The Sienna Sand

by Jeff Siebold

  Warden Clark nodded.

  “All of the victims were killed with sharp instruments, steak knives. Their throats were slit,” said Zeke. “They were all killed with serrated blades, and the knives were left at the scene of the crime.”

  “Unfortunately, stabbing’s not an unusual method of killing inside a prison,” said Clark. “Any prison.”

  “But it does make one wonder how the weapons are getting in,” said Clive. “Not shivs or shanks, these were high quality steak knives. But we’ll get to that in a minute.”

  “OK,” said Clark.

  “As you already know, we tracked down illegal cell phones and had them confiscated. Two days later, the prisoners were up and running with new cell phones that had been smuggled in by prison staff and guards. In two days,” said Zeke.

  “So you’re sure it’s staff?” asked Clark.

  Zeke nodded. “They’ve already approached me and got me involved in the smuggling, to get leverage on me. They gave me some boxes to bring into the prison kitchen.”

  Clark nodded slowly.

  “Finally, we took a look at the therapy program the prison employs. The Prison PUP Program,” said Zeke.

  “We’re very proud of Prison PUP. That’s been a successful program in federal prisons across the country,” said Warden Clark. “Inmates training shelter dogs for use as Service Dogs. It’s good for the inmates, and it’s good for the dogs. And it actually changes the atmosphere in the prison. For the better.” It sounded like he was reading a sound bite.

  “It seemed unusual to us, so we double-checked. We believe that the PUP program is being used for smuggling the weapons into the prison,” Zeke said.

  Warden Clark stared at him. He said. “No, that couldn’t be right.”

  Then he said, “Well, we hadn’t thought about it like that.”

  * * *

  “But how do you think the killings are connected?” asked Warden Clark.

  Zeke said, “They must be, but we haven’t found the common denominator yet, except for the weapons. It’s not linear or straightforward.”

  “Not much is, anymore,” said Clark. He shook his head.

  “Also, from an outsider’s viewpoint you have a number of unrelated activities going on here,” said Clive. “The killings. The drugs and contraband getting in. The cell phones, which we now know are being used by inmates to run their operations outside the prison walls. The weapons, knives being smuggled into the prison and being used in the murders. The use of drones to deliver. And the PUP program.”

  “You’re saying they’re all related in some way?” asked Clark.

  Zeke nodded. “I think they probably are. Certainly the killings and the weapons. Not sure yet whether it’s a group or an individual. Probably a group or gang, with some members inside and some outside. And they’re clever.”

  “I’ll say,” said Clark.

  “Whoever it is,” Zeke continued, “they’ve intimidated the inmates. Carl says that no one even talks about these guys. And some of that may be the result of the inmate killings.”

  Clark jotted a note on his legal pad.

  “How do you think they intimidate the inmates?” asked Clark.

  “Actually, there are a number of ways,” said Zeke. “They can beat up an inmate, usually repeatedly, to get him to obey them. Some gangs do that and use the leverage to demand money from the inmate’s family. No money, and they keep beating him up…”

  “That’s pretty brutal,” said Clark.

  “I’ve seen worse. In some prisons, an inmate gets beat up every day until he agrees to let someone else have his conjugal visits with his wife. For that, though, the prison guards almost have to be involved,” said Zeke.

  “I’ve heard that,” said Clark. “But I can’t imagine.”

  “Fortunately, conjugal visits are only legal in four states, in medium security prisons. And not anywhere in federal prisons.”

  Clark nodded.

  “But back to it. This seems to be very well organized,” said Zeke. “I think it’s been going on for a while.”

  “Possibly,” said Clark.

  “Now let’s look at the guards. Three that I’ve come in contact with are smuggling cell phones into the prison for the convicts’ use. They’re most likely selling phones to inmates to pad their salaries,” said Zeke.

  “You think someone’s bribing the guards?” asked Clark.

