Inmate 1577 Read online

  INMATE 1577

  Copyright © 2011 by Alan Jacobson

  ISBN: 978-0-9832929-4-4 (eBook)

  ISBN: 978-0-9836260-0-8 (hardcover)

  eBook Edition PUBLISHED BY:

  Premier Digital Publishing

  6364 Kerryill Court

  Agoura Hills, CA 91301

  Hardcover Edition PUBLISHED BY:

  Norwood Press

  All rights reserved. Without limiting the rights under copyright reserved above, no part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in or introduced into a retrieval system, or transmitted, in any form, or by any means (electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, or otherwise) without the prior written permission of both the copyright owners and the above publisher of this book.

  This is a work of fiction. While there were actual people named Leonard Williams, George Whitacre, Arthur Dollison, Marvin Hubbard, Frank Morris, Bernie Coy, Allen West, Clarence Anglin, Joe Cretzer, Billy Boggs, John Anglin, and Clarence Carnes, this novel is not intended to be an accurate portrayal of their personalities, nor is it intended to be a complete or factual account of the actions these individuals took in real life. All other characters in this story are entirely fictional and any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, is coincidental.

  Thomas White and William Post Leavenworth quotes used by permission of Pete Earley, author of The Hot House; Roy Gardner Alcatraz quote used by permission of Michael Esslinger, author of Alcatraz: A Definitive History of the Penitentiary Years.

  THE NOVELS OF ALAN JACOBSON

  Alan Jacobson has established a reputation as one of the most insightful suspense and thriller writers of our time. His exhaustive research, coupled with years of unprecedented access to law enforcement agencies, including the FBI Behavioral Analysis Unit, bring realism and unique characters to his pages. Following are his current, and coming, releases.

  False Accusations

  Dr. Phillip Madison has everything: wealth, power, and an impeccable reputation. But in the pre-dawn hours of a quiet California suburb, the revered orthopedic surgeon is charged with double homicide—a cold blooded hit-and-run that has left an innocent young couple dead. Blood evidence has brought the police to his door. An eyewitness has placed him at the crime scene...and Madison has no alibi. With his family torn apart, his career forever damaged, no way to prove his innocence and facing life in prison, Madison hires an investigator to find the person who has engineered the case against him. False Accusations is a psychological thriller that instantly became a National Bestseller and launched Alan Jacobson’s career, a novel that spurred CNN to call him, “One of the brightest stars in the publishing industry.” Learn more about False Accusations.

  The Hunted

  How well do you know the one you love? Lauren Chambers’ husband Michael disappears while on a ski trip—but as she searches for him, she discovers Michael’s hidden past involving the FBI, international assassins—and government secrets that some will go to great lengths to keep hidden. As The Hunted hurtles toward a conclusion mined with turn-on-a-dime twists, no one is who he appears to be and nothing is as it seems. The Hunted introduces the dynamic Department of Defense covert operative Hector DeSantos and FBI Director Douglas Knox, characters who return in Velocity, Hard Target, and future Alan Jacobson novels. Learn more about The Hunted.

  The 7th Victim

  What reader wouldn’t like a character who is tough, smart, funny, very believable, and compelling? That’s how literary giants Nelson DeMille and James Patterson describe Karen Vail, the first female FBI profiler. Vail, with a dry sense of humor and a closet full of skeletons, heads up a task force to find the Dead Eyes Killer, who is murdering young women in the Virginia/Washington, D.C. region—the backyard of the famed FBI Behavioral Analysis Unit. Named one of the Top 5 Best Books of the Year (Library Journal), The 7th Victim is a psychological suspense thriller that packs a powerful ending no reader will see coming. Learn more about The 7th Victim.

  Crush

  FBI Profiler Karen Vail travels to the Napa Valley for a vacation—but the Crush Killer has other plans. Vail and Inspector Roxxann Dixon lead a task force to find the architect of death who leaves his victims in exclusive wine caves and vineyards. Crush is not only a twisting and compelling read, but it brings the wine country to life in a story that Publishers Weekly describes as “addicting” and New York Times bestselling author Steve Martini calls a thriller that’s “Crisply written and meticulously researched,” and which “rocks from the opening page to the jarring conclusion.” Learn more about Crush.

