’t want other women getting killed. You did what you thought would save the most lives at the time. You made a tremendous personal sacrifice. That’s what makes you such a good cop.”

  “But does it make me a bad mother? I made a sacrifice all right. But it wasn’t the right choice.”

  Burden cleared his throat and knelt down in front of them. “Excuse me, ladies. But we just caught us a prolific killer. I think this moment calls for congratulations, no?”

  Dixon got up, then extended a hand and pulled her friend to her feet.

  Vail sighed deeply and wiped her eyes. “You’re right. Congratulations, Burden. You did an awesome job. You’re a hell of a cop, one who I’d go through a door with any day.”

  Burden looked at Dixon. “Is she—is she being sarcastic?”

  “No,” Dixon said, studying Vail’s face. “I think she meant it.”

  Vail turned and walked away, away from the fallen bodies of Walton MacNally and Clay Allman. And as she did, she pulled out her phone to call Jonathan.

  VAIL HAD HAD ENOUGH OF the confining cabins of helicopters. She wanted to feel the wind blowing in her face, through her hair. She needed something to reinvigorate her.

  Dixon, Burden, and Vail boarded the Coast Guard cutter as it prepared to push off from the dock.

  Burden leaned both forearms on the railing. “I feel like I should’ve joined them over the side. You know how many meals I’ve shared with Allman the past twenty years? The poker games, the nights in countless bars. The Giants games.” He kicked the wall of the boat. “He was right. I was totally fucking clueless. What kind of a cop am I?”

  Vail moved closer to Burden, up against his forearm. “You couldn’t have known. You realize how many people have been fooled over the years by intelligent psychopaths? The list is long, and contains a lot of prominent names. You’re looking at one of ’em.”

  Burden sighed long and hard, then hung his head.

  Vail turned and looked at the Alcatraz cellhouse, the wind full in her face, the chill going down to her bones. But it didn’t help. The numbness ran too deep. She needed Robby. She wanted to talk with him, to bare her thoughts, fears, and...guilt.

  She needed to hug her son.

  A few moments later, she stood up straight and looked out at the cellhouse as the cutter eased past it. “What is it about this place?”

  Dixon followed her gaze to the top of the island. “What do you mean?”

  “It’s a legend, mythical almost. It housed the worst of the worst. Yet, I can’t help but think that the criminals we turn out nowadays are more violent, malevolent, evil. And we don’t know how to deal with them. Do we execute them? Lock ’em up? We can’t release them, but sometimes...we do. And a lot of them kill again. Because that’s the way they’re wired. Others don’t know how to survive in society and fall back on what they know how to do. What they find comforting.”

  Burden watched as the boat jolted a bit, and then with a roar of the engines, its speed increased. “It’s always been that way, for as long as cops, and laws, existed. For as long as humans have existed.”

  The bellow of a fog horn blared in the distance. Vail closed her eyes and took a deep breath of cold, salty sea air. “I guess all we can do is keep on keeping on. They break the law, we track ’em down and throw ’em behind bars.”

  Dixon combed windblown blond hair from her face. “I have to think we’ll find a better way. Someday.”

  They were silent as the place known as Devil’s Island retreated behind them. Whether or not “a better way” would be found remained to be see
n. The evil Vail had personally fought for so many years gave her substantial doubt as to whether they’d ever find an effective means of dealing with society’s incorrigibles.

  For the rest of her career, Alcatraz, and places like it, would likely remain the de facto standard. And for now, she was okay with that. Because at least behind bars, on rocks in the middle of oceans, or behind electrified fences and razor wire, the offenders could prey only on themselves. And the way Karen Vail saw it, that was the best she could hope for.

  Acknowledgments

  As always, I’ve attempted to be as factual as possible in the writing of Inmate 1577. I’ve consulted professionals, historians, archivists, correctional officers who worked at Leavenworth, and officers and others who worked, and lived, on Alcatraz. I’ve read numerous nonfiction books, reviewed original prison records, and worked with my usual cadre of experts, many of whom are mentioned below.

