Silent Witness (19 page)
Robin Joiner knew that something was about to happen and she had a pretty good idea what it was. She just didn't understand how they were going to pull it off. Two new faces had arrived at the remote cabin, faces she didn't know. The man didn't speak to her, but the woman hugged her and introduced herself as Sister Joan. They were about the same age and had arrived at the cabin together. She heard Albert Bradshaw address the man as Brother Gordon.
Weapons were being cleaned and loaded. Joiner counted four handguns, two short-barreled shotguns, and two rifles that appeared to be some type of assault weapons. She observed gloves, ski masks, rolls of duct tape, and what looked like several pairs of plastic handcuffs.
The man called Gordon unfolded a large schematic and placed it on the small dining room table. The four men gathered around him, and for several minutes, they quietly discussed what Joiner believed was a plan to engineer the escape of Walter Bradshaw from prison. But how were they going to do it? Surely, they couldn't be planning a frontal assault on the state prison. That would be suicide.
While the men planned, Sister Joan busied herself in the kitchen heating soup, making sandwiches, and filling plastic cups with drinks. When the meeting ended, Albert blessed the food and then everybody ate. Joey filled a paper plate with chips and sandwiches and brought them to Joiner on the couch. He set the plate down and returned moments later with soft drinks.
“You better have something to eat,” he said pointing to the plate. He forced a smile. “Around this place, you never know when you might get another chance.”
“I'm not hungry.” She stared at him until he broke eye contact. She whispered. “Look, Joey, I don't know what horrible thing you have planned, but I beg you not to do it. If you love me, if our relationship means anything to you, don't do this. Let's just leave. We can run away and start overâ¦â¦”
“Stop it, Robin. My place is here and so is yours. We're only going to be gone a short time. Sister Joan will remain here with you. I want your word that you will behave yourself and do exactly what she says. Do I have your word?”
Joiner just stared at him. “Okay then, you give me no choice. You'll have to be tied up until we return.”
“You don't have to tie me up. I won't try to get away and I'll do whatever Sister Joan tells me to do.”
He looked at her trying to assess whether or not he could believe her. Before he said anything, Albert appeared. “It's time to go.” He dropped plastic cuffs into Joey's lap. “Here, tie her up.”
Joey hopped off the couch and stepped over to Albert. A hushed exchange that Robin could not hear ensued between the brothers. They were arguing, of that she was sure. And she was certain that she knew what they were arguing about. In the end, she was cuffed in front, probably an uncomfortable compromise for both brothers. They gathered in the living room of the small cabin, five men and one woman, standing in a circle holding hands. Albert led them in a short prayer. Before leaving, the men loaded weapons and supplies into a waiting van and a passenger car.
***
Walter Bradshaw picked at his dinner. He was anxious. What he was about to do would jeopardize his life. He understood that. It was also his ticket to freedom. He understood that as well. One thing he felt absolutely certain about was that the merciful Lord Jesus would protect him.
So far things had gone according to plan. At the conclusion of his visit with Brother Gordon, Dixon had handed the manila envelope containing the legal documents and the drug to a uniformed corrections officer. Bradshaw shuffled out of the visitor's room taking the baby steps required of a prisoner trying to walk while shackled at the waist and ankles.
He watched as the first officer handed the envelope to a supervisor. Bradshaw waited, trying to look unconcerned, as the sergeant opened the package, removed the documents, and peered into the empty envelope. The officer flipped quickly through the pages giving them a visual check and then held the document by its stapled corner shaking it back and forth to see if anything dropped to the floor. When nothing did, he put it back in the envelope and handed it to Bradshaw.
Bradshaw glanced at his watch. It was almost eight o'clock. It was time to ingest the drug and wait for the onset of symptoms before calling for help. He took a few minutes to say his evening prayers asking God to forgive his sins and to help him in his hour of need. He took the legal documents and examined them carefully until he found the tiny makeshift envelope containing the drug. He sprinkled the powder on to a stale white roll, ate it, and then sat down on his bed to wait.
***
Kate and I took up positions on opposite sides of Ambrose's office. When Plow and Ambrose decided to move, we intended to follow. If they moved separately, Kate would follow one and I'd take the other. If they left together, we'd tag team them wherever they went.
While we waited, I checked my cell phone for messages. Good news. Sammy the Snitch had finally returned my call. I dialed him back. He was just leaving his home headed for the Lucky Gent. Aside from being a good listener, I had a specific request for him. We wanted Barnes' phone records. We had his home number and Kate had already gone to work getting those records. His cell phone was something else. We assumed that he had one, but we weren't sure.