  Velocity

  A missing detective. A bold serial killer. And evidence that makes FBI Profiler Karen Vail question the loyalty of those she has entrusted her life to. Squaring off against foes more dangerous than any she has yet encountered, shocking personal and professional truths emerge—truths that may just be more than Vail can handle. Velocity was named to The Strand magazine’s Top 10 Best Books for 2010, Suspense Magazine’s Top 4 Best Thrillers of 2010, Library Journal’s Top 5 Best Books of the Year, and the Los Angeles Times’ top picks of the year. Michael Connelly said Velocity is “As relentless as a bullet. Karen Vail is my kind of hero and Alan Jacobson is my kind of writer!” Learn more about Velocity.

  Inmate 1577

  When an elderly woman is found raped and brutally murdered, Karen Vail heads west to team up with Inspector Lance Burden and Detective Roxxann Dixon. As they follow the killer’s trail in and around San Francisco, the offender leaves behind clues that ultimately lead them to the most unlikely of places, a mysterious island ripped from city lore whose long-buried, decades-old secrets hold the key to their case: Alcatraz. The Rock. It’s a case that has more twists and turns than the famed Lombard Street. The legendary Clive Cussler called Inmate 1577 “a powerful thriller, brilliantly conceived and written.” Learn more about Inmate 1577.

  Hard Target

  (late 2011)

  An explosion pulverizes the president-elect's helicopter on Election Night. It soon becomes clear that the group behind the assassination possesses far greater reach than anything the FBI has yet encountered—and a plot so deeply interwoven in the country’s fabric that it threatens to upend America's political system. But as covert operative Hector DeSantos and FBI Agent Aaron “Uzi” Uziel sort out who is behind the bombings, Uzi’s personal demons not only jeopardize the investigation but may sit at the heart of a tangle of lies that threaten to trigger an international terrorist attack. Hailed by political thriller master Vince Flynn as “a smart, complex novel that explodes from the page," and by Lee Child as “a great thriller” that’s “fast, hard, and intelligent,” Hard Target is a ticking time bomb that makes you think while keeping you clinging to the edge of your seat. Learn more about Hard Target.

  For a peek at recently released and new, soon-to-be released Alan Jacobson novels, go to www.alanjacobson.com/books.html.

  For Mark Safarik

  Nearly 20 years ago, a chance phone call led me to a blood spatter pattern analysis course that was being attended by FBI Special Agent Mark Safarik. Mark and I started talking one day, and a strong and deep friendship was born.

  Over the years, on book tours and in interviews, I’ve discussed the research I’ve done with Mark in his position as a senior profiler at the FBI Behavioral Analysis Unit. But as fascinating as that education has been, and as impactful as it’s been on my career, my friendship with Mark has been that much more rewarding. In many ways, Mark is like a brother to me.

  Early on, Mark coined a phrase that he began using as a footer in the emails he wrote to me: Knee Deep In the Blood and Guts. It was a reminder that, while writing my novels, I should “keep it real” to respect the victims of these heinous crimes and the work the profilers do.


  When I look back on that phone call nearly two decades ago, I had no way of knowing that it would have such a long-lasting professional—and personal—impact on my life.

  Mark, this one’s for you.

  AUTHOR’S NOTE

  This is a work of fiction. While there were actual people named Leonard Williams, George Whitacre, Arthur Dollison, Marvin Hubbard, Frank Morris, Bernie Coy, Allen West, Clarence Anglin, Joe Cretzer, Billy Boggs, John Anglin, and Clarence Carnes, this novel is not intended to be an accurate portrayal of their personalities, nor is it intended to be a complete or factual account of the actions these individuals took in real life. All other characters in this story are entirely fictional and any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, is coincidental.