  “Most likely that, as well as threats. It’s not uncommon for a gang leader to threaten a guard’s family in order to force compliance. Like I mentioned, they do the same with inmates, threaten to harm their families on the outside unless they submit to the gang. Their reach extends past the prison walls,” said Zeke.

  * * *

  “Then what’s the motivation for the inmate killings?” asked Warden Clark. “Assuming they’re related.”

  “We’re sure they are,” said Zeke. “But we’re still searching for the motive.”

  Clark nodded.

  “It’s not likely someone could make the guards bring weapons in. There’s too much chance of them being discovered. Plus, they’d be accessories to murder,” said Clive. “They wouldn’t agree to that.”

  “Not likely,” said Zeke. “So they’ve arrange for someone on the outside to fly the weapons over the wall to a specific spot in the yard and to do it after dusk. The weapons, in a package that smells like meat, say, stays there until an inmate takes his dog for a walk at night and retrieves the knives while he’s out there.”

  “Simple, but effective,” said Clark.

  “Plus, if needed, the guards can be instructed to look the other way,” said Zeke.

  “What about the deaths?” asked Clark, circling back. “What’s the motivation?”

  “Good question,” said Zeke. “It must be important, because there’s so much risk involved in these killings. There’s a pretty high probability that something would go wrong. Snitches, smuggling weapons, drones. The killer could be discovered in the act. So there has to be a pretty strong motivation for the killings.”

  “Do you see it as being orchestrated? Directly or indirectly?” asked Clark.

  “It almost has to be. Either a way to keep inmates in line and doing what they want them to do, or the killer’s protecting his identity by eliminating anyone who poses a threat,” said Zeke. “But the key question is this: Why were these four inmates killed? What’s the connection?”

  “Yes,” said Warden Clark.

  “Has there been any blowback about the incident with Kimmy?”

  “When she beat up the inmates?” asked Clark. “No, not really.”

  “She hasn’t been back since that day, and, well, she was acting as Carl’s girlfriend, so you’d expect her to be tough…”

  “I believe we had some very surprised inmates that day,” said Clark. “They’ll think twice before using their strong-arm tactics again, I’m sure.”

  “We’ll keep her away from the prison, though,” said Clive. “To be safe. And we’ll keep moving forward on the inmate deaths.”

  “What are your next steps?”

  “I’ll be out of town for a few days, then I want to meet with the coroner and interview the victims’ families. They may have some information to help with this puzzle.”

  * * *

  “This was a good idea,” said Zeke. He was sitting across the table from Candi in Freemans, the New York restaurant located across the park from the Rumpus Room. They’d finished their meals.

  “Food’s great here,” Candi said. “I always love their kale and quinoa salad.”

  “I’m glad you were available tonight,” said Zeke.

  “Me, too. How’s your girlfriend?”

  “Still my one and only,” said Zeke. “Hope that doesn’t make you feel awkward.”

  “Nope, not at all. She’s not here, and I am.”

  Zeke said, “Time to head over to the Rumpus Room?”

  Candi nodded. “The party should start any time now.”

 
; * * *

  The interior of the Rumpus Room hadn’t changed at all. They entered and Candi led him to a small table along one wall with a “Reserved” sign tented on it. There were several low chairs and a bench seat in the conversation area, but no people as of yet. Candi sat.

  “May I get you something?” Zeke asked.

  “Anything but a Kamikaze,” said Candi. She was wearing a short dress with sequins, a flapper’s dress, a matching headband, and a tattoo sleeve on her left arm.

  Zeke smiled. “A Cosmopolitan?” he asked.

  “How about an Apple Martini,” she countered, talking over the streaming music.

  “Fast start,” said Zeke. He went to the bar to order.

  “I remember you,” said the bartender. “Actually, I remember those blue eyes. You’re G’s friend, right? Small batch bourbon…Elijah Craig.”

  Zeke nodded. “And an Apple Martini. You’re Elaina, right?” he asked.

  She nodded as she poured, all business. “You here for G’s birthday party?” she asked.