“Sammy, see if you can come up with an excuse to use Barnes' cell phone. I'm sure he's got one, and we need to know who his service provider is. Think you can do that?”
“No sweat. Sammy can get that information easy. I'll get back to you in a little while. You gonna pay Sammy tonight?”
I could never quite get used to Sammy talking about himself in the third person but he'd always done it. “Yeah, Sammy, I'm going to pay you tonight. Call me later when you have something.”
Fifteen minutes later, Plow and Ambrose left the office. To our disappointment, they drove their own vehicles, and neither made an attempt to contact Anthony Barnes, at least not in person. Instead, they drove to their respective homes. Kate and I hooked up a few minutes later outside the Lucky Gent. Perhaps we hadn't spooked them, or at least not sufficiently to send Plow scurrying to see Barnes. And it occurred to me that maybe our theory was wrongâmaybe there was no grand murder conspiracy with Rodney calling the shots.
Registered nurse Ruth Benally was enjoying a quiet Saturday night shift reading a romance novel in the state prison's infirmary when the emergency call came. She grabbed a canvas bag containing medical supplies and instruments and rushed to the maximum security unit leaving an inmate trustee and a nurse's aid to oversee the infirmary. When she arrived, Benally was quickly ushered into the cell of Walter Bradshaw. A gurney was outside the small cell, definitely not a good sign, she thought.
Bradshaw was conscious and able to communicate with her. “Mr. Bradshaw, tell me what you're feeling?”
“Pressure in my chest, tongue and lips feel numb,” he mumbled. He looked pale and his skin felt cool and clammy. She noticed that his speech sounded slurred. She took his temperature. It was normal. She took his pulse. It was weak. Benally grabbed her stethoscope and listened to him breathe. Bradshaw's heartbeat was irregular and his breathing was slow and shallow. The symptoms suggested a person going into cardiac arrest.
She turned to the shift supervisor. “Get me an ambulance right away. If they can't respond quickly, you'd better call the university and have them dispatch the life flight chopper.”
“He's that serious,” whispered the sergeant, looking over Benally's shoulder.
“Afraid so,” Benally said, turning back to her patient.
“Look at me, Mr. Bradshaw. Can you hear me?”
He nodded.
“I'm going to give you an aspirin. I want you to let it dissolve on your tongue. Do you understand?”
Again Bradshaw nodded.
A minute later the duty sergeant leaned in and said, “ETA on the ambulance is five minutes.”
“The sooner the better,” she said. “I'm going to start him on oxygen and then let's lift him on the gurney.”
Bradshaw was strapped to the gurney and whisked out of maximum security to an awaiting ambulance. Following required procedures, the duty sergeant placed one corrections officer inside the ambulance and dispatched two additional officers to follow in a separate vehicle.
In what later was determined to be a clear violation of department policies, the Silver Shield ambulance failed to wait for the accompanying security detail and sped away from the prison in a dash to the University of Utah Medical Center.
***
Amanda Bradshaw, Albert Bradshaw's first wife, sat in the family's old Ford Escort on the frontage road near the entrance to the state prison. At eight forty-five she saw the ambulance enter the prison grounds. Five minutes later, the ambulance blasted past her in a kaleidoscope of flashing red, blue, and amber colors. Within seconds, it disappeared into the darkness only to reappear as it crossed a freeway overpass before entering the interstate.
Amanda made one short call to Albert on the soon-to-be disposed of cell phone. “The bird just left the nest. No posse in pursuit.” Albert smiled as he disconnected reveling in the good news.
Running code three, it took the ambulance nearly twenty-five minutes to make it to the hospital. As the driver approached the emergency room entrance, he saw two hospital employees waiting curbside. What he didn't see were the four gunmen wearing ski masks and armed with short-barreled shotguns and automatic weapons hiding in the shadows near the hospital entrance.
As the ambulance rolled to a stop, the driver slammed the gearshift into park, jumped out, and ran to the rear to help unload the passenger. As for veteran corrections officer Frank Nance, he never had a chance to react. No sooner had he uncoiled his tall lean frame from the back of the ambulance than he found himself staring at four heavily armed men.
“What the hell,” he said.
“Hands up and nobody move. Do what you're told and everybody goes home,” one of the gunmen shouted.
Nance glanced around. Where the hell was the rest of the security team? He started to reach for his radio.
