The Sienna Sand

by Jeff Siebold

  “Just a minute,” a voice called. From the other side of the door they heard a rhythmic clank, followed by a footstep. Someone was approaching the door.

  “Mrs. Gleason? Hi, I’m Zeke Traynor,” he said after she’d unlocked and opened the front door. “This is Kimmy. I called earlier…”

  “Yes, yes, come in here. I’ve been waiting for you.” The woman turned and started back toward the interior of the house. She was using a cheap walker, which resulted in a series of ’clump-step’ sounds. “Turn the lock on that door when you come in,” she said, not looking back.

  “You’re here to talk about Ernest,” said the woman. It wasn’t a question.

  “We are. We heard that your grandson died in prison, in Cumberland. We’re sorry for your loss,” Zeke looked at her.

  “Yeah, he dead. Nothing to be done about that.” She sat herself in a recliner positioned in front of the fireplace and nodded at the small sofa. Zeke and Kimmy sat.

  The woman looked to be about seventy. Her hair was gray-white and thin, and she wore it cut short, tight around her head. Her scalp was visible in places. The housecoat she wore was frayed at the cuffs and dirty at the elbows. She wore no makeup on her chocolate-brown face.

  “Can you tell us what happened, what you know about his death?” asked Zeke. He’d read the prison file, as wells the coroner’s report. It’s tough to engage someone in conversation if you know all the answers. Much better to let the story be told organically, he thought.

  “Who’re you with again?” asked Mrs. Gleason, suddenly suspicious.

  Zeke looked disarming. “We’ve been brought in by the Bureau of Prisons to look into the killings. There have been several…”

  “Don’t I know it,” said the woman, shifting her substantial weight in her recliner, trying to get comfortable. Her suspicion was apparently gone now. “And it ain’t no accident.”

  “No ,ma’am,” said Zeke. “From what we can tell, he was killed with a knife. Is that right?”

  “He was stabbed alright. I told him to do whatever he needed to, to join the gang, whatever. For his protection,” she added.

  “Yes, ma’am,” said Kimmy, nodding.

  “He got sent up on a drug charge. They said he transported crystal meth across state lines. He didn’t do it,” said the woman. She folded her arms across her ample bosom.

  “How do you know?” asked Kimmy.

  “That meth, that’s a white man’s drug. Ernest did a lotta things, but he didn’t transport no meth nowhere. If youda said cocaine, I wouldn’t argue. But he didn’t have no meth.”

  “Why do you think he was killed?” asked Zeke.

  The woman looked down and away, below the level of Zeke’s gaze. “I dunno,” she said.

  “Where did you live before this?” asked Kimmy, gently.

  “Lived in Hattiesburg,” said the woman. “I moved here when Ernest was incarcerated two years ago. Ain’t got no family left in Hattiesburg.”

  “So you moved to Cumberland to be close to him?” Kimmy continued.

  The woman nodded. “He ain’t got no family but me. His momma died of an overdose years ago.”

  “Brothers or sisters?” asked Zeke.

  “They all gone. Left or dead,” she said, looking down now.

  “You used to visit him, then?” Zeke asked.

  “Every time I could. They wouldn’t let me in to see him more than six days a month, weekends. But I went on some weekdays, too, some Fridays after work.”

  “Where do you work?” asked Kimmy.

  “I clean houses for folks,” said the woman. “At least I did before the disability. Can’t bend down now.”

  Kimmy looked at Zeke.

  He said, “Did Ernest say anything to you before he was killed? About anyone who might have wanted him dead?”

  “Just the gangs is all. They was botherin’ him to join up. He said no, but they kept after him. I told him, ‘Ain’t no good gonna come from that. Ain’t no good comin’ from being in a gang with a bunch of criminals.’”

  “What did he say to that?” asked Kimmy.

  “He’d say, ‘How you know they’re criminals?’ I’d say, ‘They in prison, ain’t they?”

  “You said you encouraged him to join a gang,” said Zeke.

  “That was for self-preservation. In prison you gotta be with some gang to stay alive,” she said.