  The nature and pacing of a novel forced me to condense the real-life Alcatraz June 11, 1962, escape attempt. In some cases where it was unclear from the archival evidence which inmate performed certain tasks in the escape, I assigned those to Walton MacNally. A more detailed discussion of Alcatraz fact versus Inmate 1577’s fiction can be found on a special page on my website, at inmate.alanjacobson.com.

  As mentioned in my opening Author’s Note, this story was not an attempt to provide a factual depiction of the Morris-Anglin escape. Still, some of the Alcatraz inmates (and the associate warden) included in Inmate 1577 were real individuals. I’ve attempted to capture their personalities based on what I read of these people, but I am in no way claiming to have accurately portrayed them. My creative reconstruction could deviate from who they were as real persons.

  Inmate 1577 was unusual for me because it spans five decades. As such, I had to write what was essentially an historical novel, which required me to seek out people who lived and worked at these locations in the late fifties and early sixties. I needed to know what the experience was like from multiple perspectives. While I spent a great deal of time at present-day Alcatraz (and even wrote some of the novel on the island), I’ve attempted to be as accurate as possible in both my physical descriptions and the conditions that existed there fifty years ago. To my knowledge, these depictions are correct.

  I sincerely thank the following individuals who made it possible for me to write the story with the realism and credibility that I strive for in my novels:

  Mary Ellen O’Toole, Senior FBI Profiler and Supervisory Special Agent (ret.) for her extensive assistance. I’ve worked with Mary Ellen for over fourteen years, and have always found her perspectives on her work as a profiler fascinating and insightful. She’s been instrumental in helping me to understand Karen Vail’s place in the unit and how others see her because Mary Ellen is the “real-life Karen Vail,” doing in truth what Vail does fictionally. I’ve not only valued Mary Ellen’s friendship, but her font of knowledge. In the case of Inmate 1577, it was particularly vital in helping me to get a handle on the psychopathic killer’s motivations and how he would react to Vail’s actions (and vice versa). Not only do I owe Mary Ellen thanks for her year-long feedback on the manuscript, but also for her thorough review of the novel after I’d typed the final period. If I can quicken Mary Ellen’s pulse, I know I’ve nailed the scene.

  George DeVincenzi, former Alcatraz Correctional Officer (1950—57), for his anecdotes and honest appraisals of life on The Rock; his stories of his interactions with the inmates; his descriptions of what life was like as an officer; of what specific inmates were like as individuals; and for taking a trip with me to the island to retrace his former steps. George’s recall was remarkable, and his stories brought the cellhouse, hospital, barber shop, kitchen, Industries building, and grounds to life for me. He was a tremendous resource and I feel fortunate to have made his acquaintance. Likewise, his review of the manuscript for accuracy was important in my endeavor to get it right.

  Jolene Babyak, author and former child resident of Alcatraz. Jolene shared with me details surrounding the 1962 escape attempt, the Anglin brothers, her meetings and interviews with Clarence Carnes, and insights regarding her father, Associate Warden Dollison. Jolene also answered a variety of questions regarding the prison and the time she spent on The Rock, and provided helpful perspective on Carnes. The discussions I had with her were always fascinating and her numerous books about Alcatraz are absolutely worth a read.

  Constance Smith-Golda, Alcatraz Civil War—era historian, for her tour of the Hospital floor and absorbing discussion about Alcatraz’s diverse history.

  Alcatraz National Park Service Rangers John Cantwell, Craig Glassner, Al Blank, and Jayeson Vance. John’s behind-the-scenes tours of the island gave me the depth of knowledge and detail that I needed to write Inmate 1577 with the realism it demanded; Craig answered my many and varied questions spanning several months about procedures on the island, the functioning of the penitentiary, National Park Service/US Park Police law enforcement jurisdictions and protocol, etc. Al provided important background and information on a variety of prison issues, including the original keys and locking mechanisms used in the cell blocks. Jayeson assisted me with Alumni Day logistics and information regarding the law enforcement presence on the island. In addition, Ranger José Roldan at the Presidio Officers Club gave me an overview of the region and the law enforcement patrol protocols that exist within the Presidio.

  Thanks also to Marybeth McFarland, Acting Operations Supervisor, Golden Gate National Recreation Area, National Park Service, for her efforts in attempting to obtain island access as well as her follow-up answers to law enforcement jurisdictional issues regarding the Presidio’s Inspiration Point and the Palace of Fine Arts.