  Zeke nodded. “I am. I came with Candi. What time will the party start?”

  “Oh, not too long now. They should be here in fifteen minutes, tops. The band is setting up.”

  A three-piece electro-industrial band was tuning its instruments on the small stage.

  Elaina set the drinks in front of Zeke and said, “There you go, Elijah.”

  * * *

  Candi was halfway through her Apple Martini when the entourage arrived. Ghafran Khoury entered the room with a flourish, waving to some and chatting briefly with others as he and his friends made their way across the open dance floor to the conversation area. A chorus of shouts, “Happy Birthday, G,” followed him.

  Zeke and Candi turned to the man and waved as he approached the table.

  “Hi, G. Happy Day,” said Candi. The man smiled, then looked at Zeke and squinted.

  “I know you,” he said.

  “We met at the bar the other night. Elaina was doing her thing,” said Zeke.

  Candi said, “He’s with me tonight, G.”

  Ghafran looked at Candi and smiled and said, “Of course. How are you?”

  Behind him, G’s entourage, consisting of several twenty-somethings, some with dates, began to grab chairs and sit.

  “Do you have a gig this weekend?” G asked Candi, leaning in to be heard.

  She nodded. “The Parkside, as usual.”

  “Ah, but I’ll be away on the Gun Runner. I’ll miss you, Candi.”

  The band started playing, making communication more difficult. G stood and turned and took a seat next to a tall, thin girl in a short black dress and a tennis bracelet. He appeared to know her; perhaps it was his date. She continued to talk with the girl on her left, ignoring the guest of honor.

  Zeke leaned in to Candi, his mouth to her ear, and said, “Gun Runner?”

  Candi said, “Yeah, that’s his yacht. They’re always going somewhere exotic on it.”

  * * *

  For much of the night, Ghafran Khoury seemed to enjoy the music and the party. After a couple of hours and several drinks, Zeke saw him get up and head for the bathroom.

  Zeke followed Ghafran Khoury into the men’s room, where the sound was somewhat muted. There was only one man inside, washing his hands.

  Zeke said, “I know you from somewhere.”

  Ghafran said, “It’s possible. I get around.”

  “Do you work around here?” Zeke asked.

  “I do. Our offices are just a few blocks from here,” said G.

  Zeke nodded. “What business are you in?” he asked casually.

  “Entertainment,” said G. “The legal end of entertainment.”

  Zeke looked puzzled. “Like concerts and such?”

  “No, like international book and film rights. And we arrange for the sale of book rights overseas.”

  “That sounds like a niche business,” said Zeke.

  “It is. We’re very specialized,” said Ghafran Khoury.

  “Wait, I know how I know you. You know Julia Conners,” Zeke asked.

  The man blinked, surprised at the comment. He composed himself and said, “I know a lot of people.”

  Zeke waited, silently. Ghafran filled the silence.

  “Uh, I’ve met her, I think.” He looked around, as if for his bodyguards, who were outside in the car as usual, Zeke suspected.

  “No matter. She and I were involved in something together, and I remember her mentioning your name.”

  “My name?” asked Ghafran, now confused, “Or my father’s name?”

  “Is he still in charge?” asked Zeke. May as well be direct, he thought.

  Ghafran started to nod, then caught himself and turned away to leave.

  Chapter 17

  “I trust you’re comfortable,” said Ferman Khoury.

  “Very much so, thank you,” said Julie Conners.

  They sat in the aft salon of the Gun Runner, Ferman at a small, round table that held a teacup and saucer, and Julia across from him on the edge of a couch.

  “We’ll be leaving port this afternoon, “said Ferman.

  “Yes, heading to the Caribbean. Sint Maarten, the captain said.”

  “That’s correct. I have some business there.”

  Julia nodded. She was dressed in a crew uniform, with a blue Izod shirt with “Gun Runner” embroidered over the pocket, and tan khaki shorts.