  “Did Ernest mention the name of the gang? The one pressuring him?” Zeke asked.

  She shook her head.

  “Did Ernest ever say anything specific about what they wanted him to do?” he asked.

  “Not really. He didn’t like to talk about anything in the visitors room. Said somebody’s always listening. And they’ll dime you out if they can.”

  “For a reduced sentence?” asked Zeke.

  “Or privileges. Ernest said you can tell who’s a snitch by their privileges.”

  “Did you get the feeling that he was concerned for his safety?” asked Zeke.

  “He didn’t use those words, “ said Mrs. Gleason. “But he said he was being careful. Said he’d been threatened. And they threatened me, he said.”

  “The prisoners threatened you?” asked Kimmy.

  “Yep. Ernest said they were talkin’ all kinda noise. He tole me to be careful and lock the doors and all.”

  “When did he tell you that?” asked Zeke.

  “About a year ago, I guess. I went to visit, just like always, and that day he looked right scared. I hadn’t seen him like that before.”

  “Was Ernest involved with a gang before he went to prison?” Zeke asked.

  The woman shook her head.

  “Was he using drugs in prison?” asked Zeke.

  “He didn’t say nothin’ about that,” said the woman. “But it coulda been.”

  * * *

  “Over half the prisoners in federal prison are in for drug trafficking,” said Zeke, as they left Mrs. Gleason’s yard. “No surprise that’s what Ernest was in for.”

  “You think the gangs killed him?” asked Kimmy.

  “I doubt it,” said Zeke. “But if they did, the most likely gang to do that would be the Black Monkey Family, the same one Sally mentioned when we were talking about O.Z.”

  “Do you think Mrs. Gleason was being straight with us? About what she knows?” asked Kimmy.

  “For the most part, most likely. I don’t see what she has to lose, at this point.”

  Kimmy nodded.

  “I saw some signs of deception, and changes in her stress levels. Her voice changed, and she was touching her face frequently.”

  “Signs of lying?” asked Kimmy.

  “Sometimes. She did avert her eyes once or twice, which can be indicative of someone lying. She probably skipped some things, and maybe embellished some. But overall, I think she was telling the truth.

  Chapter 19

  Zeke and Kimmy sat in front of Dr. Hinken’s empty desk, waiting for the doctor to finish with a staff meeting.

  Hinken returned looking distracted and harried. He was accompanied by a younger man dressed in a well-fitting suit. The doctor put his tablet on the desk, sat down, and said, “This is Detective Burrows. He’s an Allegany County Sheriff’s Office Detective.” He said it in a hurry, like it was all one sentence.

  Zeke nodded to the man.

  “My boss wanted him here for the interview.”

  “Sure,” said Zeke. “And this is Kimmy, my partner in the investigation.”

  “Who’s next?” he asked.

  “James Williams was the second victim.” Zeke set the file, open and upside down, on Hinken’s desk.

  “Sure, James Williams,” said the doctor. “That was a weird situation. He was also cut, like Gleason, his throat slashed.”

  “Why was it a weird situation?” Zeke asked.

  “Well, they found him in the yard. At dawn one morning. Said that he missed the morning count and they went looking for him.”

  “They looked for him on prison grou
nds?” asked Kimmy.

  The doctor was nodding. “They’ve had prisoners hide inside the prison, try to make it look like they’d escaped. Then they try to sneak out later, in a delivery truck or a service vehicle. It’s not unusual for a prisoner to be missing, but still be inside.”

  Detective Burrows nodded.

  “They said he was in a corner of the yard between one of the buildings and the fence. Said they couldn’t see the body until the sun started to come up,” said Hinken.

  Zeke nodded.

  “What was odd was, James Williams was a pretty big guy. And he had an attitude, put people off really easy,” said Burrows. “He wasn’t the victim-type.”

  Kimmy nodded and Zeke said, “They found him on the prison grounds in the morning. Was he killed there?”

  “Same thing as with Gleason. His throat was cut, and from my examination, it looked like it was done by a smaller man. The cut went from high front to low back, left to right, just like the other one.”

  “The report said there was a sign of drugs in his system,” said Zeke.