  Father Bernie Bush, former Alcatraz seminarian, for his perspective on life on The Rock, and the details of his interactions with the inmates during the time of MacNally’s incarceration. As Father Bush pointed out to me after reviewing the pertinent Inmate 1577 chapters, the fictional Father Finelli bears no resemblance (physically, in demeanor, actions, personality, or otherwise) to the real Father Bush.

  Former Alcatraz Correctional Officers Jim Albright and John Hernan, for their perspective and input on their years on The Rock and an officer’s duties; John Jr. and Kathy Hernan for their ancillary assistance.

  Kenneth LaMaster, twenty-seven-year Leavenworth Correctional Officer (ret.), Institution Historian, and author, for his assistance with, and perspective on, prison life at the penitentiary, the institution’s layout in the late fifties, and the nuances that accompanied MacNally’s stay there—including his escape. My lengthy phone calls and unending emails with Ken spanned several months, and his very thorough read of the novel helped me bring stark realism to the fiction. Even more so than Alcatraz, Leavenworth underwent substantial changes in the intervening decades, and Ken made sure the references, physical layout, and slang were correct.

  Jerry Gelbart, MD, for his assistance with head trauma and frontal lobe brain injuries, their symptoms and sequelae; and Maury Gloster, MD, for his thorough explanation of Inspector Friedberg’s injury, treatment protocol, and recovery time frame; for the treatment Walt MacNally received and the medical terminology used.

  Award-winning San Francisco Chronicle staff writer Kevin Fagan for his assistance with all things reporter-based in the manuscript—including newspaper industry terminology, the timing of deadlines, the journalist culture, their thought processes and approaches to stories, and their relationships with the police.

  San Francisco Police Department homicide Inspectors Antonio Casillas and Tom Walsh for their background on the workings of the department, procedures for handling major crimes, resources available to inspectors, and for answering my plethora of mundane yet vital questions regarding SFPD capabilities, crime scene management, etc.

  Carol Wolther and Sharon Phelan at the Cable Car Powerhouse. Carol, the San Francisco Municipal Transportation Agency Maintenance Superintendent of component repair and heavy repair rai
l transit shops, oriented me as to the workings of the Cable Car barn, and the maintenance and storage of the cars. Sharon gave me a terrific overview of the cable routes, the Sheave and Control rooms, and an explanation of how the sheaves operate.

  Jorge Beltran, Coast Guard Agent, for assisting me with Coast Guard terminology and for serving as the conduit for obtaining agency clearance; Henry Dunphy, US Coast Guard Public Affairs Specialist 2nd Class, for information pertaining to the Coast Guard’s policies regarding interagency cooperation; and for a description of its vast complement of vessels.

  Joe Sanchez, Archives Technician, The National Archives at San Francisco, for educating me on the Alcatraz materials stored at the facility and the time frame in which the documents arrived there; and for providing me with the current disposition of former inmates.

  Roger Lamm and Bob Goldberg, for sailing around the island and giving me difficult-to-obtain views of Alcatraz. Gaining perspective on an island requires not only being on it physically, but viewing it from the outside looking in.

  Mark Safarik, Senior FBI Profiler and Supervisory Special Agent (ret.). The novel is dedicated to Mark, but without Mark’s eighteen-plus years of tutelage on behavioral analysis, I would not have been able to conceive of the story, let alone write it with any degree of accuracy. Mark also helped me with Vail’s “New York problem”—and did his usual, detailed review of the manuscript.

  Jeff Jacobson, Esq. My brother was my initial point of contact and answer machine for issues and questions pertaining to MacNally’s legal problems and Scheer’s sordid background.

  Scott Portier, electrician, for instruction on how to torture someone using exposed electrical wires. That sounds odd, but it is what I asked him about, and it is what we discussed.

  Kevin Smith, my editor. I’d like to say that after four novels, Kevin and I have fallen into a rhythm. But I can’t—because we were in lockstep from the moment we started working together on The 7th Victim. In baseball, some pitchers prefer to work with certain catchers because they call a great game and coax the best performance out of that pitcher on a given day. Kevin is my personal catcher...helping me throw the well-pitched game with minimal errors.