  CONTENTS

  1 | 2 | 3 | 4 | 5 | 6 | 7 | 8 | 9 | 10 | 11 | 12 | 13 | 14 | 15 | 16 | 17 | 18 | 19 | 20 | 21 | 22 | 23 | 24 | 25 | 26 | 27 | 28 | 29 | 30 | 31 | 32 | 33 | 34 | 35 | 36 | 37 | 38 | 39 | 40 | 41 | 42 | 43 | 44 | 45 | 46 | 47 | 48 | 49 | 50 | 51 | 52 | 53 | 54 | 55 | 56 | 57 | 58 | 59 | 60 | 61 | 62 | 63 | 64 | 65 | 66 | 67 | 68 | 69 | 70 | 71

  •

  Acknowledgments

  Fact vs. Fiction: Walton MacNally’s Alcatraz escapes

  About the Author

  When you are small and need help, you run to your parents. When you get older... If someone threatens you, you call a cop. In prison there is no one to turn to, no one to solve your problems for you. If you go to the guards, you will be known as a snitch and that can get you killed. Believe me, the guy demanding that you drop your drawers isn’t going to be a good sport and simply let you walk away. You must be willing to fight or you must give in.

  —Leavenworth Chief Psychologist Thomas White, PhD

  Sometimes, I think about what it would be like to just go into a bank and blow the head off the first teller I see. I know that I am capable of that; I mean, any criminal is capable of that, and long-term prisoners can kill easier than most people, because you are around the dregs so much and for so long that you forget the worth of a human life. You think all humans are dregs.

  —Leavenworth inmate William Post

  The hopeless despair on the Rock is reflected in the faces and actions of almost all of the inmates. Watching those men from day to day slowly giving up hopes is truly a pitiful sight, even if you are one of them.

  —Roy Gardner, Alcatraz inmate #110

  Nobody ever did, or ever will, escape the consequences of his choices.

  —Alfred A. Montapert

  1

  January 29, 1955

  8:39 PM

  37 W. Rosedale Avenue

  Northfield, New Jersey

  Henry sat deathly still in the corner watching the life drain from his mother’s body, knees drawn tight against his chest, arms wrapped around his shins. He stared at the blood seeping from her pulpy head wounds, poking forth from between strands of matted hair.

  The seven-year-old boy had told the policeman in so many words about the man in the black knit mask who came up from behind and struck his mother several times, then disappeared out the back door. Afterwards, Henry had sat frozen, unable to move, unable to comfort her in her last seconds before her body stilled, her eyes rapt in death.

  A bottle of maple syrup, the lone weapon his mother had grabbed to fight off her attacker, lay shattered on the floor, oozing across the kitchen linoleum. In halting sentences, with shock-laden tear-filled eyes, Henry described how the masked man had knocked it from her hand before she could raise it.

  It now sat impotent on the ground, like a cold revolver stuck in the deepest reaches of a holster, never given the opportunity to be of service.

  Henry had finally eased forward, inching across the floor until the tips of his toes were a fraction of an inch from the pooled blood that encircled his mother’s head. He reached over and touched her ashen face, then poked it, despite the policeman’s admonishment to stay back from her body.

  At his tender age, the finality of death was little more than an innate concept, like when an animal in the wild knows that one of its own kind is no longer among the living.

  THE POLICEMAN, AFTER HAVING WAITED in the living room with Henry, walked outside into the winter evening. Moments later, he pushed open the door and then stepped aside so another man could enter.

  Walton MacNally’s eyes instantly settled on the center of the kitchen floor, taking in the violence laid bare before him. A grocery bag dropped from his hand, glass bottles within shattering as it struck the hard floor.

  “Doris?” He rushed to her side, caressed her face, felt for a pulse, couldn’t stop staring at her head wounds.

  “Sir!” the cop said. “Mr. MacNally. Don’t touch the body—”

  MacNally’s Adam’s apple rose sharply, then fell. Ignoring the cop’s directive, he lifted Doris’s hand and brought it to his lips, kissed it, and then started whimpering. He became aware of his son and pulled his gaze from his wife’s irreparably injured and abnormally still body.

  “Henry—what...what happened?”