  “Well,” said Dr. Hinken, looking at the Detective, “there was a presence of rohypnol.”

  Zeke nodded and Kimmy said, “The date rape drug?”

  “Yeah, it’s taken by cocaine abusers to relieve the side effects. In addition to the date rape thing,” said Detective Burrows.

  “Was he killed there in the prison yard?” Zeke asked again.

  “Based on the arterial blood spatter, we believe so,” said Burrows.

  “So he was drugged, then someone got behind him and slashed his throat?” asked Zeke.

  Doctor Hinken nodded.

  “Same knife as the first killing?” Kimmy looked back and forth between the men.

  “Similar. Like one from the same set,” said the detective.

  “You mean like a set of steak knives?” asked Kimmy.

  They both nodded. “We found similar knives at the scene in all four killings.”

  “James Williams was pretty independent. And he was big and strong. Been inside a little while. I don’t think he was intimidated by much,” said Burrows. “The prison guards said he didn’t fear much. Apparently it showed in his attitude.”

  “Did he have many visitors?” asked Zeke.

  “James? Nah, not really. We looked at that, too. He was pretty much a loner,” Burrows again. “His old lady was the only visitor. They weren’t married.”

  “The file said he was originally sent to prison for kidnapping,” said Zeke. “Tell us about that.”

  “It was a robbery somewhere in Pennsylvania, I think. A home invasion, as I recall. The robbery was interrupted and James took a hostage, a young boy. He held the boy at gunpoint for an hour before he was arrested,” said Burrows. “He was in a standoff with the police.”

  Hinken nodded.

  “How was he since he was incarcerated here?” asked Zeke.

  Burrows looked at a paper file on the desk in front of him.

  “Looks like he was OK. Not a model prisoner, from what the guards said in their reports. But most of his problems had to do with establishing himself. He wouldn’t take any crap from anybody, and a few times that ended in a fight,” said Burrows.

  “But he did establish himself?” asked Kimmy.

  “Yes. Most of the problems were when he first arrived at Cumberland. After six months or so, things settled down.” Detective Burrows looked at Zeke.

  “So once he established himself, the other prisoners left him alone?” asked Zeke.

  “Seems like they did,” said Burrows. He read for a moment, then said, “Actually, it says here that Williams was a borderline predator.”

  “Predator?” asked Kimmy.

  “First I’m hearing of it,” said Hinken, quickly looking at Burrows.

  “What type of a predator?” asked Zeke.

  “Well, a bully for certain. But the prison shrink thought there was more to it,” said the detective. “He said that Williams had an antisocial personality disorder, and he was more than a borderline sociopath.”

  Zeke nodded. “Were there examples of this in his file?”

  “Several. He beat an inmate with a mop handle one time. Broke several bones in his face. He said the man was disturbing his thought process by sloshing the bucket around.” Reading, Burrows flipped the incident report over to read the back. After a moment he said, “That was four months after he arrived. Says they put him in solitary for a few weeks.”

  Zeke nodded and turned to Hinken.

  “Doctor, did you find anything odd about William’s body?”

  “Not really. But with the drug in his system, you wouldn’t need to do much more than drag the knife across his windpipe. He would have been in no shape to resist.”

  “OK. I think we’ll visit his girlfriend and see what she says. Then we’ll be back to talk about the last two victims.”

  * * *

  “No, I don’t think James had any idea that someone was out to kill him,” said Caroline Autry.

  The woman, a small blonde with a drawn face and pale, yellowed skin sat at the kitchen table smoking an unfiltered cigarette.

  Zeke said, “I’m sorry for your loss, Miss Autry. We’ve been asked to look into some deaths in the Cumberland FCI. Thought you might help us with that.”

  Kimmy said, “Did you see him the week before he died?”

  “We talked. He’d call me at night.”

  “And he seemed normal?” asked Zeke.

  She nodded.

  “Not afraid of anything?” he asked.

  “James wasn’t afraid of anything,” she said, holding her head in her hand. She stopped and went digging in her purse for a cigarette.

  “We’re trying to understand why he was killed, and who was responsible,” said Zeke. “We need your help with this.”