  “I’ll want you to accompany me when we get to the island,” Ferman continued. “I have a meeting with a government official- a Minister of something or the other- and I’ll want to avoid any risks.”

  “Certainly,” said Julia. “Who will be at the meeting?”

  Ferman said, “Well, myself and you. I’m taking Abdel, also.” He thought for a moment. Then he said, “That should be adequate.”

  “And for the other side?” asked Julia.

  “The Minister. And he’s usually accompanied by two of his soldiers, an officer, to help with the negotiations, and another one with a machine gun. He is not very trustworthy, I’m afraid.”

  Julia said, “You’ve met with him before, then?”

  “Yes, the Minister, but only twice before. And always on his island.”

  “Have you completed a sale with him?”

  “Oh, yes. With a very satisfactory outcome,” said Khoury, sipping his tea.

  “You consider this to be a low-threat, this meeting?”

  “I do. But one never really knows in this business,” said Khoury.

  * * *

  “So you’re helping my father with his business?” asked Ghafran Khoury.

  “I helped him with this project,” said Julia Conners. They were below decks on the Gun Runner, sitting at the kitchen table and sipping hot tea.

  “It seems unusual that a girl would be involved in this part of the business,” Ghafran said. “In this project.”

  “What, talking to corrupt government officials? Selling illegal weapons?”

  “I was thinking more of the protection role. Some would call it non-traditional for a woman,” said Ghafran.

  Julia said nothing.

  “You’re rather good looking,” he continued, perusing her slowly with his eyes. “You’re a few years older than me, but that’s not a problem, is it?”

  “It shouldn’t be,” said Julia. “But to be honest, I could have a child your age.”

  “You’re not, eh, attached?” he persisted. She was giving him mixed signals.

  “Oh, no, I’m all alone.”

  “You prefer it that way?” he asked, now curious.

  “Most of the time,” she said. “Occasionally I like company, but usually not for long at any one time.”

  Ghafran sipped his tea. Then he asked, “You prefer women?”

  “Sometimes,” she deadpanned.

  “Well, I’m good with that,” said Ghafran. “This is a long cruise, down to the island and back to the mainland. We’ll have a lot of time…”

  “For what?�
� asked Julia.

  “To get to know each other,” he said, touching her leg lightly. “I can make all this very easy for you.”

  “Apparently, you’re used to young, dumb women, Ghafran. Maybe I should say ‘young, dumb girls’.”

  Ghafran withdrew his hand. “What are you saying?” he asked.

  She shook her head. “There’s nowhere good that this could go. You’ll be tired of me in a week, or maybe a month, and you’ll want to get rid of me. But Ghafran, I’m damaged goods. You don’t want any part of this. I’m terminal when I’m angry.”

  * * *

  The Gun Runner sailed smoothly through the cut, under the upraised bridge, and into Simpson Bay Lagoon and the Isle Del Sol Marina. The captain slid the vessel between two piers and secured her there with the help of three mates. Minutes later the gangplank was in place and several crew members exited the yacht.

  Ferman Khoury and his son, Ghafran, sat at a table on the rear deck eating a lunch of cracked conch salad and sipping raspberry flavored iced tea.

  “I don’t see what the big deal is,” said Ghafran, chewing with his mouth open. “She’s a woman. She doesn’t really get a vote.”

  Ferman said, “She’s in my employ. I need her to be alert and ready, not distracted by your games.”

  Ghafran had spent the past week aboard the Gun Runner, leisurely cruising first the Florida coast, then the Bahamas, and ultimately the eastern Caribbean. On several occasions he’d made advances toward Julia Conners, only to be gently rebuffed.

  “The thing is,” he told his father, “I sometimes like older women. This one is interesting to me.”

  “I have hired her to do a specific job,” Ferman Khoury had said. “She is here on an assignment. I don’t want her distracted by you. Or worse, upset from your silly games.”

  * * *

  The building was made of poured concrete and painted pink and white. Its roof was made of bright red tile. The sign at the front door read, “Politie.” Police.