“Don't do it,” yelled a different gunman. Nance froze. The last thing he saw was a silver van pulling up next to the ambulance and one of the gunmen wheeling Bradshaw toward it.
In a matter of seconds, Nance and four medical personnel found themselves stuffed unceremoniously in the back of the idling ambulance with duct tape wrapped around their ankles and across their mouths. Their wrists were handcuffed behind their backs using plastic cuffs.
The stolen Voyager sped from the hospital grounds. Albert Bradshaw nodded at the others, “So far, so good.” By his calculation, the entire exchange hadn't taken much more than one minute.
Everything had gone according to plan. They had been lucky. Nobody showed up unexpectedly to interfere with the rescue. If their luck held a little longer, they would make it to the rendezvous site, dump the Voyager, and separate driving two different vehicles.
The Allred brothers, while not the brightest bulbs in the box, had turned out to be first-rate car thieves. They always kept the family in fresh vehicles enabling them to remain mobile and avoid capture.
Gordon Dixon drove the Voyager. Joey was seated up front next to Gordon. Albert glanced nervously over Dixon's shoulder and then checked his watch. “We're behind schedule getting to the rendezvous site, Gordon. Move it.”
Dixon started to protest. “But I don't want to get stoppedâ¦.”
Albert interrupted. “Let me worry about that. Step on it, now.”
Albert's tone left no margin for negotiation. After turning on to Foothills Drive Dixon punched the accelerator. He watched the needle slowly increase until he was doing almost fifty, weaving in an out of traffic, hoping he wouldn't pass a cop.
Albert glanced at the speedometer. “That's fast enough, Gordon.”
The Allred brothers were busy tending to Walter. They had reattached him to a portable oxygen tank. The prophet seemed to be in and out of itâmomentarily lucid and the next incoherent. When they'd researched the drug on the internet, the only treatment they had found was oxygen and another drug they had been unable to procure. Time, oxygen, and a healthy dose of prayer would bring his father around. Albert felt certain of it.
***
Corrections officers Jess Colby and Anthony Bennett arrived at the hospital about five minutes behind the ambulance. “Christ, I hate this hospital duty,” grumbled Colby.
“Not me,” said Bennett. “I like the diversion. Anything that gets me out of the unit for a while. It's a change of scenery.” Officer Tony Bennett had been the butt of a lot of good-natured kidding over the years about his name. Years ago, one of his fellow officers had dubbed him Tony the Troubadour Bennett, Troub for short. He'd been called Troub ever since.
“Let's park behind the ambulance, Troub,” said Colby. “We can move the car as soon as we've established security.”
They parked behind the idling ambulance and walked into the emergency room. Nothing seemed out of the ordinary. What they failed to hear was the EMT kicking at the back of the ambulance door. When they couldn't find Nance immediately, Colby tried to reach him on the radio. No reply. The two men looked at each other. “The ambulance,” said Colby.
They opened the rear door of the ambulance with weapons drawn. They found five individuals trussed up like Thanksgiving turkeys and no sign of Walter Bradshaw.
“Shit,” muttered Colby.
The alarm went out immediately. The state public safety dispatch center notified their counterparts at Salt Lake City PD. In a matter of minutes, police units from the highway patrol, the sheriff's department, and Salt Lake City PD converged on the University Medical Center. The FBI was also notified. A temporary command post was established on the hospital grounds to coordinate the search.
As soon as the command post was established, several police units descended on the house Bradshaw's first wife, Janine, and daughter-in-law, Amanda, rented. The sparsely furnished old house was empty except for some ratty old furniture that looked like it had probably come from a thrift store.
***
Gordon Dixon slowed the Voyager and turned into a large parking lot at Red Butte Gardens. He gunned the van across the lot and parked next to the stolen Ford F-150 truck and the older Nissan Sentra. The pickup had a shell over the bed and would serve as a means of transporting the prophet. Janine Bradshaw was waiting in the truck and would act as the driver. Walter was quickly lifted from the Voyager and placed in the back of the truck.
Randy and Robby Allred stripped off the bib overalls and placed them in the trunk of the Sentra along with the ski masks they'd worn during the rescue. After hurried good-byes, they left. The plan called for the Allred brothers to return to the Arizona Strip and prepare other church followers to join the prophet. The others squeezed into the back of the truck. This arrangement gave them the best opportunity to avoid detection. The cops would be looking for the Voyager and not for a pickup truck. They also wouldn't expect a female driver.
If everything went according to plan, they would return to the remote cabin high in the Wasatch Mountains within the hour.