  The woman sat back, cigarette in one hand and a cheap BIC lighter in the other. She put the cigarette in her mouth and lit it, shielding the flame. She took a deep drag and exhaled the smoke through her nostrils.

  They were sitting in Caroline Autry’s kitchen around a square table. She looked at Zeke, then at Kimmy, and then looked at the cigarette.

  “I wish I could help,” said the woman. “But he didn’t say anything different, you know. Sure didn’t say anything about being killed.”

  “What did you talk about?” asked Kimmy, her voice low and patient.

  “Uh, we mostly talked about James getting out of Cumberland. And some, well, some adult things.” Caroline Autry looked away.

  “Had James ever mentioned that someone had threatened him? Maybe a gang member, or someone he crossed in prison?” Zeke asked.

  Caroline Autry was shaking her head. “No, he didn’t talk about anything like that,” she said, watching the ember on the end of her cigarette. “He was very dominant, like an alpha male. Like I said, I don’t think he was afraid of anything.”

  Kimmy said, “The Warden said that James Williams was appealing his sentence.”

  “He was. But that’s not what we talked about.”

  “Because he didn’t want to talk about it?” asked Zeke.

  “Because he wanted to talk about sex and stuff,” said Caroline Autry, suddenly preoccupied with her cigarette and the glass ashtray in front of her. She gently tapped the cigarette on the side to knock the burnt ashes off of it.

  She teared up, her eyes glassy with wetness.

  “I haven’t been the same since James was killed. It just tore me up.” She sobbed quietly, her face in her hand.

  Kimmy said, “I know. I’m sorry.”

  Caroline Autry shot Zeke a furtive glance. Then her eyes returned to her cigarette in the ashtray in front of her.

  “We were soulmates, you know,” said the woman, talking more to Kimmy. “We were one spirit.”

  Zeke said, “James Williams didn’t list you as a relative on prison records. But the visitors list shows that you signed in frequently, visiting him. You signed in as his wife.”

/>   “I followed his trial from the beginning. I feel like we’ve known each other forever,” she continued, as if Zeke hadn’t spoken.

  Zeke nodded.

  “It was, like, we were meant to be together. Kindred souls.” She took a drag from her cigarette and blew the smoke out slowly.

  “James Williams lived in Allentown. Did you live in Allentown?” asked Zeke, trying to get her to focus. Easy questions first, he thought.

  “I moved here to be closer to him. There was such a void in my life when he went away,” she said.

  “I’m sure,” said Zeke.

  “When he was arrested, they showed it on TV. As soon as I saw him, I knew…”

  “Miss Autry, were you engaged to James Williams?” asked Kimmy. “Did you have a relationship?”

  The woman seemed detached. She smoked her cigarette lost in thought. When it was almost gone, she took another from the pack and lit it from the first one. Then she smashed the first out in the big glass ashtray on the table before her.

  “Miss Autry?” Kimmy repeated.

  The woman looked up at Kimmy, as if awoken from a dream.

  “Yes?” she said.

  “Were you and James engaged?”

  “No, not exactly. Not formally.”

  She’s deflecting, thought Zeke.

  “What was your relationship, then?” asked Kimmy.

  “Don’t you see? We were destined to be together.”

  “Some of the entries on the visitor log indicated that James Williams refused to see you on more than one occasion,” she continued.

  “He was ashamed. He didn’t want me to see him in his prisoner clothes,” she said.

  “He told you that?” asked Zeke.

  “He didn’t have to. He made excuses, but I know what he was feeling. We belonged together.”

  Zeke said, “Did you know him when he lived in Allentown?”

  The woman shook her head slowly. “Not really. But when he took that little boy hostage, it was a cry for help. When I saw that, I knew I had feelings for him.”

  “Feelings?” asked Kimmy.

  She nodded. “You know, like when a man and a woman are in love.”

  Kimmy looked at Caroline Autry and furrowed her brow.

  The woman looked up at Kimmy, then back down at her cigarette again, and squirmed in her chair. Then she looked back up and repeated, “I had feelings for him.”