  The boy’s eyes coursed down to his mother. His lips made an attempt to move, but no sound emerged.

  But there was little doubt as to what had transpired. His wife had met with severe violence, the overt damage to her head and brain unquestionably fatal.

  A parched “Why?” managed to scrape from MacNally’s throat. “Who?”

  “A detective should be here any minute,” the policeman said.

  MacNally scooted over to Henry and took the boy into his arms. His life had been turned upside down, destroyed...his mother, his maternal presence, ripped from him like a doe taken down by a lion while her fawn watches.

  MacNally swallowed hard. A whimper threatened to escape his throat, but he fought it back. A pain unrecognizable to him, unlike anything he had ever felt, emerged from deep in his soul and manifested as a plaintive, silent moan. He balled a fist and shoved it between his front teeth. He did not want to further traumatize his son by losing control.

  Now more than ever, Henry needed him. He needed him to be strong.

  A DETECTIVE ARRIVED TWENTY MINUTES later. Dressed in a charcoal suit with a narrow tie and a black fedora tipped back off his forehead, he stepped into the kitchen through the back door and surveyed the room.

  Henry was seated in his father’s lap on the floor, against the far wall. The side of the boy’s head rested against his dad’s chest, a gathering of shirt stuffed into the palm of his left hand.

  “I’m Detective George O’Hara. You’re Walton MacNally?”

  “Yes, sir.”

  O’Hara knelt carefully beside the woman’s body and felt for a pulse. “So what happened here?”

  “I came home about, about twenty-five minutes ago. Henry—”

  “No,” O’Hara said. “Your son. I want to hear from your son.” O’Hara took a knee in front of the boy. “You okay, Henry?”

  Henry’s eyes moved about the room, then finally came to rest on the detective. “My mom’s not gonna wake up.”

  “I know. I’m sorry, son.” O’Hara glanced at MacNally, then swung his gaze back to Henry. “Did you see what happened? Did you see who did this to her?”

  Henry sucked on his bottom lip. Dropped his gaze to his lap. Nodded.

  “Did you know the person?”

  Henry spoke without looking up. “He had a mask.”

  “What kind of a mask?” O’Hara asked. “Like the Lone Ranger?”

  “Bigger. All over his face.”

  O’Hara nodded. “Did he say anything? Did you know his voice?”

  Henry shook his head. “He didn’t talk.”

  “How big was he? Was he—was he as tall as your dad?”

  Henry twisted his lips. “Same.”

  “Close your eyes for a second, son. Go on.” He waited for Henry to comply, then said, “Imagine the man is right here, right now. I’m here, so he can’t hurt you. Picture him, look right at his face. Can you tell me anything more about what he looks l
ike?”

  Henry kept his eyes shut but shook his head.

  “If your dad was wearing a mask, would the man look like that?”

  Henry nodded.

  “What kind of a—”

  “Quiet, Mr. MacNally,” O’Hara said. He rose, sucked on his teeth a second, and then looked over at the woman’s body.

  Henry tightened his grip on his father. MacNally shifted his weight and cuddled the boy. It was now just the two of them. Henry had been such a blessing that he and Doris had started discussing another child. But times were tough, and he had lost his job as a welder for a commercial building contractor three months ago. They were existing solely on Doris’s lean secretarial salary, so they decided to put off the idea of another child, at least until he had found employment. He began drinking to escape the pressures and feelings of inadequacy.

  Then came a break: a week ago MacNally heard of a shipping company that needed an able-bodied man to work the docks unloading cargo. It was a waste of his artistic talents, but he needed the money. Though it had only been six days, he hadn’t had one drink and his boss took notice of his work ethic. Tonight he was going to tell Doris they should consider that second child.

  Those plans were now gone. Forever lost, like the life that had drained from his wife’s body.

  2

  O’Hara pulled a long, narrow pad from his vest pocket and jotted some notes. He clicked his pen shut, and then stole another look at the body of Doris MacNally. “I’ll be right back. Gotta go find out what’s keeping the coroner. Don’t touch anything. Best if you two go wait in the living room.”